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girldragongizzard · 3 months ago

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Chapter 18: How I stopped worrying and learned to love the shoe

I’m not supposed to tell anyone this, but I spent all Sunday, the Equinox, sitting in Rhoda’s apartment, listening to her tell me stories about her son.

I’m not sure why she’s self conscious about that, but I’m sure she has her reasons, and I can keep quiet until she gives me permission.

It’s Monday morning now, and I’m quietly showing off while talking to Rhoda in the coffee shop.

It’s interesting to see who still recognizes me.

It’s bizarre that they can. But it was also bizarre that my dracomorphosis didn’t make me unrecognizable, either.

This time, it’s probably my amber colored slitted eyes, and the conspicuous nature of my outfit.

“Meghan! That’s impressive,” Tom says on his way through the lobby.

Amy nudges me with her elbow and says, “Hot.”

Their dog, Cody, still stares at me intently through the door, calm but attendant to me specifically.

Gary comes in to sit down to a super gay hot chocolate, with extra rainbow sprinkles, and a bacon cinnamon roll, and he smiles and waves.

The Kims had no trouble at all, either. And gushed about my “haircut” because they thought it was funny to put it that way.

Rhoda watches all of this with her tea near her face, shaking her head, and mutters, “This is interesting.”

I put my drink down and pick up my tablet, using my thumbs to quickly type out, “I feel like royalty even though I know I’m not. I don’t believe in royalty.”

“Meg,” Rhoda says, lowering her forehead in my direction. “You are wearing a damn tiara. You’re supposed to feel like a princess when you do that. I know I do.”

“You have a tiara?” I ask.

“Yes,” Rhoda says. “Every self respecting woman should. Sometimes it helps you clean. You can order yourself about with true authority. But mostly it’s for my birthday.” She waves a hand, “Costume pieces are easy to come by. Good ones are cheaper than you might think.”

I nod.

“If you can’t hide your eyes with magic, you might want sunglasses or contacts, for hiding that you’re a dragon, I think,” Rhoda suggests, drinking her tea. “I can imagine a few situations where that might be desirable.”

I nod a little more vigorously.

She smirks, “Nevermind the rest of the outfit.”

I stick my tongue out, closing my eyes, then take a sip of my drink, pinky outward because I can do it.

There are always tells, but it’s still a pretty good disguise. It lets me do at least a few things even easier than Chapman’s pendant does.

My tongue is still forked and quite sensitive, by the way, and I find I’m wondering if I can sense Chapman’s shifts when I’m like this.

Narrowing my eyes, I send hir an SMS, “Scan me!”

Seconds later I feel the shift.

“Oh, woah,” comes the response.

“I felt that,” I reply.

“I’ll have to scan you some more. Can I? May I? I think I can learn from you, maybe,” Chapman sends back.

“Yes,” I reply, simply. “Later.”

“Sweet! Back to work.”

“What’s that all about?” Rhoda asks.

I look at her thoughtfully, thinking about our last day of conversations and the last thing she said to Ptarmigan and Chapman. She’s here. She’s showing herself. She’s claiming her space. But she’s still not happy with the Artists.

“Mm,” she says, twisting her mouth up and to the side.

“I want to help people like Kimberly,” I say. “And people like Molly who can’t be themselves by going out into the wild.”

She nods, looking down into her tea, and says, “Fair. Just, be careful, please.”

As she says that, we both notice a police SUV roll slowly by the shop, and we watch it go together, our heads turning to track it.

I wonder if, under the right light, my tapetum lucidum might glow. It’s daytime now, but I do have significantly better night vision than humans. And it would be cool if the cop driving that car looked into the shop at just the right moment to see two forward facing silvery slits of light following them, wide and alert.

Ah, that’s another drawback of this disguise. I feel half blind with my peripheral vision so restricted and impaired, and it does make me a little nervous and twitchy. I’m sure my head still moves like a lizard’s, like it usually does these days.

“I feel,” Rhoda says. “I don’t know why I feel this, but I feel like there’s another shoe about to drop. Like that hasn’t been happening for four weeks straight.” She shakes her head, “I’m so tired, Meg. So, so tired.”

“I know,” I reply. Then, after a tentative thought, I say, “Maybe you should hunker down while I go drop the next shoe.”

“I feel like you just did that,” Rhoda scowls, referring to my impromptu training session with Wentin. “I think that’s why I feel like there’s going to be another one. They come in twos.”

“Then it’s my shoe and I should drop it,” I point out.

