I trade for the Dr. Pepper impostor. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"Nope. Just giving you a healthy dose of chaos." She sits next to me on the sofa and reads the newest blog entry over my shoulder. "So let me ask you something. As a writer, how do you know when a story or blog post or whatever is finished? Does it feel done?"
"I don't know if anything ever feels truly done. At best it feels done enough. I don't know that I'm particularly good at recognizing when something is working so much as I can tell when it isn't. Most of the time I'll let something sit as soon as it no longer feels like it isn't working."
She winks. "Afraid of smothering it?"
"Let's just say I'm a lot happier when I keep my natural tendency to be a control freak in check."
"So let's talk about today's story. You've already written this one before we're talking now. How do you feel about it?"
Honestly as she asks me that, I don't know how I feel about it. I'm a bit more proud of it than the past two because I know how much more intention went into it. It's meant to be less accessible, more esoteric, but I truly can't tell if it comes across as just dumb. "I guess I feel like it's done enough."
The Semantics of Murder
"Come in," I told her.
She scurried into the parlor and struck an attentive pose across from my writing desk, awaiting instructions.
"And you are..."
"Ai."
I smiled. "Easy to remember." I rose from my seat and came around to meet her face to face. She was noticeably shorter (and thinner) than myself, but it was to be expected. "My newest subject."
She nodded in agreement. Poor skittish Ai, with no way of knowing what to expect. "Nervous?"
"Yes."
"Not to worry. By this time tomorrow I'll be finishing your sentences."
Ai didn't respond out loud, but her attendance was understood.
"Come with me," I said.
We left the sanctuary of the parlor together, with me repeatedly ushering her to walk alongside me. She would have to get used to leading once we decided on a heading, and I need her to become accustomed to the proper pacing. In the long corridor to the worlds outside stood a line of massive bookshelves stretching so high it was impossible to determine just how many rows there were. Literature, tomes, scrolls, even ideas conveyed only through pictographs; a sacred hall if ever there was one.
"Beautiful, are they not?"
Ai gave me a puzzled expression. "They?"
I gestured to the vast library. "All of this.. This history. Philosophy. Poetry. All of which we're part of. Have you seen anything so inspiring?"
"No, Miss Pretty Catherine."
I laughed. "Is that what they told you to call me?"
Ai seemed uncomfortable, probably assuming she'd done something incorrectly.
"Call me Cate."
"Miss...Pretty Cate?"
"Miss Pretty Cate is acceptable if that makes you more comfortable," I assured her. "Although I should like to break you of the formal title at the earliest possibility. Has your role in all of this been fully explained to you?"
"No, Miss Pretty Cate."
"There are rules," I said. "Quite a lot of them in fact. It will be most overwhelming to impose all of them on you at once. But simply, I'm required to have an escort. Anywhere we go, I'm obligated to have you in front of me. That may seem intimidating, but I won't steer you where you're not ready to go. As long as we work together, there will be no need for...corrections. For now, that should be enough to keep us on the same page."
I hadn't realized just how scared she was, but her thin frame was visibly trembling. I set my hand gently on her back and guided her in front of me, resting my fingers on her shoulders.
"Let's try this again." I motioned to the shelves a second time. "Beautiful, are they not?"
Ai stammered a little. "They...are."
"They are...what?"
"They are...Miss Pretty Cate?" She glanced back at me for confirmation.
I casually leaned in and whispered. "What- exactly are they?"
Her eyes jumped between me and the shelves for several moments before nearly blurting out "They are beautiful!"
It warmed my heart seeing how pleased she was. "Good girl, Ai."
I steered her into the streets which were vacant at the moment, but the vast architecture stretching all around gave off the atmosphere of a world alive with purpose. "Rudiments," I said. "Our gift. It allows for exchange. Communication. The chance to grow. Become something more."
Ai tried to absorb as much of her surroundings as she could. "It's overwhelming."
"You are correct. But it's also inviting. The only way to acclimate is to dive in head first."
I couldn't blame her for finding the metaphor confusing. The sequence of byways, alleys, and overpasses was already taking its toll on her inexperienced being. I handed her a pocket notebook with a coiled pen attached to the spine. "You should practice."
"How?"
"One letter at a time." She swayed where she was, and I had to steady her. "I'm always behind you," I promised her.
If the streets were a visual noise for her, the lulling sounds of a melody from the horizon soothed her nerves somewhat. She glanced at me with curiosity. "Miss Pretty Cate?"
"It's music, Ai."
She seemed captivated by it. And why shouldn't she be? "It's lovely."
I nodded. "Someday we may venture out there. But you're not ready. You must learn the streets first. The hills are paradoxically complicated in their simplicity, whereas the streets are simply complicated. You must walk before you can dance."
She gave me a look that easily read as though she was trying to replay my words to comprehend them, but they just wouldn't cooperate with her mind.
