7. Jaxson
7
Jaxson
S now White’s, or Lauressa’s, apartment is a two-bedroom space in a quaint three-story building in the historic downtown district of Macon, Georgia.
Careful as she was not to give any identifying information about herself during our talk, she did make enough seemingly benign statements that I could piece together who she was and where she lived.
The first obvious clue was when she said she’d always thought she would move somewhere with snow which meant that she lived somewhere that didn’t get snow. Or at least, not every winter like in Chicago. Then she added that she was used to driving and walking around during severe thunderstorms. Further, she has an accent. At first, I would have pinned it as fairly neutral. But I recorded our conversation too and have listened to it dozens and dozens of times on repeat in just the last three days. There was something southern about it. A barely perceptible drag to her vowels that was heightened when she was worked up.
But even with those three indicators, it wasn’t enough to narrow the scope of my search. Finding her was still going to be a months-long task even if I threw her picture into a facial recognition database for the entire southern United States. Or, it would have been if not for the logo on her jacket. The logo of an insurance company with six regional offices where they do the majority of their business for their clients. And the only two that existed in places that had mild winters and were in the south were in San Antonio, Texas, and Macon, Georgia. From there it was as simple as hacking into the HR directory and running a program to steal the names of employees who worked there the last ten years. Then, the names were dumped in a program to run internet searches against facial recognition using the image of Snow White that I stole from the hotel security feed.
All in all, it took a matter of three intense, focused hours to find Lauressa Kleen and learn everything about her. Where she went to school. Where she’s from. Her birthday. Her previous job and current job. Where she lives.
I should have bid my time. Waited. Come up with a plan for what to do with her beyond converting her to the Sovereignty. But I like a little spontaneity in my otherwise rigid and structured life. So Saturday, I sent my people ahead to prepare for me, and then took a flight out of Chicago Sunday evening.
The first thing I have to do is set up surveillance of her in all the places she habits. I put Shelly on her job, and now my men are helping me install cameras in her apartment. Her bedroom. Her kitchen. Her bathroom. Her living room. Whatever she does here, I want to be able to see it .
But simply watching her isn’t enough for me. I don’t want her to feel safe in her own home. I want her to feel like her privacy has been invaded, like something has been taken from her and wondering why and how without suspecting it’s me until I’m ready to reveal myself to her again.
So in addition to planting the cameras, I order my men to make it look like the place has been robbed. Most people who live here are at work and not here to notice my men carrying out her electronics, and anyone who does notice doesn’t seem to care or know what’s going on.
As my men do their work, I look around to figure out what I can glean about her. She’s not particularly tidy, but it’s not filthy either. The furniture, blinds, and light fixtures look like they could use a good dusting, but it seems she wipes the counters every day. And while clothes are out of place—thrown over chairs, the couch, and even on the coffee table—hair ties thrown on the entertainment center, there’s a certain deliberateness to it that gives off organization amongst the chaos. Like if I asked her where anything was, Lauressa would be able to find it even if it were in the most non-intuitive place.
After perusing her bedroom, I enter the second bedroom and find that she’s turned it into a home office. I look around for Lauressa’s laptop and any external hard drive that might have her interviews on it, but it looks like she took it with her. I still round the room a second time before starting to leave… only to find a gray tabby cat blocking my way .
It hisses at me with its ears back. I laugh and crouch down, holding my hand out to it.
“Now, don’t be like that. I don’t plan to hurt you,” I say to it.
The cat cautiously comes closer. It sniffs and nips at my fingers before finally closing the distance and rubbing against my hand, demanding to be pet. I scratch it behind the ear and under the chin before picking it up. It purrs contentedly.
“That’s a good kitty. What’s your name?” I ask, looking for a tag or collar and finding none. It must have a name though. Lauressa is certainly its owner.
I smirk. And how much more distraught and upset would she be to find that not only has her apartment been broken into, but also her cat is gone?
“How would you like to come with me?” I ask as I go into the kitchen to look for cat treats.
I find them in a container in the cabinet labeled “Nala.” As soon as Nala hears them shake, she perks up. She eagerly takes the treats out my hands as I feed them to her one by one.
