2103:12:11:15:05:06
“See you next week, Liam,” Marianne said to her client. The drowsy-looking boy merely nodded and continued toward the exit without a word.
Marianne took out her tablet began to review – and where necessary, revise – the notes of last session.
Liam was a depressive young man, if not outright suffering from it. Marianne would’ve named it as such, and had urged him multiple times to get a more thorough examination done by both herself and others. But he wouldn’t hear of it, refusing the first time she’d offered and deliberately avoiding the topic other times, clamming up or once even leaving outright whenever he realized – subconsciously or not – she was steering the discussion towards it. And he was always quick to realize.
Quite the opposite of her next patient: Samantha Pearsson.
Marianne switched from Liam’s to her other teenaged client’s profile.
Similarly to Liam, Samantha's participation in therapy was induced by family rather than a purely voluntary one. Marianne had been approached by a colleague of hers, a former classmate from her university days. His patient sought advice on how to deal with her daughter who'd just returned from being achronally displaced, and considering Sam's background, Marianne's expertise in child psychology, her prior experience with aiding another – albeit adult – achronally displaced, and both her prior academic interest and participation in research surrounding the psychology of the returnees… well, it was a 'slam dunk' as Marianne used to say back in the day.
She accepted after a brief introductory session with Kati Pearsson alone, and so it came to be.
Unlike the boy, the girl participated openly, honestly and thoroughly. Which came as a bit of a surprise, if Marianne was being honest. Achronally displaced weren’t particularly known to be ‘open’ people, certainly not around people they’d never met or interacted with – which was everyone, especially in the beginning. Let alone earn their trust, getting to speaking terms was a struggle in most cases.
But then, much about the girl was surprising. She was very unlike the standard achronally displaced. Samantha caught up on her academics quickly, formed bonds with her parent from day one, and made friends rapidly.
Truly, the only thing the girl had in common with the achronally displaced (barring the ‘mindwipe’ of course) was Samantha’s reliance on inherited personality patterns from the ‘Other-Sam’ – a term the girl had once let slip on accident. But even there Samantha was an odd case.
Reliance on pre-displacement personality patterns embedded in the brain (or soul, if one believed in such things) was a documented fact. For all that the mind allegedly wiped itself clear of all pre-existing knowledge in their defense against the horrors beyond space and time, every achronally displaced had familiar ticks and overlapping behaviors from their pre-displacement self – much to their own frustration.
Samantha was a bit different in that regard. She went beyond the automatic and deliberately threw herself into such patterns with something that Marianne would describe as ‘wild abandon’, if Samantha’s efforts weren’t so clearly purposeful.
Unlike others, who were understandably hesitant to deal with their crisis of identity by emulating their previous self, Samantha had described her first weeks of ‘being on this earth’ – the girl’s own words – listening to her mother talk about her pre-displacement self and trying to incorporate it.
There’d been no great identity crisis, antagonization or Othering of her prior self. If she hadn’t let slip the mention of ‘Other-Sam’, Marianne would’ve believed the girl viewed her pre- and post-displacement selves as one and the same.
And therein lay the crux of the matter, the real uniqueness of her case: they weren’t the same.
There were similarities, of course, and for all that Marianne knew that full continuity between pre- and post-displacement selves weren’t possible – the event itself was too impactful for people not to change in response – Samantha clearly held diverging opinions and tastes from her former self.
And where normal achronally displaced liked the things they used to before, but struggled to accept it, Samantha struggled with accepting she was not like her previous self.
Samantha’s first attempt at feeling out her identity had been focused on fitting into Other-Sam’s mold, and while the girl said it had ‘clicked’ in many parts, she’d also admitted she’d found the limits of that. Which, again, was the opposite of the usual. Barring the fact that other people’s memories – in Samantha’s case, her mother and brother – could only tell so much about one’s self, the girl simply did not possess the same level of overlap between her and Other-Sam for that to be a viable route to, as she put it, ‘fill out her personality’.
So, Marianne had encouraged the girl to try different things. To explore different tastes in music, food, entertainment, etcetera. To stop following what her mother and brother told her she used to like. All to emphasize, to get her to realize, that she was well and truly different from the Other-Sam, and that she should stop trying to force herself into that mold.
To stop focusing on who she was ‘supposed’ to be, and start being herself.
It was in that way she was the opposite of Liam: she wasn’t quick to realize where therapy was leading her to. Which might be good in part – less resistance that way – but it also forestalled the realization itself.
And without Samantha fully understanding what was going on, progress was slow. The girl’s own quest for identity bore little result so far. Likes and dislikes aplenty, sure, but nothing that stuck out, nothing that she could be passionate about. And even the one thing Samantha did like doing very much and was wholly disconnected from Other-Sam – doing sambo with her friend – had left Samantha oddly dissatisfied.
Why that was so, Samantha wouldn’t tell, much to Marianne’s consternation…
In the middle of that thought, an alert popped up on her tablet and Marianne switched to the front door camera. She saw Samantha, so Marianne pressed the button to allow her in while saying, “Right on time. Come on up and get comfortable while I get us something to drink,” into the speaker.
