>[2] Change the subject. Get Ellery expositing again. You might be able to steer him into some answers without him realizing. Right? You can do that.

  >[6] Write-in.

  "Okay," you say. "Then Madrigal needs to apologize."

  She scoff-laughs. "For what?"

  For what? Isn't it obvious? "For impugning my good name!"

  "What good name?"

  "I— and for calling me a psychopath! If this '''didn't happen'''—" you approximate Richard's air quotation marks (?You have to bend the fingers, Charlie.?)— "you have positively no grounds and no purchase to do so!"

  "I mean," Madrigal says, "you still knocked me out and dragged me into the woods…"

  "What?" says Ellery.

  "…So I think I've got plenty of purchase, thanks. You fuckin' psycho."

  "AND for using such crass a-and frankly unnecessary language—"

  "What sort of language, Charlotte?"

  You scratch at your neck. "You know, um, unladylike…"

  "Cussing?"

  "…expletives…"

  "Oh, I see! Like 'fuck?'" Madrigal cocks her head. "Is that it, Charlotte? You don't like me saying 'fuck'?"

  "Er…"

  "Does it make your precious little fucking ears bleed?"

  You touch your ear. "N-no…"

  "What's the big fucking idea, then? What's got your little lacy panties in a twist?"

  It's now or never. You stand as straight as you can and stick your chin in the air. "It's… it's not becoming."

  "Oh! It's not becoming. Guess I'll prostrate myself, then."

  You wait a couple seconds. She doesn't prostrate herself. "You're not…"

  "Ha!" She laughs in your face. "You're so dumb!"

  You bite your lip.

  >[-1 ID: 5/11]

  Ellery crosses one leg over the other. "Maddie, lay off. She's just a kid."

  "Who gives a shit? She's a kid, and then, entirely separate from that, she's the worst kind of person. Entirely separate."

  "I'm not a kid," you protest. "I'm 23."

  "See? She's a kid, Maddie. How smart were you at 23?"

  "Pretty damn smart! I had my own business!"

  "Well, okay. But when I was 23, I know for sure I wasn't the sharpest knife in the boot, if you catch my drift."

  "In the drawer."

  "You don't keep knives in your boots, Maddie?"

  "I don't wear boots! And it doesn't matter where I fucking keep them. It's a fixed fucking phrase, not that you'd—"

  "I liked the insults better," you say uncomfortably. "Can we get back to those?"

  Madrigal looks ready to oblige, but Ellery shoots her a warning glance. "Maybe another time," he says. "So everyone can develop new material and, uh, so on?"

  This sounds suspiciously like an attempt to drive you out. You can't leave, can you? You haven't actually got the answers you want. Leaving would be tantamount to losing.

  "Um," you plead. "The details."

  "Sorry, what?"

  "The details. You said that if I wanted, you'd go into the details—"

  "Oh," Ellery says. "Oh, okay. About…"

  "You know, about the 'alterations,' or whatever."

  ?Do not use that term. That is the incorrect term.?

  "Right. Well, uh, I don't— I may have been exaggerating the amount of detail available." Ellery scratches the back of his head. "Nobody knows that much, on account of not really having a control present. But it's induced by getting a lungful of seawater— I mean, you have to inhale it, not just touch it, or we'd have half the— anyways. I feel like you know this already. Density, respiration, vision, physical needs, uh, endurance, aging, mental processes—"

  "Everyone's a fucking weirdo," Madrigal mumbles.

  "Well, I mean, yeah, but there's a whole lot of selection bias there. I mean, you're executed, murdered, a suicide attempt, or you slip— you've got to be a little screwy already. But yeah, um, mental processes. Are you cold right now?"

  You hug your arms to your chest. "No."

  "You should be. You are, actually, it's just you're blind to it. It's difficult or impossible to notice."

  "Wow, Ellery," you say. "That's really interesting."

  "Thanks. It's not even the best part, though. The best part is when you've got the mutations in the process— because, I mean, nothing's perfect. That's how you wind up with…" He gestures broadly at your forehead. "…stuff like that."

  "Speak for yourself," you snap.

