empiricstâ:
â
   camille could feel noelâs gaze over her, and wondered if this is how animals felt at the zoo. having to justify themselves for their illogical behaviors, for the way they needed to howl and toss and bite. losing herself was second nature to her â sheâd slip in and out of monstrous minds, in and out of existence, in and out of her own conscience. she suddenly felt naked, exposed: did she have to justify her own mind? would dissecting it serve any purpose here, if not to make noel run away in utter fear? deep down, somehow, camille enjoyed their company. found a strange kind of comfort in knowing there was a kindred spirit of sorts she could discuss these matters with: someone who wouldnât run. yet â sure it wouldâve been much harder to keep them around, if she didnât learn how to stop for a second.
âiâm okayâ. her lie was blatant, performed with a poster kind of smile, albeit fleeting and quickly eclipsed by the sorrowful, apologetic look she cast on the counter. her fingernail tracing the mark of an old scratch, she kept her gaze returning to noel in discreet, quick glances. âworking a lot. clearly. but youâre probably in the same boatâ. a quick smirk, then camille turned to took yet another long, thirsty sip of her beer. âhow are things at the paper? calmer than the precinct, i hope âââ
--
Noel could see clearly through Camilleâs falsity. Maybe it was their eye in journalism, the one you needed to have when 90% of your job was people blatantly lying to you and then trying to write an article, piecing the pieces of the story -- the puzzle -- together, through everyoneâs bullshit. Raising the glass of Yuengling to their lips, they sipped, placing the glass back down after several gulps -- long, very necessary gulps, almost cautiously, not wanting to make any sudden noises in order to startle Camilleâs fragility.Â
âYeah, definitely in the same boat. But Iâd have it no other way, gotta be honest,â they smirked, a glance in her direction, eyes then settling against the counter. âI have no idea how Iâd spend my days if it werenât for work.â A pause. âAnyway, yeah, things are okay at the paper. People are going mental with this serial killer though, so no, definitely not calmer.â They took another few gulps of beer, hoping it would loosen them up. Noel could feel it, their energy, too...tight, constricting. They were quiet for a moment before curiosity (as usual) got the better of them. âHow did this killer get their name? Do you know? I thought it was The Incandescent -- reporters thinking it was some 1950s film noir gig. Did the name come from you guys over at the precinct?â