Sam nodded toward the camera and stepped into the building.
Mariane stood up, went to the office building’s kitchenette and filled two mugs with tea.
Perhaps bringing up sambo again would be a good topic to start with. It was, in Marianne’s opinion, better than once again trying the conversation wheels or games. They were helpful in uncovering hidden aspects of people’s troubles, but at the same time, they could be shallow and time-consuming.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Still, it was better than nothing. Despite the girl’s commitment to therapy, there was little initiative from her part. A side effect of her achronal displacement, Marianne presumed; one could not bring up topics they didn’t know existed.
When Marianne returned to her office, Samantha was already there, seated on the couch. “Here you go,” Marianne said, and set the mug on the table in front of her.
“Thanks,” Samantha said.
Marianne continued to her desk, grabbed the laptop and headed for the chair. Only once she seated did she get a good look at the teen.
To say Samantha looked rough would be cruel and false, but it was clear something was wrong. Samantha always carried herself with a distinct… not indifference, but she always kept herself neat. Kempt. Not a hair out of place, clothes straight, ironed and toned down in color. She was always clear-eyed and focused. Never strict, but always with an air that spoke of surety, certainty and through it, a hint of stubbornness.
Last week was the first time that had been different. Samantha had looked tired then, less in a clearly physical sense than as something radiating outward. That time, she’d even taken a day off from school that Monday, the day before their session.
Today however, that tiredness shone clear in her appearance. Not the bags-under-the-eyes kind of tiredness, or a drowsiness or sickly pallor, but in the way hairs were out of place when they normally weren’t, in the way she sank into the couch with the mug in her hand, and in the way her gaze looked uncharacteristically unfocused.
“So. How are you feeling today?” Marianne asked. A standard question, one she asked at the start of every session. She’d figured since their first meeting that Samantha liked routine predictability, and Marianne played along. And it was something that had helped Marianne figure out when things weren’t normal, but that was just an added benefit.
Samantha hesitated. Another indication that something was wrong. Normally, she’d say a neutral non-answer and move on to the next step in the ‘conversation tree’, as Samantha put it.
“I skipped school yesterday.” The words seemed to pass Samantha’s lips reluctantly.
Straight to the point, and that at a topic Samantha brought herself. A surprise, but a welcome one to be sure.
Marianne waited five seconds. Silence often prompted people to fill the void, if only to keep the conversation from becoming ‘awkward’ in their mind.
Not so much Samantha.
“How so?” Marianne prompted verbally.
Again, Samantha was silent, hesitant. Her eyes, normally locked onto whoever she was speaking to, now avoided Marianne’s. It went to Marianne, the table, the mug, the couch, the desk, to Marianne again, then to the window and everywhere else. All as Samantha’s mouth twitched slightly, her client clearly wanting to spill without knowing how.
Marianne had to keep herself from becoming excited. The appropriateness of feeling as such aside, letting her interest shine through might prompt Samantha to close up.
But Marianne couldn’t help but guess at what was coming. Trouble at home or school? The first argument between friends? A problem she didn’t know how to resolve? A grand self-discovery? A crisis of identity? A burgeoning ro-
“I killed someone yesterday,” Samantha said. The words were said unintentionally, as the girl herself still seemed deep in thought.
Marianne froze, but kept her cool. Thoughts whirled in her head, a fear response crawling up her spine, but she repressed it. Samantha’s admission was a jolt to Marianne’s internal systems, sure – one that, from another patient, would’ve sent her sounding the alarm. But thankfully, there was one key piece of information, one likelihood that helped suppress the panic. Something that was not too uncommon with achronally displaced – far more common than the average, at least – and something she’d kept in the back of her mind during their sessions.
“Samantha,” she said, tone dead serious. “Think over what you just said. And please, keep in mind the order of which you say things.”
That seemed to jolt the teen awake. The girl’s eyes widened and refusals came quickly. “No, no! Sorry, what I wanted to say…” Samantha took a deep inhale, “what I meant to say was: I’m a masked.”
Yes. Good. As she expected. Marianne felt her nerves fully settle at that.
“Okay. Thank you for telling me,” Marianne said. “Now, let’s harken back to… your first statement.”
Samantha nodded. “Yesterday, I… after Soliloquy- you know Soliloquy?” Samantha asked.
After the constant coverage of it on the news? Yes, like everyone else in Charm, Marianne knew who Soliloquy was.
She nodded.
“Okay. Well, after the heroes and I – and Darkstar too, of course,” Marianne hadn’t heard about Darkstar being there, “dealt with Soliloquy, my mentor and I- ah, that is, Crowsong and I pursued Nth-Sight- that is, the augur behind it all. Jules Hessian, I believed he was called?”
That meant Samantha was the masked known as Jester. A minority-aged masked, as the news was quick to share, and a recent one at that.
It fit… except for the costume. Had her mentor decided on her branding? If so, Marianne could not find a more inappropriate hero costume for the girl. And if she’d decided it by herself-
Well, that actually made sense in a way.
