Mads was most disgruntled to discover that ‘phone privileges’ ended at 7:00. However, they were returned the next morning. “Can I have my phone back, now?” Mads asked.
“Are you ready for school?” Uncle Oliver asked.
“Yup.”
“Teeth brushed?”
“Yup.”
“Hair brushed?”
“Does it look messy?”
“Don’t sass.”
“That was a genuine question.”
“No. It doesn’t. So, if I dropped you off at school right now, you would be fine?”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
“Well, no.”
“What do you still need to do?”
A mischievous smile grew across Mads’s face. “School only starts at eight. If you dropped me off now, it’d be two hours before they opened. I’d be sitting outside.”
“Are you always this full of nonsense?”
Mads nodded.
“Well, fine,” Uncle Oliver sighed. “If you had to go to school now, would ‘you’ be ready?”
Mads nodded. “Yes, Uncle Oliver.”
“Ooh, that sounds so formal. Just ‘Uncle’. Now, here’s your phone.”
“Thank you.”
Mads curled up on the couch. “Uhm, is there wifi I can connect to?”
“Yes, but don’t use it in excess. Wifi name is “Home Sweet Home”, password is G-zero-zero-d-Morning. The G and the M are capitals.”
“Got you. Thanks!”
Downloading a news app, setting in the right settings, and tracking the right key words, Mads found the article he was hoping for.
“Aeroplane pilot attacked during flight – authorities have few leads,” the article read. “Aeroplane pilot Jean d’ Mault was attacked yesterday part way through a regular flight between Hopesville and Taroton. He has been put in a coma, and it is unclear if he will make a recovery. The authorities have very few leads.”
Looking up that name, Jean d’ Mault, Mads found an uninteresting history of normality. Born at a young age, he grew up in a city, dreamed of having a job, got one at 22. At 34, he got a bit more interesting, with dreams of being a pilot, got a licence through a small company, and then upgraded it repeatedly to get a commercial licence. And then immediately landed a job as a commercial pilot. His life was just so straight forward. He didn’t even have a social media presence. Not on a business platform, not on an image sharing platform, heck, not even on the airline’s website did he have much information.
“Matthias, are you ready to go?” Aunty Mirriam asked sweetly.
“It’s Mads actually. But, yeah, I’m ready to go.”
“Okay. Well, your cousins are going to walk to school early to meet their friends before school starts. Why don’t you walk with them?”
Aunty Mirriam was much sterner with her own children, but she seemed to be treading on eggshells with Mads. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“I think you might make some friends.”
“Okay,” Mads smiled. “I’ll go.” He tucked his phone away, into his blazer, which Aunty Mirriam warned him was a very bad way to carry it, so he shifted it into his bag, and left with his cousins.
Ashlyn was a bit more of a girly-girly than Mads tended to hang around with, but fine. Wessel was the sort of strong, leader-of-the-pack kind of guy that people admired.
Wessel probably didn’t like him much, come to think of it; by staying in Wessel’s room, he was stealing Wessel’s ability to have sleepovers with friends, not to mention his personal space.
“I don’t mind that much,” Wessel piped up. “It’s much better than having you not have a home.”
“What?” Mads asked.
“Huh?”
“Are you a mind reader?”
“I… thought Dad would have told you.”
“You must be very concerned for my mental health right now, then.”
“You’d be surprised how normal your thoughts are. People think very weird things.”
“My friend back home, Roxanne, is a mind reader, too,” Mads offered. “She got so good at implanting thoughts and reading them, so we could all sit in a row during detention, and talk to each other, without really saying a word!”
“That’s…” Wessel paused, “an interesting side effect of detention.”
“Why do you get detention so much?” Ashlyn asked.
“Mostly sassing, ignoring, and backtalking. Trouble is, I never really do know when I’m going to get in trouble for replying, and when I’m going to get in trouble for being quiet. I always seem to pick the wrong one.”
“Well,” Ashlyn warned, “Dad is not going to like it if you get detention. And you’re not going to like him, if you do, either!”
Mads was uneasy at that and decided to change the topic. “So, are the people at school nice?” Mads asked.
