Kyle logged onto the psychic website, but did not write anything. There was too much to untangle. He tried browsing the previous posts, figuring that other psychics must have had the same ethical questions.
He had no luck there. The posts didn't delve too deeply into sensitive issues. Ren usually switched over to private messaging if a question got too personal so that only she and the person asking would see the discussion. A casual visitor would only see interrupted posts that never led to definite answers.
He checked on the new posts. A new visitor named Quark (no gender specified) mentioned that they could see auras but had started to call them "heat signatures" because the word auras sounded too flaky.
Kyle found this aspect fascinating: that other people's psychic powers manifested in different ways. Kyle's were mostly visual, like brief video clips, and while some of them had sound, but others were far too short. Ren, in her introduction, had shared that she gleaned most of her extrasensory input from voices, although visuals were "not infrequent." Kyle was glad not to have gotten that. As disturbing as his visions were, he could only imagine how much worse it would have been hearing disembodied voices from all directions.
He read through Ren, Quark, and a couple of other visitors discuss auras, even though none of it was pertinent to him or Bebe's situation. Unfortunately, how he knew about Bebe's situation was the main obstacle. The most he could report was Bebe confiding about her mother's boyfriend pushing her, but she told him that she would deny it if he told anyone. If he told the full truth, he wouldn't even need Bebe's denial to lose credibility.
Okay, that wasn't entirely true. He could tell Kenny. More specifically, he could tell Mysterion. He should have done that yesterday. Except Kyle hesitated on relying too much on Kenny, who would only be acting on his say so. Sure, he told Kenny about Butters getting beaten at home, but the whole town knew about Butters' home life. There was also the painful reminder that Kenny hadn't believed him about his visions at first either, which suggested that he had only a finite amount of Kenny's support, and he'd better not misuse it.
On the other hand, Bebe's life could be in danger. He should forget his own hang ups and do something.
He needed a name. Kyle tried to recall if Bebe ever mentioned her mother's boyfriend's name. Andre or Andrew or something. He didn't have a last name, but he could get one soon.
He grabbed his coat and ran outside.
Bebe had neglected to mention if her mother's boyfriend lived with them or not (Kyle really hoped not), but, either way, the boyfriend would have his own car. Kyle first photographed the license plate as a backup, but he wanted to see if he could get the name more directly.
He approached the door, pulled off his glove and let his bare knuckles rest on the driver's side door handle (the place that most often got touched on the outside of the car.) The boyfriend appeared, this time in a suit, standing over an empty lot. He picked up the impression that the guy worked in real estate and had serious money. The second one shouldn't have been much of a surprise for Bebe's mother, who liked to think of herself as a party girl but wasn't wealthy enough to live a party lifestyle anywhere else in the world. Kyle did not have to be psychic to glean that Bebe often resented her mother's flakiness, though at least she did not carry the reputation of being the town whore like Cartman's mother had. Bebe's mother was at least more discriminating with the men she slept with.
Kyle tried a couple more times, only to get similar images. The boyfriend had bought a farm nearby Stan's after a suspicious accident wiped out their weed crops. The boyfriend wasn't directly responsible for it, but he did not mind taking advantage of the tragedy to buy at a lower price than the family deserved. He didn't see any of the man's interactions with Bebe, though, so that must be a good thing.
His phone vibrated against his thigh. Bebe had caught him.
Kyle retreated to the neighboring hedges before answering.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Bebe asked.
"Oh, hi, Bebe." Kyle tried desperately not to sound as out of breath as he felt.
"Are you like stalking me?"
"What? No."
"Then what were you doing in my driveway?"
"Nothing. Just looking at a car."
Bebe paused. "You didn't do anything to it, did you?"
"No." This time Kyle did not feign innocence. "I just wanted to look at it."
"Because it would be stupid to do something to his car. I want him to leave and he can't do that if his car doesn't work."
"I understand that," Kyle sighed. "The car is fine, I promise."
Bebe hummed suspiciously. "Then whatever you're doing, stop it. I didn't ask for your help. And you better not hav-"
She was cut off abruptly.
Bebe yelped as Andre grabbed the phone from her hand.
"Who are you talking to?" He demanded to know.
"Someone from my class," Bebe stammered. She tried to stare back at him. She didn't do anything wrong, so she shouldn't have to give in to him submissively like she had.
"A boy," Andre spat out.
Bebe did not answer. She wanted to say So what if it was a boy? She was allowed to talk to boys. Her mother did not mind. Not that her mother's input would do much good. If Andre decided that Bebe should no longer speak to boys on the phone, her mother would agree. Anything to keep Andre happy was her mother's primary goal.
Andre closed his hand over her phone. He clearly intended to keep it for himself. "Slut," he uttered before he returned to the study.
Kyle's phone rang again. Bebe's number popped up on the screen, but Kyle knew it wasn't Bebe calling.
He wasn't going to answer it. He had to get home. He had the license plate, at least, so he wouldn't leave entirely empty-handed. Despite that, there was no victory. He had fucked up. He had made things worse for Bebe.
The only thing he could think to do was continue his plan and get as much ammo as possible against Real Estate Andre.
Once he got home, he went straight to Ike's room and knocked on the door.
"No!" Ike shouted. As if he too had become psychic.
"I hadn't said anything yet," Kyle told him through the door.
"I don't care. You only came here because you want something from me, or you'd just ignore me. So, no."
"I'm sorry, Ike." Kyle promised, "I'll make it up to you."
"You want something from me, don't you?"
"I, um . . ."
"Then fuck off!"
Kyle backed away from Ike's door. He'd have to look it up himself. He wasn't even sure if he could find the right guy with just "Andre" and "real estate" as clues — for all he knew, the guy might not even be from Colorado. Andre struck him as one of those moguls who would buy property that he never intended to use himself but to collect money from. Maybe Kyle should hope so, because that would mean that he wouldn't stay long with Bebe's mother.
No such luck. Kyle found Facebook and LinkedIn pages on Andre Libertin, who was rooted in Denver.