“Please don’t,” she says, burying her face in her cup for a moment. Then, lifting it, she says, “The daily published your letter this morning. I read it before coming down here. It’s good. I think they didn’t edit it. Because it’s good. Keep doing that kind of good, Meg.”

“It’s not direct action,” I say.

“The world takes all kinds of action, Meg,” Rhoda reminds me. “And so far, every time anyone takes direct action regarding you dragons, it turns out disastrous. That singing you did on Thursday night was stunning. It was the best thing to do. But look at how rattled the city still is. Look at everyone. It’s been a whole weekend and a half and we’re all so exhausted and jumpy. Still.”

“Yeah.”

“You know what you should do?” Rhoda says, leaning forward with as much energy as she can muster. “You should have another interview with the Mayor, like this. Like you are right now. With as much press as you can summon.”

I tilt my head.

“You’re obviously still a dragon, if anybody pays attention. You’re obviously you, if anybody knows you. Mayor Chisholm will recognize you and call you by name,” Rhoda explains. “And if you can show people this new thing that dragons can do, I think that could change everything.”

I sigh.

“I might be the only one who can do it,” I respond. “And I don’t want to give the trick away to Säure.”

“Oh, that Säure. He’s a bogeyman! Everyone’s afraid of him,” she waves her hand. “Look. If he is your mortal enemy, think about it. Remember how your purse was found on the rooftop and turned into lost and found, and everything was in it? Do you think your mortal enemy would leave it there like that unexamined?”

She pauses to watch me lower my head in thought and acknowledgement.

“Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe his henchpeople were stupid or something. Negligent. But you’ve gotta consider that he left your purse seemingly untouched to make you think that, and make you careless. So that he could confirm his suspicions about that pendant. Because that pendant is conspicuous as all fuck, Meg. It has that oversized chain, the big venus symbol, and the markings all over the back of it. It doesn’t take an Artist these days to think it’s something weird and special.”

Shit, she’s right. But.

“Still don’t want to tip my hand,” I say.

“No,” she dismisses me. “Keep thinking about it. Follow me here. You appear before the press with the Mayor wearing this disguise. But you keep the pendant. He doesn’t know exactly what it does, but he sees you doing something that looks like you’re using it! And then he makes a move. Maybe we haven’t heard from him and his goons because he’s waiting for something like that. Assuming he’s that evil in the first place – what am I saying, he’s a billionaire. Anyway! You see where I’m going with this?”

I nod slowly, looking down at my tablet, trying to think of something I might say besides, “You’re right. This is a good idea.”

“It’s a direct action, but a sneaky and subtle one,” she says. “And you prompt him to take the less subtle move, and this time you’re ready. You’ve got two Artists, God bless them, and yourself, and however many dragons who are loyal to you now. And you’ve got your magic.”

“I am supposed to train with Wentin more,” I say.

She nods and says, “Then you do that. Take your time. Prepare yourself. Do it right. But not too long, because the election is coming up, and the Mayor and everyone else watching Fairport, could probably use an actual boost from you.”

“Okay,” I say with my syrinx.

“And then, when it’s all done,” she says. “I want nothing more to do with Chapman and Ptarmigan. I’m sorry. That’s a boundary.”

Shit.

I feel I shouldn’t push her. I’ve done an awful lot of listening the past day, and I understand way better where she’s coming from and why she’s helping me out, why she’s attached herself to me despite my inhumanity. More importantly, I know why her soul hurts so much, or at least the parts she felt she needed to share. And she thanked me for being such a good listener when she needed it most.

But I want to understand something. And I want to at least try to plant a seed in her head that this boundary might be unnecessary.

I think I want to keep Ptarmigan in my life as much as I refuse to drop Chapman at this point. But I don’t want to lose Rhoda.

And, also, I don’t think any of this will be over all that soon. We need each other.

But I at least want to understand what she’s thinking about this one point. So a good question should be OK.

“Rhoda? Why is it different for you to help me than it is for Chapman and Ptarmigan to help us?” I take the tenacity to ask.

“Oh, Meg,” she says. And stays silent for several breaths, just looking at the floor a ways away and blinking. Then she moves herself a little and says, glancing at me, “Me helping you is like an old dog who’s had four litters and survived all her pups helping an old woman. The dog’s maybe got a couple of years left in her, and the old woman has a whole other dog’s lifetime ahead of her. But here, now, during the dog’s life, she can help, and the old woman needs it. And they make each other happy. The old woman gets something that helps her continue with her life, and move onto the next stage of what she needs to do in the world. And the old dog gets the best years of her life at the end, when she needs it most. It’s a good trade.”

