“I wanted it to be her, though, you know? Before I knew it was Kelsey who got hurt, when I was wandering around, quizzing people, I wanted it to be her. So bad. You know, I think I knew it was her. I’ll tell you how it went.”
“You already told us,” Di said, pityingly. Like Beddy had Alzheimer’s, too.
“No. I mean that this is how it went.” She ticked off on her fingers. “I wanted it to happen. I knew it would happen. And then it happened.” She looks at Di, then Connie. “So I caused it, you see? But that’s crazy, right?”
Connie blows a strand of hair away from her forehead impatiently.
“Bed, you are capable of amazing things. Your cooking is goddamn divine, your frittatas, chicken scampi? Both serious panty droppers. You’re an expert on human sensitivity. But you’re not psychic. You didn’t see the future. And you can’t control it. You didn’t reach out with your beautiful brain and create shit. Influence events. I’m sorry. Not fucking possible.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Fuck yes. Positive.”
“I don’t know,” Di said.
“Di.”
“What? I don’t know. I mean, you shouldn’t blame yourself,” Di says.
“It’d be weird if you blamed yourself,” Connie says. “Really weird.”
“I don’t know, because the mind is capable of creating, well, anything. Sickness. Health. Dreamscapes. Death. So who’s to say, really?”
“Me. I’m to say.”
“When my dad has a tough day with patients, he’ll put his palms on the table and stare at his dinner, and say, ‘I don’t know why I’m even doing this. The human mind is unknowable, and I shouldn’t be making money helping people pretend otherwise.’”
“Your dad isn’t talking about telekinesis,” Connie says.
“He was talking about the unknowable. The unknowable includes…everything.”
They pass a few awkward moments in silence. What finally breaks it is Di fidgeting with the sleeves of her collared cargo shirt.
“What’s the matter?” Connie asks Di.
“Oh, this shirt. Polyester’s like plastic. It doesn’t breathe.” Di says.
Beddy is behind Duffy. He’s alone in the C Building men’s room, and when he steps in front of the urinal she comes up behind him and slips a gallon plastic freezer bag over his head. He writhes immediately and reaches for her hands, but she overpowers him, pulls him to his knees. She pins his left leg by standing on it. He kicks out with his right, but this throws him off balance, and he topples to the left. She’s above him now, looking down at his close-cropped receding hair, that dangling widow’s peak, the bridge of his nose through the bag. The plastic contracts and expands repeatedly around his mouth. But he’s breathing too fast, he’s steaming up the bag, so she can’t really tell who it is anymore. It was Duffy, but now it could be Todd, or Kelsey, or Miss Macht. This effect is ruining it for her. It was so specific before. Duffy/Todd/Kelsey/Miss Macht thrashes more exhaustedly against her, arms flailing about. She feels his/his/her/her body leaning into her strength. The bag sucks indolently into their mouth.
“Beddy?” Connie sounds like she’s a block away. “Beddy. Let’s get back to the matter at hand. What do you want to do to him? Fuckface?”
Beddy gasps. Sucks in air. “I don’t know,” she says. “Nothing…violent.”
Connie stares at Beddy for a long time. A faint smile curls her lips.