"Well? Have you found out about the gap yet?"

"Well? Have you found out about the gap yet?"

"It's literally a gap. In his schedule. He doesn't know what's supposed to happen in it."

"No? Ah... Ahahahah! Oh my goodness... hahahah!" her eyes water with laughter. "That's why I couldn't work it out! There's nothing in the space! Ahahah!"

"To think... that tormented me for so long, hon. Ahaha. Well, thank you for solving a mystery. I appreciate it, silly as it all turned out to be."

"The high priestess of the gap is your sister."

"As in... his boss? Is... but she works at..."

White noise in her head, a blankness behind the eyes.

This is a topic she will not allow herself to get into.

"Haha, what a small world!"

"That's all." (Back.)

"So funny..."

"Thanks for letting me in."

"You're welcome, hon. It's nice to speak to someone in person for once. I'll have to grab the phone if it rings, but otherwise I'm free to chat."

"You live here by yourself?"

"Just me and the two little ones -- it's them who make all the mess, I swear."

She laughs, but there's an uneasiness to her eye as she looks around.

They make a mess together, with joy and abandon. But she stares at it all day on her own.

"What a cramped and leaky hovel you have."

"It does not leak. And... well, that was just an unkind thing to say, wasn't it."

But she hasn't asked you to leave. She must be very lonely.

"I really should tidy up more, I know. It's the Miracle Line, keeps me on a short leash all day." she giggles weakly. "Or should I say cord. You know, the phone cord?"

"It's really cozy, must be nice living on a boat."

"Thank you, sweetheart. It does have its perks. I've lived here for ten years now but it still makes every day feel like a bit of an adventure."

Five feet above your head, the bedroom window. Glass still bearing the dots and lines of bedtimes past, her fingers tracing a map of stars to guide the little ones to sleep.

"But it does get very cold in winter. Oh, and a family of moorhens have made a nest right by the window there. It's cute but... the screaming, you know."

"Now listen to me complain! Sorry, love. First time I've had grown-up company in a while, guess I'm letting my mouth run away from me."

"I've seen a lot of houseboats, in my opinion this one's the least sad."

"Thank you, sweetheart. We've made a nice home here. Not always a clean home, but a nice one."

"You knifed me!"

"Oh hush, it barely went in at all." she softens. "You should know better than to show up like that at my house after using the line, I thought you were some kind of stalker."

"Tell me more about yourself."

Alternative wording

"Let's talk about you."

"I think you know enough about me, sweetheart."

"I don't know what to tell, hon. Two kids, boat. Miracle Line... Oh, I'm doing a correspondence degree in psychology."

Alternative wording

"I don't know what to tell, hon. Two kids, boat. Miracle Line... Already mentioned the correspondence degree in psychology."

Alternative wording

"Sure, hon."

"Where's the kids' father?"

"Long gone, sweetie. No forwarding address."

"Ah, sorry to hear it."

"It was harder with him here, honestly. All we did was argue toward the end, which is way worse for the kids than not having a dad around. Barely any of their friends have dads around, either."

ALL THESE MEN SHOULD BE CASTRATED.

"It was the Miracle Line that scared him off. Made him jealous, couldn't handle it. Called me all sorts of names in front of the kids..."

Alternative wording

"It was the Miracle Line that scared him off. Made him jealous, couldn't handle it. Called me all sorts of names in front of the kids... I'm sure you've had similar problems."

"Did you try finding a different job?"

"Yeah..." she sighs. "I had an interview at a sandwich shop. I sat down and started talking and... the owner recognised my voice from the line. It was awful."

He stared at her mouth, disbelief, wonder. His dreams come to life. He asked her if she remembered his fantasy, offered her the job on the spot.

"Nobody wants to hire a prostitute, hon. And if they do it's because they think I'm a free fuck."

Alternative wording

"You must have been through the same thing yourself. Nobody wants to hire women like us, hon. And if they do it's because they think we're a free fuck."

"He's right. I wouldn't date a whore."

"But, hon... you are one. Oh, I suppose you mean because you wouldn't want to talk about work at home, right? That makes sense."

"I'd bet a thousand sol that no one has ever offered, but I don't have a thousand sol."

"An idiot. You're better off without him."

"Yeah... Best not to waste any time thinking about it, really."

"What did you do to drive a good man away?"

"You killed him and dissolved his body. Nice."

"Ahaha, no darling. But I'm glad he's gone. The arguing was worse for the kids than not having a dad around. Barely any of their friends have dads around, either."

