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Sylvia made her way from campus to have a sit down with Smith.  The idea of actually going out in public with him was odd considering the nature of their relationship up until now.  Caribou Cafe had a variety of things, and Smith was sitting at a small table with a cup of coffee when Sylvia arrived.  "Glad you could pry yourself away from the hustle of high school life for me."  His voice had stopped being a raspy horror movie special effect over the last several weeks and become a more normal sounding device for communicating.  He'd traded his hospital scrubs and canvas shoes for jeans and running shoes.  He wore a shirt that was for a catering company and a nice London Fog trench coat lay across the chair next to him.

The very first thing she did was to reach out and give his shoulder a little shove.  When she felt the resistance of flesh and bone, she smiled and seated herself.  "Hustle?"  She shook her head.  "Sad thing is, classes are getting easier.  It's the time in between them that's hectic.  How're you?"  She was happy to see him.  While she'd been a little anxious about what he wanted to discuss, the little changes in his voice and appearance satisfied her best wishes for him.  He had a job.  He was wearing normal clothes.  He no longer smelled like eau de Lysol.

"I'm leaving town.  I wanted to tell you, so you didn't have a panic attack when you found out."

"I'll have my panic attack now, thank you."  She tried to make that sound like a joke, but failed.  "Why?  Where are you going?  Are you coming back?"

"I've recently found something to do.  Someone I met has given me the motivation to go back out in the world.  Someone else has given me a reason to care about the world.  And one person has given me a goal.  So I have some places to go, some people to see and some place to come back to after I'm done."

"You'll still be able to get a hold of me the old fashioned way, in case you need someone to chat with.  I'll have access to email."  He gives her a slip of paper with an email address on it.  "I wont promise to write because that's not me.  And I'll make sure to be here for important stuff.  Like an Uncle or something."

"How's Lorraine?" Sylvia asks in that perky, nosy way that implies she wants to hear the whole story.

[It might not be Lorraine.  If I've gotten the name wrong, let's pretend Sylvia hasn't.]


"You're taking off before Christmas?"  She winces.  "I would have brought your gift if I'd known you were leaving."

"She's good.  Very glacial to be around.  Very direct and ordered.  If I were ready I'd try actually dating her, or whatever comes after dating but before marriage.  You can tell your mom that her plan to get Lorraine a man was somewhat successful."


"In a way you did.  Listen, I need you to tell Sarah that I'm sorry.  She'll understand why, and if she wants to explain it that's her business.  But, also tell her that if I hadn't, I wouldn't have my goal.  I recently had a run in with someone who has made a fortune separating people from their loved ones.  I'm going to try to get as many of them home as I can.  Mr. Hollander was kind enough to give me the passwords to his hard drive, so I know where to start looking."

Sylvia looks satisfied with herself and with the infinite wisdom of her mother.  "I hope you told her you'll be out of town for a while.  I hope, too, that you made up a good story."


"Hollander," Sylvia repeats, and somehow she makes the connection.  "Dude!"  She does her best to look horrified but, again, fails.  In her secret heart she wishes she could go with Smith, Robin to his Batman.  It's so much easier to follow directions than it is to wrestle with the moral complications of her own situation.  If she were Smith, Torrance would already have been dealt with, with a surgeon's precision and a soldier's immediacy.

That thought leads her to a more serious proposition.  Smith, could you turn off another telepath's powers, like you did with the witches?

Sylvia's unbidden answer is a little conflicted.

(--yes it hurts people are bad and it hurts--)

No.  But there's someone at school who might have been responsible for a string of deaths and who's told me she thinks people like us have a right to do whatever we want.  Would you neutralize her, if I asked?

I think the only difference between a good person and a bad person is compassion.  I guess, when you can read someone's mind, you might start to think of people as elaborate mechanical creatures, tools or toys to be manipulated.  But I think, too, that the ability to listen in on someone's thoughts should invoke some sense of identification and sympathy.  I don't know, she says at last.  I've been thinking about it, and I think I'd go crazy if I began to think that everyone around me was just an extension of my will.

But self-interest aside, are you saying it's right to run over someone's will, or even to invade their privacy?

So you're saying I'm on my own in the way of moral guidance.  She looks at the table top and finds the conviction that's been building since she first heard about Torrance.  She's hurting people.  I can't allow that.  And there's the possibility that she'll be hurt if things go on.  The only conscionable thing to do is to neutralize her abilities.  Would you do that?

Sure.  Consider it my Christmas present to you.    "You'll talk to Sarah for me?  She was a little freaked out, I sort of shut her off and sent her to bed.  I don't deal with emotional people well.  Just, tell her I'm sorry."

Food is ordered and eaten, "Maybe I'll send you some post cards.  To keep you in the loop.  It'll be fun.  I've travelled a lot, but never actually gotten to send anyone a post card."

"I will.  Sarah's kind of weird the way she worries about some things but not about others."


"Are you going to be gone for a long time?  Weeks?  Months?  Years?  You're not pulling a Lone Ranger, are you?"  She sounds wistful.

"I'll be gone as long as it takes.  If it looks like it'll be a long time I'll make sure to come visit.  Call, send post cards.  So you'll know I'm okay."

"Okay."  She stifles her separation anxiety.  "Hey?  Promise me something?"

"As long as it's not unreasonable."  He says taking a drink of coffee.

"At least once a week, sit down and talk to somebody over dinner.  Like, make conversation.  Death threats do not count."

"Death threats don't count.  That's gonna make things harder."  He says with a smile.  "That I think I can promise."

Before they part, Sylvia does the unexpected and gives Smith a hug, the kind of hug you give someone when you think you might not see them for a while, or forever.  "Be careful," she tells him.  "Don't let those bad guys find you again.  And don't forget there are people worrying about you this time.  And if you run into trouble, I will so totally be your Girl Wonder and ride in your sidecar and krav those evil minions.  Just send the word."

Sylvia is slightly surprised when Smith returns her embrace, if with less enthusiasm.  "I'll miss you too."  He says as they part.  "Take care of yourself."  He takes a cab from the cafe and waves to her as he gets in.

No more than a few seconds pass before a waiter exits the cafe, looking confused.  "This is for you," he says, holding out a blank, sealed envelope pre-printed with the Mentano Hospital return address.

Sylvia gives him a look, then says slowly, "Thanks."  The waiter lingers.  "It's okay," she says.  "Go inside.  Have a great day.  Don't worry.  Be happy."

The waiter nods, looking self-assured again, and whistles Jingle Bells as he steps back into the warmth.