Troy, is it? He’s an older gentleman, with graying hair. It’s hard to tell what used to be his natural hair color and what is gray. His face is aging, with worry lines, but he doesn’t seem worried. He’s harder to read than most people. Most people are easy to read, I usually can find something that I can use. His posture doesn’t match his appearance. He comes off cocky, but the wrinkles in his clothes, the worry lines on his face, suggest an anxious, isolated person.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” he tells me. He speaks in a gravelly tone. He grabs me by the bicep harshly and pulls me over closer to the stairs.

“Are you allowed to touch me like that?” I ask him.

“I am not a Police officer,” he barks, “You have something I want. My name isn’t Troy. My name is Trista. Ah, it worked, which means you have the Sight.”

He’s not making much sense. I’ll play along.

“I have something you want?” I ask him curiously, “Also, just because you’re not an officer, supposedly, I still don’t think you’re allowed to touch me like that.”

“The Celestial Artifact, it’s in your apartment right now, isn’t it,” he states.

He means The Pen? Looking back down the hall, what does he know? Is he someone I can use then? Maybe he can help me. Maybe he is who I need if Cassandra becomes useless.

“Celestial Artifact?” I feign stupid.

He seems annoyed with me.

“Eras’ Artifact,” he pauses, “you probably see it as an object. A Pen most likely.”

Oh. So he wants the Pen. Why?

“Why would you want a silly Pen? Are you the original owner?” I pretend I don’t know what he is talking about, which ticks him off further.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he barks, “You’ve been using it. You’re the one who has.” he pauses, looking down the hall, making sure no one else is coming, “been the reason for the string of odd deaths.”

So he figured that out? I don’t entirely buy the whole he’s not an officer. If I confess, he’ll likely arrest me. I need proof that he isn’t an officer or that he will not detain me.

“Say something that proves you’re not an officer, or Troy,” I stare at his badge.

“The Pen is a Celestial Artifact, it is a piece of Eras the Ferryman. He’s the one who processes the Spirits, shifting them from one Realm to the next, when they have completed and accepted their death and no longer bind themselves to their Mortal Concept,”

“Now you just sound crazy,”

“Crazy? You’re using an artifact to kill people. That looks like a Pen, and that’s fucking crazy to you?”

He again looks down the hall. He’s making sure someone else doesn’t hear our conversation.

“I never said anything about that, you’re just assuming,”

“I am not fucking blind. I can sense the Pen in your apartment,”

“Are you okay? Do you need to see some professional help?”

He looks frustrated with me and grips my shoulder with his hand, “I am trying really hard not to fucking kill you in the middle of this hallway. Especially since there is another officer down the hall. Eras sent me here to retrieve the Pen from you. If you haven’t fucking noticed, I been placed in an officer’s body. I know how to use the Pen. So, start caring about your life right now, or I will rend your mind into pieces and take the Pen.”

How am I supposed to react to a situation like this? Is he trying to scare me? Why don’t I feel scared at this moment? A new something. This is - excitement. Why am I excited at this moment? I am certain I am supposed to feel some sort of fear. That is the expectation. Or intimidated. And while Elaine’s death frustrates me, this moment makes me joyful.

“Why did you talk to me, instead of coming and killing me later?” I ask him curiously.

“That’s the fucking question you’re going to ask me?”

“If you’re going to rend my mind or kill me, then do it. If not, then why should I be scared?”

“Do you not understand your situation?”

I understand it very well. According to him, he’s claim that a Celestial sent him to retrieve the Pen. I don’t entirely believe him. Celestials are something people made up so they could justify their ethics and own morality, and while it has done some good in the world, the reason the Humanists Counsel exists. But plenty of people like Zoe and other folk have used it as an excuse to do horrible things.

“I understand it, and I don’t entirely believe you,”

“How can you not?!” he exclaims.

“You want me to believe a Celestial sent you from another Realm to retrieve the Pen and that you’re, what, exactly, someone named Trista who is in the body of Troy? Like possession?”

“It’s a Mortal Bond. When a Spirit leaves a body, a body is a vessel that is left empty, you can bind other Spirits or in this case a Phantom into a Mortal Bond,”

“Prove it,” I give him a smile.

He growls, “You’re one annoying kid. And you don’t even realize that you’re just a tool.”

A tool?

“You think someone is using me?” I ask him, “That’s rich. I did this on my own. I decided.”

Is this his plan? Is he attempting to bully me into making a deal with him?

“Fine,” he shouts, “I’ll prove it. But not now. Give me a way to contact you.”

I wonder how he’ll attempt to prove it to me.

“Okay,” I tell him.

He looks away briefly, “Er. You’re going to have to show me how to use your Mortal Device."

Um? He means, “The cellphone?” I ask him.

“Yes, that,” he grumbles.