Hunted|Haunted - Chapter 3 - Empathetic interrogation

— What. Are. You.
— My guess is as good as yours.

She stabbed another nail right next to his button eye.

Imeje was a strong, stout woman. Probably the only one of all Grobars who dressed in the funeral attire daily. Even at this hour, she looked like a gothic church in the last rays of the setting sun. Her hair was short and straight, save for a small part to the left of her fringe, that persistently curled, just like her tail.

— My patience is thin, puppet boy. Don't run it. What are you? Demon? Tulpa? Some sort of minor deity?
— I am dead. I don't know any more than that. I used the mask before succumbing to blood loss, and now I am this. At least, I think it was blood loss. I don't remember much from the weeks before my death.
— Well, isn't that convenient?

Neven passed interrogation training once every two years, each time with flying colours. Yet, the pain chamber, the nightmare serum, and even the illusion of immortality combined didn't stand close to the sheer fear this woman made him feel with just a stare and a couple of stern words.

He started to talk, and the truth just spilt out. Be it another interrogation training, he'd already be beheaded. Not that the presence of a head on his shoulders matters much any more.

— I was dead for 4 years, then Toma wore the mask a couple of months ago, and now I'm here. Trust me, I'd leave if I could, but there's a limit on how far I can be from Toma.
— What is your name?
— Neven Lowac.
— Prove it. Tell me something only Neven would know.
— The recoil on my gun is-
— Something I also would know, dumbass.

What would that even be...? Neven didn't know much outside weapons and murder, and anything Imeje knows about that is sure to be common knowledge. What she would also know...?

— If you show Krsto a tiny snail, he will stare at it until interacted with. Also, if you leave him alone in the field, he'll start eating random weeds after a while. He has a scar on the tip of his tail where I bit him when we were kids. I had a matching one just above my elbow.
— Okay, convincing enough. Now, what's your business with my son?
— I'm trying to keep him out of trouble.
— You? Really?

Right after fear came unbearable shame. He might as well be facing divine judgement. “You? Really?”

You? Really? Who has never failed to end up in trouble yourself? Who would take beating after beating, making the same mistakes over and over again? For whom did Valeryagn have to lie and be beaten so you could heal from the last time? You? Really?
She sighs, and her mocking expression drops. She looks... so tired.

— Look, I know you've been teaching him magic the order way. The only people I've known to do firecrackers with a closed hand were ordeneers. I want you to listen closely. I do not want Toma to be near anything order. Especially not around one of its most devout believers.

She took a nephrite dagger out of the junk drawer. Curious. Usually, those are made of selenite.

— I understand.
— Any last words before I take on dispelling you?
— What happened to Krsto?
— Why do you care? Mad you didn't get to kill him yourself?
— Is he... really dead...? Did he at least kill Miloš?
— He did.
— Oh, thank Ermaerra.
— Well, that's new.
— I know. Mask also got the brainwash wiped. At least I've got to come to my senses in death, heh. And... the more I teach Toma tricks, the more I understand how easy it was not to do to me what Miloš did. So... I'm glad no more children will... You know.

Her attitude changed.

— So, do you still believe in order?
— Not really, no. I mean... I do want to protect and be useful and all that, but the rest makes less sense the more I think about it. If I could do it all again, I... I'm sorry. For everything. For the endless chase, for the wounds. Please, make my death quick.

She stabbed the dagger into the chopping board, right between his ears.

— Tell me more.

So he did. What he remembered of his death, what he thought of father now. Eventually, Imeje decided to free him and put him in the high chair by the dining table. She made herself a cup of tea, putting a symbolic cup within Neven's reach.

— Why'd you decide to teach Toma tricks?
— My gun is bloodbound and worth a soul. Since he pretty much shares half of my blood, he could summon it, and then we should be able to bring Yannie back.
— It takes more than just a soul.
— I know. I also know where Aano Liokk hid her research. She regrew my limbs and internal organs many times. If Lara were to acquire it, I think she could, too.
— ... But why?
— I may not know how it is to lose a child, but I do know how it is to lose a brother.

