Pronoia/Paranoia

by TooShyShy

Chapter 16: Paranoia

A long time ago—it felt like a million years—Spike once asked Twilight what she thought of him.

It was a candid and somewhat awkward question, delivered over drinks. They'd just finished their first big case and were celebrating. It was more of an impromptu get-together than anything fancy. A bunch of officers laughing and drinking together, Twilight lingering by the outskirts with a glass of apple cider she wasn't touching.

She'd looked Spike right in the eye and given him a straight answer: “I don't know.” At the time, she'd felt put on the spot. She wondered why Spike was asking something like that so early into their partnership. It was only much later that Twilight would fully understand Spike's hardships and his self-esteem issues. He hadn't asked that question out of ego. Spike had asked because he was insecure in his career choice.

Twilight's neutral—and perfectly honest—answer could have ended Spike's aspirations right there. But from the moment she expressed her lack of opinion, he became determined to prove himself. He wanted to be the best partner she'd ever had. He wanted to be her friend.

What Spike didn't know was that Twilight had misunderstood his question. Understandable, given she was caught off guard. When he asked her what she thought of him, she assumed he was asking for a general character assessment. Of course at that stage, Twilight knew nothing about Spike as a dragon. So when he seemingly asked her to assess his personality, she gave him an honest answer. She really didn't know what to think of Spike the Dragon.

There was a connection between them. Twilight felt it after their second or third case together, felt it so strongly that it almost made her dizzy. It wasn't romantic or sexual. The connection was much greater than anything so mundane and obvious. It was something deep and innate, as if they'd been forged from the same material. But of course that seemed silly to Twilight when she thought about it. Her and Spike had little in common personality-wise, yet they complemented each other. The perfect partnership.

Twilight realized she couldn't go back. There was no past, no history. There was only the future, an unknowable behemoth awaiting her in the dark. Twilight had once believed—mere days ago in fact—that the truth was a single entity. But of course this had been naive of her. The truth was a multi-limbed, multi-faceted creature with more eyes than she could count and a dozen tongues crammed into its abnormally large mouth. It was nightmarish and ugly.

She examined her crossbow. A sturdy weapon. She still didn't think of herself as a particularly good shot, but at least it gave her a fighting chance. That was all she could hope for: a fighting chance. She trusted her magic, trusted all the defensive and offensive spells she had at her disposal. But Twilight knew she was up against an opponent who could predict her actions. While magic would have normally given her an advantage, Twilight found herself in an unfavorable position. She didn't know what her opponent had up their sleeve.

Twilight looked around. Or perhaps they'd hidden something in her hotel room. Perhaps multiple somethings. They could have broken in while she was sleeping and rigged up some explosives. One wrong move and Twilight would be blown to smithereens. Or was that too impersonal for her opponent? No, that was what her opponent would want her to think. But they'd entered a brand new stage of the game. Anything was possible. Perhaps the concept of an intimate battle had gone out of the window. That in itself would be the perfect trap for Twilight to fall into.

She began backing towards the door. She had to get out of there. Recent events had made it clear that she couldn't stay there. There were things she needed to do on the outside, little matters that needed to be taken care of. A case to be solved. But where in the name of Celestia was she supposed to go? Where could she hide? Where was she safe?

Twilight shook her head. She had to find somewhere. She'd already packed her saddlebags. She was ready to travel. Perhaps an abandoned building would be her best bet? Some place her opponent would never consider looking? Just for a little while, until she felt safe again.

She pressed her flank against the door, her gaze sweeping the room. The ticking of the clock on her night stand was making her very anxious. It reminded her of a bomb, the seconds ticking away to complete obliteration. Perhaps it was a bomb. Perhaps once the clock reached the hour, sleeping Twilight was meant to perish in a fiery explosion. Well, her opponent had foolishly misjudged her. Twilight might never sleep again.

Twilight opened the door and backed out into the hallway. Was she being silly? Was she safer in the hotel room, behind a locked door and multiple defensive spells? The more she thought about it, the more it felt like being caged. But if she really was in danger, said danger seemed to be coming from the outside. On the other hoof, Twilight had never even considered the idea that she might be unsafe inside the hotel room, something her opponent would have taken into consideration.

