The moment he saw me he took a step back. I was probably the last person he expected to see, especially at his residence.

"Howdy," I said. "Got a minute?"

Even at this hour I could see his ears creep back. He stuck his snout a bit farther out of the doorway, just enough to see down the hall as though in fear of something. Admittedly I didn't expect these behaviors from him given how he usually acted in the foster home-- composed, even stoic at times. Once he was satisfied with the empty hallway he opened the door further and stepped aside to let me in.

It was a small, dark apartment with little furniture-- a small dresser and a neighboring desk. Even someone like him lived with little, with a basic floor futon and bed dressing rather than anything I might have expected. As I walked my foot bumped something hard, my looking down to an empty liquor bottle.

"Ah!" Morissey quietly exclaimed, grabbing the bottle. "S-Sorry, sorry! I-I'm really not used to visitation."

"Yeah, I can...see that," I replied, looking at several other bottles strewn about the floor and hoping they at least weren't all recent purchases.

"U-Um, I don't really have much for places to sit--"

"I don't mind standing, though I suggest you take a chair," I said, pointing to the desk chair.

He did as I suggested without a word, taking the chair by the back and spinning it to face me before planting his rear upon it. I backed myself up against a wall for something to lean on while I sorted through what all needed to be said. After a pause I finally began.

"I'm sure I'm the last guy ya'd want in your, uh, living space here, but I wouldn't be comin' by if it weren't important," I opened. "Got some questions I'd like answered, among other things. You ready for that?"

"...As ready as I'll ever be," he quietly said, looking down to his messy floor.

"Good, let's start with this: How privy are you to the assaults takin' place at the home?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"A-Assaults?" he gulped, recoiling back in his chair. "H-Have there been more than just the one?"

"Another one happened just tonight involving three of your morning staff against Reverend," I said flatly. "In the time it took for me to excuse myself just to wash up some dishes they were already on 'im. Had I not finished up in time I'm not sure what they'd have done."

"Is he alright!?" he asked, probably the loudest I've ever heard him speak.

"He's quite shaken, as anyone else would be in that situation, but he's...fine," I answered. "Given that happened just about an hour ago I'll assume you're bein' honest when you say you don't know."

"No, I didn't know anything about it!" he pleaded. "Why would I want anyone getting hurt, especially amongst each other? That...That isn't what this organization is about!"

"That's another thing-- I'd like to know just what this organization is, and from the horse's mouth."

He sighed and pressed his eyes closed, his nose still turned toward the floor and his ears flat against his skull.

"It's...to the point that I'm asking myself the same question," he replied.

"Pardon?"

He took a deep breath.

"...A long time ago I founded this organization with the intent to help other pure faradens who had suffered at the hands of new types, as I had," he began. "I'd faced harassment and assaults in my younger years, having grown up in a northern town, but it all hit its peak when my mother fell ill and no doctor would see her."

I tilted my head.

"She...got worse and worse, and from something that could have been treated," he continued, tears growing in his eyes. "Eventually she passed away. I was about ten years old at the time."

"Well, that explains your concerns about my hiring," I remarked.

"Yes, I...I didn't want anyone else to go through what I had," he said.

"That raises another question, though: Why would you care?" I asked. "Riv's a new type. Why would it matter to you if he got treatment or not?"

"Daniel, I don't hate new types," he said, looking up to face me. "I never hated them, I was afraid of them."

"That doesn't really answer my question," I commented. "Whether it's hate or fear, what difference would it make? This is about treatment, not about the fuel."

"I think it...maybe answers your question more than you realize," he countered.

"Go on."

He took another deep breath.

"...I had begun reevaluating the motives behind the organization a couple years prior to Reverend's hire," he confessed. "I wanted to help people, but...I was too afraid of new types to really consider them and what they might go through. Back in my younger years I never saw any in situations similar to mine-- only when I came down here did I find that equal-but-opposite."

"...I'm listening."

"It was...about fourteen years ago now that I'd...I-I'd met someone," he said, one of his hands reaching up to grip his other arm. "That someone treated me so unlike how I had been, despite our differences, and it..."

"...It made you rethink everything," I finished. "I'm glad. Who was it, if you don't mind my askin'?"

"...Riv's mother," he so quietly said, pain plastered upon his face.

My eyes went wide.

"Her name was Stella," he continued. "She...worked as a prostitute in Stipa. I had been looking for those...services, and I hadn't been told she would be a new type. When I arrived she...sh-she actually tried to get me to leave out of fear for herself and her child."

"And did you leave?" I asked.

