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You- You’ve never been in a theatre before. At least not in your existing memory.

PERCEPTION (Sight)- The theatre where you and Kim stand is a cheaply done extravagance. Clearly done on the very low budget of an underfunded drama department, the worn red seats are patched with little squares of odd-coloured fabric and the ceiling is polytile painted black to stop it from standing out. The stands themselves are also painted black, but the paint is chipping off, an inroad worn into them down the centre where many audiences have walked through. Someone has painted all of the dark plastic sections of the rows of seats with gold acrylic, an attempt to make the place look fancy that only serves to emphasise the underfunding going on. The walls are papered with a cheap-looking floral wall paper, and, again, someone has gone in with a paint brush and some gold acrylic and added little shining details amongst the flowers. 

It is very much someone’s idea of the aesthetic of wealth. Someone who has never experienced it. Gratuitous gilding and florals. Only the smallest nods to practicality.

You- You refocus. You have a case to concentrate on. It is your first since you returned to the force after Martinaise. You took a two week leave of absence to get your shit together, sift through the crap in your apartment, let your leg heal up a bit. To wait for Kim’s transfer to process so that you wouldn’t have to be partnerless or beg Jean to take you back. 

You’ve been back for a week now, with Kim patient and stoic at your side, and it’s gone surprisingly smoothly. You are relearning the streets, the shortcuts, the crime hotspots. Jean is a grumpy fuck who pokes and prods at you constantly but you’ve been trying your hardest to understand him. He’s hurt and it will take time to heal. You hurt him, badly, even if you don't remember. He’s not a bad guy. And even he can see that you’re doing your job to the best of your ability given your lack of memory. Doing regular patrols, reacquainting yourself with the concept of paperwork. Nor picking fights with perps no matter how much they annoy you. Very deliberately not drinking , although you’ve been sorely tempted. Breaking up fights outside the bars on Boogie Street and taking reports on stolen wallets isn’t exactly your idea of a sexy mysterious case.

But this. This is sexy and mysterious.

KIM KITSURAGI- He clears his throat behind you. You were staring into the glass beaded light fixtures, just a little too long.

You- This is a case.

Jamrock Polytechnic Drama Faculty Building, Theatre- The room you stand in smells achingly familiar, though you cannot remember why.

PERCEPTION (Hearing)- (Easy- Success) Lemon-scented cleaning agent. Popcorn. Burning dust. Sweat. Blood.

You- You are not sure why it is familiar. You don’t think you’ve been anywhere like this before. Although…

DRAMA- We both know you were born for the stage, sire!

You- Perhaps you were. It certainly sounds fun. You try to imagine the room filled up with people, clapping crowds on either side. People acknowledging that you really are a superstar. Taking a bow. You remember how much you enjoyed your moment in the spotlight during karaoke at the Whirling; this performance is dedicated to my partner, Kim Kitsuragi . Yes, you could definitely learn to enjoy this kind of thing. 

You- "Kim?"

KIM KITSURAGI- "Hmm?"

You- "Do you think I'd be a good actor?"

KIM KITSURAGI- He is silent for a moment and you think he isn't going to answer, just brush it off with a quiet let's get back to the case , but when you look around he's tilting his head thoughtfully and looking you up and down like he's imagining it. "Yes," he says eventually. "I think you'd be very good, actually. You're very loud, so you'd be heard all across the room. And you're definitely very expressive." Now that you can move your face again. He thinks for a moment longer, trying to decide how to say the next part. He doesn't want to feed in to your delusions of grandeur, but he doesn't want to feed onto your self hatred either. "You've got something magnetic about you," he says eventually. "I suppose it's the can-opener thing. You draw people in."

You- "I keep telling you, I'm a superstar cop."

KIM KITSURAGI- He sighs, but it is a fond sigh now- not like it was when you first met in Martinaise, the sigh of a frustrated parent at the end of their rope. There is a warm affection in this sigh that triggers a pleasant weight in your chest.

PAIN THRESHOLD- Oh, ow. That hurts, actually.

VOLITION- Careful. You're going to give yourself another heart attack.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- How wonderful, though, to die from compliments. Get me some more of that dopamine, baby. You should compliment him back.

You- "I think you'd be good on the stage too." 

KIM KITSURAGI- Kim snorts and raises an eyebrow at you incredulously, clearly thinking you're joking. 

You- You didn't actually think through your reasoning. He would be good, of course. He's good at everything. But how to finish this thought in a way that he would appreciate?

COMPOSURE- (Hard- Failure) "You have a beautiful voice," you blurt. It sounds insincere, but as you say it you realise that you believe it. 

EMPATHY- The lieutenant looks confused for a second and then his mouth thins. He thinks that you are joking . That you are making fun of him.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Make him believe you. It's the truth, baby! Somewhere in the recesses of your brain you know you'd do anything if it were told to you in that soft slow voice.

You- "No, really! I'd listen to you reading the dictionary just to hear your voice. It's so soothing ."

KIM KITSURAGI- He stares at you. The frown relaxes slowly. Then his mouth jerks at the corner, like he's stifling a laugh. "Well," he says after a moment. "Thank you." 

Jamrock Polytechnic Drama Faculty Building, Theatre- The pair of you stand in the centre aisle, half way down the stairs, between two banks of seating on either side. In front of you the stage rises up about three feet, with a row of small lights lining the edge. This is where the magic happens. This is where the fantasy that they’ve tried to paint into the audience-facing areas ends. The heavy velvet curtains, a deep faded red, sweep in on each side. Like sweeping wings. The stage is not set up. No dressing or backdrop. The back of the stage is an unpainted wall, exposed brick and wiring, with various standees leant up against it. Trees and clocks and various fragments of set discarded. There is a stack of plastic chairs on the left side. The stage is mostly empty other than that. 

Only the network of lighting above, the brick wall behind and the non-slip floor below.

The Leading Lady- And me.

PERCEPTION (Sight)- (Easy- Failure) Oh yes. And her .

The Leading Lady- The body of the lead actress lies on her back, just off from centre stage. A black cross of tape is stuck to the floor at her feet, peeling and scuffed at the edges. She wears a white dress with frothy lace sleeves. Her hair is deep blonde and waist length, strewn about her carelessly. There is a heavy stage light lying on top of her, utterly obscuring her face. Congealed blood pools out from beneath it, black at the edges and scarlet red in the centre. A script lies discarded at her left hand, heavily annotated with arrows and diagrams. A candle stick in her right. The candle lies a few feet away upstage.

KIM KITSURAGI- “Poor girl,” he says. He puts a gloved hand on the edge of the stage and jumps, suddenly and cleanly, and perfectly clears the three feet up onto the stage, landing in a neat crouch and then fluidly standing up again.

You- “Wow, nice jump!”

KIM KITSURAGI- He smooths down his jacket and nods at you in acknowledgement, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He smelt strongly of toothpaste and pine in the Kineema on the way here. Like he’d been in a rush that morning and the smell of his fastidious morning routine hadn’t had a chance to disperse in the cold morning air yet. His boots- polished as usual to an immaculate but not overly eye-catching shine- squeak on the rubbered floor.

PERCEPTION (Sight)- There is a set of stairs on either side of the stage to allow the cast to move through the audience.

EMPATHY- He knows. He just wanted to look cool.

DRAMA- He succeeded. That was so cool. You could be cool too. You should try and copy him, my liege.

VOLITION- It would be cool, but only if you made it. The chances of that are slim. The steps are right there. You were shot in the leg a little under a month ago. It is not a good idea. Please do not try to jump.

You- After a thoughtful pause, you take the stairs. You don't think your knee could survive a fall from that height if it went wrong. You'll jump down though later. That's much less risky.

Now that you are on the stage it is easier to get a good look at the body.

VISUAL CALCULUS- (Legendary- Failure) The light must have fallen from the scaffolding up above. Perhaps a loose screw? 

PERCEPTION (Sight)- (Easy- Success) There is no snap at the locking point where the light grips on to the metal scaffolding. No sign of natural breaking. You don't see a loose screw anywhere.

CONCEPTUALISATION- (Legendary- Success) This does not appear to have been an accident.

VISUAL CALCULUS- The light fell directly downwards onto the top of her skull, crumpling her like a paper cup. Someone must have moved her after her death, straightened the contortions in her body, laid out her arms while they waited for help to come. Help that could never come. The blow killed her almost instantly. Her face is totally obscured by the light- it struck initially at the top of her forehead and then fell forward onto her upturned face when they both hit the ground- and honestly you don't want to know what it looks like underneath there.

INLAND EMPIRE- The leading lady, in her fifth leading role. Five in a row. The director must really like her. She is excited to get back on stage again, loves every minute of it, loves the adulation and the applause. The powdery wet smell of the cheap pancake makeup that flares up her acne and the burn of the stage lights shining full force on her. They never get more audience than their families and occasional friends, and they barely make enough money on it to pay for props and costumes but it’s not that that matters. It’s the joy of it.

She delivers her lines like a goddess giving the gift of her words to a desperate praying crowd.

It’s only community theatre but it matters so much.

CONCEPTUALISATION- (Challenging- Success) She was rehearsing when it happened. She had just hit her mark. Right on cue.

KIM KITSURAGI- He kneels beside you and begins to examine the body himself, gently probing along the side of the neck. “Broken,” he says. “In three places.”

LOGIC- The skin exposed in her hands and neck is pale. No lividity developing yet. 

