The Offices of Thalia Trimble, Private Eye - vol 2

Ben laughs. "Why do men in black try to stop anything? Control. Can you imagine how the public would freak out if they knew they were inside of a controlled simulation? Not everyone is ready for that kind of knowledge and we have no intention of forcing anyone to wake up. We just want to make contact with the other side. Apparently that is too much for the people in charge to handle though."

It takes him a minute to think over his next response. You get the impression that it is not standard procedure for his group to divulge this much information to outsiders. "Don't you find it weird that we have the technology to colonize the moon but we don’t have video phones? We have AI competent enough to fight crime but robot butlers are beyond our capabilities?

"Think about technology. Between 1850 and 1900 we developed the telephone, the light bulb, dynamite, modern batteries. In the next 50 years we created television, tanks, rockets, the atom bomb. The Wright brothers flew the first airplane in 1903 and within 60 years, we were in space.

"Don’t you think it is a little strange that you live in the exact same world that your parents did? We could even extend that to your grandparents. If you discount women being allowed to wear blue jeans today, we could say that the world remains essentially unchanged all the way back to your great grandparents. What if I told you that this was on purpose?"

Thalia has to work hard not to let her kneejerk Nutso alert! Nutso alert! reaction show on her face as Ben mentions his theory that the world is just some kind of simulation. To say that this is pretty much the last thing she expected to be hearing in this interview is to understate the situation significantly.

She forces herself to remain quiet and attentive as Ben ruminates on how to respond to her question about what he knows about reality that she doesn't. When he does respond, it's with more questions - about technology and why some things exist and others don't. Her initial reaction is impatience - How does this get us any closer to finding Zoe? - but once she pushes that aside... she has to admit, he kind of has a point. The more Ben talks, the more part of her mind is saying, Why haven't I ever questioned these things? Isn't this exactly the kind of inconsistency I'm wired to pick up on?

She glances at Marshall, who is listening with bored look on the surface, under which she can see that he's watching her reactions, in case she signals him to interject somehow.

Frankly, she'd like to, not because she thinks they need to change strategies but because Ben's answers are making her really unsettled. "Okay, back up a minute. What you're saying is that none of this--" She gestures broadly to indicate their entire surroundings. "-- is real. That this is all just... what did you call it? A controlled simulation? Who's running it? How are they running it? And what's the point?"

She can see Marshall shifting slightly in his chair, possibly concerned by the fact that she's asking these questions in earnest, as though she might be prepared to accept Ben's perspective as true. "And if the lack of technological advancement in the last generation or so is proof of this, then why would they - whoever 'they' are - have left such a flashing beacon for people like your Red Pills? For people who are powerful enough to create a fake reality this elaborate and convincing, isn't that a pretty huge mistake to make?"

Ben smiles. "You talk like you’re one of us." You can practically hear Marshall’s eye roll. "These are the very questions we are seeking answers to, but we don’t believe we will find them here. Only people that are outside the cave can enlighten us."
Ben takes a quick look at Loomis and his smile only widens. "We think they are losing control of it all. It’s becoming too much for them to handle. Too much to keep track of. Too much to keep chained down. The dreams are just the beginning. People like him," he points to Loomis, "they never have the dreams. It doesn’t seem like any of them are connected to whatever is outside this. The anomalies only crop up in our generation. Do you ever have dreams of other worlds?" In your head you hear the words "another minor anomaly" spoken by an unknown voice. One filled with worry and annoyance. You cannot recall where you heard this from or who spoke the words.

Ben stares intently at you. Loomis has had enough. He sits up and tells Ben as much. He demands to get some concrete evidence he can use to help Zoe. Ben ignores it all. He stares into your eyes and waits for a response.

Thalia hesitates, holding Ben's eye contact, still hearing that annoyed, unknown voice talking about a minor anomaly. Where had she heard that? It doesn't trigger a memory of any conversation she can remember having, and she has quite an excellent memory for that sort of thing, plus she takes detailed notes in most interviews or writes up detailed summaries after them. So if she can't remember the conversation this quote came from... had it come, instead, from a dream?

"No. I don't have dreams of other worlds," she says.

It's not as convincing as she meant it to be; she'd waited a bit too long to answer, and her tone wasn't as firm as she'd intended. She avoids looking at Marshall as she continues. "My colleague has a point, though. Our objective is to locate Zoe McBride. Her brother is extremely worried about her, and he's a close friend, so that means I'm worried about her. Look, I get that she's probably one of you, the people who have the dreams, that she's probably a Red Pill. I'm not looking to out her to anybody from... outside of the cave." She feels ridiculous even saying that. "I just want to find her and talk to her. Can you help me?"