"You wanged him and dissolved his body. Nice."

"I would never leave you, just so you know."

"You're silly."

You're making her uncomfortable.

Because of the Miracle Line. She thinks of you as a client.

"He said that too," pleasantly. "But by the end I was glad he was gone. The arguing was worse for the kids than not having a dad around. Barely any of their friends have dads around, either."

"Let's chat about your degree."

"Well, I want to be a professional like you, always dreamed of operating my own dial-in talk therapy line. But with the kids and the Miracle and everything..."

She laughs, shakes her head.

"It's slow going! The moment I sit down to study, the phone rings. Sometimes I try to give people therapy instead of sex, but... people really like sex, hon."

THE MARKET IS A MAD GOD, A BEING OF LOW IMPULSES AND HIGH POWER. IT CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO STEER US.

The shelf behind her is stuffed with papers, handwritten. She isn't short on study time, but she isn't sending her work in.

"Are those your essays?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm not happy with them yet. Can't imagine a poor professor having to read my ramblings. Got to get it right."

"Do you have any advice for me as an aspiring therapist? Anything at all, I'd love to know..."

Hopeful, shy. She just needs some gentle encouragement.

She needs to send in those essays, for a start.

"Mail in your essays. You won't qualify without a degree."

"I will, hon! Don't worry about me, I'll get it done. Just tweaking a few concepts, checking my spelling... Making sure everything's right."

"You've got a great work ethic. I know you'll realise your dreams."

"Wow... yeah. That's so inspiring. Thank you."

That was a pathetic thing to say. It only worked because the only other people she talks to are actively fiddling their own genitalia.

"Therapy is bourgeois. Feelings are a result of excessive leisure time."

"Very... curious thing for a therapist to say. Maybe you're just sick of people after a long day, hon. I know the feeling."

"You'll be a wonderful therapist. You have a great voice."

"Ah. Yeah, my voice..."

She hears that a lot. She was hoping for something unrelated to her physical attributes.

She hears that a lot. She was hoping for something unrelated to her physical attributes.

"Work at night instead."

"The phone rings at night too, hon. I'll get there! Just at my own pace."

She is a hostage to the phone.

She is a hostage to the phone.

"Do you not get time off?"

"Wouldn't be a Miracle if I did."

"Always dreamed of operating my own dial-in talk therapy line. But with the kids and the Miracle and everything..."

"So you're single, are you seeing anyone?"

"I'm unavailable, hon."

To you. Because you're a client.

"I've had a few dates here and there." she laughs. "All a disaster. I really can't get away from the phone much, and it saps all my energy for... romance."

She puts up finger quotes around the word.

"I'm a dedicated spinster."

"I don't think of myself as a 'client', just so you know."

"Like a john, you mean? Hon... Yeah. Okay."

Yes, you are.

I didn't even pay!

No matter who paid her, it was work.

Fair enough, is a little awkward.

Extremely.

"You are very ordinary, it turns out."

"I'm sure I was far more interesting on the line. But you can't expect a real-life miracle."

Smiling, but her voice is hard.

"Were you expecting a miracle?"

"Let me ask about something else." (Back.)

"Happy to chat, love."

She looks around as if seeking information about herself from the room.

"Has one of your regulars ever talked about a 'mysterious gap'?"

"The... gap?" her eyes widen. "What do you know of the gap?"

A dramatic change in her voice.

"The gap is the most advanced case of erotic fixation I have ever seen. I've been in the deviancy game for years and I cannot uncover its true nature."

"So, what's your interest in the gap? You're a friend of his, a therapist maybe?"

Alternative wording

"So, what's your interest in the gap? I remember you asking about the sock importer... are you a therapist, maybe?"

She's excited about the prospect of you being a therapist, play into it.

"A therapist, right. For highly stressed individuals."

"Really! Wow. That's... so exciting. I'm doing my correspondence degree in psychology right now."

"Seriously, hon -- I have a canny method I've been using for years, and it's never failed before Frederik and his 'gap'. I think you'll have to torture it out of him."

Ooh, ooh, do the torture.

'A Canny Method'? An Advanced Cognitive Manoeuvre?!

"He's a colleague, I need him to get over it and focus."

"Oh? His work sounds very..." she purses her lips. "I shouldn't talk about clients. But the gap itself? Well I just can't help it."

"I'm a fellow practitioner of the psychosexual arts."

"Really? Wow. I didn't realise you were a line operator as well. I'm guessing he's a former client of yours... Sorry if I poached him, love."