Her eyes were watery, but the tone remained stern.

— I'll let you live. You may teach Toma and keep him out of trouble. You may not parent him. I don't care if order ways are out of your head, you were not parented well. I know, because Krsto wasn't. Stay out of it. Also, no stories about your order days, no mention of Krsto, Miloš, or your other siblings. Got it?
— Yes, ma'am
— Now, about your healing thing. You only do it sometimes. Why?
— I don't have much magic. I still can't move after today's spell. I think it'll take me a couple of weeks before I can heal again.
— I'll put some metal in the doll, so it hopefully absorbs more magic. I'll give you an “allowance” too, so you can at least ask for help if necessary.
— Thank you, but you really shouldn't-
— Oh, shut the fuck up. If I'm having you as Toma's nanny, I better make sure you're well-armed. Not a moment of peace with that one.

Imeje started to have talks with Neven at night. About anything, really. Neven needed to talk to an adult every once in a while, and Imeje needed a break from family. Mutual benefit all around. Sometimes they barely talked at all, Imeje smoking weed and Neven reading things Toma really shouldn't know about for another 20 years. Nana Grobar turned out to have a rather explicit book collection, including but not limited to extremely detailed medical guides, rather visceral descriptions of vivisections of various creatures, and homosexual romance so lewd he daredn't read more than a couple pages in. Coward.

— Mind if I ask you
— Hm?
— Why can't I mention Krsto?
— He left us.
— So he is alive?
— Look, I don't know. He was the last time I saw him.

She took a long draw of the cigarette.

— We had a fight when he went to kill Miloš. Then he disappeared for a month, came back one night, packed a bag, said “he couldn't be with us” or something like that, and left without another word. Never even said goodbye to Toma. That's it. No letters, no calls, no explanation. Just a hundred years down the drain. And what do you think? The purple bastard disappeared with him.
— The demon?
— Yes. As soon as Krsto was out the door, he stopped answering my calls. I sacrificed a whole horse. A HORSE! Only to be met with black smoke and nothing else. Couldn't even bother to send one of his crossroaders to me. Do you have any idea how much a horse costs, even if it's headed for the glue factory?... What's worse, I'm still marked as “his”, so no other demon wants anything to do with me either.
— I'm sorry
— Don't be. What could you do, not be as dead?... He just disappeared from the face of Earth. Harvey couldn't track him. Gira and Talib couldn't hunt him down. Udbaj couldn't find him. For all I know, he's not in this dimension any more... I don't want Toma to have a false hope that his father will come back. Because he won't. So, that's why we don't mention him.
...
— Hey, um… I'm not savvy in the ways of showing empathy, but I want you to know. I've also lost someone I love. I know how you feel, at least partially. If there's anything I can do or say to help, I'd be happy to do so.
...
— What was their name?
— Valeryagn. Used to be in my sedecim.
— Tragač, right? Harvey's older brother?
— Yes.
— What happened?
— We couldn't get the possession out, and I had to follow the protocol. Put a bullet straight through his heart. Still can't face it.
— Want to go to his grave?
— He's here?
— Along with the other unstable dead.
— I- I couldn't even make myself attend the burial...
— There wasn't one. Miloš never told the Tragač what happened to him.
— Well, that explains why I never got another tracker after that.
— So, do you want to go?
— Yes, please.
— You're kind of... soggy
— Sorry.

She continued to smoke by the side of the gravestone.

— What was he like?
— Calming. Like the first ray of sunshine in the morning. And... Light-hearted, I guess. Made fun of everything, even Miloš... There was never an end of the world, never a loss so great we couldn't try again tomorrow. I don't think I ever met anyone else to whom “nothing really matters” was a hopeful statement. But... I guess most Tragač are like that. After all, nothing is forever lost to them.
— So, why was he special?
— He didn't see me as a gun.