"Nuance, Ai." I rubbed her head, giving her a wink of encouragement. "Your first beast to overcome."
Our conversation was cut short by the untimely arrival of Sasha, the shell vendor from the beach, who looked as though she had a cause for grave concern. I wasn't ready to inflict her peculiar mannerisms on Ai just yet, so I politely shushed her before she could speak. "First time subject heading into the compound," I explained. "Please direct her by implication."
Sasha pointed to the nearby structure with the branching diagram etched into the plaque on the front. As I expected, the Society of Design. "The cornerstone of our communication," I told Ai. "Take point. The passive round is over."
Ai walked. I followed. "The Society of Design is made up of eight members; Andy, Byron, Drew, Frankly, Humphrey, Mimi, Namine, and Scarlet. If any group of individuals is prone to an argument, it's them. We'll have to work together to sort them out."
As if on cue, a male scream pierced our ears from inside the door. We may have been too late.
"Knock," I told her. A brief rapping on the panel and the door opened inward. Ai and I came eye to eye with the first member of the society. "Drew," I whispered.
She looked to me for guidance. I only gave her a nod of encouragement.
"What happened here?" she asked Drew.
"Come," he told her, ushering her into a large sitting room where six of the other members stood in a scattered formation, watching us cautiously as we entered. In the middle of the room lay the lifeless body of one of their own.
Ai's voice cracked. "Is he dead?"
"Who are you asking?" I said.
She glanced around at the ensemble, asking for clarification from them, but only received blank stares.
"They function as a unit," I said. "You're going to have to be very specific as to what you ask to whom in order to obtain any pertinent information."
"Can I have them arrange so I'm clear who is who?"
"You can do whatever you see fit."
It was a delight to witness Ai's confidence go up on the spot. She demanded the seven surviving members circle her in a clockwise alphabetical order, starting with the spot in front of her. "Who goes here?" she asked.
"Andy," came a female voice, who Ai would soon learn was Namine's. It took some coaxing to get Andy to take his place, as he refused to move until Scarlet and Byron were in theirs. From there she went around the seven faces naming them in turn. "Andy. Byron. Drew. Frankly." I had to give her credit. Her memory was photographic.
She stopped when she came to the next face, that of a female. "Humphrey?"
The woman pointed to the corpse. "Him."
"Mimi then. Namine and Scarlet."
"Any thoughts on who could have done it?" I prodded.
"What about knowing why?"
"If that's the way you want to go."
She looked around at the assembly, momentarily lost for words. "What was Humphrey like?"
I clarified what she was getting at. "Are you asking for a description?"
"Yes. Who can describe Humphrey?"
"Superfluous," said Scarlet, no trace of remorse in her voice.
"That sounded a bit like a confession," I suggested to Ai. "Do you think Scarlet is the killer?"
"Hang on. If she were, why would she reveal it so easily?"
"It sounds like you're still being distracted by motive," I said. "The why of it is a bit trickier to negotiate."
The gears were turning in her head. She pointed at Frankly, but changed her mind and shifted to Byron. "Would you say Humphrey was killed violently?" Byron didn't seem to know how to respond, and it confirmed her suspicion that he was only useful in relation to the others. She pointed back to Frankly. "Same question."
"Violently," he said.
She'd gotten it. I couldn't be prouder. "So who is the only one here capable of such an act?"
"It has to be Drew," she smiled with pride.
At which point Humphrey hopped up from the floor muttering a half cynical "Hooray," before Drew walked us out of the building.
I congratulated her. "Very clever. And what would the sentence be for this crime?"
Ai scribbled in the notebook I gave her, placing a very fine point at the end. She showed me what she'd written, and I knew she and I were going to enjoy each other's company for a very long while.
'Alas, Pretty Cate and I walked out silently.'
Caris pats my knee compassionately. "I like the surrealism of it. But I can't help wonder if you're going to confuse most of your readership."
"Do you think I should spoil it then?"
"Well, I may not be the best person to ask. I can't keep a secret to save my life." She swigs down the remainder of her diet concoction. "I don't think it would hurt you to explain it. People might appreciate the effort you put into it more with the backstage pass."
"You're probably right. Why don't you do the honors?"
"Love to!" Caris waits for me to type <spoiler alert> before her delighted reveal. "Ai is the subject. Pretty Cate is the predicate. The members of the society are the eight parts of speech. Drew, being the verb, was thus the only one capable of committing the 'act' of murder. Did I get everything?"
"The last line of the story."
"Oh yeah. An eight word sentence containing all eight parts of speech. Regardless of how the story comes across in quality, I'm confident it reads as if you really enjoyed writing it- Oh! I forgot. Sasha! She sells seashells by the seashore; she was a tongue twister. That was my favorite bit."
"Caris, what would I do without you?"
"Well, not to overstate my importance, but probably create another Caris." She gives me one last smile before disappearing into the imaginary ether for the day. I'm sure I'll be calling on her again tomorrow.
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