Ben leans back in his seat with a disappointed look on his face. "Wouldn’t it make your job easier if you were more open minded? Or is being cold and calculating the surest path to the truth, in your experience?"

"Alright, kid. That’s enough," Loomis jumps back in. "We have no interest in harming your group. This is strictly a welfare check. Can you get us in touch with Zoe?"

Ben shakes his head and stands up from the table. "I already said that I’m leaving because I don’t want to lead the man in black to my friends. I’m not going to write down their address so you can lead him back to them instead. Zoe is fine. She’s happy. If you speak with her, she’d let you know just as much." Ben starts to walk away but Loomis rushes after him and grabs him by the wrist.

"We’re done here." Ben shakes his arm free and looks past Loomis to you. "Davidson Ave and 9th. Pick the right option and you might get in touch with her." Ben hurries away and gets lost in the crowd.

Loomis stomps back to the table. "You know the address?"

Thalia is taken aback by the accusation of being "cold and calculating," so much so that she doesn't react when Marshall storms back into the conversation so indelicately. She's not sure why Ben's description of her rankles so much, other than the fact that it's both unfair and untrue. But he's just a random lead in a case, so why should his assessment of her after five minutes of conversation bother her?

She stands when Ben gets up and starts to speak, but then Marshall wrecks that chance by attempting to physically stop the young man. Rarely has Thalia allowed an interview to go so far off the rails so quickly, and all by doing, more or less, nothing. When Ben makes eye contact with her one last time and mentions the intersection, she's again so surprised and confused that she says nothing in response. She only nods, which Ben returns infinitesimally before melting into the airport crowd.

She's puzzling over the exchange when Marshall comes back and asks about the address and doesn't immediately answer him.

"Well, sort of," she says finally. Noting his impatience - which is probably less directed at her than at himself over the lost opportunity to get more direct answers from Ben - she adds, "I mean, I know the intersection, or I used to." Remembering suddenly that Marshall doesn't know San Espero that well, she explains. "It's in the art district - lots of galleries, art supply stores, antique shops, New Age shops, that sort of thing. My mom was an artist; she used to have a studio there, very near Davidson and 9th. Shared it with several other artists."

Loomis lifts his keys from his pockets while walking for the exit. "Let’s go."

You both are fairly quiet for the first part of the journey. Marshall eventually breaks the silence. "I didn’t know your mother was an artist. What does she think of your line of work?" While it seems like a friendly question you cannot help but feel like Loomis is interrogating you. This doubt is confirmed when your answer is followed up with another question.

"You ever met Zoe? In person?" You don’t get the impression that Loomis thinks you are nefariously involved in the case, but it is obvious he picked up on Ben’s focus on you. Mixing that with the bizarre coincidence of Ben telling you to go to this specific intersection, one that you have a small connection with, is enough that Loomis has to ask you about it. He can’t ignore any possible lead.

Thalia really wishes she were working alone right now. The whole encounter with Ben has shaken her, put her off her stride, somehow. And now, somehow, her mother's been evoked, which is the last thing she needs.

None of which is Marshall's fault. "Well, she knows that art was never going to be a viable career path for me, so I think she's fine with it." She's thinking about how she'd referred to Mom without a second thought: She was an artist. "She was a painter - abstract. Really good. She gave up her spot in the studio on Davidson Avenue years ago. Macular degeneration." Guilt forces her to add, "I mean... she still paints. Dad built her a studio at the house."

When the conversation - or whatever this has become - turns to Zoe, Thalia shrugs. "Yeah, sure, I've met her several times. A few times at Jamal's family parties, once or twice in passing when I visited his place. I wouldn't say that we know each other. We'd recognize each other and stop to exchange pleasantries if we saw each other on the street. That sort of thing."

"Sorry to hear that," Loomis says in response to your mother’s condition. He continues to nod along as you fill him in on your lack of a relationship with Zoe. Whether or not he has more questions is left a mystery when he pulls the car to a stop at the side of the road. You look around at the familiar street. Your mother's old studio is about a half block further down the road. It seems like you got here quicker than you should have, but that could be nerves. It has been a strange morning.

Loomis silently exits the vehicle and starts to look around. Across the street is a gallery. It is currently closed but is advertising an exhibit opening next week from a local photographer. On another corner is a very familiar arts and crafts store you have been in many times with your mother. Next to it is a vacant lot turned community playground that is painted in bright colors and wild designs. Once per month the owners of the supplies store invite children to help repaint the playground. The side of the street that you are on is less colorful.

You walk around a large phonebooth and see that Marshal brought the car to a stop right between two stores. On your left is what appears to be a record store named "Helvete." The lights are off but you can see people moving around looking at the wares by candlelight. Lo-fi heavy metal music can be heard even while outside.