A single tear rolls down her face, and she furiously brushes it aside. I know that’s for her son.

“But with Chapman and Ptarmigan helping us? That’s like a couple of scientists trying to help a couple of ants. Talking to the ants with pheromones that they think they know what they mean, but do they really understand us?” She looks more directly at me. “They can tell us things we think we want to hear. They can do amazing things that neither of us can, and they live so much longer than we do. So, so much longer. What’s their actual language, Meg? How do we even hope to comprehend it? And telling them to fuck off isn’t going to work. They think they know better. All we can do is try to walk away. And keep trying. Until we’re out from under their scope. And for them, what’s a matter of curiosity is for us a matter of survival.”

I pick up my tablet again to type something, but pause as she shakes her head.

“It’s just the way it is,” Rhoda says. “Same as for you as it is for me. Even with the things you can do, I reckon. Gotta assume it. I hear the way they talk about you.”

“Rhoda,” I say with my syrinx.

She seems to notice I didn’t use my tablet, and sits up straighter and looks at me, “Yes, Meg?”

I type into my tablet, “They are immortal beings. I am a myth. They know me now. I will live longer than they do.”

Her jaw drops open.

“What was that, Meg?” Kimberly asks from behind the bar.

“I am the child of humanity, and you have spoken my name to immortals, and they will pass me on to their children,” I say, hitting talk every couple of sentences. “I know I can be hurt. And I think I can be killed, many times. I am no god. I am just a dragon. But a dragon is a story. And so long as I am told, though I may change with time, I will persist. And I think I’ve just learned that I might see the end of the universe.”

“What?” Kim asks, and the both of them come out from behind the bar and over to our table.

“Let me hear your stories and take them with me,” I say. “You are my family, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Then I hand the tablet to the Kims so that they can read my words, keeping my eyes on Rhoda.

That, actually, was the other shoe.

And, I make sure it’s dropped. I end up explaining it a couple different ways.

At one point, I think I end up saying,”I'm not real.”

I'm pretty heavily dissociated myself by then, though, so I'm not sure.

—

I feel weird.

If I’m being honest, I didn’t think I’d see my fiftieth birthday. And when I did, I then didn’t think I’d see my fifty-first. It had been a long line of a couple decades worth of years like that.

That suicidal, and that fatalistic. Especially with the way national politics have been going back and forth like a couple of cowboys whipping the shit out of each other and everything around them. Weird metaphor, but it came to me for some reason. It feels right.

It’s a common experience amongst neurodivergent trans people. Especially those of us that remain closeted like I was.

Every year got worse. I don’t really know why I held on so long to that closet door. It was a damn stupid move.

I started growing my beard in late middle school, and I never shaved it. Ever.

Other trans girls will know what that means.

By last month, I was feeling already dead many times over. I was barely a husk of a person. I haven’t spoken or written about that much because I really have to work to remember any of it, and I don’t like dredging it up. Not even now.

It’s easier to remember my childhood, before puberty. Back when I first knew I was a dragon and thought I understood what I meant. And, wow. OK. I might have actually been closer to getting it back then than I was in college, though I couldn’t have explained it. In college, I’d developed a theory that is closer to this, but I didn’t believe it.

When I was a kid, I just knew what I could do. Or should be able to do. And I bragged a hell of a lot. But I had no idea what was in store for me.

Why should I be so lucky?

I’m not.

That’s like asking the sun why it’s so lucky. Or a comet. Or a rock on the beach that has a nice sparkle to it.

Why is it a rock, and not you?

It’s just a feature of my existence that I got to think I was kind of sort of a human for the first fifty years of… it might be just this life.

I don’t know how old I actually am, because I don’t have any memories of before this life. And I may never get them back. But I’m pretty sure that the story I come from, the story that I am, is older than this physical vessel, and it will last longer.

It’s like believing in your own immortal soul.

A lot of humans do that. And they might be right to. I personally kind of feel like they are, though I’m not going to guess at what the nature of it is.

Right now, I’m a dragon that can fly, breathe some fire a bit more often than she realized, and who can kind of sort of disguise herself as human. And also, convince some other dragons to respect her for some reason. And get hurt. And die repeatedly, I’m pretty sure.

There might be a few more things I can do besides that.

And maybe with the help of a couple of Artist friends, I might be able to stay connected with my story more reliably now, and keep my memories for longer.

I’m not sending this to any newspapers or anybody. I don’t think they’d get it. It wouldn’t be useful. I might put it in one of my books, in the right spot.

