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Sylvia, along with both her moms and a lawyer, goes to the PCD offices in Chicago in compliance with the court order.  Mitzi is nervous, Carolyn is pissed and the lawyer is clear on the fact that if there is any perceived violation of the text of the warrant he'll be getting nasty.

The group goes into an interrogation room.  They're joined there by a PCD detective named Kiernan, an Oak Park detective named Landry, and a woman in her mid-twenties.  She wears a pants suit, her shoes are entirely sensible, and her nametag identifies her as Carol Freeling, NSA.

"Sylvia, do you mind if I call you Sylvia?" Detective Landry doesn't wait for an answer.  "We've got a pretty tangled mess of a case.  Torrance Shipman is apparently behind some pretty strange happenings at your school.  She also says that you stole her abilities.  Is that true, did you steal her abilities?"

Sylvia is so nervous that her palms sweat and her throat seems frozen.  She's spent all night doing what she can to hide Smith, sealing her memories of him in layers of mental noise, like hiding your jewelry in a box labeled "canned goods."  When Landry asks her if she stole Torrance's powers, she reads him in a very passive way, trying to ascertain what answer he wants, and why, before she gives him any information.  She can't help but glance at Freeling as she does so.  "Did you look into what happened at her old school?  How all her friends died?"

Landry slaps the open palm of his hand on the table, Sylvia is a little disturbed when she realizes it didn't startle her.  In a way she knew it was coming, and mentally braced for it.  Her moms and even the lawyer were a little shocked by it.  When he speaks his voice is perfectly calm, and Sylvia sees a glimpse inside him.  He was that kid in High School who waited until the room was quiet and then dropped his text book to the floor.  "Ms. Vaughn...."

"Avery-Vaughn." Carolyn corrects.  Landry shoots her a dirty look, and she smiles.  The thought passes through her head that a lacrosse stick up-side the head might improve his looks.

"Ms. Avery-Vaughn.  Please don't avoid the question, just answer it."

OOC: Sylvia needs ot make a Search Roll.

Search Roll (1d20 2=6) (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1514650/)

She's still young enough to find Landry scary.  He rattles her.

"Is that a crime, taking someone's powers?"  She finds herself addressing first the lawyer Carolyn hired and then Carol Freeling.  Landry has an aggressive air Sylvia doesn't like.  Maybe he's on a witch hunt, and on all the courtroom dramas she's watched it never pays to give information to someone with Landry's subtle sneer and petty intimidation tactics.

"So you admit you did it?"  Landry's voice is getting louder, and then someone kicks him in the shin.  His gaze goes to Kiernan, sitting next to him, who is looking like the boy who just farted in the classroom and is trying not to laugh.

"Assuming such a thing were even possible, that's not why we're here."  The lawyer has a measured tone, he's a man of education and, if he's like most of the professionals Carolyn knows, an evil wit.  "So, have your psychic do whatever it is they intend to do so we can move forward.  And, I will remind you that anything beyond the scope of this order that is learned will be fruit of the poisonous tree and not admissible.  Unless you want to wait and amend the order?"  He acts like he's about to get up, "We can come back."

"That wont be necessary.  We're not going to need to amend the order."  Freeling has a voice like the lawyers.  Measured, precise, clear.  Her pants suit and simple hair style hide what Sylvia feels is a tornado or passions and a capacity for violence that gives her a slight chill.  "Detective Landry's primary concern is obviously the safety of the people of Oak Park, but I don't think he actually has anything to worry about from Sylvia here, so we can move on."

Landry closes his notebook and stands up, he looks like he's about to say something, and Freeling looks back at him, "Something detective?"  He shakes his head and leaves the room.

Freeling turns her attention back to Sylvia.  "We heard you had a run in with someone that tried to run you down.  There were signs that you'd undone the compulsion that drove the person to do it.  Did you have a sense of who might have done it to them when you went in to undo it?"

