Misha sat down at his desk and put on a pair of very large and very old headphones, a signal to the rest of the bullpen that he was not to be disturbed. The headphones were connected to a now-vintage iPod that he had lovingly maintained and upgraded over the past two decades. Once music was playing he opened a larger notebook and put his pocket notebook on top of it, copying out relevant facts and building up a better timeline.
But the poor girl… he needed a name for her. Yes she has one but remembering it was difficult. He would call her Helen. That fit, yes. A war was being fought over her, and her agency meant nothing in this particular war.
So, Helen was—he opened the dossier he had received on the case—a research assistant at the University. Excellent work record, excellent credit score, excellent grades. Okay. A year ago she meets this—flips back a page in his Field Notes—Chris, who introduces Helen to the world of D/s. Misha skipped forward a track on his playlist without registering that he had done so—the previous track had been interfering with his thoughts—and looked at the ceiling. Some years ago Marcus had installed a clock in the ceiling in a vain attempt to get Misha to be on time to meetings at least occasionally.
Misha’s experience with D/s had involved a very brief period of experimentation in college with his girlfriend Tammy. She had been a very wild girl who desperately wanted someone to see that what she needed was to be a good girl. And that had been a very enjoyable connection.
Then Tammy transferred to a new school and they had gone their separate ways. A few attempts to find a similar connection had left Misha with the impression that he had captured lightning in a bottle with Tammy, and should just be grateful for the experience. She had been energetic, had both struggled against his control and basked in his control. The few experiences he had had since then had been with simpering girls, or masochists who wanted pain without purpose. These experiences alienated Misha from that dynamic, indeed alienated him from that part of himself.
Since then he had kept tabs on the “kink” clubs in town in the idle hope that one of them would somehow offer exactly what he was looking for right on the marquee. A friend of his that Marcus would not approve of had taken Misha to The Undercroft, and Misha spent the entire evening trying not to laugh out loud. It looked like someone had bought the entire stock of a Spirit Halloween location and upended it on a bunch of Vampire: The Masquerade LARPers.
The Lair was not any better. Just leather and studs—metal and beefcake—on top of sweaty bodies. It smelled like a locker room and sounded like a bad martial arts movie. There was no tension, no dynamic…even though that word got used a lot to describe what was going on.
Only one person in the precinct would ever tap Misha on the shoulder when he was staring at the ceiling, so he didn’t yell when Marcus did so.
“Mish, We found an officer who is a member of Nyx—”
“Syd Jackson, right?”
“Wha—gods Misha. Why do you send me after info if you already have it?”
“I didn’t send you, nor did I have it. I just guessed right now. And I could have been wrong and you told me not to ask people—”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember what happened with Officer Ronson. Anyway, yeah, Officer Jackson is a member and she has agreed to sponsor someone from the department.”
“Me” Misha said, turning off his music player.
“Mish. Come on. Be serious.”
“Well it’s not gonna be you, Marc.”
“Gods, Mitzi would kill me,” Marcus said and Misha smiled purely internally.
“So it’s gotta be me. I can’t tell anyone else to go undercover, they’d blow their cover immediately.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I think I do.” Misha said.
Marcus shook his head. “Look, Mish. Whatever. It’s a week-long screening period, so they can look into the new member and also give people time to…ya know, reconsider.”
Misha nodded. “That’s fine. We have plenty to do before then. We should go visit…you know…that… woman…”
“Cassandra Lee”
“Right, her, oh her name is Cassandra? That’s amusing.”
“Why?”
“I was calling her Helen” Misha said, grabbing his badge and his notebooks. Marcus looked blank and then shrugged slightly, following Misha to the parking lot.
Heading out to his car Misha nodded at the officers on duty in an unmarked but honestly very obvious car across the road from Cassie’s place. He drove over to Nyx, dropped off the application and then drove to the lab they recommended for getting tested the first time. (we are going to say that there is a lab that is open just to keep things moving.)
As he waits for the results he looks over Cassie’s list, nodding at the elements and then folding it up again, making sure it is safe in the pocket in the back of his larger notebook.
Marcus: You check in with Ms. Lee?
Misha: Yeh
Marcus: You eat anything today?
Misha: probably?
Marcus: sigh Come on over. Mitzi made enough for you of course.
Misha: I was gonna just go home
Marcus: Why do you do this. Mitz will just make me drive some stew over to you if you go home.
Misha: Fine. Tell MOM I’ll be there in twenty.
Fortunately the quick results were clean and the lab promised to send them to the email address Misha provided, which would forward them directly to Nyx. He headed out and got back into his car, thinking as he drove to his own house on autopilot, his mind caught up in more important things.
Cassie was right, it had been a while since he had…what was the way they were saying it today? “had a ‘dynamic’”. Tammy had been dynamic in every sense of the word, all by herself.
But there was something about Cassie. She wasn’t one of the simpering ones, and her list made it clear she wasn’t a “pain for pain’s sake” girl either.
Also she was… well. Interesting. She had a brain. She looked at things and saw them instead of sleepwalking through life like almost everyone on earth.
So that would make it easier for him to… to do what was needed for the case. No matter how interesting she was, this was a case, not…not one of those dating apps the officers all seemed to be addicted to on their stupid “smartphones”.
Misha changed into his pajamas—just shorts and one of many faded band t-shirts from his youth—and fell into bed.
There was a loud knock twenty minutes later, followed by a rattle as Marcus unlocked the door, saw that Misha was asleep, and put Mitzi’s Tupperware full of soup into the fridge. Then he paused, looked in the sink, shook his head, and took the one from last week back home.
Nyx Notes