You- "She’s been dead about sixteen hours, give or take,” you say.

KIM KITSURAGI- “That tracks with the timing of the call.” He takes out his notebook, scribbles a few points with his nice fancy orange ballpoint. "The call was at 1pm yesterday afternoon, just after the incident apparently. It came from a… Christophe Van Arden? The director of their show." He starts to examine the light. 

PERCEPTION- (Medium- success) It is large and barrel shaped, about the size of a plant pot. It is mostly undamaged by its fall, except for the spew of broken glass that comes tumbling out from the front. Shattered on impact with the ground. Beneath the broken glass and metal lies a piece of warm sunshine-yellow clear plastic. The pool of blood has darkened its edges.

You- You pick it up. What's this?

ENCYCLOPEDIA- It is a lighting gel. Used to change the tone of stage lighting, they are commonly sold in sets containing all colours of the rainbow and can be fastened to a light by the clips around the rim. These lighting gels came precut- look at the perfect ages- and are compatible with multiple types of stage lights including the STG-300 LED TheatreGlow that lies on top of (...and inside of) the victim's head. This particular gel was used to create an artificial sunlit glow to spotlight the victim as she recited the final monologue.

CONCEPTUALISATION- (Easy- Success) Like a beam of sunlight as the clouds part. A sign from a long-departed God. The sign of a Chosen One. An Innocence.

PERCEPTION- (Easy- Success) There is a network of little lights wound through a thin channel in the bodice of the dress, the shape of a pair of simplified lungs. Made to glow with love when her gaze falls upon her beloved humanity.

PAIN THRESHOLD- (Legendary- Failure) Your heart hurts when you look at her. The dreams have slowed, the attachment to her fading as the fog of alcohol wrings itself out of your body, but any reminder is enough to trigger a lung-aching doom-spiral all over again. You feel a shooting pain in your right arm.

You- You feel yourself start to sweat. Your forehead is getting unpleasantly damp. You smooth a hand over it, through the greasy strands of your hair. You are beginning to feel a little queasy. You turn, a little desperately, to your source of stability. "Kim?"

KIM KITSURAGI- He looks over at you absently. "Hmm?" His eyes widen. "Detective, are you alright?" He catalogues your miserable expression, then turns to the lung-lights on the body, the sunshine lamp, and the long blonde hair. "Ah." He is silent for a moment, and then you feel a hand against your back. Just resting there, in the dip in the middle of your spine, a cool comforting weight. You lean back against it.

INLAND EMPIRE- This is not just comfort. A chaos of synapses firing across your brain, triggering and twitching. Dopamine flooding. It overwhelms you, this one single point of contact, even between three layers of fabric; your disco shirt, your green jacket, his leather gloves. Your skin feels charged, electric. It blots out every flash of blonde and white. It eradicates Dolores Dei.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- I thought we'd gotten a handle on all of this! We did an eight hour mind project, for fucks sake. You're not gay , Harry, get your shit together. 

KIM KITSURAGI- "Is there anything I can do to help, detective?"

COMPOSURE- (Impossible- Success) You clear your throat. "No, no, thank you. I'm fine."

KIM KITSURAGI- He hums. It is clear that he doesn't believe you, but he doesn't question you.

INLAND EMPIRE- You are being stalked by the malevolent ghost of Dolores Dei and you will be until you die. 

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- But it doesn't matter. The Gloved Hand is still on your back. He has started to make soothing little circles with his thumb.

VOLITION- Keep it together, Harry.

You- "Kim, do you know what play they were putting on?"

KIM KITSURAGI- He looks up at you, his brows furrowing. Concern, buried, just visible in the creases at the corners of his eyes. "No," he says slowly. "It was not in the preliminary case file. I suppose the officer who took the call did not think it important enough to ask." He tilts his head, examining you carefully. Assessing risk.

You- "It looks like she's dressed as Dolores Dei," you say, gesturing to the dress.

KIM KITSURAGI- He nods. "That's not unusual," he says. "I saw a poster outside for l'Apprivoisement du Pâle. Opens next week."

ENCYCLOPEDIA- (Hard- Success) l'Apprivoisement du Pâle is one of the most famous plays of the previous century. Written by an unknown author and performed to great acclaim, it tells the tale of Delores Dei and the initial journeys into the Pale, culminating in a grand speech announcing their success, given in front of her Army of Humanity. It is sickeningly saccharine, with Dei portrayed as a kind and benevolent heroine, with Irene La Navigateur as her adoring protege. The role of Dei was originated by Amelie Dupont, a beloved actress of Revachol's arts district, a natural brunette who dyed her hair and plucked her hairline to create Dei's signature ethereal look. Her portrayal of Dei's optimism and love for humanity brought tears to the eye of every audience member. It was described in reviews as “angelic.” Most children will study the play in school, over and over again, nearly every year in their language class, until they learn to tolerate it. Most adults look at it with a fond nostalgia.

EMPATHY- (Hard- Success) Kim doesn't seem particularly enamoured by the play. He isn't exactly opposed to the young mother of Humanism. She doesn't discomfit him like she does you. But he doesn't seem like the type to enjoy overt sentimentality. He finds the attempt to rewrite history, to make her so tooth-achingly perfect , almost insulting. His lip curls a little when he says the play's name.

RHETORIC- It glosses over the violence and focuses instead on the glittery, the magical, the admittedly beautiful. What is beautiful can never be evil . It is a perfect example of how popular culture devours all sense of nuance.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Thinking about all of this hurts. Fuck Dolores. Why don't we drop the investigation? Ask the lieutenant if he wants to take a drive down Boogie Street with you instead? Really show him how to party. Get him loosened up.

Now that’s an interesting idea.

INLAND EMPIRE- Hair falling in his face. Mouth curved in an unrestrained smile. Laughing without covering his mouth. Smelling of booze and pine. His drink of choice is something smooth and easy. He gets touchy when he drinks. Affectionate. Gloved hands touching your arm, your chest.

You- The image fades, fleeting.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Hold up, wait, let’s dwell some more on that!

VOLITION- Shake it off, soldier. You're not going to start another twenty hour mind project on the lieutenant. That’s definitely… something to come back to. And you’re not a chew toy to be snapped up and thrown off your path by the jaws of an apricot-scented menace either. This is not Dolores Dei. This is- in your opinion at least- a murder victim . Get her justice. Then you can have your meltdown, if you still want it.

AUTHORITY- Do it for justice. For the law.

SHIVERS- For Revachol . 

You- "I don't think this was an accident," you say. “Someone loosened that light on purpose.”

KIM KITSURAGI- Kim’s eyes find yours immediately, brows wearing a permanent line into his forehead. The hand on your back disappears, though there is not time to mourn its loss. Kim pushes his glasses higher up on his nose. "Yes," he says slowly. "It's too perfect to be an accident. And look-" He holds up one of the girl’s hands, and you lean closer beside him to take a look. You take the hand from him, the leather of his glove brushing coolly at your wrist as he lets go. 

You- You hold back a shiver. Your hands are huge in comparison, clumsy and swallowing. You look dumbly at the three hands in front of you; your great bear paws, the lieutenant’s elegant leather gloves, the Leading Lady’s delicate little palms. Her nails are painted with a chipped blue polish. There is an indent on the ring finger of her left hand. 

There is no ring to be seen.

KIM KITSURAGI- “Something is missing here. Someone must have taken it. Or she took it off for some reason.”

You- “Good spot,” you say, and feel Kim’s body tense beside you. He never knows how to handle praise, but it always makes him glow a little. 

PERCEPTION (Sight)- (Legendary- Failure) There’s nothing else to see here. Just a hand.

KIM KITSURAGI- “Maybe it was a romantic conflict?”

You- “Maybe. Maybe the theatre’s haunted by a poltergeist. An anti-humanist poltergeist.”

KIM KITSURAGI- He pretends not to have heard you. “We’ll have to interview her castmates. And the crew. It doesn’t look like it’s a big production, at least, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

EMPATHY- He’s disappointed. He’s thinking about his lunch. He left it at the precinct this morning when you headed out, in his desk drawer, thinking that this wouldn’t take too long at all. Something low fat and responsible with carrots and grains. He was looking forward to it.

LOGIC- And now you’re going to be stuck investigating a murder all day. You definitely won’t make it back for lunch time.

You- "It's OK, Kim. We'll get this done and be back in time for lunch," you lie enthusiastically. You glance at the body, lying there. Kim narrows his eyes at you. "And if we don't then I’ll buy you a kebab or something. There was a place on the way over here. Looked decent.”

KIM KITSURAGI- He looks puzzled for a moment, and then you are treated to a true and genuine Kim Smile™. A quirk of the lips, more so on the left side. You love the way it crinkles the corners of his eyes. You love his smile lines. “It’s always so unnerving when you do that. I feel like you can read my mind.” And I trust you with it , the unspoken part says. “But I appreciate it.” He pats you on the shoulder and stands, wandering into the wings and taking notes on the props table that is stood between the curtains. There is a thick grey door there with a glass window in it, leading out into a corridor. You can see some stairs going upward. Kim tries the handle, and scowls. “Locked,” he says. “We’ll have to go round the back if we can, or get someone to unlock it for us.”

You- You nod. There is still more for you to learn here. You lean over the body and retrieve the discarded script that lies at her left hand.