Sylvia glances at Carolyn's lawyer, then at her parents.  But Landry's gone which means, if the TV doesn't lie, she's with the good cop now.  She's not sure who that is, though--Kiernan or Freeling.  She swallows hard against the pounding of her heart.  "I thought it was Torrance.  It felt like Torrance.  But it was easy to assume.  Was I wrong?"

"No.  You weren't wrong.  We examined the other two drivers that tried to kill your friends, Torrance apparently found you to be some kind of threat.  It's fortunate for you that some mysterious hero was there to intervene.  From the looks of the car."  Freeling lays the crime lab photos on the table, and Sylvia, now days removed from the adrenaline of the event, can see the twisted wreckage of the car that had been trying to run her down.  "You're a very fortunate girl."

OOC: Make a Notice Check.  Add 6 to your normal check for that.

Notice Check (1d20 6=10) (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/1515301/)

Sylvia nods, eyes fixed on the black and white images of the car's folded chassis.  She owes John big-time, now and for the rest of her life.  She tries not to think about how indebted she is to Colin.  "Is the driver all right?  Did they know Torrance somehow?"

"They all had classes with her, and she sat behind them.  They're all going to be ok."  Freeling collects the photos and closes her notebook, "We're done here.  Thank you all for coming in."  With that she gets up and begins to leave, Kiernan gets up as well and gets the door for everyone.

As they begin to file out Sylvia notices the chair next to the door.  She had noticed it earlier, it was nondescript enough, but for some reason it gave her pause, then Carolyn touched her shoulder, drawing her gaze.  It was a look of concern, which Sylvia dismissed with a shrug, then as she turned back towards the door, her gaze passing the chair she saw her.  She was a short woman, she had to be a little person.  Her hair was a brown mass of tight curls and her cherub like cheeks were inflated with a smile.  She had pleasant features, made child-like and old at the same time by the combination of her size and her eyes.  They were like Smith's, weary.  She was knitting, a bag on the floor supplying her yarn which she worked with a pair of shiny pink needles.  She had a name tag clipped to her blouse, Tangina Barrons - NSA  It was very nice to meet you Sylvia. 

No one else seems to see her, and Carolyn pauses again at Sylvia's waiting.  "What's wrong Sylvia?"  Carolyn asks.

For a long moment all Sylvia can do is look up at Carolyn and then at the chair.  She should probably tell Carolyn what's going on, but it seems rude somehow to expose Tangina.  "Nothing.  I'm just keyed up."

Then she looks at the little woman again.  Nice to meet you, too, is what Sylvia manages, but she can barely stifle the flood of noise in her head.  They're questions, mostly--questions with a touch of alarm, a heap of curiosity, and a smidgen of yearning.  With Smith and Sarah gone Sylvia's become the loneliest telepath in the world, a radio antenna quivering with the urge to transmit and receive.  I thought she was the one, she says, glancing in Carol Freeling's direction.

Oh no dear.  She's what we call a face.  She draws eyes, and she can be very intimidating when she wants to be.  Why don't we have coffee later on.  Just you and me.  We can talk, you seem removed.  That's never good for one of us.

Carolyn urges Sylvia into motion, and they move out into the hall and towards the elevators.  "That went pretty smoothly."  Mitzi says. 

The lawyer nods.  "They've probably done with you Sylvia.  They don't have any reason to hold you, or they would have taken you into custody.  Carolyn, they give you any more trouble, you have my number."  Carolyn just nods.  A minute or so later they begin down the elevator.

"That was really weird," Sylvia says, looking up at Carolyn.  "Was Detective Landry trying to get some dirt on me?  The other two just wanted to know if I thought Torrance was responsible for what happened, but they already knew.  What was that about?"

"They wanted to know if your memories has been tampered with.  If I had to make a guess Landry was hoping the answer was no and you'd have told him you did take Torrance's powers away.  It's covered under the statutes on altering someone without their consent.  So I'm guessing you didn't take her powers and they didn't find any evidence to suggest otherwise."  The lawyer seemed a little unsure of his legal ground.  Obviously he didn't represent paranormals so this was new territory for him.  Sylvia felt he was mulling some research over in his mind as the rode the elevator down.

