Tevun-Krus #122 - Synchronicity

Altered Reality- a short story by @RJGlynn

Altered Reality

By RJGlynn

She'd wished Jordy Zimms dead. And now, he was.

Izzy stared at the policeman sitting across from her at her kitchen table, his beige uniform camouflage in her dome's utilitarian décor. She hadn't been on-planet long enough to make the pop-up residence her own—fun and colourful, like the orange pyjamas she wore. Their gorgeous paisley, so vibrant against her dark skin, usually beautified her mundane world, but just twenty minutes in, her morning had got ugly.

Severed-head-in-a-paddock ugly.

Hands quivering on her polka-dotted breakfast mug, she recalled the awful breaking news that'd reeled across her datapad over her first cup of tea—then the knock on her door that'd followed. Her stomach lurched, but as a mirror empath, she didn't mistake the unease as hers alone.

Much of it belonged to the thin-lipped officer across from her.

His flint eyes didn't show it as he looked up from his handheld documenter. "Ms Lito—"

"Izzy, please." Her smile felt faintly desperate. "No need to be formal. We're all friends here." Weren't they? The horticultural colony on Gaia was known for its spirituality and warm hospitality, not just its fruit and grain fields. "It's Roy, isn't it? We chatted at last week's Greeting Festival for newbies like me. You said you liked Terran-style, real-hop beer, not the synthesised sort—"and who doesn't?"

"It's Inspector Gabrielli," the officer corrected her. "This is an official interview, so I'll insist—"

"We stick to formalities," she agreed in a rush—cursed herself for interrupting again. "Yes, always best to be professional." She wanted to be, but the man and his unsmiling partner at her dome's door were fuelling jumping nerves. By the stars, she was actually scared. For the first time since arriving eight days ago, she was frightened for her safety.

And wasn't that a lie.

Her gut rolled. When she'd first stepped off the inter-colony shuttle onto Gaia's rich soil, hadn't she felt a darkness behind the smiles of the welcoming crowd? Gazes had held a little too long—watchful and ready to judge. Hugs had come readily, but without real warmth. As she'd accepted invitations to get-to-know-you drinks, she'd been struck by an uncharitable thought: that her new, laughing friends only cared about being seen as welcoming, leaving the truth of the sentiment unripe on the vine.

And then there'd been Jordy Zimms, the colony mayor's smirking, jet-bike-riding son, returned from off-world business. She hadn't wished he'd drive right off a cliff because he inspired 'pleasant' feelings.

And now, that bike and its rider lay in pieces. Not at the bottom of a cliff, but...

"Ms Lito," Roy—Inspector Gabrielli—started again. "You had an altercation with Mr Zimms yesterday afternoon, correct? Please detail what happened."

"Oh..." She rubbed palms on her paisley-covered thighs; offered an apologetic smile. "He, um, suggested he'd like us to 'socialise' in the preschool's garden shed. When I declined, he reiterated the invitation more, ah ... physically? So, I declined in similar fashion."

"You pushed him arse-first into a composter and, according to witnesses, told him to 'Go rot in Hell.' Is that correct?"

Izzy chewed her lip, debating how to answer. Far worse notions had spun through her mind in the moments before that pithy retort had left her tongue. Hadn't she considered dislocating the grease-stained fingers that'd force themselves under her shirt? Hadn't she pictured herself snatching the pruners from the man's belt and jamming them into a dark, leering eye? Anything to stop the depraved 'emotional sludge' that'd poured through her as he'd touched her. She shuddered, recalling the violation of both her personal space and empathic senses. Jordy Zimms had not been a good man. "I can't dispute those facts."