No. I don’t want to protest too much, though.

That would be disingenuous.

It’s just kind of a really big mind fuck to go from thinking that you are a living, breathing, organic, mortal being for 50 years, who maybe wished she was something different, to learning that you’re a story.

And having the undeniable proof of it pulled right from out of your very own soul – or what you thought was your soul – by another story that’s almost certainly older, wiser, and considerably less brainwashed by humans than you.

Maybe, someday, humans will be ready to know this part about dragons.

First, let’s get your governments to start treating us all, humans and others alike, as people.

For all intents and purposes, for all the experience I have at my clawtips, I’m still a 50 year old disabled girl. I just happen to be disabled by dracomorphosis. And C-PTSD, still.

It’s going to take a lot of work that’s certainly beyond me alone to achieve.

I could, if I can find an employer that is super fucking chill, maybe hold down a job now. Gotta be free of triggers, though, and few jobs are.

And honestly, out of all of the stories in the world, it is pretty special that I get to drink coffee and worry about shit like that.

—

There's a certain point in life where when a real live dragon tells you, “No, I really am a dragon,” you tend to believe it.

Anyway, Rhoda takes that better than I expected. I hope.

Kim is looking at me weird, and Kimberly is shaking too much to operate the espresso machine, so they switch positions.

#dragon #writeblr #transformation #transgender #original fiction #serial fiction

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zizzlekwum · 1 year ago

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Stranger In A Not-So-Strange Land

Masterlist

CHAPTER SEVEN

The BAU struggles to find Reid after he's kidnapped by the unsub. Follows the events of Criminal Minds Season 2 Episode 15 "Revelations."

Trigger Warnings: mentions of drug use

Word Count: 5,808

Tag List: @leftoverenvy @itsmeanobody @ctrljuls @theclassicgaycousin @fatherfigured [if you want to be added to the tag list, please comment or send me an ask]

NOTE: Sorry for the many-month hiatus. It's been a shitshow around here lately. First, I was wicked depressed. Then, I got into a really bad accident and totaled my poor car (it was the other guy's fault and I have finally fully healed). So then I had to fight with insurance to get a rental and then buy a car, which I finally did today (2019 Chevy Equinox, in case you were wondering). So yeah. I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy this chapter, though.

You’re between Morgan and Prentiss in the back of the SUV, your leg bouncing up and down anxiously. You’re mentally berating yourself for not remembering the case sooner, convinced that you’re the reason Reid’s in trouble.

“Hey,” Prentiss says quietly, putting a hand on your bouncing leg. “This isn’t your fault.”

You scoff. “I should’ve remembered.”

“You said the show was on for like fifteen years, right?” she asks, shaking her head.

“Sixteen,” you correct her.

“You can’t possibly remember everything that happened over those sixteen years,” she tells you. You don’t respond, looking up at the roof of the car, willing yourself not to cry. You feel Emily move her arm from your leg to squeeze your hand. Your chest feels like it’s about to burst as your breathing starts to accelerate.

“Hey, hey, Y/N,” Emily says, squeezing your hand again. “Look at me.” You turn your head to face her, biting the inside of your cheek. “You’re okay. JJ and Reid are going to be okay.”

You shake your head, a tear sliding down your cheek. “He’s not,” you choke out. She wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer to her, rubbing your arm as your breathing steadies and determination sets in. You will get Reid back.

When Hotch finally pulls up to Tobias Hankel’s address, you all jump out of the SUV, drawing your weapons and flashlights. Hotch and Gideon move to take the front of the house. You, Morgan, and Prentiss go to follow when an officer stops the three of you. “There’s a barn around back,” he tells Morgan, pointing.

Morgan nods. “Prentiss, Y/L/N, come on.” The three of you hurry around the outside of the house, moving to the barn. Morgan takes the lead with you and Prentiss following close behind. He rushes into the barn, pointing his flashlight forward to illuminate the way.

You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears and feel it in your chest. It feels like it’s about to explode out from your chest at any second as you search the barn. Your flashlight lands on the unmoving body of a dead dog and you frown, but continue moving. You come up beside Morgan, who is staring at the a bloody mattress, bits and pieces of a body scattered everywhere. You curse.

“Oh, damn,” Morgan says.

“FBI!”

You spin around to see a disheveled JJ pointing her gun at you, her eyes wild.

“JJ, it’s us!” you tell her as Morgan and Prentiss call her name.

“DON’T MOVE!” JJ yells.