The ride home was quiet, until Mitzi broke down and talked about some project she was working on.  She always broke down and talked during uncomfortable silences.  Carolyn played along, nodding and adding any needed comments as the conversation progressed.

About an hour after they left the police station Sylvia gets a text message.

Interested in that coffee?  Caribou Cafe, 90 minutes?

Donnie waits for word from Sylvia about her visit with the cops. His was over an hour ago. The heavy Pottery-Barn kitchen table is artistically weathered, it's dark deep brown finish absorbing the overhead lights as Donnie fiddles with his phone, spinning it around in circles as he looks at the clock for the twentieth time.

Mom sits at the other end of the table, doing a crossword and succeeding admirably at ignoring her son's worry and agitation. A bottled water sits at her elbow, which brings a half-smile to her son's face. It hasn't been a bottle of gin that often anymore. She wasn't free of her demons, but she was giving it a good try.

Sylvia, who dug her phone out of her bag to call Donnie, wonders in light of what Carolyn's lawyer just said if she should resist the temptation to meet with Tangina Barrons.  Smith wouldn't leave himself so casually exposed, she's pretty sure, but she has no idea who would win in a psychic throw down.  Smith is an 800-pound gorilla, but the NSA doesn't hire palm readers.

She responds with--

Okay.

--and feels uneasy as she dials Donnie's number.

Donnie jerks when the phone rings and knocks it across the table. He scrambles to get it and quickly answers. "Sylvia? Hello?"

"Hi," Sylvia says, the single syllable packed with inflection.  If Donnie makes his Understand Cryptic Girlfriend Check, he'll know that Sylvia's out of her interview with the police (Difficulty 10), that nothing bad happened (Difficulty 15), and that she's walking in earshot of her parents and can't get to schmoopy on the phone (Difficulty 20).  "I'm done here.  Everyone but this one guy is dead certain Torrance is responsible for everything.  I guess we're off the hook."

"Thank GAWD! Did they find out about, um, you-know-who?""

"I don't think so.  I hope not.  There was a telepath in the room, but I don't know how deeply she dug, and he'd have to be uncharacteristically trusting to think no one would ever scan me."

"Good. Was the psychic as strong as you or better?"

Sylvia is momentarily flummoxed.  "I don't know.  I didn't see her stats," is her smart-ass answer.  "It's not like we arm wrestled.  She was just sitting there, knitting."

Donnie grins. "No stats? What kind of N00b psychic are you? If she was knitting, you probably could have beat her in an armwrestling match."

"I don't know," Sylvia says, thinking of her mother's knitting circle.  "They flap their arms around a lot.  Anyway, I'm supposed to meet her for lunch."  She's still not sure if that's a good idea, but she can't just let it be.  She's met only two true telepaths.  One was evil.  And then there was Torrance.  Tangina, by contrast, is a harmless-looking, doughy little woman with an NSA badge and a voice like a pixie.  And those tired eyes.  Sylvia can't forget those tired eyes.  "Did you meet Detective Landry?"

"Is that a wise idea? She might pick your brain or something. You psychics are scary sometimes. Good thing you're on our side."


"No detective Landry for me. Was it difficult?"

"That's what I want you to think," Sylvia says flippantly, but she freaks herself out a little and has to add a nervous "Just kidding."


"He was a jerk.  I bet he's one of those guys who hates paranormals.  Or maybe he just hates kids.  Or maybe he hates his job.  I'll have to ask Colin's dad someday."

"You better be. Pip will be pissed if he finds out you've been messing with my head."


"Maybe his mother didn't hug him enough when he was a mean little child. He was probably the class bully. So are you going to go to lunch with this lady or not?"

