Fiction: The adventures of Chelsea the social worker, part 3!

 Because I'm still completely unprepared, I'm filling out the lineup with more of Chelsea the social worker. This time around, I've gotten to the kind of thing I started writing this thing for. Per standard procedure, here's links for the first and previous installments. 

Two weeks after their meeting, they met with a cleric who finalized a divorce, and an 8-armed bureaucrat who approved an application for a domestic partnership. That night, they met up with Shad’s friends at the theater. There were two men, and a woman whose hair was dyed a reddish purple. “Chelsea, meet John and Tilly,” Shad said, introducing the woman and a man with his arm around her. “And this is Frank.” He introduced a vaguely seedy, dark-haired man who didn’t try to hide a grin.

 “So, you’re Chelsea,” John said. “You know, people at the office were taking bets if you were even real. I said, there’s no way Shad made up what he says about you.”

“Well, I am real, last I checked,” Chelsea said. “As of today, I’m officially his domestic partner. Also, the hair’s all natural.” She looked at Tilly, and back at Shad.

 “So, we have our own studio, kind of,” Shad said. “We’ve all been together since vocational school. We mostly do graphics for ads and PSAs. Frank’s the brains of the outfit, Tilly’s our muse, John’s the inventor, and I’m the odd-jobs man.”

 “I see,” Chelsea said. “So, do you all work with stop-motion? Shad’s been telling me all about it…”

“No, we’ve spent 5 years trying to get him to stop,” Tilly said.

“It’s a niche market, but there’s money there,” Shad said. “You just need an in with the connoisseurs. We’ll get it.”

“This is what we have to deal with,” Tilly said. “The fact is, his stuff’s better than anything the old Masters ever did, at least for the time and budgets we have to work with, but it’s not landing the contracts.”

 “I could help you,” Chelsea said almost instinctively. “Really. My Department has been expanding our media footprint. They’re looking for new talent, people with a different perspective. It’s not just promos, either. They want to revamp our educational resources. What we’ve got is so weak, we got a memorandum authorizing us to evaluate confiscated Moral Contraband. Our senior instructor looked into it; she said there was nothing there, either. You ever think of anything like that… hypothetically?”

 “I’ve been working on something that could have applications,” John said. “I could demonstrate it, for your instructor. She sounds like she’s cool…”

“Dear Logos, you have no idea,” Chelsea said. “But yeah, I’m sure she would meet with you.” The conversation continued evasively, until Tilly convinced Frank to bring her their meal. The other men quickly followed. As they departed, Tilly turned to Chelsea.

 “So, you’re a social worker,” Tilly said. “Do you like saving people, Ms. Social Worker? Are you here to save Shad? To save us?”

“That’s not what we do,” Chelsea said. “We help people, or get them help from the right people. The rest is up to them.”

“Okay,” Tilly said. “Maybe you aren’t mental. You still don’t know what you’re doing.”

 Chelsea met her gaze. “If you have something to tell me, as a social worker, it will be confidential,” she said. “At least from anyone except his current case worker.”

“Fair enough,” Tilly said. “The first thing to know, he’s my ex, more or less. So is Frank, but that was another thing. And I don’t know if he pulled the virgin bit on you, but he did plenty, and saw plenty more.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Chelsea said. “If it comes to that, I can guess… He took care of you, but you had to ask to do anything for him.”

“Yeah, you’re on track,” Tilly said. “How about his diagnoses?”

Chelsea blushed involuntarily. “I reviewed his file,” she said. “He’s diagnosed with autism and mild obsessive-compulsive tendencies. He received appropriate treatment at an early age. All his outcomes were positive: Supportive family, full social integration in age-appropriate activities, no sexualized bullying. As far as current functioning, he’s literally at high normal.”

“Sure, that’s right too,” Tilly said. “Did they tell you about his depression? The paranoid ideation? The suicide attempt?”

Chelsea leaned forward. “He told me he had a problem, once,” she said. “He told me he talked to someone he knew would make sure he got help. I suppose that would be you. Are you going to tell me you were just being a friend?”

“I had broken up with him,” Tilly said. “We really weren’t a thing to begin with. I finally just told him, it wasn’t ever going to happen. We were still in school. He had been doing okay, except he kept falling behind when he was spending time with me. In two weeks, he completely fell apart, missed a deadline to submit his project, got in a fight that could have put him in jail. Then he called me, said he had a plan and the things he needed to do it.”

“You said yourself, he called you,” Chelsea said. “He wanted help. He got it. He’s better, now.”

