5. Tallus

5

Tallus

“ K itty, do you believe in mind control?” I shouted from the crypts as I plucked a dusty banker box from a steel shelf and slung it to my hip before carrying it out front where I’d been working at the counter, transferring data from paper files to digital.

My semiretired coworker tittered. She had been supervising all afternoon while working on a knitting project I’d originally thought was an intricately patterned scarf before Kitty corrected me. Her daughter Laurie was expecting in the fall, and Kitty was knitting a baby blanket for her first grandchild. A boy.

“Oh, Tallus. Where do you get these crazy notions?”

“I have a curious mind. Diem isn’t a believer. Shocking, I know. The old grump has dug his heels in. I need to convince him it’s a thing so he’ll help me investigate something. Memphis wants to see a psychic slash mind healer, but I have reason to believe the woman might be a homicidal maniac. So far, I’ve managed to use my irresistible charm and Diem’s weak will when it comes to his feelings toward me to convince him to look into things, but I’m afraid he’ll shake me free before I figure out the truth.”

Kitty smirked and shook her head, never taking her eyes off her needles. “You have your answer right there.”

“I do? What do you mean? What was the question?”

Kitty’s hands moved rhythmically as she explained. “Sweetheart, what is the difference between mind control and brainwashing?”

I considered as I removed the lid from the new box, unveiling mummified files that had been in storage for several decades. Dead insect carcasses littered the top.

Making a face, I brushed them away. “They’re the same… I think.”

“Okay.” Kitty gathered her knitting project on her lap and weaved her fingers together. Uh-oh . She was getting serious. This wasn’t good. “Here are some facts. Pay attention.”

“I’m all ears.”

“It is physiologically impossible to rewire a person’s brain and eliminate the power of free will. Human beings will always have the power of choice.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Always.” She shushed me with her finger, driving her point home.

I shut my mouth.

“What is often mistaken for mind control or brainwashing is the power of manipulation invoked by someone with a high level of skill.” She stared pointedly for a beat before continuing. “You see it in cults, fraternities, religion, and even sports. Sometimes, the culprit is disguised as a seemingly innocent records clerk.”

I narrowed my eyes at my conniving coworker. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“It’s everywhere if you stop and look. Victims are highly susceptible to the manipulator’s use of specific language, and they are often lacking in some basic need. Security. Love. Shelter. Kindness. Maybe they hold an intense desire to fit into a world where they don’t think they’ve ever belonged. Sound familiar?”

I pressed my lips together and gave her the evil eye. The question was redundant, and we both knew it, so I refused to answer.

“Those missing needs are provided somehow by the manipulator.” Again, she stared pointedly for a beat before continuing. “Hence, the victim is convinced to do things they might not ordinarily do simply because they are seeking validation, attention, or belonging. What the manipulator hasn’t done is rewire or wash the victim’s brain. The victim can still choose not to be involved, but in most cases, they go along with it because the manipulator is giving them something they desperately need. You’ve simply used your charisma, your charm, your power of observation, and your wit to get Diem to do what you want.”

“You know, I preferred when you were being vague. How did this become about me? I wasn’t talking about me. Do you really think I manipulated Diem into helping?”

Kitty returned to her knitting with a know-it-all grin. “Didn’t you?”

“No! I take offense to that.”

“Well, regardless, there’s no such thing as mind control.”

“Says the witch.” I glared, but Kitty was unaffected. “What about all those CIA experiments they performed in the fifties? The whole brain warfare thing. I read about it. It was real.”

“Tallus, that was seventy years ago. Technology has advanced beyond those wild beliefs. Honestly.”

“Okay, fine. Say there is no such thing as mind control or brainwashing. Could a professional manipulator— not me —purposefully target susceptible victims— not Diem —and convince them to commit suicide?”

“Of course. It’s already happened. Over nine hundred people died during the Jonestown massacre.”

My shoulders fell. “True. I read about that, but they were brainwashed.”

“Manipulated.”

“It’s the same difference.”

“Not even close. Again, those people did not have their brains rewired. They were expertly manipulated by a crafty and cunning man. They maintained their free will, Tallus. What they didn’t do was exercise it because they believed in Jones. He gave them something they had been missing all their lives.”

“So, my theory isn’t convoluted, though, right? It’s solid. It could happen. Hypothetically.”

“Sure it could. People could easily be manipulated into killing themselves. You don’t have some crazy plan to—”

“It’s not about me, Kitty. Good grief. Just say yes. Quit implying I’m evil. I’m perfectly sweet and lovable.”

Kitty tittered. “Then yes.”

I flashed a cocky grin and held myself a little higher as I stacked a few tattered files onto the counter beside the computer, finding a rolly bug and a dead fly underneath. “I knew I wasn’t wrong.”

