Spilling Guts

Part 13 - Victims

Louis tapped his phone off, laid it by his tablet, and crossed out four of the five names on his list. The shades came off to rub his eyes. His knuckles ached. During the call with Mrs. Watts he had been holding the pencil like a dagger; scratchy notes. The list of names read like a morbid rendition of "Ten Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed".

Isabelle dead from a sleeping pill overdose. Insomnia; fear of going to sleep drove her until she couldn't sleep at all and needed help.

Jeffery ended up back on the streets and disappeared. According to Mrs. Watts, he had been on the mend, seeing his therapist and case worker, signed up for a halfway house, then just up and left. They hadn't heard from him since.

Verna died via suicide.

Kate was in a high security mental health facility after trying to rob a pharmacy. Perhaps she was getting help there. Louis wouldn't know unless he swung down to Kansas with an appointment.

The last one. Hannah, was in a long term hospital for a sleep disorder. Night terrors. Of all the names on the list, Hannah was the only one of the victims he had talked to personally. Probably because she was one of the few willing to talk. She had been one of the latter victims stolen off the streets so her time with the Neckbrace had been far less than the others.

Maybe he had a bad list of names? Maybe everyone else that had been victims of the Devil's Neckbrace were fine and he had picked the unlucky ones by pure chance. Sometimes victims of sexual abuse kept dropping down a dark tunnel due to lack of support and trauma. But could the problems of these victims have been caused by the Neckbrace?

That was a theory to send to Meg and Teeg when they got back.

Louis curled in on himself, feeling out his spatial awareness and making sure the walls weren't closing in. He had been more aware of it since the talk with Balcuwitz, in the same way someone points out your breathing. He was fine. He was safe here in this place and he let his mind wander.

In the dimmed light of the borrowed office, Louis' mind was deep in the case notes from two years ago, gladly making connections between the victims and tiny breadcrumbs he had seen with Will. Ambient thoughts condensed and trickled down into theories.

Could one time wearing the Neckbrace cause something to skew in a person's head and make them not sleep? Did the amount of time spent with the Neckbrace increase the likelihood for trauma, and not just the sexual kind? He'd have to ask Rachel for more details. Actually he'd have to ask her a lot of things. Like what the hell had she been thinking taking the damned thing out of cold storage in the first place.

He'd add that to the list.

What stuck out to him the most were two words shakily circled in pencil. Night Terrors. Was Will having night terrors? Was that why he looked so tired and irritated all the time?

You sure the reason he's irritated ain't you?

"Maybe a little bit."

He punched you.

"Not very well."

Full out fight in the mud.

"I was winning before we un-shrunk."

You lost the moment you opened your mouth and pushed him to swing his fist.

"...fuck."

Figuring out some random-ass clue from a case two years ago that might have some bearing on his mood now ain't gonna make him forgive you.

"I still need to talk to him."

What makes you think he wants to talk to you?

"Then I'll apologize. That good enough? That's why I've been reheating that damn mug all day. I break the ice and apologize and then maybe we can stay at our desks without snapping at each other."

What are you waiting for then?

Louis took a breath, nodded, clapped the tablet shut, got up, and opened the door...

To blinding fluorescent lighting in the hallway. His shades were still at the desk.

"Motherfu-!"

In a flash that made his whole body tingle and ache, Louis shrunk down to a little less than three inches.

The room, once feeling too small, loomed above him with a much authority as a cathedral, but none of the artistry. He was so much closer to the ground now. And the door hung half open for anyone to waltz in and wonder where the Watch had gotten such a lifelike figurine of Agent Patriarch.

Louis looked around. He had no SkySprecht in his ear to call for help, and his phone and tablet were up on the desk.

He had options.

One, climb the desk and hope he could use his phone to call Rachel and get assistance. Because he sure as hell wasn't going to call Will for assistance. He couldn't do an apology when he was bite sized.

Two, try to reach Rachel's lab unseen. The mental image of himself camouflaged by a paper napkin skittering along the edge of a hallway was laughable even for him.

Three, close the friggin' door so he could get some privacy for when he could un-shrink in about ten to fifteen minutes.

Louis really didn't want to see Rachel right now. Or climb anything with his aching hand. Choice Three.

That meant closing the door by himself and hope no one would see.

He pushed with his tiny might, pretending he was moving a car in neutral, and after a few shoves the door moved. Louis thanked the maintenance crew that kept the hinges well oiled and balanced, but when the door reached the frame it would go no further. A shaft of light no bigger than his small body cut through the dim office.

In a moment of surrender to the shit of the day, Louis lay his tired body down near the desk and became one with gravity and the cutting line of light.

Then he kicked at the ground and twisted in a full tempter tantrum.

"Fuck-it-all! I'd rather be doing data entry for cheese graters than dealing with this shit! how the fuck is this my life!? I'm trying to help! Why am I being punished?"

The worst part? He'd have to tell Rachel about this "incident" the moment he was back to normal height.