She shut the door behind her. She couldn't afford to take chances. She couldn't keep asking herself impossible questions and flailing around in desperation. Her choices were either action or inaction. Twilight chose the former because it hadn't served her wrong thus far, but she still felt unsafe.

She descended the stairs and entered the main lobby. There was a bored-looking mare at the front desk. The mare was reading a magazine and chewing gum. Her gaze flicked disinterestedly from Twilight and then back to her magazine as the crossbow-wielding detective entered the lobby.

Twilight paused. Hadn't it been a stallion at the desk when she'd checked in? Yes, she distinctly remembered the somewhat skinny pony with a mustache who'd given her the key. She even recalled the oily stain on his uniform. Of course it was likely that more than one pony manned the desk. They probably worked in shifts. In fact, this was the most reasonable explanation. But at the same time, Twilight still found it jarring.

She headed for the front door. Twilight wasn't sure why she was being so irrational. There was no reason for her to be unsettled by this mundane development. But she did wonder how the masked pony had found her room. Had they asked the stallion at the desk? Or had they been tailing her all along? The masked pony did seem constantly aware of where Twilight was at any given time. But of course, that made sense. Now that Twilight had put it all together, she was realizing how foolish she'd been during the initial investigation.

Twilight stood outside the hotel. She shut her eyes, letting the thoughts wash over her.

There was only one place she could go. Only one place she needed to go. She'd been putting it off, as if she hoped that would make it any better. She wanted the wound to heal, for it to just be another scar, indistinguishable from the others she'd acquired over the course of her career. Twilight had once thought she was detached, that she was able to let herself be an observer. But now she was facing an unfortunate truth: those cases had effected her. Perhaps not in the moment, but now she felt as if something massive was pressing down on her back. The masked pony was right. Twilight did feel guilty about the families she'd broken up, the partnerships she'd ruined, the precious moments she'd destroyed. More often than not she'd been justified, had put a dangerous felon behind bars. But Cherry Blush hadn't been the only one. There had been others, more ponies whose lives had crumpled under the weight of Twilight's detective skills. Mistakes she'd made. Cases she would never talk about.

Twilight needed to see this through. She needed to face the truth, no matter how ugly and nightmarish.

---

Canterlot needed balance. It was something the city craved. Otherwise Canterlot could not function, could not prosper. If it wasn't for Shining Armor, the city would have bled to death. Nopony on the force even tried to deny it.

Twilight had taken up the position because she felt she needed to. It was the least she could do for Canterlot's fallen hero, to atone for her sins. But there'd been another reason, something she'd withheld from the interviewer. She'd even withheld it from herself during those first few months. But coming to Ponyville had awakened it once again. Despite her best intentions, Twilight could only lie to herself for so long. The first time she settled herself behind that desk, it hit her like a pile of hay.

A part of her wanted Canterlot to bleed to death. A part of her thought the city didn't deserve to live, not after it had taken Shining Armor away from her. The city was not alive. It had no heart, no concept of the sinful soil it sat upon. Ultimately Twilight could not blame it anymore than she could have blamed her desk. But a part of her still wanted to blame it, at least to make herself feel better. Twilight was not ready for the day Canterlot would turn its back on her.

The front door was unlocked. Twilight suspected it would be, although she instinctively whipped out her trusty lockpicking kit. When the saw the door was unlocked, she gently pushed it open. Twilight would have preferred the door be gaping open, waiting for her arrival. She wanted to get this over with. More importantly, she wanted her opponent to understand she wanted to get this over with. It would have made things so much easier.

Twilight had never arrested somepony on her own. She found that strange, but she couldn't think of a single instance of her performing an arrest solo. She'd always had Spike with her, her willing back-up. Before Spike, there'd always been at least one officer by her side. This would be the first time she made an arrest without somepony to cover her if things went south. But she was glad she was doing this alone. If there'd been an officer with her, she wasn't sure she could have gone through with it.