"Yeah, I think so."  She sounds hesitant, as if she's asking for advice.  "It seems like an opportunity, you know?  It'd be nice to know at least one telepath who hasn't spent time in a mental institute or who hasn't gone completely psycho."

"I can send Pip to keep an eye on you, if you want." Donnie walks around the kitchen, scuffing the immaculate black-and-white herringbone style tile floor. His mom eyes him as she pretends to work on her crossword puzzle.

"If she's so good she can read my mind without my realizing, I don't know what Pip will be able to do about it.  He doesn't read minds--

"Wait.

"He doesn't read anybody's mind but yours, does he?"

"Pip can't read minds. I have a telepathic connection with all my dragons."

"Right."  Sylvia suddenly wonders if she can speak telepathically with Donnie's dragons.  She's never tried.  She notes it down for experimentation someday.  "I don't know.  Do I need to be paranoid?  Is it paranoia if they're really out to get you?  Is it wise to put Pip on sentry duty so close to a bakery counter?"

Donnie laughs. "He can control himself. When he's on-duty, he's unwavering. He is a hunter, after all.  It's up to you. I trust your opinion in this because I'm totally out of depth. It'd be nice to have back-up if something goes sour though."

"Right," Sylvia says again, still mulling things over.  "Okay.  I'm supposed to meet her at Caribou Cafe in ninety minutes."  She glances at her watch.  "Well, eighty now.  She's a little woman.  High voice.  Pasty.  Bouffant.  Probably knitting."  Sylvia knows the type:  the ladies in Mitzi's knitting group never sit down without pulling out their needles.

"Pip will be there." Donnie pulls open the double glass doors into the bitter cold winter wind. Donnie's mom ignores his theatrics as he steps out onto the porch, raising his hands in the air. With a barely audiible pop and a shimmering in the air, Pip appears, flapping his wings in the frigid weather. He immediately starts scolding Donnie, but stops suddenly as he recieves his instructions and zips off into the air.

"Be safe, and call out to Pip if you need help. You can probably talk to him and see into his mind like you do mine sometimes."

"Problem is, so can she," Sylvia murmurs.

[She'll say good-bye to Donnie and wrangle a drop-off at the Caribou Cafe from her parents if we're done with this phone call.]

[ooc: good stopping point for the call..on with Lunch!]

Mitzi takes Sylvia downtown and drops her off.  The Caribou Cafe is warm and inviting, and Sylvia easily spots Tangina sitting at a table kitting and watching the room.  "Well hello dear."  She says, setting down her knitting to come over and shake Sylvia's hand.  "I'm very glad you could come.  Please, sit."  Tangina goes back over to the table and sips from her tea before going back to her knitting.  "Would you like something?"

"Tea?" Sylvia says.  It seems polite to follow Tangina's lead, and it seems embarrassingly juvenile to sip hot chocolate.  Sylvia tries to wait a decent amount of time before asking, "What were you doing in the interrogation room?"  She fails.

"Just listening, and looking to see if Ms. Shipman had tampered with your memories.  As your lawyer said, anything else would be inadmissible as evidence in a criminal proceeding."  Tangina knits a few more stitches, then takes a sip of her tea.  Sylvia's tea arrives and as the server turns and leaves Tangina nods in his direction.  He drops his pen, and then bends over to pick it up presenting the two females with a well framed look at his back side.  Tangina looks over, taking in the sight for the second or so it's there before he straightens up and goes back behind the counter.  "So, you seem a little adrift.  Like something you've been clinging to has been taken from you.  And it seems Torrance bothers you, deeply.  I thought you might like to talk about it?"

Sylvia has her hand over her mouth, eyes tracing the path between the waiter's bum and the rims of Tagina's rhinestone spectacles.  She drops her hand to her lap and tries not to think about the harmless perks of mind control.