To your right is one of those stores that teach soccer moms how to paint. A class is currently in session. A dozen individuals are seated at easels and doing their best to copy the instructor so they can also produce identical paintings. Instead of the typical Bob Ross-esque landscape, the chosen topic for the painting appears to be the bombed out ruins of a modern city.

"Any idea where to start?" Marshall asks you.

It's really unusual for a case to intersect with Thalia's private life in this way. She hasn't been to this area in ages, not since she and Dad had helped her mom move her stuff out of the studio. Just standing here is way more uncomfortable for Thalia than she wants to admit.

"I see two intriguing prospects," she says to Marshall, nodding at the record store. "It's a little weird that they're using candles for lighting when they obviously have electricity to play music, right? And then, there's the painting class and the choice of artistic subject matter. Kind of obliquely hints at the sort of dichotomy Ben was talking about, don't you think?"

She watches the painters for a few more seconds, then looks back at the record store. "Let's go to Hell first."

Loomis shrugs his shoulders and silently follows your lead. He seems oddly defeated by the meeting with Ben. He is not one to usually let a case get the best of him. You know he has been working on this case for a while now. Seeing his only lead turn into this has not been good for his spirit.

The blast beating drums and distorted guitars hit your ears hard the second you open the door. You cannot hear him but it certainly looks like Marshal mouths ‘could use some ear plugs.’ The vocals kick in as the door shuts behind you. You are surprised to hear... opera vocals? Somewhere under the rest of the noise, classical piano and elements of a symphony can be heard. The operatic vocals are met by aggressive unintelligible growling that feels more at home with the harsh metal instrumentation. Dichotomy welcoming you once again. This time in audio form.

Every single person in the building stops what they are doing the second the two of you enter. They all turn to stare at the two horribly out of place individuals. The people that dare to wear colors that aren't black. The candles held at chest height cast eerie shadows across their pale faces that make it look at if they do not have eyes; only deep vacant holes. Heavy amounts of makeup might be adding to this effect.

"Can I help you?" someone who you presume is a clerk asks.

Again, that sense of being slightly off-balance escalates. It's not like she didn't expect a certain amount of weirdness, walking into a headbangers record shop full of people shopping by candlelight. Maybe it's just everything - Ben's talk of reality being a simulation, him directing her to her mom's old neighborhood, the trip to get here passing strangely fast, Marshall's odd demeanor. It all adds up to Thalia not being sure what to say to the clerk.

"Yeah... maybe," she says, yelling to be heard over the music. "I hope so. I'm looking for someone who's trying not to be found by the people outside of the cave."

The clerk's confusion is barely visible in the dim light. Someone else near the counter speaks up. "You talking about that After Dusk single?"

"After Dusk sucks," the clerk with the upside down cross tattoo on his neck responds.

"Not every song needs to be a love letter to Satan, you poser," another patron shouts across the store and stomps over to the counter to join the argument that is developing. Everyone involved is barely able to conceal smiles and does their best to keep up their tough guy demeanors. It is clear that they are all enjoying the argument over what heavy metal should include.

Marshall clears his throat to get your attention. "Had enough or should I light a candle?" He nods his head in the direction of a pedestal next to the door which contains boxes of matches and a box full of candles.

"Been making a few phone calls?" The sudden voice coming from only a few feet away startles you. Another shopper is suddenly standing right next to you. They neglected to light a candle and this allowed them to literally walk out of the darkness and surprise you. "Ignore those artsy fartsy loonies. It’s a waste of time."

The speaker pushes past you and walks out the door. They lean against the glass of the shop and light a cigarette.

Thalia smirks at Marshall, keeping an eye on the developments in the crowd for signs of someone watching them. It's therefore even more startling to have someone sneak up on her, utterly unseen. As the speaker moves through the gloom and out the door, clearly waiting for them to follow, Thalia tosses Marshall a look and a one-shouldered shrug. He makes a sardonic "after you" gesture, and she precedes him out the door.

She pockets a box of matches along the way, because hey - never know when they'll come in handy.

She and Marshall exit the record store, where she takes an ostensibly nonchalant look at the smoker before looking toward the other side of the corner, as though deciding where to go browsing next.

"You mentioned some phone calls? I'm not sure what you mean, but I'm listening."

The young adult smoking a cigarette has a real liking for black denim. He wears turn black jeans and a black denim jacket that has been cut off into a vest. He has sewn patches of dozens of bands onto the jacket. None of the names are remotely readable because of the ridiculous font that was chosen.

After you ask your question he turns to you and looks you over, top to bottom. He smirks and nods his head in the direction of the unusually large phone booth by the car. Marshall goes to take a look at it while you continue to chat with the man.