“They’re nice enough,” Wessel replied. “They have their own groups, but they’re not totally horrible.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ashlyn warned. “I think they’re horrid.”
Mads widened his eyes. “How do we end up with such different stories?”
“There’s this girl, Freda Baxter,” Wessel explained. “She had pictures on her phone of her in lingerie. She promises she never sent them to anyone, but I highly doubt it.”
“Well, even if she didn’t send it around, everyone’s seen it now!” Ashlyn continued. “Someone sent it around to everyone at school.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know,” Wessel shrugged.
“You have mind reading abilities. You haven’t gone and found them?”
“There are two-hundred people in our school, and we don’t even know what grade the culprit’s in.”
“And you haven’t even tried?”
“Mind reading is not that simple, Mads. I can’t just “see” who did it.”
“Why not? Isn’t it like the “Don’t think of a fluffy, pink elephant” joke? Where, you’re now thinking of a fluffy pink elephant?”
“Well, yes, to some extent, in an isolated incident, sure, but this is not isolated,” Wessel explained. Mads looked up, expecting more explanation, so Wessel had to continue. “Everyone in school has seen the image. It’s less like thinking of an elephant, and more like knowing that you’d already gone to a circus, with a fluffy, pink elephant, and asking “Did you buy the elephant?”. Well, you’ve certainly seen the elephant, so just knowing that you thought of that specific elephant doesn’t help. In fact, the time it takes for you to specifically think of buying the elephant, because you did, still ends up being about the same amount of time it would take you to involuntarily fabricate the image of you selling the elephant, just because that’s how the human mind works. I can ask everyone at the circus, and get reams of data on the sighting of the elephant, and still not know who sold it.”
“Well, isn’t the school trying to do something about it?”
“To some extent, yes, but they’re not bringing in cops, because that’s really bad for their reputation, and they are stuck with the same conundrum I just explained. That’s why there are so many laws around posting images or details of ongoing investigations, and why it’s so common for criminals to attempt to upload footage of their crimes to the internet, or claim to be a victim of those crimes, too. The more people see that crime, the less advantage the police have from utilizing mind readers.”
“So,” Mads sighed, “what I’m hearing is, “this calls for some good old fashioned detective work”. Doesn’t it?”
Ashlyn looked displeased. “No, what you’re hearing is ‘watch out for the other people in the school’.”
“I don’t want to crush your dreams, but I don’t think Freda will be too happy chatting about her humiliation in front of the new kid. If I were you, I’d just pretend you didn’t know.”
Mads sighed. “Oh, alright.” But it wasn’t. He had to think of a way to catch the sender.
“I am a mind reader!” Wessel reminded.
“I don’t think I like having a mind reader against me.”
Arriving at school, Mads split from his cousins quickly to think in peace. He doubted he was really supposed to have his phone out, so he located the nearest lavatory, and slipped out his phone there.
Freda Baxter had an online presence, and seemed to be an aspiring model on an application called Qixst, which Mads downloaded, setting up a bogus account. She had plenty of pictures, but none seemed overtly sexual. But that wasn’t was he was looking for: crimes like this were usually committed by those closest to the victim. First suspect: a boy named Adam.
He appeared a lot, Freda often hanging on his arm. If she was lying about sending someone the original picture, Adam would be who got it.
Still, it raised an odd question if she had sent it herself: why not just directly accuse the receiver, as said receiver would be the only person who had it? She surely couldn’t be naive enough to believe him telling her he hadn’t. No, it seemed more likely she was telling the truth. She never sent it around, so she had no suspects of her own. Someone must have accessed her phone, sent it to themselves, and then deleted the record of the sent image.
Adam appeared to just be an aspiring male model, signed with a runway company. He had a sister, Silvia, who Freda seemed to have no pictures with, and a girlfriend, Jade, who Freda did seem to know.
A text from Wessel:
Wessel: Where are you
I want you to meet some people
Come to the cafeteria
Mads: on my way.
Walking, Mads continued to think. If the image had been sent from her phone, and she didn’t know it, how was it sent? Deleting a text leaves a record. “You deleted this message.” If she had email on her phone, that may be totally removeable, but it was hard. What about a direct-message on Qixst? Would that leave a trace?