“It’s Morgan!” Morgan calls to her. “JJ, it’s Morgan, Y/L/N, and Prentiss! Don’t shoot!” JJ begins to slowly lower her gun. “It’s okay. Are you hurt?”

JJ stares at Morgan as you and Emily approach her, checking her over for injuries. “Tobias Hankel is the unsub,” she says, her voice shaking.

“Yeah, we know,” Morgan says.

“I’ll go call in an ambulance,” one of the officers behind Morgan says.

“Yeah,” Morgan tells him with a nod.

JJ holsters her gun. “We just thought he was a witness.” She looks around at the dead dogs. “I had to kill them.”

“JJ, where’s Reid?” Morgan asks. You bite your cheek, tensing.

“They just… completely tore her apart,” JJ says, looking at the bloody mattress. “There’s nothing even left—”

“JJ, look at me,” Prentiss says firmly. “Look at me. Where’s Reid?”

“Oh, uh, we split up. He said he was going to go around back,” JJ says. You and Morgan turn and run out the back. Morgan motions you to go right as he goes left. Your search leads you into the cornfield, where your flashlight illuminates drag marks in the dirt.

“Morgan!” you yell, bending down to touch the dirt. You hear Morgan’s footsteps as he runs over to you.

“Find anything?” he asks. You gesture to the ground in front of you. Morgan curses.

You and Morgan walk back around the barn to find Prentiss talking to JJ, who is sitting in the back of an ambulance. “Prentiss,” Morgan says. She turns away from JJ and takes a step toward Morgan, who gestures to the cornfield. “We think Reid followed him into the cornfield.”

“I-it looks like somebody was dragged,” you tell her.

She shakes her head and goes to open her mouth when Detective Farraday grabs her attention from behind you. “Hey,” she calls, walking past you to the officer. “What’s going on?”

“The Sheriff two towns over,” Detective Farraday explains. “He just gave directions to a man who fit Hankel’s description. It’s to a motor lodge in Fort Bend.”

“Let’s get Hotch and Gideon,” Morgan says, turning to find them. You hurry after him, nervously rubbing your hands together.

* * * * *

The motor lodge is a dead end; it appears the unsub asked for directions simply to distract the police. By the time you return to Tobias Hankel’s house, it’s close to noon. You haven’t slept in over a day, but you’re too anxious to feel tired.

You sit around the kitchen table with Prentiss, JJ, Gideon, and Morgan, your leg bouncing nervously. You all turn to face the front door as Hotch leads Garcia inside.

“Welcome to our nightmare,” JJ says. You swallow hard.

“His computer is an extension of his brain,” Gideon tells Garcia. “I need you to dissect it.”

Morgan stands, beckoning her over. “I’ll get you set up. Come on.”

“So nothing new since I left?” Hotch asks as Morgan and Garcia walk into the other room, though it’s more of a statement than a question.

Prentiss sighs. “Well, the good thing is the guy documented practically every second of his life. The bad news is we’re still unpiling.”

“From the looks of it, he hasn’t left this place in years,” JJ says.

“He knew he could pretend to be looking for a hotel and throw us off his trail,” Prentiss says.

Gideon shakes his head. “No, no, no, it’s more than that. The sheriff’s office, the 911 calls. Every time he engages the police and gets away with it, he reassures himself that God’s on his side, not ours.”

You continue reading through the journals, occasionally muttering increasingly-creative profanities under your breath as you continue to find nothing useful. Eventually, Prentiss calls over to you from the other side of the room.

“Hey, I have got a list of Narcotics Anonymous meetings,” she says, holding a piece of paper. “Someone’s name and number is written on it, but this looks to be about twelve years old.”

“Try it,” Gideon says, not turning around. “There are no bad leads.” He reaches up and tears down the wallpaper in front of him, revealing writing on the wall. You and Emily step forward to get a better look.

“The hell is this?” you mutter.

“Is that Latin?” Emily asks.

“‘Honora patrum tuum,’” Gideon reads. He turns around, raising an eyebrow. “‘Honor thy father.’”

You sigh. “So nothing helpful, again.”

“We’ll find him,” Emily tells you.

“Yeah, but what’s Hankel gonna do to him while we’re looking?” You shake your head. You step out of the room and walk down the hall. When you pass the bathroom, JJ spins around, pointing her gun at you.

“Whoa!” you yelp, raising your hands. “Hey, hey, easy! JJ, it’s just me!”

Emily hurries out of the room behind you as JJ lowers her weapon. “Is everything okay?” She notices your raised hands and JJ holstering her weapon. “Are you all right?” she asks JJ.