She felt like an intruder, but Twilight didn't let that stop her. She didn't even pause, shutting the door behind her and brandishing her crossbow. Twilight hoped she wouldn't have to use it again, but she was prepared to do so. She'd become comfortably numb to all of this. Perhaps later it would drive her over the edge, but for now she was holding it together. This wasn't real until she saw her opponent's face.

The house felt empty, but Twilight knew better. It was just the absence of normality that had struck her. Upon crossing the threshold, she felt as if everything in that house was dead. The tables, the chairs, the paintings. None of them were breathing. This was true most of the time, but this was something more than the usual absence of life attributed to inanimate objects. However, she continued forward, thinking of herself as the only truly living thing in that house. Of course she wasn't. There was another, the one she'd come for in the first place. She'd been putting it off this entire time, distracting herself with excuses.

Twilight went into the kitchen. She wanted to check the bedrooms first, but she was drawn to the kitchen. Perhaps she wanted to see it one last time, to re-live all those cheerful memories for a moment. But the happiness had left. Everything she remembered felt false, as if she was creating happy memories to keep herself sane. Had the biscuits ever been real? The laughing over breakfast? The nostalgia? Or had this place always been so bitter and broken? Had she always been so bitter and broken? Had Twilight always been this cold? She could no longer remember. She thought she'd always been this way, ever since she was a filly. But the more she thought about it, the more she remembered cheerful birthdays and word games with her foalsitter.

There was a plate of scones on the kitchen table. Homemade. Likely the product of stress baking. They were still steaming from the oven.

Twilight grabbed the plate of scones and—without pausing—dumped them into the wastebasket. Her stomach rumbled in protest as she did so, the alluring scent not quite muffled by the wastebasket. She felt the slightest pang of guilt as she disposed of the scones, but only for a second. If she'd left them out, she wouldn't have been able to help herself. It was a decent attempt at tempting her with something she secretly craved. She applauded the effort. But Twilight knew better than to trust anything or anypony, especially herself.

She stood over the wastebasket for a minute, then turned and left the kitchen. She'd heard what sounded like shuffling in one of the bedrooms.

As she reached the bedroom door, Twilight lifted her crossbow. This wasn't the showdown she'd wanted, but this might be the only one she was getting. She was hesitating for the first time since she'd entered the house. Twilight had dedicated herself to the truth, to justice and hope. She was a servant of the law first and a pony second. That had always been her philosophy and she wore it proudly for the entire land of Equestria to see. She'd worked hard to separate herself—or at least the self she thought existed—from her aspirations as a detective. But it was all folding in on itself. There was no self anymore. There was only Twilight Sparkle, small and likely to be crushed as the world shifted and shrank around her. But she didn't fear being crushed. She feared that brief second before she was thrown off completely, that glimmer of hope that everything would somehow be alright. Twilight didn't want to hope anymore. Not when everything around her was breaking down.

Twilight shoved the door open and entered the room. She pointed her crossbow at the figure huddled in the corner.

“You're under arrest,” she said.

Spike lifted his head. His eyes went from the crossbow to the look on Twilight's face, his expression unreadable. He didn't say anything, simply looked at Twilight. He'd been waiting for her. They both knew it. He'd seen the look in her eyes when she'd fired that bolt at him.

Twilight stepped towards him, crossbow hovering in the air between them. A threat, but hopefully an empty one. She didn't want to know if she'd hesitate. A part of her thought it was only fair that she did, at least to maintain some semblance of her old life. But another bigger part of her insisted she wouldn't. Twilight thought of the bolt she'd fired in the hallway, that one that had just barely missed Spike. She didn't care that the bolt wouldn't do any damage, that she would have been better of firing at the wall. It was a warning.

“I want the truth,” said Twilight.

