The Offices of Thalia Trimble, Private Eye - vol 2

Two weeks have passed since turning Martha Bradford over to police custody. The day after that, Kate Lawson sent a crew to your home to debug the place. They also made you hand over the pager. After they finished you had Jamal do a scan and he was able to confirm that you are finally free from being spied on by Lloyd Laboratories. Even with his assurance, it is hard to shake the feeling of being watched, but the feeling decreases as the days go by.

Dylan Saunders and Emila Howard have been working with you and the witnesses on Andrew’s case. Arthur Fisher and Isabel Bell are both out on bail but are being watched by the police. They don't think either one is a flight risk, but with Ivanovich’s whereabouts unknown, the police don’t want to risk their star witnesses vanishing in the night.

Martha Bradford has kept up her end of the bargain and is cooperating. She was let go by Lloyd Laboratories, who have also pledged to assist in the investigation in whatever way they can. This largely appears to have been done for positive press. They haven’t actually turned over anything of worth at this point.

You are currently sitting next to Emilia on the couch in your living room. You both watch with confused expressions on your faces as Dylan works on the large pad of paper set up on an easel. He has drawn a birdseye view of a section of San Espero streets and continues to circle one corner at an intersection.

"Yes, Dylan, we get it--"

"Clearly, you don’t," Dylan cuts Emilia off.

She exhales in frustration and continues. "We understand that this is important, but fail to see the significance you are attaching to it."

DING! The egg timer goes off. Jamal and Cyn cheer your team’s latest failure and mark down the new total score: 10 to 2.

"I cannot believe you guys didn’t get that." Dylan smirks. "Clearly the phrase is bus stop. See, this is Thalia’s street and way over here where I circled is the nearest bus stop she has been forced to use for the last two weeks." Dylan is joined by Jamal and Cynthia in laughing.

"Brilliant, Dylan," a very unimpressed Emilia responds. "I"m glad you threw the game away for that joke." He shrugs his shoulders. "I demand a redraw because our partner is not fit to compete."

"Whatever you say, Counsellor," Jamal says through laughter. Despite the blowout loss, and Dylan poking fun at you, you are greatly relieved to see Jamal so at ease. No further news about his sister has come from Loomis and this is the most relaxed you have seen Jamal since you found out about his sister going missing.

Jamal hands you the marker and you pick up a clue from the bowl. "Get this one wrong, and you guys lose for real."

You unfold the slip of paper and read the clue: Three-toed sloth.

---

Dice Pool Limit: 5

Threat Rating
Pictionary! --- 3

"Oh, for crying out... I can't draw this," Thalia grouses. In fact, she can picture a sloth in her head, but it's just a general impression of the body. The face? Her mind's a blank about what a sloth's face should look like. But maybe the body will be good enough. If, of course... it's good enough.

She glances at her team of hapless no-talents sitting on the couch. Lawyers. Why did she get stuck with the damned lawyers?

Sighing, she gets to work. Because she is Thalia Trimble, the defender of the defenseless, the finder of creative solutions to pull out a victory when defeat is all but certain. If anyone can reverse this rout, it's her.

She makes a gentle curve for the back, down for the back leg. Three lines for claws, then on to the belly, and down for the front leg. Three more claws. A few quick, wobbly lines to indicate a tree branch, then the front and back legs in the background, dangling from the other side.

Then, the final, toughest challenge: the face. It... doesn't go well. Still, she thinks she's captured the gist of slothiness.

Emilia clinches a fist and just about leaps into the air. It is clear that the answer is on the tip of her tongue but she cannot quite get it out. Dylan has to hold back laughter at how serious Emilia is taking the friendly game of Pictionary. Jamal and Cynthia start counting down with the timer. Emilia aggressively shushes them which causes Dylan to finally burst out laughing. She ignores him and focuses as you put the final touches on the drawing. Those last few lines that complete the face. Emilia’s eyes light up with recognition. She leaps to her feet.

"THREE TOED SLOTH!" The buzzer dings just as you confirm she is right. Dylan is left staring at the drawing, completely dumbfounded.

"How did you get that from this demon looking thing?"

"Nice job," Jamal offers. "9-3. Our turn." He takes the marker from you and grabs a clue. You start the timer and he makes three quick dots and then surrounds them with a circle.

"Society!" Cynthia shouts out. Jamal turns around with a smile and points at her while nodding his head.

"WHAT!?" Your entire team says in unison.

"10-3. I do believe that makes us the winners." Jamal and Cynthia celebrate.

With the game finished, everyone scatters to refill drinks or get another slice of pizza. Jamal catches you before you can get too far. "Thanks for inviting me tonight." He rethinks it a little. "Well, for forcing me to come over tonight. I really needed this. I have to realize that it is ok to remain worried about my sister while at the same time continuing to live my life. Torturing myself isn’t going to help her at all." He laughs. "I guess you know a thing or two about torturing yourself. Glad to see those bruises are healed up. How are you holding up after everything?"

Thalia is amused by Emilia's competitive spirit and feels a little sorry that she ended up on a team with Dylan, who was clearly using the proceedings as a platform for his dry comedy, and Thalia, who just isn't very competitive when it comes to games. Maybe it's because her job involves so much contention, racing to put together clues against a villain's next move and often under life-and-death circumstances, but she definitely approaches playing games for fun in a much more philosophical and laid-back manner.

Even so, she's close to calling foul at Cyn's last guess. She's actually considering asking Jamal to submit to a scan for some sort of thought-transference tech he might be testing, but then he approaches her first in a sincere (and cheerful) frame of mind, and she discards the idea as inappropriate.

She chuckles and looks down at one of her arms. She knows he's probably referring to the ones on her face and visible just above the collar of her t-shirt, but she can't see those without a mirror. "Oh, you know, I'm actually thinking of having a tattoo artist make these permanent. That way, when I get new ones, they won't be quite so obvious."