Alternative wording

"Really? Wow. I didn't realise you were a line operator as well. I'm guessing he's a former client of yours... Sorry if I poached him, love. And the sock importer too! It all makes sense, now."

"I just have bad luck with men, I guess. They're all deviants of some stripe."

"You don't have to be a pervert to feel lonely and reach out to a stranger for comfort, love."

Hunched over the phone, desperately thumping his half-flaccid cock while teenagers laugh just a few feet away. Duchess' voice in his ear, claiming that it wants him.

"Tell me more of this 'canny method' -- let's figure out the gap together."

"Oh, I... hon I don't know. I've never tried to teach anybody before. And I have so much I should be doing..."

She's hovering by a sink full of dirty dishes, offer to help with them.

"I see you thinking about the dishes." She smiles. "Come on, I'll explain if you help me fettle this lot."

"I'd be happy to." (Proceed.)

"Alright sweetie. I'll wash, you dry."

You rest your hip against the counter, angling yourself towards her as she plunges her hands in and out of the sink -- filled to the brim with bubbles.

The dishes she hands you are hot, clean, and faintly lemon scented.

"It's a little... abstract, so let's start simple."

She picks up a small plastic teapot from the water, a child's toy.

"It involves summoning a djinn. Interesting."

"Aha, you're so funny." She splashes you. "No, listen."

"If you were to describe this teapot, you might go for the material, colour, decoration. It's plastic, pink, has a crown on the side. You'd be correct, right?"

"But you'd also miss the part of the object that makes it what it is, makes it work, gives it purpose -- because that's actually what the object doesn't have. It's the empty space inside."

She tips the teapot, emptying a stream of glitter and petals into the sink.

Potion.

"Absence is purpose."

"Exactly! Clever thing. People are defined by their desires way more than by their possessions."

"But that's just the concept. How you actually pull off the method is... much harder. You have to be like mist, vapour, something that can fill an unseen shape. Then you work out its edges."

Sounds like how her sister in the magazine offices dredged out your cryptonym.

"It'll be easier to just show you. But, do you have any questions first?"

"Who taught you this 'method'?"

"No one 'taught' me. It grew out of a game my sister and I used to play."

Yeah, she did it to us in the basement!

She dunks a handful of cutlery into the water, swishes it around, then hands it to you.

"What sort of 'game' are we talking about?"

"It sounds silly. We would pretend we could reach inside other people, things. Then we'd just... describe what we found."

"Then the more we did it, the more we realised we didn't actually need to pretend -- we could sense what wasn't there."

"Do you remember what you did to practice?"

"Mmm... I think at first just silly things, figuring out what someone was going to say before they said it, freaking people out, saying what was on their mind."

"As we got older we started practicing on each other. Or, my sister started practicing on me and I had to join in. She would lie just to see if she could get away with it."

She laughs, but there's an edge to it.

"Sounds like your sister was mean."

"Oh, what teenager isn't."

Just keep drying.

"I was always better, you know." She winks.

"Very impressive for a couple of kids."

"I think it was actually easier to notice when we were small. Children love secrets, and they're cleverer than they seem. Just can't articulate themselves."

"So this is what you were doing while hiding from your mother?"

"Something like that. It started out as a way to escape, I suppose. Then we discovered we were really good at it."

"Is your sister in the same line of work as you?"

"Oh, no. Actually... maybe. Neither of us really like to talk about work, probably because of how intuitive we both are. It's nice to have some part of your life private."

"Right. Let me ask something else..." (Back.)

"Sure thing hon. Keep that drying up."

"Do you ever use your method for evil?"

"Hahaha, no, hon. Well, my kids might disagree. If one of them breaks something I can always tell who."

She lifts a soapy hand from the water and blows on her palm, sending a little cloud of bubbles flying at you.

"What kind of evil do you have in mind?"

"Tricking those I've wronged into forgiving me even when I haven't deserved it."

"Strange. If you want forgiveness badly enough to go to all that trouble... wouldn't it be much better just to earn it?"

A bubble escapes the sink, floating haphazard dirigible until she pops it, decisively, with her index finger.

"Steal secrets right out of someone's mind-vault."

"Of course. That's the point of the method. Secrets that people hide from one another, from themselves..."

"Destroying my enemies with a relentless psychological assault."

"Don't joke like that, I don't like it."

She's not her sister, in other words.

"What I have in mind isn't good or evil, I simply want to reflect what is -- a cold mirror of reality."