JJ gives her a pained smile. “Uh, yeah. I’m-I’m sorry,” she tells you. “You scared me.”

You shake your head, lowering your hands. “No, I’m sorry. My bad.”

Emily looks between the two of you, contemplating what to say, before she turns to JJ. “JJ, we’re talking tomorrow morning to some guy who knew Hankel from Narcotics Anonymous. Why don’t you come with us? Get out of the house?”

JJ nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“Okay, great,” Prentiss says. She turns to walk past where you’re still watching JJ, trying to gauge whether or not she’s truly okay.

“Emily.” JJ steps out of the bathroom. You back up so she can face Emily.

“Yeah?” Prentiss turns around.

“How come none of this gets to you?” JJ asks.

Prentiss frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You came off a desk job,” JJ explains, and you suddenly remember flashes of watching Criminal Minds back in your own universe, specifically the ones involving Ian Doyle, but you don’t correct her. “Now suddenly you’re in the field surrounded by mutilated bodies, and… you don’t even flinch,” JJ finishes as Hotch comes up behind Emily.

“She’s right,” Hotch says. “You’ve never blinked.”

Emily shakes her head slowly. “I… guess… maybe I compartmentalize better than most people.”

Hotch goes to say something else but he’s interrupted by Morgan. “Hey guys!” Morgan shouts from outside. “I think I got something!”

The four of you rush out the front door and to the side of the house, where Morgan is clearing away overgrown grass from what looks to be a bulkhead leading to a basement of some sort. You take out your gun and flashlight. Hotch does the same.

Morgan pulls open the wooden door. “Tobias Hankel, FBI!” When there’s no response, Hotch nods at him to descend the stairs. You follow behind him, with Hotch at your heels.

When you reach the bottom step, you realize you’re standing inside an underground freezer, your breath causing a cloud of fog to appear with every exhale. There’s a man slumped over at the other end of the freezer.

“Tobias!” Morgan calls, slowly creeping forward, his gun raised. You follow.

“Guys, he’s blue,” you note as you get closer. “He’s obviously been dead for a while.”

“I think we just found Hankel’s father,” Hotch says.

* * * * *

The body is quickly transported to the ME’s office, and you go back to reading through the journals. It’s mind-numbing, but you refuse to stop, determined to find something that will help you find Reid. It’s past midnight when Emily tells you to get some rest, and though you try to resist, you can’t argue when she points out that you haven’t slept in almost two days. You grudgingly take your meds and rest your head on the table, closing your eyes. You sleep fitfully, but you do manage to get a couple hours in before you go with Prentiss and JJ to interview the man who knew Tobias Hankel from Narcotics Anonymous. Emily drives with JJ in the passenger seat, and you try not to nod off in the back.

When you get to the man’s house, he’s already outside, working on a red muscle car. “You must be the FBI,” he says as you all exit the SUV. “I’m Mickey Bates.”

“Agent Prentiss, these are Agents Jareau and Y/L/N,” Emily says, introducing the three of you. “We found your information in Tobias Hankel’s house and were wondering if you could tell us a bit about him.”

“Tobias Hankel,” Mickey repeats. “I haven’t thought about that boy in probably ten years.”

“So, you two were in a program together?” JJ asks.

Mickey nods. “He should tell you, but yeah. I was his sponsor. Small town, we all get lumped together. Me, I was just a drunk, but Tobias, he was a whole different sort of animal.”

“What was Tobias’ drug of choice, then?” you ask.

“Dilaudid,” Mickey says.

“Drugstore heroin,” Emily notes.

“He used to cut it with a psychedelic,” Mickey explains. He shakes his head. “That boy was looking to escape as far from reality as he could get. Addicts don’t get excuses, but if someone ever needed to self-medicate, it was that boy.”

“Why is that?” Prentiss asks.

“You know anything about his daddy?” Mickey says.

You, JJ, and Prentiss exchange looks. “We think Tobias Hankel may have murdered his father,” JJ says.

Mickey smiles, nodding. “Good for him.” JJ raises her eyebrows. “You know, Tobias’ mama ran off with another man when he was seven. His dad went Section-Eight, started preaching about sin, end-of-the-world stuff.” Mickey shakes his head. “He beat Tobias silly. He burned a cross in his forehead when Tobias was ten. If Tobias wore a hat, he’d beat him more.”

“Is there anyone Tobias would turn to if he was on the run?” Prentiss asks.

“Far as I know, he never left home,” Mickey says. “You know, honestly, between his habit and the old man, I’m amazed he’s still alive.”