Over the past couple of weeks, Thalia's spent a lot of time thinking about facing off with Ivanovich; specifically, about all the terrible ways that could have ended. She's actually still a bit shocked that she won the fight... and has been very quietly wondering how long it will be before her luck runs out. She hasn't raised this with any of her friends; all it would do is worry them, and she thinks it's important that she keep up the facade of unshakeable confidence and belief in her ability to overcome all challenges. Maybe she's not really a superhero, but her friends think she is, and perhaps that's where her power actually comes from.

All this introspection is inappropriate. This is, after all, a party. "Anyway, I'm glad I was able to use my considerable powers of persuasion to get you over here tonight. Life has to go on, and I'm sure we'll get an update from Marshall soon." She sighs. "Man, I have got to get another car. Dylan's stupid jokes notwithstanding, taking the bus is a real drag, not to mention unprofessional."

Finding a vehicle within Thalia's price range that meets her criteria (four doors, decent-sized trunk, decent gas mileage, nondescript paint color, etc.) has proven more difficult than she'd expected. Thanks to Kate Lawson's generous payments for the work she's done on her brother's case, Thalia's doing fine even though she's between cases, but she's also had substantial obligations - paying Dylan for his work, compensating Eddie generously for his support in the face of a situation that terrified him, and the numerous other things that had to be paid for, like replacing ruined clothes and expended munitions.

Radinka was compensated by Thalia owing her a favor. That's how some of her professional relationships work.

"Did you talk to that friend of yours, the one who buys used cars at auction?" she asks Jamal.

On the subject of monetary obligations: Dylan attempted to push that off for as long as you would let him. He tried to do the work pro bono under the argument that taking on a big scary corporate executive and correcting a wrongful imprisonment was good for his reputation. Ultimately he did finally cave and sat down with you to properly itemize the charges. Even so, you could tell he was giving you a substantial discount. Something which Eddie certainly is not doing. Any gains from Dylan were more than offset by the bill that was promptly left in your mailbox by Eddie.

You’ve only heard from Radinka once since the showdown at the biker bar. She was in good spirits but let you know she would be out of town for a while. You knew better than to ask about what business she was attending to.

Standing before you, Jamal is forced to shake his head in the negative. "Not unless you suddenly decided to expand your list of acceptable cars to include a neon green ‘85 Yugo. He did mention the police brought in a supposed time traveler" Jamal rolls his eyes at the absurdity of time travel, "whose car is supposed to be auctioned off soon that might fit the bill. The 'time traveler' apparently returned to his own time and is no longer in need of it. Is it a deal breaker if the car is powered by two top-spin dual positive singularities that produce a standard off-set Tipler sinusoid?" Even your powers cannot tell if he is joking or not. "On the bright side, once I yank out all the 'time travel' tech, I should have more than enough room to jam pack the thing with spy gear."

Thalia stares at Jamal. It's a rare thing for her to not be able to tell whether someone is joking. "If you yank out the... time travel tech... won't we still need, like, a regular engine and stuff? Or does it have all of that, and the 'time travel' stuff is just crammed in around it?"

"From the picture I saw, the time travel tech is housed in a secret compartment under the backseat. I wouldn't mind poking around at the insides of this device. My buddy actually got his hands on the transcript of the interview with the cops and I hate to admit it, but he's not talking total nonsense. See, the car isn't actually powered by singularities. I was joking about that. According to the supposed time traveler, the device creates two micro singularities in close proximity to each other in order to alter the Kerr Fields so he can create a Tipler gravity sinusoid. Once that is accomplished it is theoretically possible to adjust the field to allow for the movement of mass through the singularity and into an alternate world line. Technically not time travel, but as close to it as is scientifically possible." He looks slightly embarrassed that he is even entertaining time travel as real but it is hard to ignore his excitement. "I'm pretty sure the car still has a standard engine. After all, he isn't going to push the car through the singularity. That would be crazy."

Thalia waits a beat before saying, "Yeah... THAT would be crazy." She sighs. "Still, beggars can't be choosers. If you want a chance to get your hands on that device, have your friend bid on the car. If it turns out the thing won't actually drive, maybe we can raise funds for a real car by selling time travel tickets."

Jamal chuckles. "I’ll see what I can do. Thanks again, Thalia." He walks off to grab something to drink. You are about to join the rest of the party when there is a buzz at your intercom. You walk over and buzz for a reply to see who the unexpected caller is. You are met by the familiar gravelly voice of Marshall Loomis.

"The San Espero Dream Survey is investigating a recent spike in bizarre, unexplainable dreams. If you have been experiencing any unusual dream activity, you can help by reporting a summary." As strange as this monologue is, the words are familiar. You’ve seen them around town attached to the street poles or hung in convenient store windows. Flyers stating the above and listing a phone number for individuals to call to provide a description of their dream.

"I’ve had a break in the case. I'm almost positive she’s in San Espero, Thalia. You want to buzz me up?"

Thalia experiences a mix of emotional responses. Excitement over a break in the case, curiosity to see how the dream posters tie in with Jamal's sister's disappearance, and... disappointment that a simple evening of relaxation and fun is about to be disrupted by what might be disturbing news for her friend.

Glancing over her shoulder at the good-natured socializing in the background, she says quietly into the intercom, "You bet. I'll meet you in the hallway outside my apartment."

She buzzes Marshall up and calls over her shoulder to the others, "Hey, got a quick work thing coming up. I'll just be right outside for a minute." Then she steps out of the apartment and waits at the elevator.

When Marshall arrives, she says, "I wanted to hear what you've got before you come inside. I'm having a little game night, and Jamal's there. I need to decide if this is worth potentially ruining the first night I've seen his real smile in weeks."

Loomis meets you in the hall a minute later. You smell the reek of a chain smoker long before you see him. He gives you a tip of the hat and a gruff greeting before thrusting an accordion folder into your hands. You open it up and see dozens of copies of the dream survey flyer and one cassette tape. Already familiar with the flyer, you put them back in the folder and wait for Loomis to explain. "Take a closer look at the flyers."