Battered Script- The script is dog eared, coffee stained. It is stapled three times in the upper corner to keep the pages together. Some words are underlined, others crossed out. Stage directions, cues, sketches and diagrams are scrawled in the margin in a loose looping hand. The paper is warped. Dropped in water at some point.

INLAND EMPIRES- Late nights and early mornings spent learning lines. Coffee rings, some kind of red sauce marks. Hijacking her housemate’s evening plans to get them to run lines with her instead. Why be out dancing on Boogie Street when you could be pacing on the cool kitchen tiles and running the same scene over and over again until the lines are ingrained like drover’s paths through your brain? She read it on the bus. In the middle of her other classes. At work, hidden under the counter so that her manager wouldn't see. Even in the bath, the lukewarm water lapping at the bottom of the paper. Reading until her skin puckered and the water went cold. 

PERCEPTION- The script smells like strawberry body wash and, underlying very very faintly, off milk.

EMPATHY- She is taking it very seriously for a school play.

Jamrock Polytechnic Drama Faculty Building, Theatre- Not a school play, thank you. This is a Polytechnic.

ENCYCLOPEDIA- Jamrock Polytechnic is a failure collapsing slowly in on itself. A heaping pile of concrete slabs masquerading as architecture. A sub-par education masquerading as the equal of Revachol’s multiple high-quality universities. The Polytechnic started life as a STEM college for students who couldn’t afford the foot-long bill that came with attendance to the more lauded universities. It was founded by idealists with a thirst for education, fuelled by a rabid love of learning. It was funded by multiple wealthy donors, who had none of that passion plus a vested interest in improving the education of the common people. Eventually the idealists who ran the school wanted to diversify its offerings, add more arts subjects, and to placate them they were allowed a new drama building and a complex of art studios. It was milked for publicity for several years- Arts Program Launches in Underfunded Neighbourhood! Get Kids Off The Streets and Into Arts Classrooms! Unfortunately, though, there is little profit in nurturing creative spirit. Donations slowly dropped off and the Polytechnic was left a zombie school, dragging itself onwards despite its chewed off legs.

Battered Script- You start to read. The script itself is the syrupy saccharine swill that you were lead to expect, but there is something about it still. Something heart-rendingly hopeful. A glowing little ember. A metaphor, burning white hot amongst the coals.

SHIVERS- DESPITE IT ALL, THIS IS A CITY WORTH SAVING.

VOLITION- You have to shut your eyes at points; it becomes too painful to look at. 

Battered Script- The story of Dolores Dei is interwoven with a sub-story of two of her Therriers, her personal guard following her ascension and crowning as Innocence. They are not real historical figures, but literary devices. They are used to represent the concepts of Duty and Dereliction. They are named as Josephe and Karine; him the stoic and dedicated guard, her the loose-moraled coward luring him away from his True Purpose. There is a love triangle. Josephe and Dolores Dei both tempted to stray from their designated path. Dei, obviously, is infallible. Any temptation slides off her like teflon. Josephe does stray, though, and he is swiftly punished. Karine dies for her crimes- the crime of Doubt- and Josephe nearly lets Dei get assassinated because of it. At the end, he watches her deliver her speech to the Army of Humanism; duty, solid and  unwavering, at her side. Duty and Dereliction run parallel through the whole story.

DRAMA- It… resonates.

RHETORIC- You resent it. This play, it patronises you. It insults your intelligence. It places characters on the stage like pawns in a chess game and has them perform the dance of painfully blatant metaphor. There is no true story. Everyone serves to make Dolores Dei look perfect.

DRAMA- She was perfect. Divinity in inhuman form. And this play is perfect too.

You- You close the script and slip it into your pocket. You will read it fully later, when you get home to your sad cold flat. It will be nice to fill the hours between returning home and sleeping with something useful. The thing about sobriety is that it is supremely boring.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Amen, brother.

You- You point upwards at the scaffolding. It is a small set up, with just one narrow catwalk that runs between the two rows of lights, spaced out evenly. Four lights on one side, three on the other, all different types. Two extra large lights- spotlights- on either end of the front row. The one above the victim is the only one missing. "We need to have a proper look up there. See whether there are any actual signs of sabotage. And we need to speak to-"

Jamrock Polytechnic Drama Building, Theatre- The stage doors swing open suddenly as a tall man barges in with an unprecedented intensity.

Frantic Man in Fancy Shirt- "The theatre is at the moment! No student access! I must ask that- oh." He blinks at you both, eyes flicking between you and Kim and the Leading Lady. He looks tired. Exhausted, even. He is tall and thin, with the look of a man who consumes too many cigarettes and not enough food. You are familiar with that look- you see it in the lieutenant often enough. He carries a thin wooden cane that he wields like a weapon. He wears a flouncy white shirt with an orange-y makeup stain at the neck, with a black waistcoat over the top. His medium length hair is slicked back with something shiny. 

KIM KITSURAGI- Kim stands, drawing his badge from the internal pocket of his jacket. "Apologies for the intrusion- we received your call? I'm Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi from precinct 41 of the RCM and this is Lieutenant Yefreitor Harry Du Bois, also of precinct 41." You wince. You'd been demoted following the chaos of your time in Martinaise, a symbolic consequence for your behaviour. Although that decision makes total sense, it still stings to think about. 

Frantic Man in Fancy Shirt- "Ah. Officers. Sorry, I thought you were students. I've been tearing my hair out trying to keep them out of the theatre all day. People keep asking me what's happened, why rehearsals are cancelled, and I don't know what to tell them." His eyes go all glossy, sparkly. Up close he is much older than he initially looked, with a heavy layer of peachy concealer covering the deep lavender crescent under his eyes. He’s still good looking though. He has the look of a romance novel cover model, what with the long-ish hair and the shirt. He has a nice voice too; he speaks with the tonal richness of someone who is trying to be heard in a crowd. 

DRAMA- A classically trained actor. Born for the stage, sire! Just like you! He is a kindred spirit.

Frantic Man in Fancy Shirt- "I don't know how to tell them there's not going to be a show anymore. Not without their leading lady." His eyes linger sadly on the body on the stage. “What a terrible, terrible accident.”

KIM KITSURAGI- He looks across to you. He is letting you take the lead.

EMPATHY- (Hard- Success) He really trusts you not to fuck this up.

You- You clear your throat. “Uhm. Actually, Mr…?”

Frantic Man in Fancy Shirt- “Van Arden,” he says, shaking off his malaise. “Professor Christophe Van Arden. The director of this little theatre. Head of department, too. She was my student.”

You- “Mr Van Arden.”

VOLITION- Deep breath. Don’t fuck this up. Remember how it went in Martinaise? You can do this.

RHETORIC- (Impossible- Success) You take a deep breath in through your nose. The air smells like old dried blood. All of this is very very real to this poor man. “Mr Van Arden,” you say again. Firmer this time. More confident. A consummate professional. “We have reason to believe that this incident was not actually an accident.”

CHRISTOPHE VAN ARDEN- His eyes go wide. They are big, sad eyes anyway- this only serves to make them bigger and sadder. He wobbles a bit and uses his cane to steady himself.

PERCEPTION- (Easy- Success) He is more reliant on the cane than he would like you to believe.

EMPATHY- He can't be more than 50? He carries himself with the subtle embarrassment of someone who knows they are capable of more, only to be sabotaged by their own bodies. He fights against it daily.

INLAND EMPIRE- A promising career on the stage, cut short by an accident. 

You- You did not think that it was possible for someone to have so much white in their eyes. He sits down suddenly, thudding down onto one of the front row seats. He looks up at you, his face pursed in confusion. “What? No. That’s ridiculous. Why would anyone-”

You- “This is important, Mr Van Arden. Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt-” You don’t know the victim’s name. Fuck. Cover it up. “- the young lady?”

RHETORIC- God, you sound like an old man.

You- I am an old man. Can you shut up?

CHRISTOPHE VAN ARDEN- “Absolutely not. She was a delight to teach. Jessie got on well with everyone.”

DRAMA- (Legendary- Success) He does tell the truth, sire.

KIM KITSURAGI- “Jessie,” he says, marking it down at the head of the field autopsy form. “Could you spell her last name for me, Mr Van Arden? It’s for the record.”

CHRISTOPHE VAN ARDEN- “Please,” he says distractedly. “Call me Chris. Van Arden is far too much of a mouthful.” He’s on autopilot; he says that a lot. He shuts his eyes, blocking out the gory sight in front of him, and his voice grows steadier. “Jessamy Fortier. F-O-R-T-I-E-R. She was in her final year, twenty-one years old. This would have been her final show here. We’re only a week away from the opening night, for god’s sake.”

KIM KITSURAGI- He dutifully writes down the full name on the form and glances at you. Keep going. 

You- “You’re the one who made the call, right?”

CHRISTOPHE VAN ARDEN- “Yes, I did. I had to. I found her.” He shivers. “I was in my office-” he gestures up towards the nest of corridors beyond the back of the stage. “And I heard this huge crash. She’d asked to stay behind after the lesson so that she could practise her lines, so I left the theatre open for her. And like I said, I heard this almighty crash and I came running. She was just… lying there. Dead. Skull completely crushed by the light, as far as I could see. So I went to my office and called the RCM. That was… yesterday afternoon.”

KIM KITSURAGI- The lieutenant raises a perfect eyebrow, a delicate balance of empathy and authority. “We came as soon as we could,” he says with finality, brooking no disagreement.