“You don’t understand,” Tilly said. “You don’t want to understand. I’ll admit, I didn’t either, for a long time. He’s always doing `better’… until he isn’t. You like the Greek myths, don’t you? He’s the hero that the oracle told his fate, and he’s running from it, and running is all he can do, because the prophecy was never about what happens to him, it’s about who he is. You can’t fix him, you can’t change him, you can’t save him. If you try, it will only make things worse.”

“I don’t want to change him,” Chelsea said. “I took him for partner and a father, not a boy to take care of. I’m getting everything I want from him, just the way he is.”

Tilly just shook her head. “You’re mental, even more than he is,” she said. “But Logos help you, you know what you’re doing.”

As the men cheerfully returned, she rose and went to the washroom. A nondescript woman entered just behind her. “Did you tell her?” she said nonchalantly.

“Yes,” Tilly said. “I told her everything, and I got her responses on tape.”

“Good,” the other woman said. “We will reward you and your partner for this.”

“Keep it,” Tilly said. She promptly walked out.

* * *

 

They went to a film that started at 8. It proved to be a film where a mythic hero named Batman fought a vampire. Frank offered an invitation to come to a private party. At a glance from Chelsea, Shad politely declined. They quickly made their way to the Hellas Therapeutic Hotel, otherwise known as the Big H. It was a capsule hotel, where modules like oversized storage lockers could be rented for a night. It and other establishments like it were infamous as a haven for those seeking one-night stands, though in reality, only about a fifth of its customers at any given time were sharing units. The rest were the displaced, recent immigrants, travelers from other Arcostates, and those too weary to make a trip home. These were all segregated strictly, unless as sometimes happened, they met a companion and upgraded.

The facility was submerged underground, between the Gordon Center and a major transit center. Its floorplan was indeed a letter H, with the main entrances at either end of the crossbar. They descended the stairs hand in hand, to emerge among a dozen shuffling guests. They were lined up at 6 automated check-in stations, which dispensed a key and a token for a machine that dispensed disposable pajamas. The pair walked straight up to one of two that could be used to check into a two-person module. Chelsea tapped in a code for her credit account to keep the transaction confidential. She covered her mouth as a message appeared on the screen: WELCOME REPEAT CUSTOMER WOULD YOU LIKE TO APPLY FOR A DISCOUNT? She quickly clicked NO.

She received two keys, on a single chain. They consisted of a plastic head and a cylindrical plug. There was much amusement about what might happen if a guest had the wrong key, or traded with another. In fact, the keys held an electronic mechanism that automatically recognized the user’s finger prints and remained linked until it was returned. They tapped the keys to complete the link, then Chelsea gave Shad his key. As she turned, she said involuntarily, “Diane?” Sure enough, Diane was right there, clearly dressed for work. She looked over her shoulder, and simply shook her head. Chelsea scrambled through the door that led to the female side of the hotel.

Inside the door was a passage 60 feet long, with showers, lockers and changing rooms on the right and two rows of modules on the left. The shape made her think of toy train whistles, round-cornered boxes 8 feet long and 5 feet on a side including a 4X4 flexiglass door. The security was quite simple; the entrances for a male partner were on the other side, and could only be opened once she was inside. She showered and redressed in her pajamas, leaving her regular clothes in a locker. She turned her head as she emerged, to gape at an echidna clambering into a tube that it filled like a foot in a sock. She climbed into the tube and waited… and waited. She explored the now familiar space. It was padded on every side, with soft lighting from strips on the top, sides, and the frames of the door, plus a glow through the translucent glass if they weren’t set to opaque. Bins overhead held sheets and pillows, others could be used to hold the pajamas, and panels on the sides could hold small possessions. There were speakers that played music, but no monitors. She tested a set of handlebars overhead, which had already served her well.

She was about to call Shad when she heard a chime. She waited for a few moments, then opened the door. Shad gave a sheepish smile as he climbed in. “Sorry, it took a little longer to shower.”

“It’s only my money,” she said. She hauled him up. They quickly made the appropriate preparations.

“Listen,” he said, “have you ever, maybe, thought of talking for a while?”

“We talk when I’m done,” she said.

“How about… holding each other till we fall asleep?”

“Here?” Chelsea said, then laughed loud and deep.

“What about… falling in love?”

“That’s just the oxytocin kicking in,” she said. “Now, you're my husband, I paid for this capsule, and you climbed in here with me. So you can give me what I want, or I’ll pay for you to go home.”

