"Detective?"
There is no reply.
"I was just wondering. Have… Have you ever, uh, hated yourself? Just a little?"
Still, there is no reply.
"Detective?" Silver turns blearily on his barstool to locate his companion, his sullen, beleaguered frown clumsily morphing into a compassionate smile.
Blaze breathes so deeply, he knows she is asleep, with her face hidden in the nest of her folded arms. The remains of her beer glimmer in the brown bottle, pretty under the lights. Her tail is curled around her lower body, around the legs of the barstool, as if she and the barstool are one organic being.
"A peculiar mermaid," he whispers, daring to reach over and brush some lint off of her shoulder.
She doesn't stir.
He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster.
- Friedrich Nietzsche
Abyss
Blaze carefully leans over the edge of the bathtub, coming face-to-face with the corpse.
"Looks familiar, huh? The handiwork."
"Unfortunately."
"I mean…" Silver pulls at his tie, dislodging it, leaving it askew. "If it is the same killer and not a copycat."
"Mm."
He feels stuffy in his normally comfortable suit. Prickly. Which is a peculiarly uncomfortable sensation, for a hedgehog. "I don't think I understand why anybody would want to copy a killer…"
"You'll probably continue to be surprised by the complex motives of people."
"Assuming it is the same guy, then…"
"Then this will be the fifth victim we've found in about two weeks." Her tail swishes in agitated thought. "Still no obvious connection between the victims, other than their apparent solitude. Unmarried. Living alone."
"Loners being targeted by somebody with a grudge, maybe." He takes in a short breath. "He looks about my age, Detective."
She slowly turns to look at Silver askance, her eye bright from above her shoulder, reassuring yet clinical. "I can take it from here, if you'd like to find someplace to sit down."
"No, Detective, I'm okay."
"You're looking pale, even for you."
He's feeling sick to his stomach. He wishes he could distract himself the pattern of the tiles on the walls, but when he isn't gazing into the depths of her eye, he's tracing an old scar – maybe a birthmark – on the brow of the corpse's youthful face instead.
Once outside, they reconsider the stern brick walls and dull grey windows of the high-rise building.
"What a small apartment."
"Mm."
Silver tugs on his tie, loosening it further. "Our victim doesn't look like he had deep pockets, sure…" The hedgehog swallows, then continues in a hoarser voice, "But it's still kind of sad to see how little space he had."
Blaze says a few quiet words to a uniformed officer.
"Isn't it absurd?"
She turns back to Silver, who stares at the window that he knows leads to the bathroom.
"I find it difficult to think about. Maybe it's just absurd to me, but…" His gaze suddenly drops, as if searching for something in the brickwork. "A tiny box. One of many tiny boxes – we often call them dingy apartments – stacked on top of and beside each other, divided into rooms within a bigger box. People, living in these tiny boxes. Barely any space to live."
"You mentioned your uncle's estate."
"Out in the countryside. Yes, I miss that place." Silver snaps out of his reverie, giving her a lopsided, forced grin. "Sorry, I shouldn't drift of when we're on a job."
"It's fine, so long as you continue to operate effectively."
"I'll try, Detective."
"I know you will." She gives him a brief, chaste, awkward pat on the shoulder.
He treasures it, his grin no longer forced.
The car is hot, so Blaze rolls down a window. "My apologies."
"Hmm?"
"This old girl has little in the way of comforts. The aircon is not working, today."
"Oh, no, please! It's a nice car. No problem!"
After a guttural spurt, the engine shakily purrs to life.
Silver remembers to clip in his seatbelt. "Thanks again for the lift."
"You're welcome."
"It's very nice of you."
"At least this still works." She reaches for the radio. "You don't mind?"
"Nope!"
She turns on the radio and is greeted by a weather forecast that predicts heavy rain over the weekend.
They gently accelerate.
"I feel that you have something on your mind," Blaze murmurs, turning down the volume of the radio, which was already low.
"You're right, Detective." Silver giggles to himself. "I mustn't forget how perceptive you are."
"You aren't particularly subtle."
"Ah. That, too."
"Would you like to talk about whatever it is that's bothering you?" She has an almost deep, slightly melodious voice, entirely soothing when she speaks kindly to him like this. He imagines she'd sound incredible all the time, if she weren't typically so deadpan and aloof.
"It's not… annoying, is it? My daydreaming?"
"It's not."
"That's good. I don't mean to annoy you, Detective."
"I know you don't. You're a nice kid."
"Kid," he repeats, followed by a sigh.
"What else is on your mind?"
"Oh, I was just thinking about the latest victim."
"Mm."
"Was he lonely, do you think?" Silver turns to look at her lovely yet handsome profile. "Aside from being a loner. Was he… lonely?"
"I'm not sure he was lonely. You could be surrounded by loved ones and still feel lonely. Living alone doesn't seem like a prerequisite for loneliness. Maybe he was happy."
"Yeah," says the hedgehog, partially unconvinced, bordering on evasive. "I guess you're right. Maybe he was."
"You're empathising again."
"Again?"
"I've noticed that you have a tendency to do that. But this time, you didn't just imagine the perspective of the victim. You saw yourself in the victim."
"Is it a bad thing?"
"I don't think so. But it does make me wonder about you."
"About me?"
"You're unmarried. You've told me you live alone. Are you lonely?"
He's blushing, he know he is.
"Was that too much, too soon, to ask?"
"N-no, Detective, I just… I'm not sure how to answer that."
"You don't have to." She nods respectfully. "But you should be careful."
His eyebrows slowly lower, framing his unusual eyes with confusion. "About empathising?"
"About empathising too much, if such a thing is even possible."
"I'll… I'll try to be careful, Detective."
"I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"I should be more professional. More like you, Detective."
"No," Blaze replies a little more firmly than she'd intended, sliding the car into an open parking space.
The engine cuts off, dead.
She sits further back in her seat, blinks, clears her throat.
"Detective?"
"It's refreshing, in a way, to work with you, Silver."
"Really…?"
"You can be abrasive. Your social skills are about as terrible as mine. But your heart is big. It's in the right place. You're obviously capable of great compassion."
He wants to laugh, or cry, or something in-between. "Thank you, Detective! That's amazing, coming from you."
"This job can leave you feeling increasingly jaded over time. Part of me hopes you stay this compassionate. The other part hopes you won't have a nervous breakdown."
His elation evaporates.
"Let's get to the office. We've much work to do."