  "Oh— I didn't mean it in a bad way. Just, you know, what you've got going on with the, you know, talking to someone. I'm not judging."

  This is going in a bad direction. "I don't talk to someone."

  "Talk to yourself, then. You know what I mean, right?"

  You stiffly adjust your sleeve. "No."

  "Ellery," Madrigal says, "please stop trying to bond with the psycho."

  "I'm not trying to bond! I just feel like she's got a condition I've got some experience with, and if she'd like some kind of support, I'd be happy to—"

  "That's bonding."

  "It's not bonding! A personal element isn't necessarily involved!"

  "Still positive, isn't it?"

  "Um," you say. "I haven't got a condition."

  Ellery raises his eyebrows. "Okay, then you just hold vocal one-sided conversations. You know, like a normal person."

  "Right."

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Well, say hi to whatever figment of your subconscious you won't acknowledge for me, I guess." He looks— dare you hope it?— hurt.

  Good!

  >[+1 ID: 6/11]

  Richard encircles your throat like a tawdry choker. ?You wish I were a figment of your subconscious, don't you, Charlie.?

  Ellery clears his throat. "Khm. Uh, that's all there really is to say about that. I'm not an expert on this—"

  "Are you an expert on anything?" The question's about 75% ingenuine.

  Ellery seizes on the remaining 25%. "Well, in a manner of speaking—"

  You find it difficult to believe. "What?"

  "Uh—" He hesitates. "I'd rather not… it's not important."

  "Ell."

  "It's not! Really, it's not. It's just shitty—"

  "You suck at modesty. I have no idea what you're trying to be modest about, but it's sucking."

  "Maddie! I don't— it's not—" Ellery runs his fingers backwards through his hair. "Honestly, it doesn't matter. I'm retired."

  "Even more reason," you say. "Why not tell, then?"

  Ellery gives you a hard look. "Come on."

  "Well?"

  He scowls. "The mental aux node state experience."

  "Huh?"

  "The Mental Aux Node State Experience."

  "Huh?"

  Ellery sighs. "The M.A.N.S.E.."

  ?…?

  "Wow," you say, after a moment of thought. "That's the worst acronym I've ever heard. I mean, like, 3/5ths of it is the same thing… right? You came up with that?"

  Ellery's jaw tenses. "I think you should go."

  "Why?"

  "You should go, Charlotte."

  "Should I?"

  "Yeah."

  ?…?

  >[1] You should go. You know, on your own prerogative.

  >[2] You shouldn't go. Hold on. About the manse... er, M.A.N.S.E.… [Roll.]

  >>[A] Who?

  >>[B] What?

  >>[C] When?

  >>[D] Why?

  >>[E] How?

  >>[F] Retired?

  >[3] Write-in.

  You scrunch up your face. Ellery doesn't move: he's returned to the sort of benign calm he held at the start, only with a steel thread through it. If there's any frantic ducklike paddling under the surface, it's impossible to tell.

  This would be a great time for Richard to solve all your problems.

  ?It doesn't work like that, Charlie.? He's still around your neck. ?I don't perform miracles. I have to use what I have.?

  Which is you.

  ?Correct. A craftsman's only as good as his tools, and you’re put together from rubber bands and pig iron.?

  ?There's not a snowball's chance in hell of prying out I-don't-know-what. You're missing half your pieces here, Charlie.?

  ?Which is good, because it means you'll return to the business that's been at hand for—?

  Yeah, yeah, whatever. You'll get to it. If you're not going to get any help: "Well," you say to Ellery, "it's not like I wanted to be here, anyways."

  ?Anyway.?

  "…Anyway."

  "Great," he says. "Everyone's happy."

  "Right." You'd hoped for a better response (e.g. "no, Charlotte, wait, I lied, please stay!"), but this isn't factually wrong. "So I'm not leaving because you told me to. I was already planning on it."

  "Yup," he says. "I could already tell. That you were planning to leave."

  "Exactly." You nod. "So me walking out right now…" You pick your way backwards. "…nothing to do with you. Just me leaving. In an unrelated fashion. Of my own free will."