Spike straightened up. In the somewhat cramped space of his bedroom, he looked even larger. There were times Twilight forgot Spike was a dragon, but this wasn't one of them. He towered over her, his entire body mostly scales and muscle. He could have picked her up and snapped her in two, or at least crushed that pitiful crossbow of hers. But he didn't. He stood there, his shoulders slumped and his face covered in guilt.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

There'd once been a stallion, a hardworking baker by the name of Golden Crisp. He'd been a rather inconspicuous citizen of Canterlot. He never went out of his way to make an impression, nor did anypony find him particularly interesting. He was pleasant, but not overly cheerful. He was reserved, but not standoffish. Twilight had passed his bakery a dozen times and she'd never looked at it.

When he'd been caught that night—his apron covered with blood and the weapon still beside him—Twilight had been surprised. She'd known it was Golden Crisp for quite some time. She'd followed the evidence, had linked two murders and one unsolved missing pony case to him. It seemed straightforward enough. When Twilight and Spike cornered him, Twilight wasn't thinking about Golden Crisp the baker. She was thinking of the mutilated corpses he'd left behind, missing limbs and faces distorted by the heavy blows of a bat. But looking into his eyes, Twilight had seen something she hadn't been expecting: guilt. Golden Crisp had been standing there, quaking and staring at the baseball bat at his feet. He'd been muttering to himself, seemingly unaware of Twilight and Spike. When she'd finally gotten his attention, he'd raised his head to look at her and his eyes had been filled with regret. Golden Crisp had looked right into her eyes and told her he was sorry, his voice thick with impending sobs. He'd sounded so sincere, so broken.

Twilight now heard that same tone from Spike. But unlike with Golden Crisp, she didn't need to wonder what he thought his apology meant. Golden Crisp knew his words were useless, that no amount of sorries could bring his victims back. But he'd said it anyway, like a final prayer to release him from his sins. However, Spike knew exactly what his apology meant. He wasn't begging for forgiveness. Spike was warning Twilight that he was about to break her heart.

“I'm sorry,” Spike repeated.

He tried not to look at the crossbow. It floated between them like a mediator, the tip of the bolt aimed directly at him. He imagined it uselessly bouncing off his scales and he almost laughed. How had this happened? Was this the bad ending Spike had been warned about, the real reason he'd been reluctant to join the force? Perhaps a part of him had seen this coming. But he'd believed in a happy ending and he'd unintentionally forced Twilight to believe in one as well. Spike knew she needed to if she was going to complete the work Shining Armor left unfinished.

“I'm an idiot,” said Spike.

Twilight slightly lowered the crossbow, letting out a bitter laugh. Finally Spike had said something she could agree with. This was all very amusing, in a dark and twisted sort of way. If she'd been on the sidelines, she would have been amused by all of this drama. Funny how she used to roll her eyes at every glimpse she got into the other officers' lives. She'd shake her head at their petty disagreements, over the love affairs and nonsensical rivalries. It was all just so small. But now Twilight understood where all the drama came from. It was difficult to let things go and lead a normal life as an officer in Canterlot. Twilight had never wanted a normal life, so she'd been spared most of it. But now she could truly appreciate the weight of those silly domestic squabbles.

Spike took a deep breath. Where to even begin? But then again, it didn't really matter where he started. No matter how he told this story, it was going to hurt. But that was fine. Spike wanted it to hurt. He wanted her to understand, even if it led to her hating him. Spike would rather Twilight hate him than stay in the dark for the rest of her life.

“I'm sorry about all of this,” he said. “But I needed proof.”

Twilight lowered the crossbow another inch, looking Spike right in the eye. She was aware that she wouldn't like whatever he was going to say. She also knew that he wouldn't lie to her, not after he'd been caught. If the old Spike was still in there, she trusted him. It was sentimental and irrational, but she still believed in his devotion to the truth.

“Proof of what?” she said.

Spike looked away.

“It was a hunch at first,” he said. “An idea. I wanted to let it go, but it just stayed there for the longest time. I couldn't get rid of it. I needed to make sure.”

He smiled bitterly.

“I knew you'd be angry at me,” he said. “There were things you wanted to believe. Some truths you took comfort in. I didn't want to take those things away from you over a silly idea. I suppose it was my way of protecting you.”

He sighed.

“I had to call in some favors,” he said. “Rarity was a big help to me. She has some connections in Canterlot. Between the two of us, we were able to find almost everything we needed. The letters were the final piece of the puzzle. I suspected what they were, but I wasn't sure.”