CHRISTOPHE VAN ARDEN- “Of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

You- “Sorry, and you said that she was completely alone in the theatre?”

CHRISTOPHE VAN ARDEN- “Yes, as far as I know. The door wasn’t locked so I suppose someone could have come in, but there wasn’t any reason to.”

You- “Was she close with any of her other classmates? Any… partners?”

CHRISTOPHE VAN ARDEN- “She was the lead actress- she was friends with everyone. You know, when we were looking at the auditions, I just thought I don’t even need to audition anyone else. She’s perfect. Everyone loves her.” He scrubs a hand over his face. His eyes are red, tired. “Um. I think she was seeing Vitus, you know, our lead actor. He plays Josephe in the… in the show. They were always whispering together.” He starts to well up, and immediately swallows it back down. “And she used to hang out with the makeup course girls too. Maybe Henri from the tech crew. He does the lighting. And Arlene Souza. She’s Jessie’s understudy. They showed up to rehearsals late a few times because they were getting coffee together, especially in the last couple of weeks.”

You- “Have you spoken to them about what’s happened?”

CHRISTOPHE VAN ARDEN- “No.” He sighs. “It’s awful and cowardly. I talk for a living, for Innocence’s sake. I’m a professional speaker. An actor. But for some reason I can’t seem to find the words.”

You- You share a glance with Kim. This is your least favourite part of the job, breaking the news. After Billie Mejean’s husband in Martinaise, Kim had told you that it had pretty much gone as smoothly as possible. That had not been comforting. That absolute mess? That is as good as it gets? You turn your attention back to Van Arden. “It’s understandable. Do you have contact information for them?”

CHRISTOPHE VAN ARDEN- “No, but,” he stops and glances at the watch on his wrist. “They’re usually in the dressing room on their lunch breaks. Vitus and Arlene, I mean, and maybe some of the makeup girls. I don’t really know them. They should be there now. I have no idea what Henri does with his time, but it might be worth coming back here later. I haven’t been able to get hold of him to tell him that rehearsal is off tonight, so he’ll probably show up.”

KIM KITSURAGI- “Can you show us the dressing room?”

CHRISTOPHE VAN ARDEN- He stands up. “Yes, of course.” He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his eyes, his gaze flitting around the room, desperately avoiding landing on the Leading Lady’s crumpled body.

KIM KITSURAGI- He follows, smart black boots squeaking on the rubber floor. “Khm. Would you mind locking the doors behind us and handing the keys over? It’s an active crime scene. We can’t have anyone else having access to it right now.”

CHRISTOPHE VAN ARDEN- He nods, locking the door behind him and handing the ring of keys over to Kim. As he does, his shoulders sag a little.

EMPATHY- (Hard- Success) With relief. He’s shattered by this whole thing. He’s so grateful to hand off responsibility to someone who seems in control.

KIM KITSURAGI- Kim is always in control. Shoulders always squared. The man irons his t-shirts, for god's sake. He carefully and accurately projects the image of a safe pair of hands at all times.

Jamrock Polytechnic Drama Faculty Building- You are led out into a corridor, painted in the same insipid shade of medicinal pink. Cork boards with posters for various clubs line the walls. A few catch your eye. One advertises a communist book club. It reminds you of Steban and his should-be-impossible matchbox sculpture. One for a student night at a local bar stands out to you as well- students get 50% off on their drinks. Three shots for three reàl. Free entry before ten.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Fuck yeah. Is it too late to become a student? Party on a budget, baby!

VOLITION- Hey. We’re not doing this shit anymore. Remember?

CHRISTOPHE VAN ARDEN- He stops in front of a white-painted door. “Here. This is the dressing room. I’ll be in the office upstairs until about 5, so if you have any more questions for me I’ll be there.”

You- “Thanks,” you say. A look flashes across his face that makes you double take, a glimmer of An Expression that is painfully familiar. “Hey, wait. Shouldn’t you head home for the day? It’s a lot, to see someone you know die violently. And even more for them to have been murdered. Maybe you shouldn’t be at work today.”

INLAND EMPIRE- Last night he went home after he called the RCM. An empty flat to return to. A film collection, watched over and over and over again to fill the silence that fills the entire space. Stacks of books, tape reels, radio plays, entire bottles of vodka. Anything to take his mind off it. His office this morning was a welcome relief. The lighting is pleasantly low. It is filled with signs of life, essays to grade, work to do. His window looks out over the quad where students mingle and chat.

EMPATHY- (Easy- Success) It would be good for him to get some rest, but he is scared of the emptiness. He’s scared that if he sits in the quiet, on his own, all he’ll see is the body of the girl he’s taught and worked with for the last three years. The girl he thought was going to take the world by storm. At least if he’s in his office, he can take his mind off it with work. He can people-watch.

You- “Hey. I get it. Sometimes it’s easier to stay busy when you’re dealing with a trauma. But you’ve got to sleep sometime. Take care of yourself.”

CHRISTOPHE VAN ARDEN- All at once he crumbles like a house of cards. His gaunt face, lower lip trembling, is threatening to spring leaks. He nods, unable to say anything in response. You hope that means he’s taken what you said on board.

KIM KITSURAGI- You feel his presence suddenly right at your elbow. “Thank you for your assistance, Professor,” he says. Van Arden nods and turns to leave, but your attention has already been stolen. Kim is a cold presence; he always feels as if he has just come in from the cold outside, and has swept the cool air in with him. “You did well there,” he says to you, soft enough that no one else would be able to hear even though you are alone in the corridor. Soft enough that you have to dip your head a little to catch his words. His voice is low and soft. It sends tingles up your spine, a pleasant prickling at the base of your skull. It makes you smile the biggest smile that you can with your lopsided face. He smiles back too for just a second. Small but perfectly formed. “You don’t think he did it.” It is not a question but a statement.

You- “No. I don’t.”

KIM KITSURAGI- “Is this one of your hunches again?” He says it with 100% seriousness. He wants you to be sure that he is not teasing you.

You- “Yes. The voices told me-”

KIM KITSURAGI- “Right.” He cuts you off before you can say anything too crazy. He is willing to believe you because your hunches have proven themselves trustworthy in the past, but he will not allow you to suck him any further into your crazy.

EMPATHY- (Trivial- Success) He wants to maintain the illusion that he will not be sucked any further into your crazy. Fortunately for you, he is already deeply in there. You’ve sucked him right in.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Did someone say sucked ?

VOLITION- No.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Hmm, no, but I think they did. I wonder if Kim would let you-

VOLITION- No! Stop it! Focus on the case. Shut the door. Barricade it if you have to. Keep a lid on it. Just stop thinking about that.

You- You honestly cannot stop thinking about it. Not now it’s been brought to the forefront of your mind. There is literally no room for anything else.

INLAND EMPIRE- Just a flash of the past. Kim in his room at the Whirling-in-Rags, in his undershirt and pyjama bottoms that just skim the edge of appropriate. There is a wide band of his skin exposed; his lower abdomen and the jut of his hip bones. He is relaxed, shoulders slumped a little, and his hair is mussed up from sleep. He is not wearing his glasses. He hasn’t made his bed. He is stretching in the blue-grey morning light, a hand absently scratching at the trail of hair that runs down his stomach.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- You want to lick it. You have to lick it or you’ll die.

EMPATHY- (Impossible- Failure) He would never let you see him like that.

VOLITION- It doesn’t matter either way. You have a quest to complete. A case to solve. Tasks in your notebook to tick off. Don’t you want to get moving? You love the little burst of dopamine you get every time you tick off one of your tasks.

KIM KITSURAGI- He tilts his head, his eyes searching your face. “You’re doing it right now, aren’t you? You’re talking to them .”

COMPOSURE- (Legendary- Success) “Yes,” you say, and your voice sounds almost ordinary. “They’re having an argument right now.” You say plaintively.

KIM KITSURAGI- He hums quietly to himself, processing. There really is nothing he can say to that. “Let me know if… they say anything useful,” he manages after a moment. He taps on his notes with the end of his pen. 

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- He is standing very close to you . 

KIM KITSURAGI- “Have you named the case yet?”

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- Boring. Staid. So very far from disco. Is this really what does it for you nowadays, Harry?

DRAMA- Kim is not boring, my liege! Look at him! He is beauty incarnate!

PERCEPTION (Sight)- (Easy- Failure) Is he? Sometimes it is hard to tell. There is a brightness to him-

DRAMA- Divine righteousness!

PERCEPTION- -that makes him hard to look at sometimes. Like looking directly into the sun. 

PAIN THRESHOLD- (Easy- Success) You squint reflexively, peering through the brightness. Your eyes strain.

PERCEPTION- He has high, sharp cheekbones. A soft rounded jaw. A sharp jutting nose like a hawk. Teardrop shaped eyes. 

Yes . 

He is beautiful. 

KIM KITSURAGI- He is also waiting for you to reply to him, patiently, his head cocked to one side.

You- “Not yet,” you say. You are taking control of this ship. You are the captain of this goddamn body and you are in control . 

COMPOSURE- (Easy- Failure) You’ve been staring at a fixed point on the lieutenant’s throat for far too long; a point just beneath the black collar of his aerostatic crew jacket. A small cubic inch of perfect unblemished skin. It looks soft . The lieutenant looks like he has a skincare routine.