Chicago Dream Survey. Davenport Dream Survey. Des Moines. Omaha. Lincoln. Denver. Grand Junction. Kingston. Las Vegas. San Espero. And many more. Flyers from dozens of cities throughout the United States. You are unfamiliar with some of the smaller cities, but it appears that Chicago is the most eastward city in the bunch. The only differences on the flyers are the city names and phone numbers. You look again at the bottom of the flyers where it lists the contact info. Some of them include, in addition to a phone number, a line reading: dreamsurvey@futel.net

"Jamal’s inside, you say? Probably best to keep him in the dark a while longer, if you ask me." Loomis looks to your office and indicates that he’d like to take the discussion inside. "After talking to a lot of people, the only connection I could find between those that went missing was talks of strange dreams and the sudden appearance of that flyer in Chicago.

"Of course I tried calling the number. It's a machine. Asks you to leave a message detailing your dream. Seemed like a dead end until I found someone who left a message and eventually got a call back. You got something I can play the tape on? I recorded my interview with the gentleman."

Frowning at the one flyer she's kept in her hand, she nods distractedly. "Sure. Hang on."

She tucks the flyer back into the accordion file and slips back into her apartment to get her keys. Cyn comes over with an open bottle of Espero Spirit, a locally brewed red ale. "Come on, now. You promised no work for this one evening," she says.

Shaking her head at the beer, Thalia says in a low voice, "Can't be helped. Marshall's outside with a break in Jamal's case. I need to sit down with him in my office. Do me a favor and keep Jamal distracted, okay? Whatever Marshall's got, he's not ready to share it with him yet."

Having received Cyn's promise to keep Jamal occupied, Thalia grabs her keys and retreats to the hallway again, opening her office and flipping on the lights. She opens a drawer in her desk and retrieves a cassette player, carrying it over to the little "living room" section of the office and popping in the cassette from the accordion file. She sits in the little armchair and gestures at the sofa. "Have a seat."

Cynthia gives you a disappointed, but understanding look and nods her head. "I sure hope he has some good news."

Over in your office, Loomis gives you a brief rundown of how he met the man on the tape. He is a fellow student and acquaintance of Jamal’s sister, Zoe. He heard Loomis was asking questions about her and reached out to Loomis.

Loomis lets you know that the student preferred to remain anonymous and then presses play on the tape. The student explains how he and Zoe had actually discussed weird dreams before and she suggested he call the dream survey number. He thought it was dumb, but decided to give it a shot after having a particularly strange dream.

They were using this unfamiliar device in the dream. It was the size of a piece of paper and only about half an inch thick. It was sort of like a portable TV with a crystal clear image. You could interact with it by touching the screen. He was using it to view a never ending list of messages written by everyday people, as well as organizations.

They were all short messages that sometimes contained pictures or videos. Some were total nonsense or updates about trivial matters like what someone had for lunch. Others appeared to provide news. A shockingly high amount were filled with hate speech. The one that caught his attention the most had a video.

The video showed a familiar face, but he couldn’t put a name to it. They were a failure of a real estate developer who was well known to be a con man. The video showed that this creepy man, with a ridiculous hair style and horrible spray on tan, had somehow managed to become President of the United States.

He was sitting at this incredibly small little baby desk and yelling at reporters who were asking legitimate questions that he didn’t want to answer, while also refusing to back up any of his clearly dubious claims with any factual evidence. At the bottom of the message was a disclaimer which read "This claim about election fraud is disputed."

At the end of the dream the student tossed away the device displaying these messages because he couldn't take anymore of this man’s nonsensical ramblings.

About a month later, the student received a call back. The person on the other end of the line was very personable and invited him to a local meeting with others who had similar dreams to his. Zoe had gone missing at this point, and he felt like this felt shady. Against his better judgement he decided to go to the meeting in case he could find anything that might help lead to being able to find Zoe.

At the meeting, he was surprised to find another student he knew. Ben. One by one, the leader of the meeting had everyone introduce themselves and go over the dream they shared with the hotline. They then discussed possible interpretations of the dreams. All the while, the meeting leader took pages upon pages of notes.

As they were ready to leave, the leader stopped Ben and asked if they could speak to him in private. The student waited in the parking lot to make sure Ben wasn't getting abducted or something. Ben came out about 10 minutes later, much to their relief. Ben said he was invited to another meeting to take place in a week.

The student thought the whole thing was dumb, but Ben seemed really into it. They were planning on going. Ben hasn’t been back on campus since.

Out of the blue, Ben called the student a few days ago. They said they were in San Espero and had quit the dream group. He told the student to take down any flyers they found and warn people against calling the number.

The tape ends and Loomis speaks up. "Ben is still in town. They didn’t want to talk in detail over the phone. I’m meeting with them tomorrow. I thought you might want to tag along."

Thalia listens intently to the interview, particularly when the anonymous student describes the content of his "weird dream." She frowns and smirks at the description of the strange device - a tv screen you can hold in your hands and interact with via touching the screen, yeah, right - and outright chuckles at the revelation of the con man with stupid hair becoming president.

When the tape is over and Marshall tells her about the meeting tomorrow with Ben, Thalia doesn't hesitate. "Hell yes, I'm in. Hey, did your anonymous student happen to mention anything after the interview about how Ben might have differed from anyone else? Like, a different kind of dream, or they were more vocal, or less vocal, than others at the meeting? I'm just curious why they would have singled them out like that."

And as she thinks about it more, she muses, "You know, I've had weird dreams before. They usually involve things that seem logical in the dream but insane after you wake up, like opening a door to a room and it turns out you're on a plane and you jump out and deploy the parachute you didn't realize you were wearing. It's not usually something so... slice-of-life, with futuristic tech used for really banal purposes. I wonder what the other 'weird dreams' were like."