(She tries, and fails.  In her imagination she's strolling down the hall between biology and French class, and pencils and keys are rolling across the linoleum like shrapnel in Flanders Field.  Boys are bobbing up and down like grazing geese.  "Hi, Dave!  Ooh, hello-o-o, John.  Drop something, Colin?  Oops, careful there, Logan.  Here.  Let me hold that for you.  Wouldn't want to let it get cold. . . . "  Donnie, God love him, has beautiful hair and eyes and soft lips, but his rump is not his best attribute.  Sylvia has high hopes--about hip-high, in fact--for Jack's daily regimen of exercise.)

"Uh?" is her first eloquent verbal response to Tangina's invitation.  She focuses.  "It was bothering me a lot more before the police started their investigation.  I was afraid she would get away with it.  She won't get away with everything she's done, will she?  You'll read her, and testify, and she'll be put away for those murders she must have committed?"

"Well, I'm sure some brilliant lawyer will make a case of insanity brought about by her suddenly having mind reading powers.  There are plenty of cases where that has caused someone to do some pretty horrible things.  She'll get help, maybe years of therapy.  She'll be obsessed with not having her powers anymore.  That will be what she will really need therapy for.  That silence."  Tangina takes a sip of tea.  "Once you hear that noise, those subtle voices, it's very hard not to feel empty when they're quiet."

Sylvia looks disconsolate.  Smith may have pulled the trigger, but she gave the order.  "Do you think it's wrong--that she was turned off?"

"Well, we're the most dangerous kind of paranormals.  We can inflict more harm with a glance then all the fire breathing blasters that have ever burned down a house.  We're subtle, and more then most tempted by our powers to the dark side.  Those Star Wars movies hold a lot of truth about our powers.  You should watch them, the Empire Strikes Back at least."

"I saw the new ones," Sylvia says, still dismayed, but for a different reason.  "You didn't answer my question.  You're supposed to be somebody, aren't you?  You're the sheriff in town?  Is there somebody to turn to when a telepath goes bad?"  She clings to the Wild West metaphor.  Torrance was the town tyrant.  Smith was the stranger who rolled through town and gunned her down.  Sylvia doesn't know who she is in this story.  Probably the undertaker.

"You want to know if I think it's wrong that her powers were turned off?"  Tangina takes a sip of tea.  "What happened to her is a fate worse then death.  It's very likely to drive her mad.  If her and I had met, I'm sure it would have forced me to violence.  She thought that her gifts gave her the right to do anything she pleased.  We'd have conflicted somehow.  I'd have done her the kindness of killing her though.  So, no, I don't think it's wrong that she can't so easily hurt people anymore.  I'm not very happy about the method though."

The lines around Sylvia's eyes are only going to get deeper with time.  "Something had to be done.  I wasn't going to kill her."  And then that voice in her head with its curious, precocious poise says, This way she becomes her own torment.  She punishes herself.  "I'd like to know if she was always like this.  Not with the power but the meanness.  What does it take to make someone drive all her friends to suicide?"

Tangina looks Sylvia in the eyes.  Psychic powers, and no guiding sense of right and wrong.  The small woman looks back towards the counter, then back at Sylvia.  "I want to give you some advice."  The man from the counter with the nice butt returns to the table with a fresh cup for both women, then goes back to the counter.  "Find someone to be your rock.  Your anchor.  Someone steady and reliable.  Someone stable.  You need someone to fall back on when the world gets too loud.  And, find a place to go.  Somewhere that is your space, that you feel safe.  Everyone is different, yours might be a cabin in the woods, your car in the airport parking lot.  But you need a place where you can go and be completely alone, even if it's only for a little while."

Sylvia's rock turned into a rolling stone.  She understands why he did, and instead of looking for someone else to cling to, she's been doing her best to be Smith--to be strong by herself and to sort out her problems on her own.  He's a crazy kind of role-model, but there it is:  despite all, he's her hero, and she wants to be like him.  "Who's your rock?"

"Carol, agent Freeling.  As dispassionate as she seems she's been there for me since she was a kid.  We've kind of been in each other's orbit.  It's important to have someone that's not like you to cling to.  Someone who can take all your insecurities that you carry, all the darkness you bundle inside and ignore it.  They can't read your mind, they only know you.  It helps center us."