“No, it doesn’t!” Wessel answered. “But please stop thinking so loud! You’re practically deafening me.”
“Sorry. But, uhm… can you get those messages back?”
“I don’t know. Why do you care?”
Elaine had taught Mads that, should he ever not want to answer a question of a mind reader, the only way was to control his thoughts in the opposite direction. So, fluffy, pink elephants it was! “No reason.”
“You and those elephants again? Alright. Well, this is Coby, and this is Bradly. They’re actually in your class.”
“It’s good to meet you. You can call me Mads.”
Coby was an artist. No question. He had a stylus plugged into his phone, and hand-crafted book covers, not to mention the sort of eclectic glasses only an artist would attempt to wear. Bradly, on the other hand, was slightly taller, without spectacles, but carried a supplementary book for the biology class, which he was packing into his bag. Mads took him for a researcher.
“We’re going to go and do our homework for English,” Bradly offered awkwardly. “Do you want to join?”
“There’s homework?”
“Probably not for you, but we had. We just need to finish it off.”
“Sure. What was the task?”
“The task was to research and write an essay on a job we found admirable.”
“I should at least try to do the homework, though, right?”
Coby looked unconvinced. “You could try, I suppose, but…”
“Hey, um, neither of you are mind readers, right?”
“No.”
“Good. Let’s get to writing!”
Finding a good seat, Mads was back to research. He had intended to find software engineers admirable that day, but he got distracted, and went with ‘pilot on a commercial airline plane’ instead.
But, with only half an hour spare, he needed help.
Mads: Hey. Don’t suppose you want to help me with a… school… project
On really short notice.
Do ya?
Rasmus: No
Roxanne: Lol
Okay
Mads: https//NewsNow.com/Aeroplane-pilot-attacked-during-flight
Roxanne: Of course it’s a case
Elaine: Have you reverse-image searched the pilot, yet?
Mads: Nope
Roxanne: On it
Mads needed every minute spare he could collect. As tiring as using his ability was, now was the time. Much like each other ability, slowing time was not as straight forward as it seemed. It was less a case of slowing time itself, and more a case of changing people’s perceptions of time. In this case, speeding up his own perception of time, to let himself react faster.
Still, the essay he handed in was doomed to be generic and uninspired. He aimlessly watched himself write classic sentences like, “Pilots can soar where others simply cannot, defying the laws of physics and gravity, determined to write their own stories into reality.”
“Coby… he’s… writing… so… fast… he’s… inhuman…” Bradly mused.
To those at normal speed, Mads knew, he looks incredible. Which probably just meant his hand would really, really hurt afterwards.
Roxanne: Elaine, can you get anything on the case for the Mint Coast Company?
Elaine: Sure.
Whatever that is.
Roxanne: Drug dealers, I think
Mads was nearly done! Now for a cheesy closer. “I really admire pilots: they handle tough situations efficiently, and help people get where they need to go, all the while standing on the shoulders of hundreds of years of innovation, defying the rules mere mortals find themselves beneath!”
I really admire pilots. They fly planes
His head thonked onto the desk. He could happily go back to bed right now.
“Is he okay?” he heard a girl asking. “Should we call the nurse?”
“I don’t know,” Wessel laughed. “What did he do?”
“He wrote! Really fast!” Bradly explained.
“He must’ve done more than just… write…”
“What is going on here?” asked another voice. That one was older, and somehow inherently frightening. Enough to force Mads’s head up.
“He’s alive!” Wessel laughed.
“Young man, what do you think you’re doing, sleeping before class?”
Mads could only assume this was the English teacher, since they had been in her class room. He gulped.
“I… I had wanted to do the homework, to make a good impression, Ma’am. I guess I just overdid the time slowing a bit.”
Her eyebrows lifted expectantly. “And? Do you have anything to show for it?”
Mads hesitantly held out his book.
“I tell you what,” she said, looking over it, “I’ll mark this now, while I’m waiting for the bell to summons the rest of the class. If you get over 80%, I’ll forgive your snoozing. If not, you’ve earned your first detention for causing a disruption and sleeping through line-up.”
Mads gulped. “Isn’t there a third option?”
“Detention and 80%.”
