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Tracker. The kid would want to know that another of his tormentor's was off the streets. Besides, it had been a couple days since I'd checked on him. I took an envelope and note card from the shelf near my victim's phone and snapped a second picture with my Polaroid camera. I watched it develop, unconcerned when a neighbor knocked on the door and peered through the window. The woman was looking right at me, but would see nothing amiss in the house until after I left. Before I'd entered I'd set up a field of my energy that held the illusion of a quiet, empty house. Anyone who came near it would have that image in their head.
    It had been a trick Mason had made use of on several occasions. It still surprised me that he hadn't made sure I'd set it up at the Farm after he caught the Tracker. Even then, there had been something about the kid that told me to help him. So, I had. When the undercover cop had requested a visit, I had allowed it, knowing full well that he'd be bringing a couple dozen of his closest friends.
    I wrote a note on the card, and slipped it into the envelope, and in block letters wrote: TRACKER on the envelope. After receiving a couple notes from me already, he would know who it was from. Perhaps at some point, he would begin responding to my notes. I hoped he'd get the note after I returned to my apartment, so I could see his reaction. If not, I'd just have to watch the recording.
    Without another look, I walked out of my prey's house and got into my car. I felt my illusion dissipate as I drove away, taking a deep breath through the slight discomfort. I'd always preferred my illusions to be one on one. It took less of my concentration and energy. But the mass illusion was definitely useful.
    As I pulled closer to the Lady Cop's house, I could feel something was off with the Tracker. He seemed agitated and scared, but I sensed no direct threat. He was in the house, and the only other people there were his brother and his friends… I felt my lips turn down as I thought. Whatever they were doing, his friends were causing him pain. I couldn't allow that to continue. I would deliver my note, and then go back to my apartment. I had some planning to do.
     

SIX
    Jason
     
    Deciding to talk out my issues and actually talking out my issues are two completely different things. It had been pretty easy to tell Hannah and Dustin that I would talk to Dustin, but doing it—especially with a delay so Dustin could do some research—was much more difficult. We retreated to my basement room two days after I'd agreed. Hannah had decided we should start right away, probably afraid that if we waited I'd change my mind. But Dustin had requested a couple days to get prepared before we began. She had remained anxious for those days even though nothing happened, so when Dustin came again, she had practically ordered us to my room.
    "So…" I started, looking around my room, pacing until I annoyed myself into sitting down. I forced myself to look at my friend… my therapist. "How do we do this? I start talking and you nod and go 'hmm…' like you understand exactly what I mean?" Okay, so I got a bit defensive right off the bat… so sue me.
    Dustin shook his head, keeping quiet and calm. "No. We talk, I admit that I can't know how you feel because I haven't been through it, and then we talk more so you can make me understand."
    The corner of my mouth went up in a quick half-smile. "Sorry. I just… I don't really know where to start."
    "I honestly don't know either," he admitted with a shrug. "But how about we just start talking, and see where the conversation takes us," he suggested.
    "Sure." I looked around from my perch at the edge of my bed. What could I start with? I could tiptoe around my issues for ages and Dustin wouldn't say a word, but that wasn't the point. I looked up at my friend who was patiently watching me think. "Did I ever tell you how I discovered my powers?" I asked absently.
    "No, and from what the others have