"We talked about that kind of thing the first time I met him. Before he agreed to the recorder. He said all the dreams recited at the meeting had that same general theme. Technology or trivial changes from the waking world that were, in the grand scheme, not that different than the real world. Not exactly what I was expecting the organizers to be interested in from the flyers, but maybe there is some subtext we are missing. I am certainly no dream expert.

"The kid couldn’t seem to remember very many specifics of the dreams that the other meeting attendees spoke of." Loomis knows that you are familiar with the frustration of only having one lead and they end up barely being a help at all. All private eyes dread that kind of witness.

"I know both of us have had dreams much weirder than what this kid talked about. I even called the number and left full details on a full of them. They don’t seem to be interested in talking to me though." He stands to exit. Old bones creak and joints pop. It is obvious Loomis is having a bit of trouble just getting to his feet. You know he is the type that never even thinks about retiring though. "I’ll leave the folder with you. They gave me this little POS import for a rental. I said full size but they never listen. You mind picking me up in the morning?"

After you fill him in on the status of your car, Loomis will head off to his hotel. The meeting with Ben is scheduled for 9 a.m. at a coffee place inside the airport. "I suggest we get there early. It looks to me like this guy is planning on taking a trip as soon as he finishes with us. Let’s make sure it isn’t before."

Thalia arranges to meet Marshall at his hotel in the morning at 7 a.m., then returns to the party. No one questions her about the absence, because they all know that her job often requires odd hours and spur-of-the-moment meetings.

The next morning comes far too early, especially since she's stopping to pick up pastries and coffee before arriving at Marshall's hotel. She holds up the bag and hands him one of the cups, then accompanies him to his cramped rental. Well, not too cramped for someone her size, but she sure wouldn't want to run a stakeout with it. It's hard enough to eat a cinnamon roll in the thing.

They arrive at the airport around 7:55, well in advance of the planned meeting time with the mysterious Ben.

On the way into the airport Loomis points out a dream survey flyer is taped to the sliding glass door. A small difference catches your attention. Above the phone number is written: @futelco. You point it out to Loomis and get a raise of the eyebrow from him. "That’s new." The two of you continue on to the coffee shop.

"I noticed something similar on some of the other flyers. I don’t know what it means. It wasn’t on the flyers out in Chicago, but the further west I got the more frequently I would see it. Maybe it has something to do with the meetings. A way of telling those in the know where to meet at?"

Ben arrives about 20 minutes early. He spots the two of you immediately and takes a seat at your table. "You guys stand out like a couple of sore thumbs," he says with a small smirk. Ben isn’t exactly inconspicuous himself. The ballcap and unseasonable baggy hoodie make him look like someone trying to hide their face.

Despite this, he does not seem to be in distress. He is fairly casual and relaxed. He gives you a questioning look. "You didn’t mention you were bringing a friend, Marshall. No matter. What do you guys want to know?"

Thalia introduces herself and says, "Marshall here told me a little about this 'dream group' that you were part of for a while. I understand that you went to a second meeting, after that initial introductory one. I was hoping you could tell us more about the group. What sort of things do they do at the meetings? What do they seem to want from the people they recruit?

"For example, I've heard that you quit school after you got involved with them, and it seems like now that you've quit the group, you're trying to stay under their radar. So why is that?"

Ben smiles. "Red Pills. That is what the ‘dream group,’ as you have put it, is called. The name is taken from a movie someone who called the hotline saw in a dream. Lots of kung fu and slow motion. Real dystopian nightmare of man vs machines. The Red Pills are supposed to be the ones that have their eyes opened to reality. Just like in the movie, we refer to people like you guys as Blue Pills. People who have no idea that the world is a lie.

"I think I gave you guys the wrong idea. I’m not hiding from the Red Pills. I love those guys." Up until now, Ben has been talking at a normal volume and in a friendly tone. Suddenly he hunches over and lowers his voice. "I’m hiding from the guy in the hat. We don't know who he is, but he caught wind of us and does not like what we’re doing. The only reason I don’t want more people getting involved is because of him. I’m running so I don’t accidentally lead him back to the group."

Ben visibly relaxes as he brings things back to your other questions. "The public meetings are nothing special. People that call in and have a dream that might be relevant get invited and evaluated. It’s all about finding the people with the right dreams. The ones that are connected to reality. Those are the people that get invited to become Red Pills."

Loomis puts down his pen and leans back in his seat. He gives you a look that makes it clear that he thinks Ben is out of his mind. It is pretty easy for Ben to pick up on this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. This whole time Ben has been speaking to you, rather than Marshall. Ben is barely paying him any attention.

The longer Ben talks, the more Thalia's heart sinks. Great, just great. Their one actual lead in trying to find Jamal's sister turns out to be a raving loon.

Something he says gives her a sense of eerie familiarity, though nothing specific. It's a little like a déjà vu, only with the actual trigger hidden behind a thick black curtain. She thinks it's caused by the mention of the guy in a hat, but she has no idea why. Realizing that she's frowning, she shakes her head slightly to refocus her attention on the rest of what Ben is telling them.

Or rather, telling her. Ben seems to only be addressing Thalia, for some reason.

Clearing her throat, she ignores Marshall's response, or lack of it, and continues the interview. "Okay, so these 'Red Pills' are the people who are 'connected to reality,' and there's some guy in a hat trying to stop what they're - you're - doing. What is that, actually? What are you and the other Red Pills doing, and why does he need to stop it?

"And what do you mean by 'eyes opened to reality,' anyway? You say the test of that is having a certain kind of dream, and if you call and describe a dream that meets those criteria, you get invited to join. I have to admit, I really am curious what you know about reality that I don't."

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?"

"Yeah. That’s right. Amazon Fulfillment Center on Rayo Avenue." He sounds distracted. No doubt he is multitasking and only half paying attention to the conversation. "If you’re calling about the career fair this weekend, please remember that all attendees must wear a mask and we ask that you stay in your car until we call you. As much as we would love to see you in person, we encourage all interested applicants to attend the virtual career fair if possible. If you are calling about an undelivered package, please report the issue through your account page on Amazon.com and a representative will reach out to you as soon as possible."

