“She knows too much,” Ivy said. “Something’s wrong with this interview.”
“Do we really need to panic?” Tobias said. “So she’s read the previous profiles people have done of Stephen. Surely, we should expect that. Wouldn’t we be more suspicious if she hadn’t come in with some theories about our nature?”
I idled by the window, but finally J.C. nodded and sat down. He was satisfied. I stepped away from the window, but didn’t sit. Instead, I walked up to the fish tank. It was extravagant, with variegated corals and beautiful lighting. So much work to create what amounted to a prison.
Jenny was writing on her notepad. What did she find so fascinating? I’d barely said anything.
I watched the fish pick at the coral, eating at their own confines. “Don’t you have any other questions for me?” I finally asked Jenny. “Everyone else wants to know how I distinguish reality from hallucination. Or they want to know what it feels like to assimilate knowledge—then manifest it as an aspect.”
“What happened to Ignacio?” Jenny asked.
I spun on her. Tobias raised a hand to his lips, gasping softly.
“You mentioned Ignacio in past interviews,” Jenny said, watching me with poised pencil. “One of your favorite aspects. A chemist? And yet, in your recent case with the motor-oil-eating bacteria, you didn’t involve him at all. Curious.”
Ignacio. He, like Justin, was … was no longer one of my aspects.
Tobias cleared his throat. “Did you see she has an Algernon Blackwood book on the shelf? Original Arkham House edition, which is my favorite. The feel of the paper—the scent … it is the scent of lore itself.”
“You’ve frozen up,” Jenny noted. “Can you lose aspects, Mr. Leeds?”
“Original Arkham House editions are … are rare … though that depends on who you want to read. I once had a copy of Bradbury’s Dark Carnival from them, though the cover…”
“What happened?” Jenny asked. “Did they simply move out?”
“The cover … did not … age … well.…”
“Ivy,” I whispered.
“Right, right,” she said, standing up. “Okay, so she’s acting like this is an innocent question, but I don’t buy it. She knew this would touch a nerve. Look how tightly she holds that pencil, hanging on your words.”
“I’m sorry,” Tobias said, dabbing at his brow with a handkerchief. “I am not helpful right now, am I?”
“She’s goading us,” J.C. said, standing up. He rested his hand on Ivy’s shoulder. “What do we do?”
“She wants to push us off balance,” Ivy decided. “Steve, you need to reassert control of the conversation.”
“But how much does she know?” Tobias asked. “Did she really guess what happened to Ignacio? You don’t speak of these things often.” He cocked his head. “Stan says … Stan says she must be working for them.”
“Not helping, Tobias!” Ivy said, glaring at him.
“Quiet,” I said to them. “Quiet, all of you.”
They quieted. I locked eyes with Jenny, who now sat calmly twirling her pencil between two fingers. Feigned nonchalance.
I couldn’t keep unraveling every time Ignacio or Justin came up. I had to control this.
I was not crazy.
“I’m not comfortable talking about this topic,” I said, finally walking over and taking the seat she’d provided for me.
“Why not?”
“Different question, please.”
“Have you lost any aspects besides Ignacio?”
“I can sit here all day, Jenny,” I said. “Repeating the same words over and over. Is that how you want to waste your interview?”
The pencil stopped twirling. “Very well. Another question then.” She shuffled through her papers. “You’ve maintained throughout all your interviews that you are not insane—that by your definition, ‘insanity’ is the line beyond which an individual’s psychology impinges upon their ability to live a normal life. A line you’ve never crossed.”
“Exactly,” I said. “The media pretends that ‘insanity’ is this magical state that is simply on or off. Like it’s a disease you can catch. They miss the nuance. The human brain’s structure and chemistry are incredibly complex, and certain traits which—in the extreme—are deemed insane by society can be present in many so-called normal people, and contribute greatly to their success.”
“So you deny that mental illness is, indeed, an illness?”
“I didn’t say that.” I glanced at my aspects. Ivy, who sat down, primly crossing her legs. Tobias, who stood and strolled over to the window, looking up to where he thought he could see Stan the astronaut up in his satellite. J.C., who had moved to lounge by the door, hand on his gun.
“I’m just saying,” I continued, “that the definition of the word ‘insanity’ is a moving target, and depends greatly upon the person being discussed. If someone’s means of thinking is different from your own, but those thought patterns don’t disrupt their life, why try to ‘fix’ them? I don’t need to be fixed. If I did, my life would be out of control.”
“That’s a false dichotomy,” Jenny said. “You could be both in need of help and in control.”
“I’m fine.”
“And your aspects don’t disrupt your life?”
“Depends on how annoying J.C. is being at the moment.”
“Hey!” J.C. said. “I don’t deserve that.”
All three of us looked at him.
“… today,” he added. “I’ve been good.”
Ivy cocked an eyebrow. “On the way here, you said—and I quote—‘The police shouldn’t be so racist to them towel-heads, because it isn’t their fault they were born in China or wherever.’”
“See, being good.” J.C. paused. “Should I have called them ‘towel-headed Americans’ or something…?”
“Your id is speaking out?” Jenny looked from me to J.C. She was good at following my attention.
“He is not my id,” I said. “Don’t try to pretend he somehow articulates my secret desires.”
“I’m not certain he can articulate anything,” Ivy added. “As doing so would, by definition, require more than grunts.”
J.C. rolled his eyes.
I stood up and walked over to the fish tank again. I always wondered … did the fish know they were in a cage? Could they comprehend what had happened to them, that their entire world was artificial?
“So,” Jenny said. “Perhaps we could track your status, Mr. Leeds. Three years ago, during your last interview, you said you were feeling better than you ever had. Is that still the case? Have you gotten better, or worse, over the years?”
“It doesn’t work that way,” I said, watching a little black and red fish dart behind some fake yellow coral. “I don’t get ‘better’ or ‘worse’ because I’m not sick. I simply am who I am.”
“And you never before considered your … state … to be an affliction?” Jenny asked. “Because very early reports paint a different picture. They describe a frightened man who claimed he was surrounded by demons, each whispering instructions to him.”