You finish up the conversation before heading back to Tobias Hankel’s house, where Morgan, Hotch, Gideon, and Detective Farraday are still going through the journals.

“There’s something weird going on here,” Morgan says as you walk through the door.

“You think?” the detective says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No, seriously,” Morgan says, holding up one of the journals. “Check this out. This journal is filled with religious ramblings. He notates hour by hour. ‘November 15th, 3:17— if ye offer a sacrifice of peace offering unto the Lord, ye shall offer it at your own will.’ And it goes on and on.”

“That matches what Mickey Bates just told us,” you say. “He said Tobias’ father went total religious nut after the mother left them.”

“Yeah, but then it goes blank for days,” Morgan says.

The detective shrugs. “Maybe he got sick of writing.”

“I think I got it,” Hotch says, looking through another journal.

“What is it?” Gideon asks.

“A journal entry, dated December 6th,” Hotch says. “‘Father’s sick. Wants me to put him down. I say ‘thou shalt not kill,’ he says ‘honor thy father.’ Must pray for guidance.’”

“So he kills his father as an act of mercy,” Gideon says.

“Except this is two months ago,” Hotch says, “and Tobias Hankel’s father had been dead for four months already.”

“That’s exactly it,” Morgan says, putting down the journal in his hand. He gestures to the chair in front of him. “Look at the floor. These scuff marks are fresh. I mean, it’s like two people were moving the chairs constantly, trying to fight for control.”

“So?” Detective Farraday says.

Emily shakes her head. “You don’t think….”

Morgan nods. “This journal matches Charles Hankel’s handwriting, but it was written after he died. Upstairs, Tobias’ bedroom— it’s got junk piled floor to ceiling, but the other bedroom could pass a military inspection.”

“So are you telling me one of Tobias’ personalities was his father?” Detective Farraday asks.

“Well, Tobias was raised with a strict religious code— black and white, right and wrong,” Gideon says. “When his father asked Tobias to kill him, something had to give.”

“His brain couldn’t handle the moral contradiction, so it split into two personalities on order to keep his father alive,” Hotch explains.

JJ shakes her head. “So who is Raphael?”

“My guess— he’s a mediator between the two,” Gideon offers. “Angels have no human emotions. Live or die, they don’t care, as long as it’s God’s will.”

“We need to start profiling Tobias’ father,” Hotch says. “He may be the one who chose where to take Reid.”

“I’ll get Garcia on it,” Morgan says. He walks into the other room, where Garcia is still combing through Tobias’ computer. You follow him. “Garcia, I need you to log into the system as Tobias’ father,” Morgan tells her.

“The system was set up three months ago,” Garcia tells him. “The dad was already dead.”

Morgan puts a hand on her shoulder. “I know that, smarty-pants, but do it for your boy anyway, all right?”

“Okay,” Garcia says, typing on the keyboard.

“Charles Hankel,” you tell her, watching over her shoulder. She hits the enter key, and the many computer screens change from unsuspecting people in their houses to videos of destruction— fires, bombs, tsunamis, riots.

“Whoa,” Garcia says. She starts typing, but suddenly the screens go black.

“What’s going on?” Morgan asks. “What happened?”

Garcia shakes her head. “I… don’t know.” Suddenly, a video feed of Reid pops up on all of the screens.

“Oh my God,” Garcia breathes. You curse.

“Guys!” Morgan yells, poking his head out of the doorway. “Guys! Get in here!”

Everyone rushes into the room. Emily gasps. “He’s been beaten,” she says as you start stimming, rubbing your hands together over and over again.

“Can’t you track him?” JJ asks.

“Hankel’s only streaming this to his home computer,” Garcia says quietly.

“This is for us,” Gideon says. “He knows we’re here.”

“Fuck!” you exclaim.

“I’m gonna put this guy’s head on a stick,” Morgan mutters.

“Why can’t you locate him?” Hotch asks.

“He’s rerouting to a different IP address every thirty seconds,” Garcia explains. “I can’t track him.”

“You really see inside men’s minds?” Tobias asks Reid from off screen. You assume it’s one of his alters speaking, either his father or Raphael. “See these vermin? Choose one to die. I’ll let you choose one to live.”

Reid shakes his head. “No,” he whispers.

There’s a bang. “I thought you wanted to be some kind of savior?” Tobias says.

“You’re a sadist in a psychotic break,” Reid says. “You won’t stop killing. Your word’s not true.”