Sylvia has no idea who that would be in her life.  Maybe Bell Jar, the cat?  "Can I ask you a question?"  It takes only the slightest glimmer of assent in Tangina's eyes to make Sylvia blurt.  "What was it like when you found out you were telepathic?  How'd you get from there to here?"

"Lots of tears, some drinking and eventually Carol.  Along the way I lost a husband, most of the people I thought were my friends, my job, and for a long time I thought I'd lost my sanity too."

Sylvia looks glum.  "I thought talking to you would make me feel better somehow, but I'm getting the impression we all lose our minds eventually.  At least you're okay now, right?  Is it okay, doing what you do?"

"I had a hard time because I didn't really have anyone to explain what was happening to me, and it came on my pretty late in life.  I was almost twenty-six before I started hearing the voices.  And mental illness runs in my family.  I'm fine though.  Weathered the various storms, and my work is rewarding.  I get to meet lots of interesting people and look inside their heads."  Tangina smiles, "And for every dark corner I peer into, there is some bright shiny person just around the corner."

"I only look into the dark corners," Sylvia says, realizing something about why she feels so crushed by human awfulness sometimes.  "It doesn't seem right to pry into people's heads unless they're doing something bad.  And I'm kind of worried that one day I'll look into someone I think is pretty nice and I won't like what I see.

"How'd you get this job?"

"I used to help police departments find missing persons.  It seemed like a good thing to do.  That was how I managed to work my way back to being a person after I got my powers.  Eventually the NSA recruited me.  Carol followed me, and we eventually managed to become partners.  Now I find missing people, examine folks who may have been mind controlled, and knit."  There seems to always be a smile on her face, and Tangina seems to not be as glum as Smith, or even Sylvia.

"You use psychometry?  Is that how you find missing persons?  Or is it something you can do with telepathy?"

"You sound like Carol.  Questions and names.  She's read all kinds of books and articles about it.  She knows more about what I do then I do."  Tangina smiles, "I can see things that have happened in a place, or in the presence of a thing.  That I had to figure out, along with the voices that are actually other people's thoughts.  The flashes of scary and horrible things was the worst.  That took getting used to, and I just had to know what those imaged were.  That led me to helping to find missing people."

"I can't do that," Sylvia says with some disappointment.  "If I could, I'd probably be able to help people more.  Is it something you can learn?"

"You really have to leave yourself wide open to do it.  Sort of like standing in an auditorium full of people and being naked.  It can leave you raw afterwards."  Tangina sips her tea, "You can learn it though, if you're telepathic you should be able to.  Just be careful, it can be scary."

Sylvia shifts in her seat, uneasy with the possibilities.  What surcease does a telepath have when not even being alone in an empty room can guarantee peace?  "What about the pencil?  And the waiter?  Did you do that?"

Tangina smiles.  "Little things.  You find that little things will amuse you.  Harmless amusements.  It can help keep you from doing real harm to people.  Help keep you from becoming like Torrance."

"I'll never be like Torrance," Sylvia says, and there's determination in her voice, and in her eyes, that borders on fanaticism.  She looks away to hide it.  "I just wonder what happened to her.  Didn't she have real friends?  Didn't her family love her?  Didn't she care about anyone enough to question herself?  I know that she was sick and that she had some surgery.  Was she so miserably treated that she had to get her revenge on the world?"

"It was a little bit of all those things.  Inside she's a sad case, and just one person might have been able to turn her away from the edge.  But there wasn't one.  She's an example of what happens to us if we don't have an anchor."

Sylvia and Tangina chat a bit more, and then Tangina looks like as though someone called her name.  "Well dear, I need to go."  She pays the check and leaves a tip.  "This is my mobile number, in case you ever need to talk."  She hands Sylvia a slip of paper with her name and a phone number written on it.  "You take care of yourself."  Are her parting words, accompanied by a brief hug.