Hm. I always wanted a cat but was never allowed to have one because the some animal-hating Oracle said animals didn’t belong in the house and were only to be kept otherwise for pure utility like farming. There was no utility for a cat. Not in a big mansion in Chicago with no mice or rats, anyway.
Not wanting to risk drawing any attention since we’ve been here a while, I check on the progress of my men.
They’ve taken most of the big ticket electronics, strewn her clothes all over the floor from her dresser and closet, flipped the cushions on her couch and the mattress on her bed, and left the mounted TV in the living room hanging half off the wall in an aborted attempted to remove it. It makes it look like we were in a hurry.
“Well done,” I say to them.
Before we leave, I take out a tablet that’s connected to the camera feeds to make sure I can see every room clearly from all angles.
Satisfied, I make sure to leave the door half cracked, anticipating the horror Lauressa will feel upon the dawning realization that her home has been invaded.
I’ve been watching the monitors showing me a live feed of Laruressa’s apartment since I left it earlier. My men robbed a few more apartments in the building and in the area to make everything look like a random, coordinated plan rather than just a single, focused target. But they had hardly needed me for that, leaving me able to inspect every corner of Lauressa’s home on camera.
The only thing that makes me take my eyes off the screen is Shelly coming to report to me.
“When’d you get a cat?” she asks
“Just today,” I say, stroking the gray tabby under the chin as it demands for my attention. Then, I ask, “How’d it go?”
“I can see why you like her,” Shelly says as she plops herself in a chair next to me. “You’re right. She was born to be part of the Sovereignty.”
“You know I don’t believe in destiny like that,” I chide .
“I know. But that’s your way of looking at the Supreme Force. This is mine,” she says.
It’s what Shelly always says when we disagree philosophically. I’ve known Shelly since her father introduced her to me when we were thirteen with the purpose of arranging our marriage with my parents. In a world that forbid us from technically dating until we were eighteen, no way were we going to turn down the opportunity to spend time with the opposite sex while our parents were encouraging it. Except very quickly, two things became apparent. Well. Three. But the first two count as one thing.
First, she’s asexual and aromantic, something the Sovereignty under all the past Oracles don’t even acknowledge as being real, insisting that when you meet the right person (always of the opposite sex), sexual desire will awaken. As soon as I’m Oracle, that is a rule I plan to change. Not only is it a complete lie, but also it shrinks the pool of people who would be willing to follow me without question or critical thought. More people. More power.
Second, she actually believes in all this mystical doctrine of the Sovereignty while I don’t. I’d expected Shelly to be more upset about that seeing as she’s been indoctrinated since childhood to believe it’s all true, just like I was supposed to. But she’d simply smiled and said I was still here, doing “the work” even if my reasons weren’t pure, so I must believe in it in some capacity. The rest would fall into place one day, she said.
I lied that I had a vision that Shelly wasn’t supposed to be my wife, but a maiden priestess who completely dedicated her life and work to the Supreme Force and the altars. After a week of meditation, my father came to the same conclusion.
“Well,” I finally say, “I know why I think that. Why do you?”
Shelly goes into detail about what she’s learned about Lauressa. Most of it, I already gleaned from our conversation. Compassionate. Cares about people, even those she disagrees with. Ready to help people even at risk to herself. Not afraid to be wrong about people. Just like she thought she was wrong about me and thought that I might want help escaping the Sovereignty.
There are some new things. They had Chinese food for lunch together, and Lauressa is such a regular customer, they know her order by heart. She has terrible road rage and turns red in frustration while driving at the slightest mishap, and a few other benign things, though nothing particularly useful to me right now.
“Good,” I say. “Continue to foster a relationship with her. The goal is for us to make her realize the only logical choice is the Sovereignty. Make her see a Sovereign is just like everyone else to dispel any preconceived notions she may have about it.”
“I’m so glad you picked someone that’s actually likeable to fish in,” Shelly says. “The people your father has a taste in…”
I make a dismissive sound while focusing back on my monitors. Shelly takes the hint and leaves.
Not long after, the camera facing the front door shows Lauressa walking in with shocked dismay as she correctly but also incorrectly assumes she’s been robbed.