Kitty tsk ed and shook her head disapprovingly. “That right there is what disarms him.”

“What? Who? What are you talking about?”

“You know who. When you smile like that, bat your lashes, and use that irresistible charm, my poor Diem has no hope of survival.”

I gasped and clutched my chest. “Stop calling me a manipulator. I’m getting offended.”

“You’re not as cunning as you think. Be careful, Tallus. Maybe you aren’t doing it on purpose, but you’re playing on Diem’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities, and I would hate to see him get hurt.”

I dramatically stuck my nose in the air and returned to my work. But the more I sat with Kitty’s summation, the more it bothered me.

Had I played my cards specifically to encourage Diem to help me? Yes. Of course I had. Did I use sex appeal and charisma to get the job done? Also yes. The man had a raging boner where I was concerned, and I may have exploited it.

Was it a bad thing when it meant getting what I wanted?

Goddammit.

I hadn’t thought so at the time, but when I considered my use of flirtatious behavior and where, inevitably, this odd, nonrelationship was headed, I didn’t know.

Feeling somewhat put in my place and no longer proud of myself, I worked silently while Kitty knit and talked about her daughter’s most recent ultrasound. By the end of the day, I was reassured by one thing.

Diem could have said no.

Diem was a big, gruff, growly boy with no compunction about expressing himself. There was no way in hell little old me had any power over him. He didn’t do things he didn’t want to do. Period. If he was so easy to manipulate, we’d be having far better sex.

***

Kitty left at five, and I stuck around for another thirty minutes before locking up and heading to Diem’s. A text chimed as I pulled into a parking space in the aboveground structure across the street from his office. It was Memphis.

Memphis: Think you can clear this woman by tomorrow night? She has an opening for five fifteen, and I want to take it.

Tallus: Doubt it.

Memphis: Girl, she’s not dangerous. She’s a sweet old lady who can see into the future. Besides, it’s a simple palm reading. My budget does not extend to letting her inside my head, and it’s not like she’d offer to cure my impulsive need to overspend on clothes for free. I think I’m safe.

Annoyed, I hit Call and waited for Memphis to answer. Traffic was thick on the road outside Diem’s building, and it took forever to clear enough so I could run across.

The minute the call connected, I yelled, “Stop being an impatient twat and wait a few days. The woman is a scam artist who’s been charged with witchcraft, of all things. Do you have a death wish?”

“Witchcraft? Babe, what are you talking about? Says who?”

“Says Diem.” I slapped a hand over my mouth the minute the name came out. “Shit.”

“Whoa. Back the train up. Did you say Diem? As in peeper boy? You told him about this? Wait. Since when are you talking to him? Girl, please tell me you aren’t getting involved with that big scary man who stalks your every move. Oh god. This is like that Police song with Sting. Sweetie, the lyrics were not meant to be romantic.”

“Shut up. Yes, I consulted with Diem because this is what he does. He looked her up, and she was charged with witchcraft. Witchcraft! Do you hear me? I know, I know, I’m still wrapping my head around it, but Memph, she has a record a mile long. A record. Not the vinyl kind. The police kind. She’s a repeat offender. A criminal. She’s been in trouble with the law since the dinosaurs roamed the earth. Is this someone you trust to read your mind?”

“My palm, sweetie. I told you, I won’t let her inside my head.”

“She will sneak in there without your permission and poke around until she has you shopping at Walmart for clothes. Is that what you want? The next thing you know, you’ll be lined up behind Suzy Spandex, waiting to cash out on polyester pants.”

“Eww.”

“Mark my words. That woman has powers beyond your reckoning.”

“Tal, don’t you think you’re being—”

“Do you want to be her next victim?” Traffic finally cleared, and I hustled across the street, phone pressed to my ear.

“No, but—”

“I will drive over there right now and staple your scrawny ass to the couch if you don’t listen. I swear to god, don’t test me. I’m feeling extra bitchy today, and you know what happened last time.”

Memphis snorted. “Poor cab driver. I think you scarred him for life.”

“Exactly. Give me a few days.”

Memphis sighed. “Fine, but this is so stupid. You didn’t believe in this stuff Friday night. You made fun of me. Now you’re convinced I’m going to die from getting my palm read.”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore. That’s the problem, but I’ll figure this witch out if it kills me.”

I ducked under the scaffolding set up around the front entrance to Diem’s building and headed inside, aiming for the stairs. “All I know is if I can be a subconsciously manipulative asshole without training, who knows what she’s capable of. My god, Memphis. I have recently learned I have powers I didn’t know I had. It’s going to my head. I’ve been having these thoughts all afternoon, and—”

“Girl, you’re losing me. Please focus.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It has come to my attention that I might be capable of mind control as well, only we don’t call it that, but I don’t like the other word.”

