Trishank: A Way In

Chapter 4

"Do you believe in redemption Sam?"

Samantha was quite surprised to be greeted with such a deep question as soon as she entered the room. "I'm hurt Carl, no pleasantries today?"

"Oh come on, dear. We're way past good mornings and how was your days, don't you think?" The trademark Brair smile was dancing on his mouth. Indeed it was way past that. It had been their fourth meeting and apart from Samantha's research, they had built a clean rapport.

Samantha was quite astonished at her own smile growing more genuine with every meeting. "Oh I'm gonna hold a grudge. No subject talk for you today." His sigh... Is that relief or disappointment?

Noticing her face contorting with the effort to decipher so little as his sigh, Carl quipped "you know, for a girl who doesn't want to go into subject, you sure seem deeply submerged into it. You're trying to read into everything." He walked over to her reserved couch and patted it for her to take a seat and unravel a bit. "From time to time, give your mind a break, will ya?"

Her nod was as involuntary as her smile as she obliged and plopped down the couch, leaning a bit more than what would have been comfortable. "Ah, that's nice for a change. Nobody acknowledges my efforts to read people, let alone appreciate them." She adjusted her glasses, and started clicking her pen.

"It's a two way street Sam. One who notices, notices the noticer," Carl mused, looking at the exact bewildered expression on Samantha's face that he was gunning for. Bright as she was, she sure wasn't ready for his ambiguous babbling.

"Uh, yeah. That makes sense..."

"I'm sorry I talk in riddles sometime," laughed Carl, and then went on, "if you wouldn't mind, Sam. Let's talk about you."

"Of course I wouldn't Carl. In fact, I welcome it."

"What prompted you towards psychology? Of course you're crazy good at it, but is it acquired knowledge or talent?" When she opened her mouth to say something, he pitched in "my money is on the latter."

She didn't have to say it, her face said it all. As good as the girl was at reading people, she wasn't at making herself unreadable. Beaming, she replied "well, you bet right. I was indeed talented from a young age. And yes. If you're good at something, you obviously start getting interested in it."

Carl walked and stood near the window. This was becoming a ritual. Samantha occupying the couch and Carl walking up to the window. "Guessed as much. Say, how do you take your coffee?" Oddly, he didn't appear that involved in the conversation. He was gazing down the window.

"Um, with three spoonfuls of sugar and hot milk. Does it say something about me, oh great 'noticer'?" Samantha replied mockingly, to which she didn't get a proper reply. Instead, she assumed that noise was a sigh with a shadow of a scoff. He shook his head, and turned around. "No dear, just a random question. Personally I like mine a little less diabetic."

From his files, she had known that he was condescending, but this was the first time she saw a sliver of it. She chose to brush that aside, and went on "I have sweet teeth, cut me some slack."

"Of course. What would you imply as a major turning point in your life?"

Samantha was still fidgeting with her pen, clicking and swirling it as she indulged, "well, up until I was 9, I really wanted to be a pilot. But then fiction maimed my eyes. Dr. Stevenson is to blame." Would you look at that. He remembers Bob after all.

"Oh, I never knew that you and Robert were friends. He has had that effect on youngsters, ever since he started teaching. How's his little book coming along?"

"He has published three of them since you left, you know."

"Matter of fact, I do. I have a friend at the bookstore over here. Had..." He heaved a sigh of dismay as he spoke those words.

"Sorry to hear that. What kind of books do you read, Carl?"

"Biographies, mostly. There's always something interesting about reading lives of people, don't you agree?" Not waiting for an answer, he turned back toward the window, and started gazing down again.

"Is something wrong Carl?" She asked as she made her way to the window and looked for that which caught the attention of the once famous journalist detained for propaganda against democracy itself.

What waited for her was the same crowd that she saw when she got down from her car. The raging, booing crowd. The rages and boos were for the pair fighting against each other. Obviously, the guy was winning, until he wasn't. The girl took him down with one punch. Damn. Is she made of iron?

As she was taken aback from the outcome, she found herself looking at the well dressed girl spear through the crowd and challenging this hunk for a fight.

"Whom do you think will win Sam?"