Shad gave her another vaguely sheepish look. “Sorry, just… thinking.”

“Good thing I nipped that in the bud,” Chelsea said. She pushed him down and reached up, and for a while they said no more.

They settled into a rest position with Shad cradling her legs. By then, he was in his shorts, and Chelsea wore her pajama top like a smock. She was virtually the same height, with a stout build. Her only complaint would have been her knees, which looked like a tectonic collision between her muscular thighs and shapely calves, but he clearly admired them. He was still crying softly, which she took as a compliment. She showed more concern when he rolled on his side and hugged her tightly at the knees. “Hold on, gorgeous,” she said. “Remember, we’re head to tail here. Your feet are in my face.”

“I love you, Blue Bell,” he said abruptly. “Maybe you don’t love me, maybe you can’t, but I love you. Enough for both of us.”

She sighed, but smiled. “Of course I love you too,” she said. “We talked about this. I can feel in love with you, when we're like this.”

“And the rest of the time?” he said. There was an edge to his voice that made her consider reaching for a button. “When we’re at home? When we’re apart? When we’re old? When you’re gone?”

“Whoa, honey,” she said. “We’ve talked about this, too. I’m going to marry you, till death do us part. Then we’re going to move in, we’re going to have a baby, we’re going to get old.”

He shook his head. “You’ll still be gone, someday,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. It’s no good. It will never be any good!” And that was when he started punching the flexiglass.

Chelsea made no effort to calm him, let alone reason with him. She simply hauled him back about the time he actually cracked the glass, her arms wrapped tightly around him. He, in turn, made no effort  to fight or escape, but finding his fists restrained, he resumed with his feet. “No good,” he snarled. “No good, no good, no good!!!”

“Dammit, gorgeous, I didn’t think you were going to be high maintenance,” she said. “Enough!” She finally brought her legs to bear, pinning him. His thrashing finally subsided; however, one last kick struck home, against the frame rather than the glass. Somehow, Chelsea knew what would happen even before it did. “Aww, kaka,” she said, as the door came right off its hinges.

There was an alarm that came on, and a recorded message notifying the guests that their capsules would remain sealed until a temporary situation was resolved. It was mere moments before the footsteps approached. Somehow, she knew it would be him, too. Percy the police AI leaned into view, visibly cautious. “Why is it,” he said, “when I hear `breached therapy pod', I think blue?”

 * * *

They ended up fully clothed in the management office at 2 AM. Percy’s partner, a giant echidna, held up the door for examination. “Here’s the thing,” Percy said. “We’ve had to open pods before, more often than the management cares to be known. I’ve done it. Hector here can do it. For you to do it, I would have said you’d need a crowbar and a sledgehammer.”

The manager spoke up. “We are not pressing charges,” he said. “In fact, we are willing to offer both of you a significant credit. Clearly, this incident was caused by a preexisting engineering defect. For now, however, we must ask that you either leave or accept separate pods.”

The manager departed, and Percy led the pair to the check-in area, now cordoned off enough for privacy. “Look, my partner had a psychological episode,” Chelsea said. “I successfully restrained him. He never tried to harm me.”

“Yeah, there’s degrees of success,” Percy said. “Here’s the other thing, we have received a confidential statement that you were warned of Mr. Feaghan’s history. There could be questions why you brought him here.”

“Here’s your answer,” Chelsea said. “Press charges or let us go.”

“Fair enough,” Percy said. “Just keep us in the loop.” As they left, Percy held up the door as Hector swung at it with a 15 cm claw, trying without particular success to duplicate a very visible dent in the frame.

“Tilly,” Shad said as they left.

“Of course,” Chelsea said. “She didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.”

“Can you tell me something?” he asked. “If you knew that, why did you stay with me?”

“That’s fair enough,” Chelsea said. “Here’s what it really told me. You may have been ready to hurt yourself, but you didn’t try to hurt her. And if you wouldn’t hurt her, you won’t hurt me, and you wouldn’t try to hurt my baby. That’s something, if you think about it.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said. “Still, I’m sorry. You… you did help me back there. You helped a lot. And it wasn’t your fault. It just happens sometimes.”

“Then tell me if it happens again,” she said. “I will get you help. Real help.”

“What do you want to do now?” Shad said.

Chelsea sighed. “We’ll go to my place. I’ll let you sleep over. I’ll make you your own bed… just so you do get some rest.”

“We can talk for a while,” Shad said.

Chelsea smiled. “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

They woke up at noon.