Silence.

“It’s true. Kitty accused me earlier, and I didn’t believe it either, but guess what, Memphis? I have powers.”

“Sure you do, babe.”

“You don’t believe me? It’s true. The scary thing is that I’ve been doing it without knowing what I’m doing. Imagine if I put some backbone into it. Hell, I could be dangerous.”

“Sweetheart, I’m going to make you a doctor’s appointment. Are you fevered?”

“I’ll prove it.” I reached the landing and paused to catch my breath. I was seriously out of shape. I hated taking the stairs, but the elevator didn’t look like it had been serviced since the nineteenth century.

“Tal?”

“Hang on. Ran too fast. Stairs are gonna kill me.” I took another second to suck oxygen. “Okay, I’ve got it. Are you listening?”

“Yes, although I should have hung up ten minutes ago.”

“Before the end of the month, I will use the power of my mind to get Diem Krause to ask me out on a date. A real date. Not a meet-at-my-apartment-to-fuck date—which has never happened, by the way, so shut up and quit prying into my life. But a date to a restaurant.”

“I’m calling the doctor.”

“I’m serious. End of the month.”

“It’s the twenty-sixth.”

“Fuck.” I considered and cringed. “It’s cutting it close, but I can do it.”

Memphis laughed out loud. “With Diem Krause?”

“Yes.”

“The Neanderthal who can’t even have a conversation with you and stalks your every move is going to ask you out on a date?”

“Yes.”

“In under five days.”

I waffled again but squeaked out, “Yes.”

“And you want this?”

“I… It’s an experiment.” I wasn’t sure what I wanted from the brooding giant, but whatever it was, maybe I wasn’t ready to share my feelings with Memphis.

“Experiment. Yeah right. Won’t happen.”

“It will.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Bet me.”

“No.”

“Bet me,” I whined.

“Okay. Fine. If it does, I will eat my new three-hundred-dollar leather shoes because, Tallus, sweetheart, love, it ain’t gonna happen. Were you sniffing glue at the office today?”

“I was not. And if you win, I will buy you that shirt you want that apparently has gold in it and brings out the color of your eyes.”

“That shirt is over a hundred bucks.”

“Won’t matter. I’m going to win. Listen, I have to go.” Breathing regulated, I yanked open the door to the third-floor hallway. The air was stale and hot. The shit-brown carpet wafted mildew.

“It won’t happen.”

“Oh, it will, babe. Best buy some HP sauce for all that leather you’ll be chomping.”

“Girl, I worry about you.”

“Everything is under control. Talk to you later.”

I disconnected the call, adjusted Diem’s crooked and broken sign—it was back on the wall—fixed my glasses, scanned my clothes, straightened my tie, feathered fingers through my hair, and exhaled a challenging breath as I knocked. I had a bet to win. A new plan of attack. A side quest in addition to my main quest. I liked a challenge, and Diem Krause was the definition of challenging.

Proving it, he yanked the door open, eyebrows pushed together in the middle, and wearing a scowl to end all scowls as he barked, “There is nothing to investigate. This is a waste of time.”

“Ugh, are we doing this again?” I pushed past the looming giant and invited myself in.

He forcefully slammed the door, and a second later, a crash sounded from the hallway.

“Your sign fell. Again.”

Diem cursed, jerked the door open, and went into the hallway to hang it up while I headed straight for the desk, plunking down on the faux leather chair and kicking my feet up like I belonged there. His fedora caught my attention, so I snagged it and put it on, tipping the brim low and peering out from the shadowy underside.

When Diem reentered, still muttering obscenities under his breath, and saw me intruding on his personal space and wearing his hat, he stalled.

I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know exactly how he felt about me sitting in the chair at his desk with his treasured fedora skillfully balanced on my head. It was written all over his face. But when I hit him with my trademark smirk. The one full of sultry mischief. The one that made him flounder and sputter and not know where to look. The one Kitty was convinced would get me anything I wanted from the man, he snapped, “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting into character.” I adjusted the hat and cranked the seductive look in my eyes to an earth-shattering level ten. “What do you think, Guns? Does it suit me? We’re partners again. I’ll be the Scully to your Mulder, the Watson to your Sherlock, the Hutch to your Starsky, the… Did Dick Tracy have a partner?”

Diem’s chest heaved. He fisted his hands at his side. His nostrils flared. Then he closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and audibly counted back from ten.

I waited, amused and doing all I could not to laugh.

The power was going to my head.

It was too easy.