“I’ll go with the plea-bargain, then.”
“Good. Now, Wessel, your class isn’t here right now. You had better hurry, don’t you think? Class starts in four minutes.”
Mads looked down guiltily. Not his brightest idea.
Elaine: The Mint Coast Company was a company internationally transporting after-dinner-mints from India to other countries, mainly the U.S., Germany, South Africa, and England.
Turns out, though, they weren’t dinner mints. They were compressed cocaine.
They’re presently on trial, but most of the witnesses have either disappeared or died.
Roxanne: My turn: Jean d’ Mault is really Olof Waldheim
Flew for them for 3 ½ years
Was supposed to testify
Disappeared last April
“Young man, turn off your cellphone!”
“Sorry, Ma’am. Just turning it on to flight mode.”
“It’s taking an awfully long time, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Sorry. Perhaps you could keep it at the front during class, for me?” Mads used to always hear Rasmus smooth-talk the teachers, so he would at least try it, once.
“If you need. Bring it here.” It didn’t seem to make a difference to her demeanour, though. “You get off this time. You got 82%.”
“By the skin of my teeth!” Mads grinned.
“Hey, you sure you’re okay?” asked the girl from earlier.
“He’s fine, Freda! Leave him.”
Mads recognised both. The first was Freda, the second, Jade.
“I’m alright. Thank you. Mads, pleased to meet you.”
“Freda.”
“Right!” scolded the teacher. “Let’s begin the lesson. As some of you may have worked out, we have a new student. And even he did the homework for this week, so I certainly hope you all did yours!”
Mads buried his head. He was the example of a ‘good student’. How embarrassing!
Mads need not sit through too much more of school, as he was summoned to the principal’s office, where Uncle Oliver waited.
“Did you look that tired this morning when you left?”
Mads didn’t reply.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. The airport agent called me. He needs you for questioning again.”
“Damn. Right now?”
“Yes. And “damn” is a swear word in our house.”
“It’s just the side of a large body of water.”
“Not in our house. Come on, let’s go.”
Although Uncle Oliver was definitely unhappy about having to leave work to pick him up in the middle of the day, there was something gentle in his tone. Something safe, and hopeful.
Watch your spelling! It’s atrocious.
“Good to see you again, kiddo,” the officer nodded. “You may be pleased to know that you were right about the “smoker”. We analysed the cigarette found in the bathroom. It had no traces of saliva on it. It never touched his lips.”
Mads grinned. “And you’ll probably find the pilot isn’t,” he checked his phone to double check, “‘Jean d’ Mault’. He’s ‘Olof Waldheim’ who fled from a criminal investigation.”
“I knew that, but how did you?”
Mads grinned. “A good detective with good friends.”
“Right, well, anyway, we have even identified the attacker. Not a passenger. One of the flight attendants.”
“Which one?”
The officer pulled up video footage. “Trouble is, she’s dressed as a very real flight attendant, who was apparently tied up in the ladies bathroom, stripped to her undies, and impersonated. She can’t describe her assailant. Same story with the captain, who is now conscious again. He confirmed his real identity, as well as that he was paid by the drug ring to leave. Now you have your reward, your turn. I need you to think back, and see if you can help us identify the flight attendant or the smoker. Any detail helps.”
“Well, what are you looking for?”
“A strand of hair peeking out from under a wig, unusually high heels, a malformed nose, anything. Our footage is absurdly unhelpful, and only seems to show her from the back. She may have even known where the cameras were.”
“Was it definitely a she? That injured the pilot badly enough to knock him out?”
“Did you see anything to suggest it wasn’t?”
“Well, no, but… Well, it probably was a woman, I suppose. The hair wasn’t a wig. It may have been dyed, but it wasn’t a wig.”
“So, you can’t think of anything?”
“Well, actually, yes! She had a birthmark… or a bruise… but I think it was a birthmark… on her left elbow. She tried to hide it with a plaster.”
“I guess it’s something. Is that.. it?”
“I’m sorry. She was so casual about everything. What about fingerprints, though?”
He shook his head. “Long before we knew we needed them, the food and drink trays were off the plane and wiped down. All fingerprints were cleared.”
“Well, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You did your best.”