KIM KITSURAGI- “Khm.” He clears his throat. He’s looking at you in that unnerving searching way that he has sometimes, like he’s trying to peer into your mind. He can’t, though, not like you can.

You- You cover yourself by fumbling with your ledger for a moment. You’re so glad for your massive pockets. They fit the ledger, your tare bag, several hats and assorted evidence easily. You open your ledger, dig out your pen, and start to fill in your terrible no-good notes. They are usually only legible to you. “What about THE SHOW CANNOT GO ON?”

KIM KITSURAGI- “That’s very good,” he inclines his head towards you. “A little morbid,” punctuated with a shrug. “But aren’t we all?”

EMPATHY- (Easy- Success) He likes it.

KIM KITSURAGI- He steps away and raises a hand to rap on the dressing room door. “Ready?”

You- “Absolutely.” You raise your ledger like a shield.

KIM KITSURAGI- He knocks on the yellow wood door. Three loud sharp taps.

Dressing Room- There is movement from within the room. The scrape of a chair moving. A voice, somebody laughing. Then the door swings open.

Red Haired Girl- A girl opens the door. She is young- late teens or early twenties- with bobbed red hair that skims her jawline in a perfect smooth sculpture and heavily lined eyes. She is chewing bubblegum, the scent sweet and artificial in the air around her. She has round smiling cheeks; her face drops when she sees you. “Hello?” She says.

You- You pull out your badge, feeling professional for once. “Lieutenant Yefreitor Harry Du Bois, I’m with the RCM. This is Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi. We’re looking for-” you check your notes briefly. “Vitus and Arlene? Professor Van Arden told us you might be in here.”

Loud Voice- A male voice sounds from within the room. It is plummy and rich, overtly formal, with a hint of uncertainty in it. The voice of someone raised on old milleaus, mimicking the old-timey voices of the stars. “Is that the police , Arl? Is it about the rehearsals?”

KIM KITSURAGI- “In a roundabout way, sir, it is.” He steps forward, and the girl steps back in response, allowing you into the room.

Dressing Room- The dressing room is accurately named; it is full to bursting with costumes and accessories. Along one wall is a row of lightbulb framed mirrors and a low table covered with various makeup items and brushes. Every other wall is stacked with boxes and clothing rails, coats and shirts and cloaks and dresses and gowns. Box after box of sunglasses, gloves, jewellery. You are dazzled by the sheer volume of fake gems on half this stuff. Sat on the table is a long blonde wig on a head-shaped stand. It is gently curled, with softly fanning bangs.

PERCEPTION (Sight)- It is a cheap synthetic wig, but it has been expertly styled to cover that up. Underneath the stage lights it will look a million reàl. Beside it, a crown lies discarded.

Construction Paper Crown- Hey! Hey, psst. Look at me. Look over here!

You- Who, me?

Construction Paper Crown- Who else is there in this bittersweet world, your Majesty?

You- ...why are you calling me your Majesty?

Construction Paper Crown- Because look at you, my King! That bone structure! That kingly brow, that luxuriant hairline! I was made to sit upon your head as you pronounce judgement on the common folk !

You- Well, I do think I would look good in a crown. But is accepting a crown compatible with communism?

RHETORIC- (Easy- Success) No .

Construction Paper Crown- Of course it is, your Majesty! You wear the crown! You make the rules! All will adore you! No one will ever leave you again!

VOLITION- We did kind of think that this would stop happening once you got sober, but apparently not.

DRAMA- I think I am going to get on with this crown !

You- You try your hardest to tune out the running commentary. You want the crown. You really do. You will be a Communist King, a King from Amongst the People. But right now Kim is shifting impatiently next to you.

KIM KITSURAGI- "Detective? Shall we begin?"

Dressing Room- Sat in a circle in the centre of the room are four chairs, two of them occupied by people and the others occupied by stacks of clothing and props. 

Trainee Makeup Artist- One chair is taken by a nervous-looking young woman in a large black coat half off her shoulders. She had her feet up on the fourth chair, and took them down when you came in, like a little kid caught in a candy shop. She has a choppy blonde bob and very smoky eye makeup, and a cigarette forgotten in her left hand. The room smells of smoke. The coat is far too big for her, a men's second hand work jacket, but underneath she wears a black pleather mini skirt and a holster of makeup brushes. Like a bandolier. She watches you doe eyed.

INLAND EMPIRE- She cut her hair herself, in the kitchen, with her mother's nearly blunt kitchen scissors. Hacking away at the split ends, desperate for a new look when she starts her new course.

PERCEPTION- That colour was achieved by leaving an inadvisable amount of bleach on her head for an inadvisable amount of time. There are mousy brown roots just showing through.

Loud Actor- The other chair is taken by the source of the Loud Voice; a young man, still with the scraggly scruffy beard of a teenager. He is a near copy of Van Arden, just younger and less good looking. He clearly idolises the professor- he is wearing a waistcoat . It is an exercise in purposeful dishevelment, a carefully constructed image. Fashionably unfashionable, outdated enough to be retro; so much work to give the vibe that he doesn't care.

PERCEPTION- Even from where you stand across the room you can smell a heavy aftershave. Too heavy for the daytime, in your opinion. Something smoky, musky, with a cloying sweetness in the base note. It fills up the whole room, along with the much less objectionable smell of Astras.

EMPATHY- (Hard- Success) This is a deeply insecure young man.

Sulky Understudy- The sour faced girl who opened the door doesn’t sit back down. She just leans her hip against the corner of the table, her arms folded, and watches you.

PERCEPTION (Sight)- She is wearing a fashionably distressed denim jacket. Deliberately distressed by the manufacturer, rather than naturally distressed from years of use and abuse like your clothes.

PERCEPTION (Smell)- She absolutely reeks of middle class.

Loud Actor- “What’s all this about, officer?” The question is clearly addressed to you, although Kim is the first one who walked into the room. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Kim doesn’t like it when you try to ride to his defence in your lovely shiny armour. 

You- “I’m afraid we’re here with some unfortunate news,” you say instead. You gesture to the red haired girl. “You might want to sit down for this.” She just stares back at you blankly, so you continue. “Your classmate, Jessamy Fortier, was found dead in the theatre yesterday afternoon.” The news drops into the silence of the room with an audible clang , like dropping a penny in a metal bucket. The girl in the oversized coat gasps and then covers her mouth with both hands to stop any more sound escaping. “We have been called in, and are currently working under the theory that this was a murder.”

PERCEPTION (Sight)- (Challenging- Success) The red haired girl- Arlene- glances quickly towards the Loud Actor- presumably Vitus. Just for a second.

KIM KITSURAGI- “I know this is very difficult for you all, and we’d like you to know that we’re here to answer any questions you have at this difficult time,” he says in his perfectly calm voice, like he’s soothing a startled horse. His delivery is exceptional. 

Trainee Makeup Artist- Her face has gone very pale. She is gasping like a land-bound fish and she is going a little bit grey around the gills.

Arlene, the Understudy- She has her eyes closed, as if she’s willing you away. They’ll be gone when I open my eyes again, she repeats to herself.

Vitus, the Loud Actor- “My god,” he says. His plummy voice has slipped a little. Not entirely, but a little. There is a thick undercurrent in his voice, the voice of a kid who grew up in a rough estate and found solace in his grandma’s radio milleaus. Who learnt the scripts by heart and venerated the actors and trained his voice to match theirs. “Jessie? You’re sure?”

RHETORIC- These are working class kids, Harry! They're like you. They're disrupting an arts industry rife with nepotism and exclusionism. He's trying to hide it, but he is common as they come.

SHIVERS- They are the city. The artists, the creators. They create the city into being. 

You- “Yes,” you say. You’re trying really really hard to maintain your veneer of professionalism, so you squish down everything weird you want to say. “I’m afraid so. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

KIM KITSURAGI- He nods at you. Good job.

EMPATHY- This is what you do it for. For the validation. Specifically for Kim’s validation.

KIM KITSURAGI- "We understand that this is very difficult information for you to process, but-" he stops and moulds his face into a sympathetic shape. "We need to ask you some questions."

You- You scan the three of them for their reactions to that statement. Vitus nods earnestly- too earnestly- and swallows the lump in his throat. He is an actor in the most classical sense, from the age before radio plays and video tapes. He’s made for a stage. Every action, no matter how earnest it is, is over-acted. 

KIM KITSURAGI- "Could I get your names, please? For the record?"

Anya, the Trainee Makeup Artist- "Anya Sarkozy, sir." 

Vitus, the Loud Actor- "Vitus Castillion."

Arlene, the Sulky Understudy- "Arlene Souza. Is this really necessary?"

You- "It's important for us to have a full picture of everything that happened yesterday." You cast an eye around the group. "When did you last see Miss Fortier?" You ask the room at large.

Vitus, the Loud Actor- "Uh. Yesterday at rehearsal. We had plans to go to a cafe together, as a group, but she decided she wanted to rehearse longer instead so we went without her."

PERCEPTION- (Medium- Success) Anya's face flickers at that. What's that expression?

EMPATHY- It's sympathy. She feels sorry for him.

You- "So you were all together at a cafe while she was rehearsing?"

Anya, the Trainee Makeup Artist- "We were."

You- “Which cafe?”

Arlene, the Sulky Understudy- “The Penguin Cafe, on campus.”

Anya, the Trainee Makeup Artist- “It’s not far away, like five minutes maybe? So it’s easy for everyone to get to after class.”

