[ The sound of water running, then the click of the kettle fitting onto its base, fill him like a breath of fresh air. Suppressing a smile, he pulls out two packets of Earl Grey flavored rooibos.

Tearing one open and then the other, he cocks an eyebrow at her question. That's a feature that could have potential for his purposes. He'll have to think on that, perhaps shuffle some priorities around. ]

This would be purely visual, but that's an interesting idea. [ He lowers a teabag into each of the mugs in her hands. ] Listening to someone's thoughts.

There's been research into it. It's a nascent area of study but they're not coming up empty-handed, from what I understand.

[ Lying isn't something he typically has to worry about with his subjects. The gas alleviates both him and the subjects of that as a factor. ]

[ He's sure she's right about the cops as a target audience. But then he'd have to talk to cops. Putting aside his sordid obsession, he's never met one that wasn't dull at best and a boorish thug at worst. He'd just as soon fly to Silicone Valley and clamber through a lobby disguised as a soft play area to pitch a patent to a boardroom of insufferable millennials. ]

Go back to the beginning. [ Hap's come so far since then. He hasn't cast an eye to the past in years. It's an idea that's not without value. ]

[ Hap mirrors her, placing his hand on the counter and shifting his weight to it. ]

I was working in the emergency room as an anesthesiologist. I had a patient come in from a crash. It was touch and go, and he went, and I heard it. This — [ his open hand sweeps out ] "whoosh," but it didn't come from his mouth. I wasn't even sure. Doctors think they hear things like that all the time.

But we got him back. Defib. And that second time, I knew. I knew it was real. Him. His consciousness, or will, soul, his essence, whatever you want to call it. It left and it came back.

[ He chuckles, engaged and animated. ]

It is, but when you're in it every night, the din is a... a familiar blanket. Every noise a thread.

That sound pierced [ his fingers slice the air ] right through it.

[ Briefly, he too sees the Bella he knew before. His words aren't battling a barricade of fear and incredulity. She's really listening this time.

But the Bella from before isn't the same as the real Bella. Hap frankly doesn't know if he's even met her yet. Listening is a finely honed skill for both a sex worker and a captive, but the reality of that settles in differently. Less harmlessly. It pricks him when she lifts the kettle from its base. ]

That guy, I don't know. I was just sure he went somewhere. The tricky thing is, everyone is different.

[ While it's true that experiences vary — some are calm and peaceful, others frantic and frightening — Hap doesn't like to ascribe elements of reward and punishment to them. He hasn't found consistent causal links to the lives subjects have lived. ]

Our own other sides.

[ He reaches for his mug, his thumb incidentally brushing hers in the handover. ]

[ Hap's gaze drops to his tea and he shakes his head with a touch of regret. ]

I don't. [ He doesn't have what they have. Natural insight. (Divine power.) He likes to think there is something special about him for having heard that unearthly sound in the first place. His gift is to be the instrument that taps the subjects' source. His burden is to do what has to be done.

With a chagrined smile, he looks at her again. ] And I can't.

[ They need him. She needs him. ]

[ He takes his teabag by the string and swirls it, studying her face. Does she think anyone interested in this avenue of research is any more merciful, more pliable than him? She can't possibly. He's her best bet. Someone else is an unknown variable.

Someone else would be Leon and his efficiency can border on ruthless. Hap can't leave her in his hands. ]

It's too risky. Remember? [ He told her the failure rate is much higher for someone who hasn't experienced it before. It was a stressful evening, though, as frictionless as she made it seem. He's trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. ]

[ An intrigued grin. ]

A long, long time ago.

[ She remembers it better than he does. Hap mostly remembers the emotion it struck him with. (It was a girlfriend who coaxed him into reading more of Plath after undergrad. She had dark hair and fair skin too.) Vigor, to discover his fixation reflected in someone else's words; and lust, to translate his own intense curiosity into such a keen understanding. His smile softens and darkens.

He clears his throat. ]

I forgot how evocative she is.

[ Hap glances away, ostensibly to check how much time is left to steep, and sanitizes his expression. ]

Maybe I'll order a book or two.