Twilight stared at Spike, not understanding what he was getting at. Was it some absurd ruse? A distraction? Yes, that was what it sounded like. It didn't make any sense. What could be so awful, so damaging that Spike wouldn't tell her?

“Sure about what?” she said.

Spike finally looked at Twilight.

“Shining Armor wasn't the pony you think he was,” he said.

Twilight stared at him for a full minute, the crossbow hovering between them. She was waiting for the pin to drop, for this all to start making sense. But so far she was still out to sea. Even with that last line, she felt lost.

“What?” she whispered.

Spike pressed himself into the corner. He was afraid Twilight was about to fire a bolt at him. Once the bolt proved ineffective, she might decide to pick him up with her magic and escort him down to the station. He felt bad about beating around the bush, but how else was he supposed to approach this? Spike wanted to savor those last few moments of sanity before everything burned to the ground.

“We went through the records,” he said. “Me and Rarity. Most of the stuff we found could be explained away, but there were some inconsistencies and cover-ups that didn't make sense. We dug a little deeper and found some names, some ponies who had information. There was some bribery, but not very much. We were able to get it out of them. It wasn't a lot to go on, but putting it with everything else we had made it obvious what we were looking at.”

He took another deep breath. Spike was sorry. Truly sorry.

“Shining Armor met somepony at some point,” said Spike. “A mare. We're not sure when or how, but they were seeing each other for a while. We don't think Cadence knew about it.”

Twilight took another step towards Spike, a strained smile on her face. She wasn't really listening to what Spike was saying, or at least she was trying not to. She'd heard it all before. All kinds of hideous or absurd lies spouted by felons to justify or dismiss their crimes. It was a common response to being cornered. The more outlandish stories always made Twilight laugh. The sheer desperation of them was amusing. But this? This was far from funny. This was twisted and vile.

Spike raised both claws in surrender.

“The letters,” he said. “That's what I was after. I knew you wouldn't give them to me, but I needed to make sure. Don't tell me you didn't think about it.”

Twilight opened her mouth to tell him to be quiet, to say she was tired of his games, to ask him why he was doing this. But nothing came out. She closed her mouth, lowering the crossbow as she looked into Spike's eyes. The sincerity in his eyes was almost haunting. This wasn't a trick or a distraction. This wasn't a desperate attempt to explain away his actions with a false story. This was the Spike she'd known in Canterlot, the Spike who drank apple cider and loved donuts. The Spike who never lied to her even when she needed it.

She remembered how she'd felt while reading the letters. She'd thought—briefly at first, but more frequently as she read on—that she knew the pony who'd written them, that she understood their deepest fears and regrets. But how was that possible? How could Twilight empathize so strongly with somepony she'd never met? Was it simply the prose itself, or was there something deeper she was missing? Yes, she'd certainly been missing something throughout this case. She'd been ignoring it all along, even as she desperately tried to find a connection. An explanation for why the three of them were being targeted. It must be connected to Shining Armor, she'd thought. But she'd stopped there, stopped just short of letting herself probe the inner workings of Shining Armor's mind. There was a part of Twilight that simply didn't want to know what her brother had been thinking, but she wasn't sure why. What exactly was she scared of finding?

Sin. It had been prominent in the letters. A slight obsession with it, as if the mysterious pony was being hounded by their own wrongdoings. No, not simply their own. It was as if the mysterious pony was haunted by the sins of others. Awake every night, staring at the ceiling and contemplating the nature of sin across the grand city of Canterlot. It was everywhere, wasn't it? A writhing, twisting mass living under the soil and between the bricks. Nopony was free from sin. Even the righteous were hoof-deep in it at all times, ready to be consumed and re-purposed as agents of the city's chaos. Even those who traveled took the city's malevolence with them. It could make anypony feel miserable and small.

But Twilight knew certain things mattered. Truth, justice, friendship. Those things mattered more than anything else. Without them, Canterlot would have rotted from the inside out.