Vitus, the Loud Actor- "Everyone from the show, cast and crew, was there. From about twelve until late. We like to do exercises to get everyone thinking more deeply about their roles. Even the background characters. It's pretty exciting, you find so many new ways to flesh out your motivations." His face starts to brighten for a moment before he remembers himself and sobers up.

You- "And no one left at any point?"

Perception- (Easy- Success) These kids are not subtle, not at all. They all share a glance between them, a flutter of panic jumping from person to person like lightning.

You- "No one at all?"

Anya, the Trainee Makeup Artist- "Most of the crew left early, around four-ish. I think most of them had class."

DRAMA- It is the truth, sire, but not the whole truth. The lady doth hold something back.

You- You watch Kim make a note in his little orange book, and turn your focus back to the three kids. Vitus and Anya both shift uncomfortably. Arlene, leaning on the table,  doesn't budge under your gaze. There is something about her, something different about her compared to her friends.

EMPATHY- Despite his irritating demeanour, you have to admit that Vitus has some significant natural charisma. It stops you from wanting to hit him as much as you normally would. Anya seems sweet, in a doe-in-the-headlights kind of way. Agreeable in the most basic sense of the word; she is a yes-man. Arlene is… different. There is a rod of steel in her spine. Something coiled within her; you're not sure what.

You- You make a note of it. You will come back to it, you are sure. More questions- you've been silent too long. “You’re all students here?”

Vitus, the Loud Actor- “Yes, sir. Me and Arlene are doing the drama course. So was Jessie. Anya is doing a makeup short course.”

You- "Hmm. And what was the nature of your relationship with the deceased?"

KIM KITSURAGI- He is so impressed with you right now. Using proper detective-y terms like relationship with the deceased.

INLAND EMPIRE- God, he thinks. You've come so far. Look at you go. Like a kid learning to ride a bike, finally taking off the training wheels.

Anya, the Trainee Makeup Artist- "We were all friends. Me, Arl, her and Vitus."

Vitus, the Loud Actor- He takes a deep breath. Steadying himself. "I suppose I can admit it now. We were more than friends, actually. Me and her, I mean."

Arlene, the Sulky Understudy- Her face pinches into an almost-smile. "No, you weren't. She wasn't interested and you know it."

You- You share a glance with Kim. Well, that is interesting . 

Vitus, the Loud Actor- "She was, actually. She just couldn't show it in front of other people. Our love was a private affair."

Anya, the Trainee Makeup Artist- "I thought she was seeing Henri," she says, very quietly.

Vitus, the Loud Actor- "She was, technically . But he was a brute. He treated her terribly. She was going to leave him to be with me." He holds up a hand dramatically. "Wait just a moment. I have the letters she wrote to me!" He rifles through one of the stacks of costumes, through the pockets of a military-style jacket, and produces a sheaf of several sheets of paper; all covered in a looping handwriting. He hands them over like he's handing you a smoking gun.

The Letters- You don't have time to read them all now but you glance over them. Your steadfast loyalty inspires me. I find myself drawn in irrevocably by your magnetic stoicism. I love everyone, I cannot help it. I am so full of love to give. But you, I think, I love you best of all. You are the most beloved in all of Humanity.

PERCEPTION (Sight)- (Hard- Failure) The handwriting matches the handwriting in the notes of the script. She definitely wrote these letters. But you feel like you're missing something here.

DRAMA- The young lady had an exquisite way with words. She could have written plays herself if she had been that way inclined. You would have watched them and enjoyed them.

PAIN THRESHOLD- And this is what you were trying to drown with booze and pills. This natural well of empathy bored straight through the core of you. It cringes and shrinks up but the pain is coming for you anyway, dark eyed and hungry through your neural pathways. Bitter and sharp. You bite down on your fat slug-like tongue until you taste blood.

CONCEPTUALISATION- She was so full of love. Love and talent and lavender. What happens to all that love when she dies? Does it dissipate into the air? Does it die with her? Is love a transferable form of energy?

VOLITION- You are spiralling now. Snap out of it. Love is not a tangible force.

PAIN THRESHOLD- Love is tangible. Love is a weapon. And oh god it hurts.

You- “Could I keep this?” You hear your own voice saying, as if from the other end of a very long tunnel. “For the investigation?”

Vitus, the Loud Actor- “Sure, I guess. She wrote loads of them.” He has blurred in your vision until all you can see is the vague shape of his head, leant back against his chair. Unrelated, you feel like you are going to-

KIM KITSURAGI- His voice breaks the cycle of panic in your brain. "Do any of you know of any reason why someone would want to hurt Miss Fortier?"

Anya, the Trainee Makeup Artist- "No, none. She was lovely." She sniffles. "I really liked her." A tear breaks the banks and rolls fatly down her powdered cheek.

COMPOSURE- (Legendary- Failure) You're a sympathetic crier. It's a terrible thing to be in your line of work; you encounter crying people on a daily basis. Still, you can feel a threatening pressure in your sinuses, a moist dampness around your tear ducts. Oh god. No. You're going to cry.

VOLITION- Oh, Harry. Please. This is embarrassing.

DRAMA- But Anya just loved her friend so much! It is so moving! Your heart is breaking for her.

PAIN THRESHOLD- Literally. You try to breathe in and your chest contracts.

You- Your face has gone blotchy. Your breathing is going funny.

Anya, the Trainee Makeup Artist- She sniffles again and blinks at you. "Are you alright, Detective?"

COMPOSURE- (Hard- Success) You take a deep breath and nod enthusiastically, ignoring the pain in your chest and your wobbly lower lip. "Yes, thank you, Miss Sarkozy," you say. "It's quite dusty in here. Seasonal allergies."

KIM KITSURAGI- He flashes you a look of concern, then turns his attention back to the kids. "That's all the questions I had for the moment. Lieutenant?"

You- "Actually, yes. I had a couple more." Four pairs of eyes turn to look at you. The lieutenant’s glasses catch a flash from the electric light above. "Where would we find Henri? It seems like it could be worth asking him some questions."

Vitus, the Loud Actor- "Skulking up in the lighting booth, no doubt. He's usually there if he's not in class."

You- "We'll check it out. Thank you."

Construction Paper Crown- Wait! Don't forget about me!

You- "Last thing. Could I have that crown please?"

Anya, the Trainee Makeup Artist- She looks around, confused, before following your gaze to the paper thing on the makeup table. "This stupid thing? Why?" Her face slowly crystallises into a look of understanding. "Ohhh, I see. Do you think it might be evidence?"

You- "I have a hunch," you say, ignoring Kim's piercing glare boring into the back of your skull. She hands the crown to you and you take it happily. "Thank you all. If we have more questions-"

Vitus, the Loud Actor- "We'll be here," Vitus says. "Would you let us know? If you find anything?" He looks very anxious suddenly.

KIM KITSURAGI- "If we can, we will," Kim says, kindly but firmly. “Thank you for your cooperation. Again, we’re very sorry for your loss.” He holds the door open for you, shooting a narrow look at the crown in your hands. “Come on. We’ll check out the lighting booth.”

Construction Paper Crown- As you head out of the Dressing Room, you look down at the prize in your hands. It is not fancy; it is a prop crown, made from thick paper and with thick card strips stuck to the front, fashioned into fancy detailing. Each point has a stuck-on plastic gem. There is glitter.

You- Immediately you put it on your head.

Construction Paper Crown- It feels right. A perfect fit. We belong together, your majesty! It is as I thought. You are a true king.

RHETORIC- A True Communist King.

KIM KITSURAGI- “Did you really have to pick up that thing?” Glitter puffs off it every time you move. You look wonderful. “We are working a murder investigation. ” His voice lowers to a hiss. “This is worse than the ‘Fuck the World’ jacket. This is ostentatious. ”

EMPATHY- (Legendary- Success) This is professionally embarrassing for him. You are at work investigating a murder and you are wearing a sparkling paper crown on your head. He cringes every time he looks at it. Fortunately for you, somewhere buried beneath the cringe, there is a tiny piece of him that feels a vestige of fondness for you and your ridiculous antics. Every time you do something like this, that tiny piece of him glows warmer.

You- “You’ve got to admit, it’s pretty cool.”

KIM KITSURAGI- “No. I don’t.”

INLAND EMPIRE- He thinks it’s pretty cool.

You- You let Kim take the lead for once, following him through the winding corridors of the Polytechnic.

KIM KITSURAGI- “We’ll have to go around the theatre block to get to the lighting booth. It’s one floor up.”

ENCYCLOPEDIA- Although it started life as a science and technology school for undergraduates, postgraduates and mature students wanting short enrichment programs, the offered courses have expanded to include a wide array of diverse subjects, including makeup, literature, art, woodwork and business. The Polytechnic is underfunded and oversubscribed, but despite the lack of resources the students and faculty manage to achieve an extremely impressive pass/fail ratio.

PERCEPTION (Sight)- You pass signs to various different buildings- separate blocks for languages, maths and history. It is snowing outside, snowflakes the size of your thumb. The snow isn’t settling yet. The ground is wet with lying rain water still, but by the time evening comes and the temperature drops even further you reckon the snow will be a few inches thick.