Once the well rehearsed monologue finishes he asks, "Is there anything else I can do for you today?"

Thalia looks at the receiver as though it is the person spouting all these words that add up to utter gibberish, then looks up at Marshall. His face displays what she assumes is the mirror image of her own, conveying a sense of something that has gone beyond surprise and into a questioning of one's own wakefulness.

Grasping for any conversational handhold she can find, Thalia stammers, "I... Okay, um... Rayo Avenue. Where is that, exactly?"

"South Gate." Marshall shakes his head. That also does not ring any bells. The man on the other end of the line picks up from the silence that his information wasn't helpful. "Alright. Get on the 710. The Long Beach Freeway. Take 42 West and Rayo is the first left after crossing over the river. Heh. First time I've had to give direction in like 10 years. Why don't you just use GPS like a normal person?"

"G...PS? Is this 'Fulfillment Center' a military installation?" A thought occurs to her. "Wait, what city are we talking about? I'm in San Espero."

There is a moment of silence on the other end of the line when you ask if they are a military installation. He audibly laughs when you tell him you're in San Espero. "Alright, lady. Very funny. I already told you that we're in Los Angeles. Are you done messing around? This better not be a prank for your YouTube channel. It's really not cool to do that to honest people who are just trying to work."

"I'm not messing around, honest. This isn't a you-tube... thing." She doesn't think telling him that she has no idea what that means would be productive. "I'm just trying to put things together, I swear. Now, you say you're in Los Angeles. Tell me where that is. It's... in the United States, right?"

There is a long sigh. "Yup. LA is indeed in the United States, ma'am. Southern California. 4 million residents. Second largest city in the country right after New York. But you probably haven't heard of the Big Apple either, have you? Is San Espero the name of the gigantic rock you live under?" That one gets Marshall to laugh a little before he quickly wipes the smile off his face.

Thalia spares the briefest of glares for Marshall, but it's strictly an aside. She's becoming more confused and frustrated by this conversation by the second, which she can no longer keep out of her tone.

"Well, I've lived in southern California all my life and this is the first I've heard of this Los Angeles. But if it has a population of four million, it can't be the second largest city in the country, since San Espero has probably twice that many people. Also, New York is a state, not a city, so maybe get the fictional stats corrected in your script for the next bozo who calls the 'concentration camp' number. Now, can you tell me the purpose of this whole free phone booth charade, or do you have to connect me with someone who can?"

David goes silent again. After a minute you can here muffled talk between two individuals on the other end of the line before someone new introduces themselves. "Hello, ma'am. This is Linda speaking. I would like to do my best to assist you with any issues you are having with your Amazon service but I cannot allow you to treat my employees disrespectfully. I must inform you that this conversation is being recorded and any further... outbursts, like the previous one will be forwarded to the proper authorities. Now, do you have an issue with your account that I can help you with?" Linda is a customer service pro. Her bubbly voice would be sickening even if you weren't dealing with this nonsense.

Marshall takes out his notebook and jots down the unfamiliar terms from the phone call. Los Angeles. Rayo Avenue. Virtual Career Fair. South Gate. Amazon.

Thalia nods at Marshall's note-taking and rubs her forehead. Linda's voice makes her queasy.

"No, look. I wasn't being disrespectful to David, I'm just... really confused. I'm in the city of San Espero, and there's a phone booth here. You pick up the receiver and it gives you a menu of... really strange options. One of them is 'dial 6 to speak to a concentration camp.' I dialed 6, and... I got this number.

"The reason I'm so confused is that David mentioned a bunch of things that don't make sense to me. He doesn't seem to have heard of San Espero, the largest city in the state of California and the second-largest in the United States. He's talking about someplace called Los Angeles, which is allegedly also in California and the second-largest city in the country, but I've never heard of it. And he told me about a career fair or something that I have to wear a mask to attend, but stay in my car for some reason. And suggested a virtual career fair, which... I mean, what even is that? And Amazon, you guys keep talking about Amazon. And packages. I'm... just not sure what's going on here, you know?"

Literally everything this Linda has said has raised clusters of additional questions, but Thalia realizes now that there won't be any answers, no matter how many questions she asks; at least, not intelligible ones. In this situation, asking questions just leads one to a Russian doll of nested questions.

Marshall looks like he can't take much more of this, so Thalia lifts the receiver to her ear and says, in a hollow voice, "No. I don't think so. Thank you."

She notices that her hand is shaking as it replaces the phone on the hook. Get hold of yourself, she admonishes herself, but even that sounds half-hearted and weak.

She bursts out of the phone booth, suddenly needing to breathe fresh air in an unconfined space.

"What the hell was that?" Marshall demands angrily. Although it sounds like an accusation, and he may even mean it as such, she knows that it's just his personal reaction to the same disorientation and unsettled fear that she's feeling herself. They'd just placed a phone call to The Twilight Zone, and somebody was home.

"What do you think it was? It's a prank," she answers irritably. "An incredibly elaborate one, but that shouldn't be too surprising. Everything about this is elaborate."

She's pacing around aimlessly in a disjointed circle, walking off her sense of unmoored terror. This is silly; it's an elaborate prank, nothing more. She takes deep breaths and tries to center herself, getting into her tai chi mindset. It helps her to calm down. She stops pacing and looks at the soccer mom art studio.

Pointing, Thalia says, "All right, that's our next stop. Ten bucks says the person running that place gets his painting subjects from 'press 2 to be inspired.'" She leads the way into the studio.

Marshall gives the phonebooth an annoyed kick. "I’m going to have to pass on that bet. It may all be a prank but... look at them! It's affecting people's lives. I don’t care if humor is the intention. If this phone and the dream survey are having this big of an effect on actual behavior, then this goes far beyond a prank. We need to shut down whoever is behind this."

