Secretist Chapter 1

“Dealer, I need you.”1

That much was obvious when she set the check on the table in front of me. I did not look at the amount but I knew it was exactly one thousand, which was exactly twice as much as I usually charged to find a missing person, which was another thing that I already knew she wanted from me without having to have her tell me.2

“Her name is Elizabeth Johnson, do you know where-?”3

The sudden flood of information just from the name was, to say the least, extremely overwhelming and it brought me a huge headache to go along with it. I held up a hand for silence and she gave it to me immediately.4

“Do you have any earthly idea how many Elizabeth Johnson’s there are in this world?” I asked rhetorically in a low, irritable voice, “Or even how many there are in New York City alone?”5

The woman shook her head and I did not have to look up to see her surprised expression. No, she did not know.6

“Thousands,” I told her impatiently as I massaged my temples in an attempt to try to remove the headache. “Many thousands of them, actually. Please, please, be more specific.”7

The woman sighed impatiently.8

“I am sorry,” She said in a softer, gentler voice, “I should have known. Elizabeth was…is…my sister and she was a, well, she called herself a secretist. I do not know if anyone else uses that word or not. Does it mean anything to you?”9

“Yes,” I answered as I nodded my head wearily, “That is one of the words that we all use. Dealers and secretists, they keep their knowledge hidden, we use it. Secretist is the term many use to refer to us as whole, though they have other words that just are not as common. They’ve called us seers, knowers.”10

I was babbling, I knew it, and my words faded into an awkward silence that neither of us particularly wanted to break.11

I knew she did not want to risk being rude to me again but I did not want to tell her that there was nothing that I could do.12

“I guess Elizabeth never told you,” I started uncomfortably, keeping my eyes on my hands, “I can’t find her. I…we…can’t see people like us.”13

The woman smiled triumphantly.14

“But she was a secretist, she was not like you! So you can!” She said but her smile faded slightly when I shook my head 15

sadly.16

“No, I cannot. Dealer, secretist, it is just a title. It does not change anything. We are both the same thing really. It is like calling you a sister and calling me an only child, we are both women. Since we know so much, everything really, searching for one of us would only give you all that information. I can’t sort through that, we can’t; no one could. Knowledge is…emotionless. It goes where it is directed, like water. When we open ourselves to it then it floods into us. We can lose all sense of self, so many have. I can’t find her, I am so sorry. I would if I could.”17

I was not lying, I wished there was something I could have done for this torn apart woman in front of me but, if there was, I did not know what it was.18

She stood up and turned to leave the coffee shop in which I sometimes did my business.19

“Emily,” I called out to her in a weary voice, she stopped and turned around much faster than I would have thought possible, clearly she was hoping for some bit of information, something that I must have forgotten to tell her, but all I held out to her was the check she had set in front of me when she came in, “Here, I can’t take this.”