Interstice

At first glance, the Commission’s waiting room looked similar to the lobby of every hospital that Emil had ever visited. Its design was clean and minimalist, with seats arranged around the walls and a wide reception desk opposite the front door. 

The only difference was that a heavy, see-through barrier completely encircled the top of the desk, with rectangular openings near the bottom that seemed secured, from the inside, by a series of complicated-looking latches. Busy with keyboards and touchpads, the people behind it barely looked up when they entered.

They had brought him here in handcuffs, with a full escort of four field agents. All were covered from head to toe in protective gear—bulky, grey suits made of something that looked like Kevlar. 

And, of course, they were armed to the teeth. 

After their arrival, two of them left. The others stayed behind. Although they faced the same direction as him, one at the right and the other at the left, Emil couldn’t tell if they were looking at him through those thick visors. 

There were chairs in that lobby, but it felt awkward to sit down while the agents stood. At the same time, he didn’t want to appear threatening. After a moment of indecision, Emil decided to—very slowly—sit down in the nearest seat by the wall. To make himself appear as small and insignificant as possible.

He was still trying to do this when a man came out holding a clipboard.

“Mr. Sarkozy, right?” 

The man sounded brisk, almost casual, as though Emil wasn’t cuffed and accompanied by an armed escort. He was of average height, with sharp features and a pair of rectangular glasses. Maybe in his thirties. The getup was just as ordinary: lab coat, black pants, a plain white shirt.

But his tie was a startling shade of purple. It drew the eye.

“Uh, Emil,” he managed to stutter.

The man extended a hand—gloved, Emil noticed. “Sanjay Varma. Nice to meet you.” Then, he seemed to notice the handcuffs. Varma looked over at the field agents. “Do we really need these?”

One of them lowered her visor. Emil could see that she was a young woman, with thick brown eyebrows and a serious expression. “The higher-ups thought it was for the best. We still don’t know the extent of his abilities. You were briefed on what he did, right?

They must have sent pictures, he thought. A sick feeling dropped through his stomach. “Wait,” Emil said. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded far too quiet. He cleared his throat. “Wait, you don’t understand. I— I was trying to help.”

The moment he said it, he realized how often they must have heard the exact same excuse. The agent gave him a look that might have been pity. Varma only peered at him curiously.

Then, he smiled. A little too quickly. “No worries. You’ll have plenty of time to explain. I’m going to ask you some questions, Emil.”

“Right here?” The agent glanced at the people behind the reception desk, then shot him a concerned look. Aside from them, there was no one else in the lobby. “Are you authorized for that, Dr. Varma?”

“Just for now—until we’re cleared for a holding cell.” He turned the same smile on her. “It’s fine, Agent Costello. Won’t take long.”

“If you say so.”

Varma looked back at Emil, who was in the middle standing up. He stared him straight in the eyes. “I think you’d better stay seated. Sudden movements set our agents on edge. Not that they’re trigger-happy—but I’d play it safe if I were you.” 

His tone remained casual. He was still smiling, brisk and unmalicious. 

Neither was terribly reassuring.

Emil nodded anyway. He sat back down, slowly. 

There was a certain quality to Varma’s eyes that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A sweeping, searchlight quality. Like he was looking for something. The image blinked into Emil’s mind: an incandescent lightbulb. It reminded him of that. Those outdated ones that they’d learned about in school, lit by the sheer intensity of the heat they generated. 

He took a seat in the chair next to Emil’s, glanced down at his clipboard, and clicked a pen. 

“Ready?”

Emil swallowed. “Sure.”

“First question. When did you become aware of your Emergence?”

Panic pushed static fingers into his skull. Would he be punished for hiding it for so long? They had to get other cases like this—why couldn’t he remember what had happened to those people?

“...Twelve,” he said quietly. “I mean, I was twelve. I used it on… on a cat. And a guinea pig. By accident.”

“Ah.” Varma didn’t sound outraged, at least. He just nodded and jotted something down on the clipboard. “And did you tell anyone? Your parents? Friends?”

“No.”

“Hm.” More jotting. “What about experiments?”

Emil blinked. “...Sorry?”

“Practicing with your powers?”

“No,” Emil said quickly, shaking his head. “Nothing like that. The first time was… enough.”

Full stop. Varma turned and gave him a look of faint surprise. Does he not believe me? But after a few seconds, all he said was: “Huh. And you weren’t curious? About the limitations?”

Emil stared at him. “Maybe a little, but…” He cut himself off, searching Varma’s eyes for anything resembling an understanding of what he was trying to convey. All he found was that same glittering intensity. “But it worked on—living things.”

“Right, of course.” Varma gave a dry chuckle. “Responsible of you. It’s just... common, you know. People get so excited about these things.”

Maybe if they’re not me. Emil nodded numbly.

“Okay, last question,” Varma continued, glancing up again. “Well, for the preliminary round. Aside from the pets and frat boys—did you ever use it on anyone else?”

Emil froze.

“...Yeah,” he forced himself to say. “There was this—ice cream truck driver. But I swear it was an accident. I was trying to keep him from being hit by this car when he was fixing the roof, and—” 

Emil took a breath. “Look, I know this doesn’t sound… believable, but aside from those three times, I’ve never used it. I don’t even fully understand it. If they weren’t about to hurt themselves back at that party, I would never have—”

“I know,” said Varma. It sounded strangely genuine. 

Then he was getting up and striding over to someone else who had just walked in—a young woman, also dressed in a lab coat, with her hair in rows of short braids and neon-green frames on her glasses. They spoke in hushed tones. 

“You’ve been cleared for a holding cell,” said Agent Costello. Emil started. They were the only words she had spoken to him so far. 

“Uh, thanks.” He was about to stand before he remembered. “Can… Can I get up now?”

“You should.”

Emil pulled himself up from the chair. His wrists already ached from the cuffs, but now his shoulders felt the strain of sitting in that position. Costello and her partner were already starting down a hallway further into the building, behind Varma and the young woman. 

And so, lacking other options, he followed them as well.