A Darkness Absolute (Casey Duncan #2)(57)

He shakes his head.

“I’m serious,” I say. “My presumption would be that they do it because it is repulsive. It’s defiant, and it elicits a reaction.”

“Yes, in cases like the ones you may have heard of—likely connected to violent offenders—that is the primary purpose, along with acting as an expression of anger, frustration, and helplessness. It can also enforce social isolation.”

“Surprisingly.”

“In other instances, scatolia can simply be an act of self-control. However powerless one may feel one always has the power to do that … while, yes, using it to elicit other responses.”

“Enacting control over others in the only way possible.”

“Precisely. And yet smearing oneself in feces—or even mud—can serve another purpose. What was Eric’s reaction?”

“Get the hell away from the crazy guy.”

“Precisely. Which is why some prisoners will do it. Taking off one’s clothing. Adorning oneself with random items. Smearing substances on one’s skin. It is stereotypical ‘crazy’ behavior. I have assessed many prisoners who did it. Few were actually mentally ill.”

“They just wanted an NCR ruling?”

“Not criminally responsible. Yes.”

“Everything these hostiles do could fall into the same category. Acting violent, acting crazy. But what’s their motivation?”

Mathias stares at me as if I’m asking why we live in houses instead of just laying out sleeping bags in the street.

“The obvious answer is to scare us,” I say. “A threat display.”

“Yes…”

“But what’s the point? How are they being threatened? Look at the settlers—Rockton doesn’t bother them, and they don’t bother each other. There’s so much land out here that territorial disputes would be ridiculous.”

Mathias leans back, purses his lips. “You are correct. And this is why you make a good detective, Casey. You do not presume the obvious without thinking it through. I have been up here too long, with too few puzzles to solve.”

“Well, here’s one for you, then. If the hostiles are sane, why act like madmen to scare off nonexistent threats? If they are not sane, how did they get that way? Again, there’s a presumption—they leave civilized life and revert. But revert to what? This isn’t some ‘pre-civilized’ form of human. That plays right into the old idea that we are all one step from savagery, base and violent creatures. The other explanation is that they left Rockton because of some dormant mental illness. But if so, why does it all seem to present in the same form—primarily, violence? Does it make sense that every hostile out there is suffering from the same mental illness?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time. Then it’s only to say, “I need more data.”

“Such as…”

“A live specimen would be ideal.” He catches my look and sighs. “All right. For now, I will settle for all reports on encounters. Bring me everything. Then we will speak of specimens.”





THIRTY-FOUR

I rap on Val’s door. When she opens it, I say, “I warned you I’d eventually need to talk with you about the men who attacked you.”

She nods and lets me in. As I head for the living room, she says, “Tea?” and I don’t particularly want any, but her inflection tells me she does. Maybe even something stronger.

When she brings it, she says, “I’m not sure how much I can help you, Detective. It really was a fleeting encounter.”

“That’s more than anyone except Eric has had.”

She makes a noise under her breath. Just a small one, though.

She sets the teacups down. I wait until she’s settled and then say, “You were out on militia patrol.”

“Yes, Phil thought that would be a good experience for me. To more fully experience my new life.”

“Phil? The first time we spoke, you said you wanted to go on patrol.” She’d used almost the same phrasing too, about “more fully experiencing” her new life here in Rockton.

“I wanted to be part of the community. I wasn’t sure how to go about that, and Phil encouraged me to join a patrol, to gain a deeper understanding of the landscape and have an opportunity to get to know members of the militia. To show that I supported their work and didn’t consider myself above basic tasks. I agreed. It was exactly what I was looking for. Whatever you may think of me, Casey, I came here prepared to immerse myself in this job and this community. Despite Sheriff Dalton’s objections.”

“What did Eric object to?”

“Me joining the patrol. He said I wasn’t qualified.” She sniffs. “In short, I was female.”

“He said that?”

“He didn’t need to. Look at the militia. Do you see any women on it?”

That isn’t Dalton’s fault. There was a female member, a few years ago, and he wants more women to join, but they haven’t been interested. Honestly, I’m not surprised—it offers little more than bragging rights, and that’s just not important to women. They can make the same number of credits doing more interesting and less dangerous work.

“What exactly did Eric say?”

She flutters her hands. “You know how he gets. Blustering about the dangers of the forest, and how people don’t understand, and if I wanted to join a picnic party, there was one scheduled for the next week. A picnic party? I don’t know what you see in the man, Casey. I understand that you may feel you lack power here. Perhaps that seems the way to get it. You may also feel threatened—I’m sure you endured more than your share of unwanted attention when you arrived. Being with the sheriff might seem the best way to protect yourself and further your interests in this town, but there are other ways.”