You notice Marshal start to wobble a little. He has to lean up against the booth to stop from falling over. When he realizes that the phonebooth has come to his aid, he quickly shuffles across the sidewalk and takes a seat outside the studio. "I’m feeling a little light headed, Trimble. You mind getting taking care of this lead while I catch my breath?"

---

When you walk through the door, the group is just finishing up. Everyone is admiring each other’s identical paintings and giving compliments as they finish off their glasses of wine. The art instructor sees you enter and waves you over.

"Why hello there! Walking by and like what you saw? In just a few short hours I can have you painting just as magnificently as these lovely ladies!" The soccer moms ‘woo!’ in unison. "Name’s Amanda. Thank you so much for taking the time to say hi! How are you doing today?"

Thalia looks at Marshall with some concern as he goes unsteady. That's when she realizes she doesn't feel so hot herself; it's like something's messing with her equilibrium. But whatever it is, it seems to be hitting Marshall harder.

"Sure thing. You stay here and relax. Keep an eye on the phone booth. If anyone happens to use it, see if you can talk to them. Find out why they're using it, who they talked to... Basically, anything they'll tell you."

She enters the studio, smiles at a couple of the "artists" as they celebrate their accomplishments, and approaches Amanda when she waves her over.

Thalia gives a light peal of laughter at the camaraderie of the group - which is probably at least partially wine-fueled - and says, "I'm doing great, thank you! And if you might have met your match in me when it comes to teaching me to paint. My mom tried for years before finally conceding defeat."

She glances at one of the nearest easels. "I have to say, you've really chosen a bold subject for a class like this. I thought you folks usually went in for still life displays, or pretty pictures from magazines. What gave you the idea to use something like this as for today's project?"

"Bold projects for bold ladies!" Another chorus of woos. Now that you are up close you are able to see more details in the painting. In addition to the ruined city, the foreground shows some type of creatures making use of car frames as if they were hermit crab shells. As if the original ruined city wasn’t troubling enough.

Amanda doesn’t seem to think so. She looks at the painting with pure delight. She waves a hand and motions for you to follow her to the wall where several paintings are hung.

"Here are some paintings from our prior classes. I’d like to say I came up with the idea for all these beauties myself, but I saw you playing around with the Futel phone out front. It’s great, isn’t it! Before each class I use the phone and select the option to be inspired. Its has changed this class from something drab and paint by numbers into a truly unique shared experience. It has brought us closer together. We all feel this... connection to something bigger than ourselves. Would you like a brochure? The next class is a week from today."

Thalia makes a show of admiring the various paintings, but her internal reactions range from nonplused to horrified. The portraits seem to presume the viewer knows the subjects, that they have some significance beyond just being pictures of people, but Thalia has never seen them, as far as she knows. The rest are just strange, or disturbing.

But she smiles as she accepts a brochure. "So you get the ideas for these from that 'inspired' option on the phone? Do you call the number in advance and then create the painting for the students to copy?"

"Oh yes, I must call in advance." She smiles and looks like she is lost in a memory. "Hearing the muse talk is a divine experience. It feels like you are transported to another world. It makes me feel like I’m part of something big. Connected to the universe in a way that I could never achieve on my own. I get lost in that feeling but do not start painting until everyone arrives for the class. It takes all of us to working together to truly reach across the veil and bring a small piece of something back with us." She comes back to reality and gives you a pat on the shoulder. "I do hope that you’ll come back for our next class. There’s always room for more."

The door suddenly opens as the class starts to file out. Beyond the giddy housewives you see that Marshall is back in the phonebooth. He has the receiver to his ear and nods at whatever is being said to him.

Marshall holds onto the phone but leans out of the booth. He sees that you are watching and waves you over. When you get outside he tells you that the person on the other end wants to speak with you.

"Hello. Thank you for reporting your dream to the San Espero Dream Survey. Are you aware that many others have reported similar dreams? Would you be interested in meeting with people such as yourself and discussing your dreams?" The voice is cheerful but unnerving. Kind of like the stereotypical voice of a mind control victim from a bad movie.

As Amanda waxes New Age-y on the artistic ecstasy of producing a roomful of identical paintings every week, Thalia frowns inwardly.

"So... you don't paint the model painting ahead of time for them to copy? You paint yours at the same time as the rest of the class? How do you all manage to paint the same thing, then?"

When the class begins to break up, Thalia mutters her assurance that she'll come back for the next class and hurries out to see what Marshall's waving about.

She didn't think she could get more weirded out than she already was, but the voice on the phone pushes that envelope once again.

"Uh... yeah, sure. I guess so. Is this some kind of psychological study? Like, for somebody's dissertation project, or something?"

"I couldn’t paint it by myself. It is a collective effort that produces these works. I have the knowledge but the inspiration flows through all of us. It guides our hands to put to canvas what we see in our hearts."

---

The person on the other end of the line makes a noise that is somewhat like a chuckle. It is very quick and odd sounding, but you get the general sentiment behind it. "We think of it more like a support group. We help each other to see meaning where there is nothing but confusion. To forge connections in those that feel lost. We are meeting tomorrow night at 6 P.M. in room 124 of the San Espero convention center."

Taking out her notebook and pen to write down the time, place, and room number for the meeting, Thalia agrees to show up and thanks the caller. "Hey, how will you know who I am? Do I need a code word or something?" She adds an uncertain little laugh as she says it.

Once the call is finished, she tells Marshall, "Well, looks like I'm going to get to experience the kind of meeting your anonymous student described. That should produce another lead for us, at least." Glancing back at the art studio, she says, "You know, I think I want to make one more phone call."

She lifts the receiver again, looks Marshall over discreetly and decides maybe he should sit this one out, and presses the receiver to her ear, keeping him from having to listen to whatever results when the connection is made. She also turns to a fresh page in her notebook.

When the recorded menu begins, Thalia presses 2 "to be inspired."