"I figured you made a call. We don’t see a lot of people like yourself inside Helvete. When we do it is usually because they got confused by that thing." Marshall lifts his hand and waves two fingers to call you over. He points to the top of the phone booth where the name of the company who made it can be seen: Futel.

"The phone showed up about a year ago. Must have been installed overnight. No one saw it being put up. ‘Providing free access to telephones to encourage free thought for all.’" As he says the words you see inside the phone booth where there is a small label saying the same. It is located where the coin slot normally would be.

"Its gotta be some stupid art project. We’ve wasted way too much time looking for a deeper meaning. There isn’t any." He laughs. "Don’t tell them that," he hooks a thumb at the soccer moms painting next door. "They call it their muse. Someone on the other end tells them what to paint. I’ll admit, that bit is a pretty funny." He looks into the art studio again and laughs at their painting. When one of the women turns to look at him, the man gives her the finger.

Well, this case certainly gets weirder by the minute. Thalia looks at the phone booth, then back into the art studio at the multiples of the same disturbing painting.

She shakes her head, slightly. He's right - this does smell like some sort of art project. Or a possibly a psychological experiment run by one of the local colleges.

"What about you? Have you ever made any calls from that phone? Or have any of your friends?" Thalia asks the kid.

If he says no, Thalia will go inside the phone booth and pick up the receiver. If nothing interesting happens, she'll dial her office phone number.

"Too many times," the man responds. He drops the cigarette butt to the ground and snuffs it out under his Doc Martens. "Tried out all the options. It’s all a dumb waste of time." He then goes back inside Helvete.

Marshall wastes no time sliding the door open and going inside the phone booth. When you join him, he picks up the receiver and holds it between the two of you. There is no dial done. After about 3 seconds of silence there is a click and you are presented with an automated message reading out a list of options.

"Thank you for accessing the Futel free telephone service.
To be connected to the office of the mayor, press 1.
To be inspired, press 2.
To apologize, press 3.
To connect to a random payphone, press 4.
To submit a dream to the San Espero Dream Survey, press 5.
To speak with a concentration camp, press 6.
To leave a confession, press 7.
To file a complaint, press 8.
If you know the number of the person you would like to reach, press 9 followed by the phone number.
To hear the list of options again, please stay on the line and the menu will repeat."

Marshall rubs his temples as he shakes his head in frustration.

Thalia takes the receiver from Marshall and presses the "5" key. When Marshall lowers one eyebrow in a skeptical expression, she merely shrugs. Hey, they have to try something.

A recording of a youthful voice answers. "Thank you for calling the San Espero Dream Survey. At the tone, please leave a detailed description of your dream. The recording will end after three minutes, so please be judicious. When you are finished, please hang up."

Lifting the receiver to her ear, Thalia begins to speak. On their drive here from the airport, she'd been thinking a lot about the dream the anonymous student described on Marshall's recording last night, and about the things that Ben had said this morning. Anticipating the possibility of needing to infiltrate the Red Pills, she'd started to form a germ of a dream story already.

"Uh... hi," she says into the phone, sounding uncertain, as though now that she'd gotten the courage to call, she didn't know exactly what to say. "Um, so, okay. I had this dream, it was really weird, but it felt so real, y'know? I was talking to my friend on the... phone, I guess? Only not like a regular phone. It was one where I could actually see her. And she could see me. So, like a video phone, I guess you'd call it. And that was the whole dream, just the two of us having a normal, boring conversation, about something that had happened when I was out with some other friends at a pub the night before. But I was holding this little flat thing in my hand instead of a phone receiver, and watching her on the little screen."

She pauses for an awkwardly long moment, then gives a self-conscious little laugh. "Well, that's it, really. Um... bye."

She hangs up. Marshall says, "Wait! You forgot to leave them a phone number. How the hell are they going to get in touch with you?"

Thalia grins at him. "Relax, Marsh. The message didn't request a phone number. But they're obviously contacting people, so that must mean they have another way to identify the callers they want to follow up with. Leaving a phone number unprompted would have looked too much like I knew there would be follow up. Hey, let's try one of those other options, shall we?"

She lifts the receiver off the hook again and waits for the recording to start playing the menu. This time, she presses the "6" key.

The phone rings three times before someone picks up. There is some static in the connection at first but it fades after a few seconds. A bored sounding gentlemen is heard on the other end of the line. "Thank you for calling the Los Angeles Amazon Fulfillment Center. This is David speaking. How can I direct your call?"

Frowning at the receiver that she's holding between her and Marshall, she glances up at him, sending a question with her eyes. He shrugs, clearly having no more idea than she what the voices it talking about. She bends closer to speak into the mouthpiece.

"I'm sorry, what did you say this is? Los Angeles Fulfillment Center?"