Twilight lowered the crossbow. She was surprised to realize that she wasn't crying. Her eyes weren't burning with impending tears, her hooves weren't shaking, her mind was steady.

He couldn't have. He wouldn't have. Not Shining Armor. He'd believed in the truth, he'd believed in following the rules. Perhaps most importantly, Twilight had believed in him. She believed he'd tucked her into bed at night, she believed he'd read her stories, she believed he'd comforted her during thunderstorms. Twilight knew Shining Armor. She'd known him since the day she was born, all the way up until the day he died. Spike was wrong. He was wrong and Twilight was going to prove it. She didn't care where his nonsensical little investigation had led him.

“We never got a name,” said Spike. “Whoever she was, she was careful. She covered her tracks.”

Twilight turned away. That was fine. She didn't need a name. She just needed ten minutes.

Manehattan. The stage. Psychology. Bronze Hoof. Love letters. A waitress. Why was Twilight thinking about waitresses? She was used to her thoughts wandering, but this was a little unexpected. Was there something about a waitress she was missing? When was the last time a waitress had even been mentioned? Why did Twilight feel as if it was important? No, not just important. She felt as if this waitress—whoever she was—was the most important part of the puzzle. The centerpiece she needed. But why couldn't Twilight remember when or how this waitress had been mentioned?

There had been a waitress, hadn't there? In a story, recounted from memory. The pony telling the story hadn't described her, but Twilight was able to cobble together a decent estimate based on personal experience. Likely around Twilight's age. Medium build. Yellow mane tied up in a tight professional bun. Holding a pot of coffee in her magic. Lines of stress forcing their way through a painfully false smile.

“Would anypony like a refill?” the waitress asked.

She shot a not-so-subtle glance at the clock. Twenty minutes until she clocked out for the day. She wanted to say something about how they were closing soon, but nothing could make it past that fake smile. So she simply raised the coffee pot and asked the question, hoping they would leave soon. It was getting late.

The one stallion at the table raised his hoof, a charming smile on his face. The two mares both shook their heads.

The waitress refilled the stallion's cup. She wasn't one to pry, but she'd noticed something about the stallion and one of the mares. The two had been looking at each other since they'd come in, exchanging passionate looks and lustful glances. They seemed to be lovers. How nice. The waitress hardly remembered what it was like to be in love.

Twilight opened her eyes. She'd wandered out into the hallway as if in a trance, her crossbow at her side.

That waitress had gone home after her shift. She'd probably settled herself into her favorite chair, perhaps grabbed a book from a nearby shelf. Perhaps she was an aspiring novelist, perhaps a former stagehand or a disgraced university professor. Whoever she was, she likely never thought about those three ponies. She never thought about the stallion who'd asked for a refill or his marefriend or the third pony at the table. Why would she? Their lives and their struggles were nothing to her. The waitress likely had a family of her own, perhaps a husband or a wife, older siblings and foals. If she thought of anypony at all, it wouldn't be the three ponies she'd served on an evening indistinguishable from all the others.

Maybe the waitress would have been flattered, knowing Twilight Sparkle of all ponies was thinking of her. Perhaps she would have felt just a little bit more important. She was important. As the final piece clicked into place, she was all Twilight could think about. For a brief second, the entire case was revolving around that one waitress. That waitress would never know how special she was. Perhaps if Twilight ever got in contact with her, she'd send the waitress a gift basket.

“Spike, I need you to call everypony at the station,” said Twilight.

There was a chasm in the center of this case. It was deep and dark and Twilight had never been able to see the bottom. After days of just peering into it, she was finally ready to jump in.

Comments

[NexusDragon]

Ah, so we really do work our way back to the head of this mess. I'm so glad this wasn't going down what I was slowly starting to expect. Then again, there is still one chapter left.

[Julian the Dreamer]

Now that was a surprise.

This reminds me why I can't write thrillers and mysteries.

[Bahamuttone]

yet they complimented each other

complemented

[TooShyShy]

9244241
Fixed! And thanks very much for correcting me. Otherwise I wouldn't have discovered the difference between "compliment" and "complement".