KIM KITSURAGI- Kim’s walking pace is significantly slower than yours, although you cannot tell if that is his natural pace or if he is moving slower out of sympathy for your leg; it has been nearly a month and it should really be on the mend right now, but when the weather gets colder the pain gets worse somehow. A bone-shattering ache. “Nearly there,” the detective says. He leads you up a spiralling staircase. It is nice, following someone for once. Catching your breath instead of charging ahead.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- It is nice following the lieutenant. Especially up the stairs. Look at his-

PAIN THRESHOLD- Your joints ache like a motherfucker. It’s pathetic, Harry. You’re a sad old man who needs to exercise more.

You- You’re back in the theatre building again without even realising it. This place is a maze. It’s horrendous.

ENCYCLOPEDIA- Jamrock Polytechnic was designed and built by a man who usually designed and built prisons. The corridors are narrow and winding in order to prevent inmate revolts. The walls are painted soft pink to encourage calmness. Too much education can be confusing for the brain, it is said. Most commonly by people who have reasons not to encourage an educated populace.

You- How on earth is Kim finding his way so easily?

EMPATHY- Do you really need to ask? He is extremely perceptive, even with his poor vision. He is meticulous. Unlike you, he pays attention to his surroundings. He doesn’t spend his time talking to his own brain.

KIM KITSURAGI- “In here, I think.” He stops in front of an unlabeled door; solid grey, windowless, with a weighty handle. He knocks sharply, three times. One, two, three.

Unlabeled Door- There is no answer from inside.

You- You lean across and try the handle. It opens after a hefty push, creaking miserably.

Lighting Booth- It is pitch dark inside.
HAND/EYE COORDINATION- (Hard- Success) You grope blindly along the inside wall for a moment before you find the switch and flip it up.

Lighting Booth- Inside is a tiny cramped little space; a deck covered in switches and dials, buttons and tiny little bulbs. A soundboard sits on the left hand side. There are two chairs, one regular plastic seat and one plush spinning chair with two pillowed armrests, and on the right wall there is an unstable-looking stack of cardboard boxes. The far wall, where the lighting deck is pushed against, is taken up mostly by a window with a roll-up curtain blocking out the view. You lean over and tug on the beaded string, and with a shucking sound the curtain slides up to reveal a perfect view of the stage from above.

The Leading Lady- I’m still here. Still lying here.

You- From up here looking down, the blood pooled out around her head looks like a stark red halo.

Lighting Booth- There is another copy of the script here on the desk, this one with lighting cues. It is open to the last page; Dolores Dei’s final monologue. The handwriting in the annotations is so dreadful that you cannot read it. Every spare inch of the desk is covered with used coffee cups, some with an inch or so of cold, stagnant coffee left sitting at the bottom. 

Construction Paper Crown- Your Majesty! I see unmistakable signs of a crew member .

You- A crew member?

Construction Paper Crown- An unspeakable creature. Vulgar, filthy. No sense of drama, of stagecraft. They are banishéd to the dark

KIM KITSURAGI- “Hmm. He’s not here.” He glances disapprovingly at the mess. "We'll have to come back later."

You- "We could have a look around now. See if there are any clues left behind?" Kim shrugs. Do what you want. What you want is to crack open some of these cardboard containers. You are being drawn magnetically towards them. You are, generally, a container-motivated life form.

PERCEPTION (Sight)- (Medium- Success) The top box seems to be filled with excess props. The drama department has so much stuff. It is overflowing the confines of its own store rooms. You can see the hilt of a prop sword, some scraps of sparkly fabric, a soft toy rabbit, all protruding from the top box. And what’s that, sticking out from the corner of the second-to-last box? It looks like a flyer, or perhaps a program. It could be relevant. You should grab it. And check the other boxes just in case.

VISUAL CALCULUS- You should take the boxes off the top first. Unstack them. Otherwise they’ll come falling down on top of you.

Construction Paper Crown- Nonsense, my king! Do as thou wilt! Your panache and grace is matched by none. I have no doubt that you will be successful!

HAND/EYE COORDINATION- (Impossible- Failure) You lean forward and grab the edge of the flyer. “Hey, Kim, look at this! I think it’s a-”

KIM KITSURAGI- “Detective, I do not think that’s a good idea-”

HAND/EYE COORDINATION- You utterly fail to dodge as several crates of assorted props, old programmes, textbooks and theatre paraphernalia come crashing down on your head, knocking you flat on your back.

PAIN THRESHOLD- (Hard- Failure) Yeah, no, we’ve got absolutely no sympathy. That was the obvious outcome of what you were trying to do. You hurt, old man, even more than you usually do. Your vision fizzes. There is a dull throbbing at your temple where you were struck with a tumbling candlestick, and when you blink your eyelid feels sluggish and sticky with blood.

You- “Ow.”

PERCEPTION (Sight)- The ceiling is painted black. The lights in this room are all hooded, directing the light downwards, so that the audience can’t see the glow from behind when the stage lights are down. There is a damp patch in the corner of the room.

KIM KITSURAGI- Two black leather boots come into view, stepping neatly around the jumble of theatrical junk that now litters the ground around you. They are very nice boots; the lieutenant takes excellent care of them. He is proud of them, quietly pleased when you compliment them. A gloved hand appears in your view next, small-palmed and elegant-fingered, and you accept it and let the lieutenant haul you up to your feet. There is so much tense strength in him, coiled like a spring. “The outcome of that was extremely predictable,” he tells you with a wry twist of his mouth.

You- “There was a 3% chance of victory,” you tell him matter-of-factly.

KIM KITSURAGI- “And you still thought you’d try,” he says with a little laugh. 

EMPATHY- (Medium- Failure) He’s not laughing at you, exactly. He’s laughing at himself. But why, you aren’t sure.

You- “The crown said that it believed I could do it.”

KIM KITSURAGI- “Khm.” He puts a finger to your forehead. “You’re bleeding. Sit down. I’ll find my field first aid kit.” He begins to search through his many pockets.

You- You blink, a little dazed, and obediently follow your orders. You sink into the plastic chair, leaving the comfortable one for Kim, and look down at your prize, clutched in your hand; a programme from a previous production. It looks like a musical, some flashy thing with campy songs and dancing. Not quite disco, but maybe fun if you’re into that kind of thing. There is a cast photo on the cover. Front and centre you see Vitus and a girl that you can only assume is Jessamy stood together, the two leads. “Is it normal for community theatre productions to have the same leads year after year?” You ask, although Kim seems as out of his depth here as you feel. You move a couple of the used cups out of the way and place the programme down on the table alongside Jessamy’s copy of the script. Your limited pieces of evidence.

KIM KITSURAGI- “I think it is,” he says. He has produced a small green fabric envelope from his jacket, and from within the envelope he has found some plasters and antiseptic. “Seems like it could lead to some resentment from the rest of the cast.” He ignores the spinny chair, settling instead on standing uncomfortably close to you, so that your knees knock together.

PERCEPTION- He smells of pine and motor oil. And Astras, very faintly.

You- “But that seems a tenuous motive for murder.”

Kim Kitsuragi- “A sequence killer, maybe? A totally unrelated random act of violence?”

INLAND EMPIRE- No. There is more to it than that.

You- “No. There is more to it than that.”

Kim Kitsuragi- He hums quietly and lays out the first aid kit on the desk. “I got that vibe too,” he says thoughtfully, dousing a cotton wool ball in some minty-smelling antiseptic solution. 

You- “The killer was familiar with the theatre, but more than that, they were familiar with the play. Did you notice the duct tape on the stage? It was a mark for her- to let her know where she needs to stand for the spotlight to hit her at the correct point of her speech. It put her in exactly the right spot for the spotlight to strike her. That means that not only did the killer need to have access, but they also needed to know the play well enough to know her lines. To know exactly when she’d be standing there for the light to drop.”

KIM KITSURAGI- He nods in agreement. “That makes sense.” He leans across and takes your chin in his gloved hand, his elegant leather-clad fingers tilting your chin back so that the antiseptic doesn’t drip into your eyes. He is haloed by the bright white electric light behind his head. He’s frowning in concentration, a little dip between his eyebrows like somebody has pressed their finger into his forehead and left a neat little furrow behind. Super ultra mega focused. His fingers are strong and cool against your jaw. He smells like winter air, crisp and clean. “Stay still,” he says.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Wow.

You- Your mind is immediately wiped clean of case-related thoughts.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- You deserve a treat, Harry. You’ve been so good. You’ve been so good for him. So professional. This is going to sting. Why are you so excited?

KIM KITSURAGI- He brings the cotton ball up to your little forehead wound. Doesn’t quite touch it to your skin yet. You tense in anticipation but it doesn’t come.

PERCEPTION (Sight)- He’s gauging your reaction. To what, you aren’t sure. But he’s staring at you, searchingly. And whatever it is that he wants, he seems to have found it.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- You should kiss him.

VOLITION- (Hard- Success) You should absolutely not do that. You are on the clock. He is working. And you are bleeding.

DRAMA- It would be very romantic. Stealing a kiss as he tends your wounds.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- Woah, woah, woah, where the fuck is all this coming from?

DRAMA- From your heart , Harry.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Definitely from your dick. Come on. You’ve always been intensely attracted to people willing to hurt you.

EMPATHY- (Medium- Success) The lieutenant would die for you a thousand times over. He would also let you suffer a thousand small pains if it was what you needed.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- See? That’s hot.

EMPATHY- (Medium- Failure) Again, just to reiterate- he’s not interested in you in that way. This man is your rock. You love breaking things but do you really want to break that?

