#lizstanton

Sarahmaintains very regular schedules. It’s essential to appearing that one belongs.Her daily schedule does not deviate. Her nightly schedule, however, she triesto keep very open. The eleven hours between her 10pm bedtime and her 7am officeshift… lots of time. And weekends! She loves weekends. Lots of time to visitpet stores and public parks. Lots of time to go to bars and concerts. Lots oftime to meet local artisans and chefs. Lots of time to map out the routine ofan unemployed atypical who regularly torments a variety of locals.

“Somehow,”she sighs, “It doesn’t surprise me you like peppermint mochas at night.”

Thehalf-conscious man in her backseat just groans and tries, sluggishly, to pawthe duct tape off his mouth. She checks her rearview mirror. He’s havingtrouble processing that there’s tape around his wrists too. She’d guess she hasanother hour before the sedative stops interfering with his higher functions.

“Sweetie,”she says, “you really need to change up your routine. It’s so easy to get holdof someone’s Starbucks order when they go to the same 24-hour cafe to stealdrinks at 3 AM”

“Mmm!” Damiensays though the duct tape.

“You shouldhave been nicer to Joan. If you had, I might have thought you were just anothertelepath.”

Damien canbarely sit upright, much less understand the details of his abduction, but she’sbored.

“Don’t worry.The people I work for are infinitely preferable to the likes of the AM. Onceyou’re with them, they’ll figure out what to do with you.” Sarah checks herphone. Bad habit, driving and texting. “Okay. Looks like they’re just waitingon us. Punctuality, Damien. It’s key. You should have put more appointments onthe calendar. Someone might miss you then.” She snorts. “Not that Joan willmiss you.”

She pullsover behind the warehouse loading zone, between self-storage and the docks. Sheparks in the pitch-black lot, climbs out, and opens the passenger-side door. Damien briefly flails ather but she just grabs his elbow and uses it to toss him over her shoulder, standup, and walk toward the docks. He’s not light-weight exactly, but he’s not abig person. It’s the dead-weight slack that’s hard to carry. Sarah has to stopand re-adjust a few times before making it down the dock to the waiting yacht.

There’s atelepath in a long coat waiting there. His cigarette glows orange and in her mind he says, Thatthe one?  He asks in Russian.

Sarah,out load says, “No, Benjamin, I thought I would just bring a friend.” She dropsDamien on the dock like a potato sack between them. “You have everything?”

Of course.

“Be careful.I would just knock him out if I were you. He can’t compel you if he’sunconscious.”

He cannot compel the likes of me atall, if I understood your report.

“No, but noteveryone is a telepath. Wouldn’t do to have him weaponize your own peopleagainst you.”

Very well.

Sarah bendsdown to peer at the man on lying on the dock. “Goodbye, Damien. I know youthink life has been hard up until now. I can assure you, that is a matter ofperspective. I think you will get some very soon.” She straightens up. “Takecare, Benjamin.”

Benjamintips his cap, bends down, and grabs Damien by the collar. He drags Damien up the loading ramp to the yacht, cigarette still smoking at his lips. He ignores the drunk, uncoordinated struggles. The muffled yells. Sarah’s checking her phone. It’s good she has weekends off.These late Fridays would be killer with a weekend schedule, but Joan’s always been very reasonable about letting Sarah keep her weekends.