"If you belong then the truth will reveal itself." The line goes dead.

Marshall is glad to hear that you have another lead. He goes to the car and turns on the AC while you make the call.

After pressing number 2, the line rings five times before an audio recording starts.

You hear footsteps echoing down a hallway. A door with a push bar is loudly opened. "Sorry. I guess I’m a little late." It is a familiar voice but you’re not quite able to place it.

"No problem. Have a seat. Please continue Jerry." A man goes back into the story he was telling before the interruption. His voice gets louder as the person who opened the door, the familiar voice, gets closer to Jerry and takes a seat near him.

"--layer by layer we built it. I’ve worked construction for damn near 10 years. It takes us anywhere from 5-9 months to put a house up. It is a time consuming process. Now I realize this is a dream and things are all wonky, but it doesn’t make it less crazy to see a machine print out all the materials and then have a small crew assemble the entire two story house in 24 hours. I’ll say that again. Twenty. Four. Hours. Imagine that."

"Thank you, Jerry. Ma’am? Would you mind introducing yourself and telling us about the dream you reported?"

The woman clears her throat. She seems a little timid to start. "Zoe. My name is Zoe. I had a dream where I was in the city. Not Chicago. Not any city I recognized, to be honest. It kind of seemed like a composite of many different cities actually. I could recognize bits and pieces from all over. Landmarks. Styles of architecture. I was walking down the street when I saw a kid spray painting graffiti on the side of a building.

"It read ‘We traded freedom for security and received neither.’ Next thing I know, the sky, it was mid day, but the sky goes dark. Like someone had flipped a switch. The kid tries to run but these things come flying out of holes in the sky. They launch this wire around his legs and the kid falls to the ground.

"I don’t see what they do with him next. A hand is on my shoulder. I spin around and see this... thing. Not quite human but a close imitation of it. It is wearing a uniform sort of like a police officer. It asks me if there is going to be a problem. Before I can respond it punches me in the stomach and I keel over. I feel wires wrap around my hands and legs and I’m being dragged down the street..."

"Oh my god," Jerry breaks the silence.

"Thank you for sharing, Zoe. You too Jerry. Why don’t we take a break?"

The line goes dead.

Thalia stands frozen, the receiver still pressed to her ear long after the recording has ended. She hadn't recognized Zoe's voice at first, not until she'd gotten halfway through her story.

And what a story. If she were having dreams like that, Thalia would be dead grateful to locate people who were having similar ones. She places the receiver back on the hook absently, thinking about Jamal and his inventions, wondering if the inspiration for them originated from something in his subconscious that he never becomes aware of, because he's channeling it all into his creative work.

She looks over her shoulder again at the art studio, thinking about Amanda and her art. About all the disturbing artworks being created in the world, all the science fiction novels that describe strange and horrifying futures and alternative realities and histories. Were any of these more than just the product of a creative mind's imagination? Were some works of creativity a way for a human's subconscious mind to cope with unremembered but disturbing dream content?

Leaving the phone booth - there are other options she'd like to try, but this case isn't going to solve itself - and gets into Marshall's rental. Giving him an assessing look, she asks, "How are you feeling? Do you need to go rest up in your hotel room for a while, or are you okay to continue? Also, I can drive, if you want."

Marshall waves you off and puts the car into gear. "I'm feeling better. You get any more useful information out of David and Linda in there? Never mind. I don't want to know. Where are we heading?" Marshall is about to pull into traffic but stops and puts the car back into park. "I don't know what happened back there, but it didn't seem to hit you nearly as hard as it hit me. I don't want to go back to the hotel but maybe it would be good if you took the wheel and... looked into whatever leads you have on your own for a bit. Do you mind dropping me off at the records department? I want to do a little digging on this Futel company. There has to be a permit for this booth's installation, right?" Marshall gets out of the car and prepares to switch seats with you.

Nodding, Thalia says, "Sounds good to me. That will give us something concrete to follow, at least. I'll give you directions. Once I drop you off, I'm going to go talk to Jamal. What I heard on this latest call was a recording of a meeting where Zoe was describing one of her dreams."

After she drops off Marshall, Thalia slides into the driver's seat. Arriving at Jamal's place, she's happy to see that he's still feeling upbeat - and hopes that she's not about to bring him back down. Noticing that he's wearing his "work clothes," she asks, "So, what are you working on today? Building me a car of the future, I hope."

The troubled look returns to Marshall’s face. "Now I find myself hoping that this all really is just an elaborate hoax." You know he doesn’t believe it is. Loomis keeps quiet until you drop him off. Before he gets out of the car he lets you know that he’ll call you tonight to give an update on anything he finds out.

---

Jamal laughs. "I’m afraid I’m still waiting on that deal to come through. Don’t worry, Thalia, we’ll have you up and running as soon as I can get a chunk of metal attached to four wheels in here to modify. I think you will be plenty pleased with this gizmo though." He pushes scraps of metal and wires aside to unveil the blueprints below them. There are plenty of notes added, scratched out, and re-written. As far as you can make out, it appears to be some sort of earpiece.

It isn’t exactly small. A bit of plastic wraps around the the back of the outer ear and there is a small speaker that sits inside the ear itself. You couldn’t use it for anything stealthy. "I know, I know. It doesn’t look like much, but get this: unlimited range and no need to charge batteries. Do I have your attention now? But it's a ways off from being complete. What are you up to today?"

Thalia grumbles about Jamal's lack of progress on her car, mostly because he clearly expects her to and she enjoys the game as much as he does. It also helps to set the tone of normality, which she wants to preserve as long as possible.

She looks over the new earpiece with a skeptical eye, but she raises her eyebrows at the revelations about unlimited range and no charging of batteries. Trying on the earpiece, which feels a little weird, but she supposes she could get used to it, she just shakes her head a little. "Oh, you know me. Nose to the grindstone, as usual. Hey, tell me something - where do you get the ideas for stuff like this? I could probably daydream all day for six months without coming up with an invention concept like this."