  "Of course. Bye, Lottie."

  "Goodbye," you say on instinct, and curse yourself for the slip. The last thing you see before you duck out is Madrigal's handsign: "Do you have to humor her?"

  Ellery shrugs. "Who does it hurt?"

  And then— the blank canvas of the tent flap, and blessed, beautiful silence. And the open water, and the sunshine, and freedom. Freedom! It was stifling in there, it really was. And so dark and cluttered. Why'd you stick around so long? Of course you wanted to leave. If Madrigal wants to stay, you have no intention of stopping her. Even if she does talk about you. But she won't talk about you, unless it's to say nice things, in which case she will, of course. Of course.

  You feel like you should sit down somewhere, but there's nowhere at all to sit down. That's fine. You'll just stand here. Good exercise. Good for the legs.

  This is good. You've really accomplished a lot today.

  ?Like what.?

  Well, like smashing your way through a veritable bubble-nest of lies, right? 'Slippery' nothing. You went in there, took hold of Ellery like a champion noodler, and wrung all his secrets out. You left only when there was nothing more to tell.

  ?What secrets.?

  You know, secrets. Just secrets. It's not your job to scale and bone every little thing you think about. How would you get anything done?

  ?Charlie, you didn't even figure out if this was the same Ellery.?

  He said he was.

  ?Yes. Because he never got shot. He did get shot, Charlie; I threw you a party about it. You also never determined how or why, where he woke up; anything about his presence in the manse; or anything about the broken mirror.?

  Well, maybe you didn't want to know those things, anyways. Anyway. You found out he literally couldn't talk about the Incident (?

  ?), right? That's new. That's strange.

  ?You presume he wasn't just lying. He's clearly capable of it.?

  ?Can't prove a negative.?

  You sag.

  ?This was a waste of time, just as I said it would be. Now, would you cease chasing cockamamie dreams of—?

  Madrigal jabs your shoulder. You jump near out of your skin.

  "Charlotte!" she says, once you've stopped quaking. "Look sharp! We're leaving."

  "W-what?"

  "We're leaving," she reiterates. "I have business in the Fen."

  "I—" You gesture uselessly. "Weren't you just talking to Ellery?"

  "Yeah, then I stopped." She tugs her bandana out of her pocket and begins to position it back on her head. "So what?"

  "Don't you have more to—"

  "Why would I? It's always the same with him. You got more done in 35 minutes than I've got in five months, so." She jabs you again. "You've got your uses."

  "Um," you say. "Thank you. I didn't actually get anything done, th—"

  "Are you kidding? You got him to say he cared; that's—" She pauses. "I mean, not that it matters. Anyhow, we're leaving soon as I get my Fitz."

  "Your…"

  Madrigal knots her bandana. "Uh, the spear. My spear."

  "I see." You do actually see. Naming weapons has a long, heroic tradition. "Nice."

  She narrows her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

  You hadn't meant it like that, but you'll call it an honest try and move on. "So, why am I going?"

  "I'm making you." Madrigal points at her bruise. "'Member?"

  "But do you need me for something?"

  "Not at all. You're going to get in the way."

  "So why—"

  "Because," she says, "I want to. Meet me at the Lindew trailhead in 10 with whatever you bring on hikes."

  "Or…"

  "Or else, fuckhead."

  >[1] You've been made to do whatever Madrigal wants you to. You have little choice. Grab "hiking gear" (your knife— that's about it) and meet her at the trailhead.

  >[2] You're not budging until she tells you exactly where you're going and why. I mean, really.

  >[3] Acquiesce, but don't actually meet Madrigal. You'll be doing something else instead.

  >>[A] Going to town to pay off your tab.

  >>[B] Going to town to spend frivolously. Er, because you earned it.

  >>[C] Finishing your model in your tent.

  >>[D] Reporting the presence of your model thief to Monty.

  >>[E] Write-in.

  >[4] Nope. Refuse point-blank. She can "make" you, but she can't *make* you.

  >[5] Write-in.

  BATHIC'S RECOMMENDATION CORNER #15