Construction Paper Crown- You are a thing of beauty, my lord. A true Superstar. He’s lucky you’re even letting him touch you- hey! Put me back!

You- You reach up and quickly remove the paper crown. Its sycophantic rambling is giving you a headache, and you want to focus on Kim right now. Plus he needs forehead access.

Kim Kitsuragi- He leans over you, crowding into your space. The whole world zooms in. Your field of focus narrows. All you see is him, the lights reflected in his glasses and the look of concentration on his face. He presses the little cotton ball to the cut on your forehead.

COMPOSURE- (Legendary- Failure) That hurts. That really hurts.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Somehow, you do not want it to stop.

You- “Ow!” Your voice is several octaves higher than you mean it to be, and it splits in the middle.

EMPATHY- (Medium- Failure) He didn’t actually mean to hurt you. And he definitely didn’t mean to do it in a sexy way. He would find your reaction… bizarre, if he knew.

Kim Kitsuragi- “I’m sorry,” he says. He does not sound sorry. The corner of his mouth is twitching, threatening a smirk.

EMPATHY- This is revenge for the crown. You’ve been needling him on purpose. Let him have his fun while there’s no witnesses.

You- You widen your eyes at him. “You’re torturing me. An innocent civilian.”

Kim Kitsuragi- “Don’t be a baby.” He douses the swab again and attacks your wound with renewed vigour. 

EMPATHY- (Easy- Success) He is enjoying this. He likes taking care of people. He likes being needed. And he especially likes being in charge of you.

Kim Kitsuragi- His fingers have not lost their grip on your jaw despite your wincing. He does not allow you to squirm away, and honestly your resistance is only token anyway. You trust him implicitly . 

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- There are very few things that you wouldn’t let him do to you at this point.

EMPATHY- (Legendary- Failure) It’s a shame, then, that he’d never be interested.

PERCEPTION- (Easy- Success) After a moment, you can feel his cool fingers start to warm up, the heat of your flushed cheeks burning through the cool leather of his gloves. 

ENDURANCE- You have a resting body temperature like a furnace. It's the repression. It generates so much excess thermal energy. That and the sobriety. The first two weeks you experienced the most brutal night sweats. You did unfathomable amounts of laundry. 

You- It is hard for you to think about laundry with Kim’s hand on your face. The leather is smooth and clean, just a little bit of delicious drag when his fingers skim a little over your chin.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- (Easy- Success) He is... lingering. Why? You're not sure. But he is touching you, has been touching you, purposefully. Gently manoeuvring you in a way that leaves no space for disobedience. 

KIM KITSURAGI- He is searching your face still. His glasses magnify his eyes, make his pupils look massive, like black holes in his head. He is looking for something. But what?

EMPATHY- (Easy- Failure) Ah. Sorry, Harry. We’ve got nothing.

COMPOSURE- (Easy- Failure) You can’t help but lean slightly into his hand. You half-expect him to pull away, but he doesn’t. Just grips your face a little tighter. “Thank you,” you say, very quietly.

KIM KITSURAGI- He doesn’t know what to say to that. He presses his fingers against your jaw gently, turning your head this way and that to get a good look at you. He swipes a smear of dried blood off of your left cheekbone with the swab. “There,” he says. “All clean.” He withdraws his hand from your cheek.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- Aw. Make him put it back.

PERCEPTION- (Hard- Failure) His voice is completely normal.

Kim Kitsuragi- He drops the bloody cotton into the bin beneath the desk and picks up a plaster. “That’s going to bruise,” he says, gesturing to your forehead. “Maybe next time you’ll listen to me.” Peels it open. His hands are so neat, so elegant. He is wearing his driving gloves, the deep reddish-brown ones with the cut-outs in the back. You can see his finger bones flexing.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- It’s such a tease. You need an excuse to look at his bare hands. You’ll die if you don’t at least get to see his hands naked.

VOLITION- Now you’re just being weird.

You- You are staring. Your mouth is slightly agape. Why are his hands so… fascinating?

Kim Kitsuragi- “Khm.” He clears his throat and looks at you, a single eyebrow raised. The tips of his ears are pink. He opens his mouth like he's about to say something... and then the moment passes. He is waiting for you to speak instead. When you fail to formulate a response he quickly smooths the sticky plaster onto your forehead- precise, neat, perfunctory- and busies himself looking over his notes with a sigh. All of your evidence lies out on the table in front of him. He thumbs over the programme photo, the script. “We have nothing here. We have no proof even, really, that it was a murder.”

You- You clear your throat and squeeze your eyes shut. With an indelicate finger you probe at the plaster, wincing as your fingers find the space that is definitely going to be bruised by tomorrow. “There was no sign of a breakage in the scaffolding. The light had to have been detached manually. Someone deliberately unscrewed it and pocketed the screw too. That’s proof.”

KIM KITSURAGI- “It’s weak, especially with no one with any apparent motive.”

You- “There’s clearly something going on between Vitus and this Henri kid. Some kind of love triangle.” You dig the letter out of your pocket. “The letters from Jessamy to Vitus. I love everyone, I cannot help it. I am so full of love to give. But you, I think, I love you best of all. But Anya thought that Jessamy was seeing Henri. So there’s jealousy there. A crime of passion? Either of them would know enough about the play to know the exact moment to drop the light. Maybe Henri found out about her relationship with Vitus and killed her out of jealousy?”

KIM KITSURAGI- He hums. “Does this seem like a crime of passion to you?” He asks thoughtfully.

You- “Well. No, I suppose not. A crime of passion would be more personal. This was… detached. Distant. Extremely violent but at the same time the killer never had to get their hands dirty.” You pass him the letter to read.

KIM KITSURAGI- He takes it and holds it painfully close to his face. His vision is terrible, though he would never let anyone else see him like this but you. He smooths the corners of the pages. “Theatre kids,” he says quietly. "So fucking dramatic."

You- You- also fucking dramatic- put your crown back on. 

Construction Paper Crown- It nestles smugly on top of your luxuriant hair. Right above your war wound. You are a dutiful officer, regal, elegant, injured in the line of duty. You are an ancient king. A superstar.

CONCEPTUALISATION- Maybe when the case is over you should try auditioning!

You- "Maybe I was a theatre kid, before the-" You tap the side of your head to demonstrate your memory loss. "I should audition. I'm already a superstar. I was born for the stage."

PERCEPTION- (Hard- Success) Kim stifles an audible sigh and tries to pretend he was just clearing his throat again.

AUTHORITY- The crown suits you. It was made for you. You would command the entire stage if you chose to step onto it. Kim is just jealous.

Construction Paper Crown- We're a perfect fit, your majesty! A superstar needs a crown !

You- Yes. The crown stays on. 

KIM KITSURAGI- “Let’s make a deal,” he says, pointedly not looking at the offending garment. “You can keep the crown on for now and I won’t complain about it. In return, you take it off when we interview witnesses or go in the room with the body.”

You- “Fine,” you say.

KIM KITSURAGI- “It’s not like- what did you say?”

You- “Fine. That’s fine.” Kim gives you a long and weary stare, that suspicious kind of glare that says I know you’re planning something, and sinks down into the more comfortable chair. Now that he is no longer holding your face, you process proper thought again. You narrow your eyes at the pile of evidence that you've dumped out on the desk.

KIM KITSURAGI- "There's so many pages of it," he says dolefully. 

You- "It's getting late," you says, gesturing at the clock hung on the wall in-between old posters for past shows. "And we haven't had lunch yet. We could get some food and go through some of these?"

KIM KITSURAGI-  "We really should focus on the case," he says. "But it is important to maintain proper nutrition." Good. You've got him. "I think I saw a takeaway place on the corner before we came in."

INLAND EMPIRE- An elderly woman, sleeves rolled up to her elbows and hair in a colourful scarf wrap, flips delicious smelling spices and bubbling-hot oil in a wok about twice her size with ease. She adds noodles, tofu, some chopped green stuff and a dash of sweet red liquid that darkens as it hits the oil to a reddish brown. Her eyes water from the sheer heat density in the air, but she is grinning and humming a rowdy tune to the thunk of the wok against the hob.

You- "That sounds excellent. I have a feeling that the place is going to be good." You stand up, jamming your hands in your pockets to check for your wallet. "I'll buy," you say when your fingertips touch the leather pouch. You were so excited when you found your wallet again, somewhere in the pile of garbage that was your apartment. You may not be keen on money as a concept, but you're very keen on the idea of buying things for Kim. Food. Clothes. Trinkets. Coffees every morning. Board games for the two of you to play together. You have to fight the urge to find little gifts for him every day- you are addicted to the way he swallows down his excitement, smooths out his features like a fresh bed sheet and gives you the perfect microdose of his small smile. Thank you, Detective. He is so cool.

CONCEPTUALISATION- You are a magpie, bringing your human new shinies. Kim is your human.

KIM KITSURAGI- He raises an eyebrow. "I can get it," he says. “I owe you for all those coffees.”

You- “No need, really,” you say, but you’re smiling as you gather your evidence back into your ledger. “God, I’m hungry.”

KIM KITSURAGI- He helps, handing you the script. Your fingers touch so briefly and your lungs try to claw their way out of your throat. "We will crack this," he says with renewed determination. The promise of food has revived his enthusiasm.

You- "Yes," you say. Despite your self doubt, you have one hundred percent confidence in this. You follow Kim Kitsuragi through the door to the lighting booth and let it swing shut behind you. "We will."