"I wish I could take credit for the idea behind this one, but I’ve got to give a tip of the hat to Mr. Nikola Tesla." Jamal absently taps his pencil on the blueprint while he elaborates. You are very used to having conversations with him like this; he is only half paying attention and his eyes are glued to what he is working on.

"He had this idea to develop a wireless worldwide transmission system 120 years ago. He built this facility topped off by the Wardenclyffe Tower. It would bounce signals right off the upper atmosphere of the earth. Eventually he realized the project could be even bigger. He could provide clean and practically free energy to the world using this system. Naturally his financiers were none too pleased about this. How do you make money with an invention like that? So the project was abandoned and he eventually sold off the tower for scrap metal.

"This device will work under similar principles but on a much smaller scale. Sometimes being a good tinkerer isn’t about coming up with new ideas, but putting a good spin on old ones." He stops tapping the pencil and turns to you with a smile and a laugh.

"Get this though. I haven’t thought about the old Tesla Tower in forever. First read about it in high school and probably not since then. Out of nowhere I had this dream last night that I was standing at the base of the tower with Tesla himself. He took me inside and we used the tower to send a message... to Zoe. Funny how the unconscious mind works, right?"

"Yeah, funny." Thalia returns his smile, though not the laugh. "Do you have dreams like that often? Ones that spark an idea for an invention? Sorry, I've just had dreams on my mind a lot lately."

Jamal gives you a ‘get out of here’ look. "I wish things came that easy. No, I honestly cannot recall a single other time that a dream sparked a new design for me before. All my inventions are the results of a lot of hard work. You aren’t out there solving mysteries by taking a nap are you?" Jamal can see that you aren’t joking around quite as much as he expected. "You been having trouble sleeping, Thalia?"

Thalia chuckles. "I'll let you know. After the day I've had so far, I just might start having trouble sleeping." She smiles, then sighs. "No, a case just took me to my mom's old neighborhood this morning. You know, where her studio used to be. It's put me a little out of sorts, I guess.

"I did run into something kind of weird, though. Have you heard of something called the San Espero Dream Survey? Some outfit looking for people who've had a particular type of weird dreams, usually involving... I don't know. Advanced technology and stuff. That's what made me think to ask you about whether you often get ideas for inventions through dreams."

When you mention your mother, Jamal stops messing around with the blueprints and fully commits himself to the conversation. He nods along when you ask if he knows where the studio was. His serious face morphs back into restrained laughter when you bring up the Dream Survey.

"Thalia... is it really weird that a San Espero Dream Survey would get a lot of responses about dreams filled with strange advanced tech? One third of the city are aspiring actors, another third are mad scientists, and the last third are waiting tables on the other 66.6 percent. We literally have a sentient AI automaton patrolling the streets for our safety. I’ve seen like 3 flying cars this week alone. This city is basically the world of tomorrow, today!" And no; I absolutely will not be building you a flying car."

He turns back to his desk and picks up a pencil to jot down some notes. "You should really get in touch with your parents more often. They miss you, Thalia."

Thalia allows Jamal to make gentle fun of her over the advanced tech dream question, in part because it helps keep him from asking if the case she's working has anything to do with Zoe, and in part because it's just enjoyable to see him laugh, even at her expense.

"You will build me a flying car," she insists. "You say no right now, but you know I'll wear you down eventually. I mean, who know? Maybe having a flying car would save my life someday. Did you ever think of that?"

His reference to her parents brings Thalia up short. It probably shouldn't; Jamal's mother died he and Thalia had met, and his father had been out of the picture for years before that. Thalia had commissioned her mother to do a Christmas present portrait of Jamal's mom from a photo a while back, and she and Jamal had taken to each other.

"I know they do, and you don't need to give me a guilt trip about it. You know exactly what I've been dealing with lately, with the Lawson case and assisting Dylan with the Lloyd evidence." It comes out more harshly than she intended, and she busies herself studying some piece of equipment she couldn't put a name to if she had a week to do it and a full supply of encyclopedias and technical manuals at her fingertips.

Jamal turns around and gives you a raised eyebrow. There is some hesitation before he speaks as he wonders if saying what he is about to say will be beneficial or set you off. "I’m not giving you a guilt trip; you’re doing it to yourself. I haven’t spoken to your parents since you invited me to Thanksgivings at their place. I just had a sneaking suspicion that you haven’t been in touch with them all that more often than I have.

"It doesn’t hurt to pick up the phone every so often. Maybe if I had done that with Zoe she wouldn’t be in whatever mess she is currently in. Now I’m not saying that your folks are about to up and vanish because you didn’t call them, but I think when they are gone you’ll look back and regret the times you were too busy to talk to them and put it off."

A number of different responses to all of this leap to Thalia's mind, most of them hot-headed and inappropriate. She doesn't even let them get near the tip of her tongue.

Instead, she waits a few beats before saying, "I honestly don't think that Zoe's disappearance has anything to do with you not keeping in better touch with her, Jamal. Zoe is her own person, with her own life and experiences. Separation and self-reliance are part of what people go to college to experience, after all. Don't let your frustration and worry lead you to blame yourself for things that have nothing to do with you."

She waits for a moment, trying to come up with a safe way to bring up the dream she'd heard Zoe describing on the recording. "Speaking of her college experience, do you know whether Zoe was taking anything like... I don't know, a creative writing class? One of the people Marshall interviewed made a reference to a story he'd heard from her. Something about a kid writing graffiti on a building, and then a bunch of things coming out of holes in the sky and launching wires around the graffiti artist's legs? She ever tell you something like that?"

Jamal thinks on it for a minute. "I can't recall her ever writing anything. Sure, she's artistic, but not like that. She is studying architectural design. Maybe that is something she discussed in jest with a classmate? A way to protect the buildings they plan to one day create. She certainly never discussed anything like that with me, nor have I known her to spin stories." Jamal shrugs his shoulders.