"...No, I didn't," he admitted. "I couldn't. Something just wouldn't let me."

"Did she let you in, then?" I asked.

"...That's one way to say it, though she was very cautious," Morissey said, his fingers digging into his arm. "I'm not sure what pushed me to follow through with the encounter as I was absolutely terrified. That is, um...about as vulnerable as one can be and it would be so easy to hurt someone in that state."

"Well, did she?" I asked further.

"...N-Not at all," he said, looking a bit confused. "Stella was actually rather...accommodating, checking on me to gauge my comfort. As pathetic as it might be I'd...I'd even asked to stay a little while after the transaction just to sleep up next to someone."

"Naw, I don't think that's pathetic," I shrugged, shaking my head. "Did she let you?"

"...Yes, and..." he paused, a conflicted little smile creeping upon his face, "she'd stayed with me the whole time. It was honestly the most loved I'd felt in such a long time, but the source made me really think about what we did and, maybe, if we could do better."

"I sorta get the feeling that it didn't stop with just this one fling," I said, airquoting the 'fling' word as I spoke.

"Heh, you're perceptive," he replied, scratching the back of his head. "While it certainly started there, it didn't end there. For a few years we...had a relationship, though we had to keep it a secret. If the organization staff found out it could put all of us -- her young son included -- in a lot of danger."

I crossed one leg over the other as I continued to lean against the empty white wall.

"Why would it?" I asked, perplexed. "You're their leader, are you not? Isn't what you say, what goes?"

"Maybe that's how it seems on the outside, but if you don't have the confidence of your staff there's no saying they'll listen to you," he sighed. "Do keep in mind what the group was founded on-- a desire to help pure types who had suffered at the hands of new types. You have a bunch of people running high on emotion and trauma as the backbone of your organization, then here your alleged leader waltzes in with a new type partner. To most people it would be like a slap in the face, a parody and grim reminder of what they'd all personally gone through. I was terrified of possibly alienating them, potentially pushing them to do something horrible and rash in retaliation."

I guess that makes sense. Sort of how officials are elected, in theory they're only elected provided their rhetoric is in the same interests as those they'd vow to serve. That said, they'd usually have to do something pretty horrible to get pushed out of office, especially violently, though this is with the assumption of a relatively normal control group. With his group, well, even from our experiences that was far from normal.

"So, you say you're not aware of the assaults and all that," I came back to my original question. "I'll go even further: Are you aware of a compound on the islands south of the coast?"

"...Pardon?"

"Are you or not?"

"No?" he said, confused. "I've never been off the mainland. I didn't think anyone lived on those islands. Why?"

"I'll ask ya this: Did Saffron happen to look familiar to you at all?" I pushed.

"Not...really?" he answered, head atilt. "I've been to a lot of places in the region so after a while everyone just looks the same unless you see them frequently enough."

Fair. I've had similar experiences getting moved around to various clinics.

"I'm askin' because Saffron claims to have come from a place farther north back maybe about nine years ago, held with family in a town's compound for about a week," I recalled, my fingers tapping on my crossed arms. "From there they were all supposed to be taken to a nearby town, supposedly a direct order from yourself, but they were instead all taken to that island and holed up in a compound out of sight and out of mind."

"Nine years ago..." he thought aloud, looking back to the floor. "That was the time I'd...fallen into corruption of my own and had done some horrible, regrettable things. I know it doesn't matter, but on my side I'd been dealing with threats and harassment from my higher staff over your foster home. It was...really getting to me, though I tried to keep it in and hide it. I was afraid of what they'd do, both to you and yours and to myself, if I didn't comply."

"Comply?"

"The income issues, the aliases, things like that," he sighed. "I was angry, I was afraid. I didn't know what to do, if any action I could take was better or worse. At least with the aliases it could just be treated like a nickname."

Income issues, he says? My gut told me this was the same stipulation that Sam had mentioned, and beyond a shadow of doubt. With how willing Morissey had been to compensate him for even small inconveniences it wasn't likely just stinginess on Morissey's part.

"Are the claims true, then, regarding the northern compound and all that?" I asked, returning to that question.

"...Yes, they're true," he confessed. "There was a riot following a meeting in a northern town and many people were apprehended-- most of them new types, and not from the same town in which the meeting was hosted. I'd kept them in a detention compound because, from what I remember, that particular group was some kind of transient gang. We only kept them for a week to settle the tension, give them food and shelter and so on. After a week I authorized my staff to take them back to a nearby town as that was where they said they were from. I never saw them again after that and had just...perhaps foolishly thought my staff did as I'd asked."