“Anyway, we sort-of tricked him into an ambush and…” Samantha shrugged. “Well, I killed him.”
Marianne nodded. “And how do you feel about it?”
Samantha shrugged again, but her shoulders tensed. “I… don’t know,” she confessed. “He deserved to die, and I don’t feel bad about killing him or anything – not really, anyway. He broke the Treaty, and after what he did to Soliloquy, and what Soliloquy then did to everyone else… well, Nth-Si- Jules had to go. But…”
Marianne waited. This time, Marianne didn’t need to prompt her to continue.
“In the end, I did not kill him because of that,” Samantha said, shoulders sagging in relief.
From what Marianne had heard on the news, she could draw her own conclusion of what Samantha meant. The augur had cast a wide net of information and disinformation, one that had apparently kept Charm’s crime and masquerade scenes in stasis for years. Furthermore, he was responsible for the attempt on Crowsong’s life, and considering Jester was her sidekick… well, vengeance was a common enough motive.
But assumptions kill, so just to be sure, “Then, if I may ask, why did you?”
“I…” Samantha hesitated. “I was scared.”
“Scared?” Marianne asked. If Marianne knew her terms, an augur was at their most dangerous when hidden in the shadows; it was their knowledge that was dangerous, not their presence. Once confronted face to face, and ambushed at that… Perhaps it wasn’t a fear for her life, but a fear of what the augur knew?
“He wasn’t just an augur,” Samantha explained. “He was a master as well. An orator, Crowsong called him. He had all but convinced Crowsong to let him go, somehow – or at least delayed her long enough for him to do something to get himself out of there. And he’d tried to convince me as well. If I hadn’t…”
Samantha trailed off and didn’t elaborate further.
Marianne mulled it over for a moment. It appeared she was wrong: it was a fear for her life, even if an indirect one. That made it easier.
“If part of his power was to… convert or persuade people, as you say, then I believe that would be self-defense,” Marianne said. When she saw Samantha hesitate, she asked, “Do you believe it’s wrong for people to take a life in self-defense?”
That put a frown upon her face. “No, but I-” Samantha said before cutting herself off. “Shouldn’t heroes be better than that? If I should kill anyone, it shouldn’t be out of fear of what he was about to say.”
Ah. “Fear in the face of another masked, especially one that had already all but disarmed your mentor with his power is completely understandable. More than understandable, even – natural. I doubt there are many people in your situation who wouldn’t have felt that fear.” Marianne smiled, though secretly dreaded what she was about to say. “And you showed bravery in the face of that fear. You acted where others would freeze and prevented worse from occurring. Isn’t that what being a hero is all about?”
Oh God, Marianne could barely keep her face from flushing as she said it. She was certain she pulled that line from an old comic book or TV series she’d watched when she was younger. Or worse, something she’d watched more recently with her son.
She hoped that, if Marianne had ripped it off from elsewhere, it wasn’t something that Samantha recently saw in the course of her hobby-finding. That’d be too embarrassing.
Still, if applicable: apply.
Samantha’s face twisted oddly at hearing that. “Is that what being a hero is all about?”
Marianne shrugged. “I believe so. But you tell me; you’re the expert.”
Samantha’s face turned thoughtful at that. “I don’t know. I thought it was about saving lives and capturing villains, not… you know.”
“And if my thoughts count for something, I believe you did. Both with Soliloquy and the augur. Whether your fear was based on self-preservation or what he would’ve done had he gotten away, the facts remain the same: you prevented worse.”
Samantha nodded after a moment… but her mood didn’t improve.
The conversation drifted off at that, returning to more regular, non-masked-related topics – school (and her being grounded a week for skipping it), friends, family (her brother in particular), hobbies, etcetera.
But when the session ended, the ending of their first topic kept lingering in Marianne’s thoughts. She thought she had it with that, that she’d understood what Samantha meant, but she must’ve missed something. Something beneath it all…
But ultimately, that was fine. Samantha’s confessions were large steps in the right direction, almost too large for one session, and spoke of a greater degree of trust than Marianne had expected.
She’d had, on occasion, had to deal with powered individuals in her career, both masked and professionals, and knew, really knew what it meant for a masked to share their identity. The Treaty was a generally well-known social contract, an institution that loomed ever-present in the background of people’s lives. But the background was where it remained for most. The masquerade as an institution was poorly understood- or rather, poorly felt by those that did not live within it.
Having someone confide in her about their masked identity was a sign of great trust, even if that person was their therapist like Marianne was to Samantha.
It also helped explain the difference between her pre- and post-displacement selves to an extent. According to all she’d read, powers diverged wildly in both source and effect, and induced wide-ranging changes in both body and, more importantly in this case, the mind.
There was no obvious link between a power and how it affected one’s personality – a healer, for example, could ironically change into a self-serving asshole once they got their powers – but if there was one set of powers Marianne believed would change one's mentality, it would be a shapeshifter.
But for all that was clarified with the confession, Marianne could not help but wonder: what kind of secret could trump the importance of one’s masked identity? How personal was that other secret that Samantha couldn’t bear to share it?
