Rich Man

"No, no... Think about it in a less general way." Tossing a hacky-sack above my head, I continued, "First you have to define immorality and you do have that right, but now you have to understand Kant's point of view via its basis: the Categorical Imperative."

The boy rolled his eyes from my desk, swallowing his recent bite of pasta. "And the CI is what makes us use our wills in certain ways. I understand that, but where are you going with it? You can will yourself to be immoral."

"Ah, but can you rationally will yourself to be immoral?" Patrice paused for a moment to think, but I continued by answering my own question. "Kant believed that immorality defies the categorical imperative. Imperative implies a command, so in this case, the rule governing the human will. Categorical implies that humans are to be referred to as one big category and that every single human has a rational will."

"What's... Qualia?" he asked suddenly.

"Well that was random." Sitting up from my spot, I watched him with a risen brow. At first he watched me sheepishly, but the twitch of his soft lips left me analyzing his every move. There was a certain fear behind his eyes, nerves set on uncovering and exposing a daunting goal he preferred not to voice. But I didn't mind this subtly intrusive, prying stare of curious innocence. He was learning.

What disturbed my thought of tutelage, however, were the thoughts to come as I explained the concept of Qualia and carefully observed his features. "It's the way we see things... The quality of conscious experience."

"So like... Perception?"

"Yeah, exactly. Why ask?" But I had a sinking feeling, one so mockingly small that my stomach turned on its haunches and settled all at once in order to grasp the oncoming bout of perception in my chaotic mind. There lay a small dread in my veins that his questions were not simply out of a budding interest, but out of the desire to learn for himself the ways of my mind. It made complete sense to me, that he would take interest into the subjects of my learning, that founded the current knowledge I have, in order to dissect me for information. In other words, his questions and nervous interest was derivative of the desire to want to know how I think enough to profile me; he was playing my game.

Well, potentially.

Bergeron had proved enough that he was not so predictable at times. However, my gut feelings had a tendency to steer me in the right direction as of late. Perhaps logic here wasn't completely wrong, either, as my theory did make perfect sense, but still. With Patrice, my gut feelings seemed to work rather well.

It's not a surprise either that he's been so random as of late. One minute we're cuddling, the next he's on top of me, then we're studying. He changes his methods so fast, but I remain his common interest. I may not be an expert on attraction, but I know what he feels. I just think I should remain wary. There's something in the way he watches me and measures his words that lead me to believe there's something besides an infatuation. I think he suspects something of me, even if he doesn't know or understand what.

For a moment I was lost in a daze of finite recollection, mentally covering old theories of how to decode the thoughts and actions of others based on body language alone. "Well," Patrice began, "It's interesting and I thought you'd know the answer."

When his reply was relayed so seamlessly, I nodded without revealing a single hitch to my thought process and promptly buried my head in a pillow to my left. "I hate to break it to you," I started, "But I just remembered that I'm going with Blake out to dinner tonight so I was hoping I could take a nap for a few hours beforehand."

Patrice's eyes narrowed briefly. "Just you two? What's going on?"

Haha... Blatant curiosity, nervousness... This kid is really cute.

"Nothing, nothing. He just wants to talk to me about something, apparently. I just hope he's okay."

But in reality the topic of conversation for he and I would not be some personal issue, a personal vendetta or set of basic concerns, but another secret to be revealed. In less than twenty-four hours, the enigma that has been Tera would end under my gaze hellbent on her unraveling.

-

Flashing, swirling, changing lights erupted into my vision. No place was safe; not even the back of my eyelids could contain the sheer noise, the bursting colors overwhelming the senses with harsh lines of crimson and gold. Careful to arm myself with earplugs and a sharp sense of self-awareness, I crept close behind Blake through a bustling crowd too drunk and hyped up to care of even his identity. A sea of Bostonians were left in our wake the further we drifted through the bar.

Farther, farther in an abyss of thought I sank the more my farther carried on. Blake was sure to keep my hand locked against his back until we were safe in the confines of an elevator. The more the cigarette smoke and scent of alcohol cleared from my mind, the more I was able to comprehend my position beside him.

Tera was approaching now, every given passing second moving backward with an ease I could only describe via the turning of my unbalanced stomach. Various thought bubbled and died, but of them, only a few were worth grasping onto and holding. The ear plugs were a smart idea; I can actually hear myself think, drifted in and out of the front of my mind as I regained some sense of true composure.

We drifted upward a few floors before stammering to a halt. My fingers itched against the insides of my pockets as the music continued to pulsate into the open hall, atrium-style building opening up to the dance floor two floors below. On a large upside (large enough to keep me from having another faint episode), the amount of people and disgusting scents had died down to bare minimum and I was free to breathe easy without feeling the weight of claustrophobia on my body.

Remain calm and cool; play no part or facade but your own. The primary goal tonight is to see and read this girl. Examine her, figure out if she has ulterior motives concerning Blake or any other member of the team. Just try to figure her motives out. Obtain that, and you'll have everything you need to rap this bullshit up and slip away without a hitch.

But somehow I knew that the situation was far too deep and complex to be so simple. I was working with secrets, emotions, and the points of view of a large group of people--larger than any group I had ever taken on before. The dimensions to this assignment were nearly incalculably vast and I new that my every step needed to be productive.

In a way, turning down Milan so long ago was part of that plan. Reading him, figuring him out, tugging on his emotional strings... All of it was to size him up, knock him down, and ultimately let him know that I wasn't going to hurt him further, that I was trustworthy. Having Patrice stick up for him, talk to him, was even more beneficial. It brought new light to Patrice that I doubt either had felt in the world of trust since Milan slugged him because of the Tera situation.

If she could cause such a rift between those two, I knew damn well that I had my work set out for me. And as I followed Blake into a nearby lounge-like private room, I realized that the dimensions to this assignment were infinitely vast. My stomach dropped as we turned the corner and the boy moved to shut the door behind me.

Before us stood a youthful face, matured only a few years later than my own. She loomed dangerously beside the bartender and a select few other very important persons with access to the private bar. And the second our eyes locked, my mind exploded and withdrew itself all at once. I had always known that this assignment wasn't as easy as find motive, finish work because the icy eyes I was staring into at that moment were wearing a mask of their own. Blake may have known her for "Tera", but I knew all too well the truth of the ironic matter.

Her name is not Tera.