"I would do that if I thought that it would help someone to be better. Otherwise... I don't really see the point."

"You must be able to make people do whatever you want."

"People can't even make themselves do whatever they want, hon. Nobody can."

"How do you become mist?"

"You have to leave your own personality behind, forget yourself. No ego, no cleverness. Just let yourself sway, fitting whatever shape you find."

Neither particle nor wave, but some other fundamental entity, uniting and penetrating all things at once.

Become foam-gäng.

What she's describing is hyper-tier psychic surgery. Someone like you could do massive damage with such a technique.

"I'm ready, show me the method." (Proceed.)

"Okay love, we can stop at any point if you don't like it -- but you'll feel this."

Alternative wording

"Okay love. You might recognise the sensation, I was doing it to you a little over the Miracle Line."

Thousands of tiny bubbles cling to the dishes, your hands. They float and pop, following all the contours of your fingers. You feel them in your mind.

"We're having mindsex again."

"No, hon. Don't worry, I won't go far."

Go far! All the way! Get inside, make a fist.

Resist.

"Relax. This is part of the process."

Let her in.

She giggles as she pours into your head, tracing lightly over your psyche. Bubbles float around the spaces between your memories.

A pleasant little shiver as they pop against the edges.

"I'm going bring you with me now..."

You can already see how. A lightness of the mind, a willingness to let go of yourself. You could step straight into the void with her if you dare.

Step into the void.

You let yourself fall, memories and thoughts and former selves streaming past you.

Your heart flutters, races. This is scary -- awesome!

"Yes, love! That's it. I've got you."

You feel the bubbles coalescing around you, supporting you, lighter than air. You're afloat in the space of your own ego.

"What now?"

"Find an empty space, feel around the edges... see if you can tell what it is. I can see a big one, I'll send you in alone -- your mind is yours."

She purses her lips and blows, lightly, sending you off like a dandelion puff into the nothing of Hershel Wilk.

Your body dissolves, separates, but coheres.

You can still feel hard edges against you, even as your mind splits into pieces.

Feel around the edges.

The shape is large and bulging. It seems made up of distinct figures, some more connected than others -- but all touching. Six of them.

Can you be sure this is really your mind and not some psychic fabrication of hers?

The shape clarifies as you pour and grow, gaining definition and texture. Flashes of colour. You find a table, drinks. One man rolling a cigarette, another holding two glasses.

"Oh no..."

"It's alright love, it's just your own subconscious. It can't hurt you."

You find a young man in a colourful robe, suspiciously off to the side. A girl with thick bangs and a thicker scarf. A pair of loafer pins, then the giftwrapped box they came in.

In retrospect, the whole thing smells like a massive set-up. Already the unseen enemy had you all in their grasp.

Your Whole Sick Crew.

The certainty jolts you back together, space suddenly cramped and full. You become aware of the floorboards, the hot water on your hands.

Your heart hollows. Just a thumping muscle where the feeling should be.

Stupid. No gifts. No drinks. No friends.

A wave of despair. The friends you abandoned, the promise of camaraderie you made a lie of.

Keep going.

IMMATERIALIST SENTIMENTALISM.

You're not afraid of any empty space. Fill it the fuck in.

It's our sad place, our pain zone. Everybody fucking get ready.

Fill in the space.

Laughter, trust. The warm echo particular to nights at the Fogged Mirror.

"This is enough, I get it." (Conclude.)

Alternative wording

"It's my old friends."

"Oh, hon. I'm sorry that you're missing your friends... maybe this is your sign to get them back."

It went so well with HOLOCENE.

"And that's all there is to it." She unplugs the sink, brushes suds from her hands.

A new Advanced Cognitive Manoeuvre for your operant's grimoire.

She exhales happily, giving her kitchen a satisfied look.

"Now go try it on poor Frederik and let's find out what this 'gap' is all about!" She laughs. "Just make sure you come back and tell me when you do."

You are going to turn him inside out with this.

You pull yourself together, clambering back into your body, the here and now of the room.

"As you say hon." She unplugs the sink, brushes suds from her hands. "I think you got the basics."

"Weird, there's nothing there."

"Strange. I thought I saw shapes..."

"I'm doing it!"

"You are! Now find an empty space, feel around the edges... see if you can tell what it is. I can see a big one, I'll send you in alone -- your mind is yours."

Wait for her lead.

"Woah, is that you?"

"Mhm." Eyes closed, smiling. "Don't worry, won't go far."