So what Saffron said, and therefore what Morissey said, appeared to be true. This was getting stranger with every answer.

"...If Saffron really was held in some other compound for any length of time, I'm truly, utterly sorry," he sniffled, the sound taking me by surprise coming from him. "That isn't what I requested. I didn't even know there was anything offshore! I promise you I had nothing to do with it!"

"It's okay, it's okay," I tried to reassure, gently waving my hands. "I believe ya. I'm just...trying to put this puzzle together, but I need all the pieces first."

A hush fell upon the room, both of us quietly looking down to the floor and trying to make sense of the greater situation. Morissey didn't know about the compound so there wasn't a way to authorize their moving there to begin with. While he'd done regrettable things, he did try to apologize and make up for it. Being so timid, I doubt Samuel would have gotten so close to him if Morrissey hadn't tried to come halfway.

"...I've known about some issues with the staff, regarding Reverend, but often when I would ask he'd said everything was fine," he softly said. "A long time ago I admit I was biased toward my staff as they'd been on the payroll longer. I should have known better, and I'm very sorry for that, Daniel."

"It's fine, bygones and all that," I waved my hand.

"But...If this has been going on this long, and behind my back..." he trailed off, staring blankly at the floor.

His silence caught my attention, my turning my head to look at him.

"...I've lost their confidence," he finished. "They're...all acting on their own, now, and with their own rules and convictions. It's evident that they didn't want me to know about any of this, likely trying to hurt and scare Reverend into submission out of concern he'd blow the whistle."

"Have you considered resigning?" I asked the obvious question.

"Daniel, that would only remove myself from the situation, and even if I do that they'd probably see it as even more reason to come after Reverend and I," he shook his head. "In a way our positions grant us a slight leniency. This is...a broken leg of a situation, and it'll need a lot more than an adhesive bandage."

I hated to admit it, but he was right. They were already acting on their own under the assumption that Morissey was none the wiser, but this had grown much bigger than him. If he made it known that he was now aware of the bigger situation it isn't likely he'd be able to stop them. Rather, they'd more likely turn on him, having fallen so far from the initial intentions of the organization.

In a way I could understand it-- they signed up for a reason, and that reason was now being questioned. They'd feel confused and betrayed, and nobody likes being told they're wrong. It doesn't matter what the situation actually is; these principles are at play regardless.

It would take more than just him.

More than Sam. More than I.

"Let me ask you this, and please be as honest as you can be," I opened, waiting for his response.

"Of course," he responded, ears forward.

"...If fixing this matter meant losing your organization, is that something you'd be willing to do?" I inquired. "Because that is probably what it'll take to really shift the paradigm-- attacking the problem at the source and pushing it out."

"Without a second thought," he answered sternly, his face now much more like how I'd normally see it.

"You'd be fine starting over from nothing?" I asked, a bit surprised.

"If that is what it takes," he answered again. "I will find some other way to help others, and let my own actions speak for me."

A good answer. Honestly better than what I was expecting.

The notion of potentially ripping someone's life and livelihood from their hands would usually bother me, but I'd seen how this group treated others-- Samuel, myself, our children, and even further beyond.

"In that case," I said, standing back up, "I'd like to arrange something between us and the town's ramiotran population before too long. I've a feelin' something will happen soon so we'll need to be sure and quick with our plans, starting with gauging the opinion of the populace. The more people for our cause, the better."

"...Will they be able to trust me?" he asked.

"I'll vet ya, and I'm sure Reverend will, too," I reassured, walking over to the door. "It might be a bit, but I'll drop by again in the future so we can all have a meeting and know where to start."

I grasped the doorknob, giving it a turn. Before I opened the door I looked once again to some empty liquor bottles on the floor.

"...And, if need be, I'll extend to you the same offer for therapy," I quietly said. "From what I see and hear, you could use it. I share no secrets should you take that offer."

He raised his shoulders and looked aside in discomfort as I opened the door and departed, closing it behind me. I looked behind me once to the now closed door. You can learn a lot about a person just by looking at their bedroom, and I learned more than he'd probably like to admit.

I made my way down the hall and back out the door into the world beyond, the inky black sky partially covered in dark purple sheets of clouds. Stepping off the short porch I continued down the road, looking forward to hopping in bed given how late it was. It was just me out this late at night, with just the sound of my feet against the dirt back roads and the breeze passing between the buildings. If I listened closely I could hear the rush and lap of the ocean against the coast.

Yet, as I went on my way, I couldn't shake the feeling I was being watched.

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