“The other heathens are watching,” you hear Tobias tell him. “Choose a sinner to die, and I’ll say the name and address of the person who gets saved.” You bite your bottom lip, still rubbing your hands together anxiously.

“I won’t choose who gets slaughtered and have you leave their remains behind like a poacher,” Reid says, shaking his head.

Tobias moves on screen and grabs Reid, standing him up. “Can you really see into my mind, boy? Can you see I’m not a liar?!” Tobias yells. “Choose one to die, and save a life. Otherwise, they’re all dead.” He drops Reid back into his chair.

“All right,” Reid says, his voice shaking. “I’ll choose who lives.”

“They’re all the same,” Tobias says.

“Far right screen,” Reid tells him.

“Marilyn David, 4913 Walnut Creek Road,” Tobias says.

“You got that?” Hotch asks as Garcia types.

“Yeah,” she says. A phone number pops up on the screen and Gideon takes out his cell phone and dials.

“Marilyn David,” he says. “My name is Jason Gideon. I’m with the FBI. You recently asked for tech support on your computer. Someone has hacked into your camera and is watching you. I need you to shut off your computer.”

On the screen, Reid looks up. “Raphael,” he whispers. The feed goes black. Morgan turns and punches the door. You put your hands on your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

“So now what?” the officer asks. “Wait for a 911 call and hope we get there in time?”

“There’s nothing we can do,” Hotch says.

* * * * *

You, Gideon, and Hotch walk into the house of the latest victims in silence.

“Slaughtered,” the detective from Tobias Hankel’s house tells the three of you. “Same as the others. We’ve got roadblocks for a fifteen-mile radius. Every unit’s on the road, but so far nothing.”

“I don’t know how much longer Reid can hold out,” Hotch says.

“We’ll find him,” you whisper, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“Who were the victims?” Gideon asks.

“Pam and Mike Hayes,” Detective Farraday says. “He was a local defense attorney.”

“And what bible passage was left?”

“Isaiah 59,” the detective says, holding up a piece of paper in an evidence bag. Hotch takes it from him.

“‘No one calls for justice, no one pleads their case with integrity,’” Hotch reads. “‘They rely on empty arguments. They offer lies. They conceive trouble and give birth to evil.’”

Gideon walks over to the open laptop on the desk across the room. He sits down in the chair in front of it. “Reid,” he says. “If you’re watching, you’re not responsible for this. You understand me? He’s perverting God to justify murder. You are stronger than him. He cannot break you.” Gideon stands up and comes back to you and Hotch.

There’s nothing much for you to do at the scene, so the three of you soon find yourselves back at Tobias Hankel’s house.

“We’re not getting any closer,” Hotch says quietly as you all walk through the front door.

“Reid’s brilliant,” Gideon tells him. “He’ll figure out how to survive.”

“You know, I always take advantage of Reid for his brain,” Hotch says, “but I never actually teach him how to deal with things emotionally.”

Gideon shrugs. “Lead by example.”

“Yeah, and what kind of example is that?” Hotch says. You cover your humorless laugh with a cough.

“He’ll make it,” Gideon says.

You nod. “He will,” you say. You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince, them or yourself. You do know that the episode ends with Reid being rescued, but it’s a lot harder to believe when you’re living it.

You wander over to where Garcia is set up, still going through Tobias’ computer. JJ is already there.

“Any more sign of Reid?” JJ asks.

Garcia shakes her head. “And he just posted the last murder online,” she says quietly. “It’s had over 17,000 hits in the first twenty minutes.”

“I want to see it,” JJ says.

“No you don’t,” Garcia says, shaking her head.

“Don’t tell me what I want and don’t want,” JJ says. Garcia looks at her in shock. “If I can’t watch this… I have no business being in the field.”

“Jayge, it’s not a competition,” Garcia tells her.

“You have nothing to prove,” you add.

“I-I need to see it,” JJ says.

“If you stop being affected by things, you… lose parts of yourself, you know,” Garcia says.

JJ doesn’t meet her eyes. “Show me.”

Garcia sighs and presses a button on her keyboard, standing. “I won’t watch it with you,” she says, leaving the room. You follow her, not wanting to see it, either. You decide to go find Prentiss. She’s in the living room with Morgan, who’s staring at the wall where you’ve all taped pictures and journal entries.

“We can trace their whole family history,” Morgan says. He shakes his head. “Here we got happy, smiling pictures of Tobias. Report cards, all A’s and B’s. But at eight years old, we got nothing.”

“That’s his mother leaving,” Emily says. “Six months later, on the other side of the board, we have a form from Child Services saying they paid a visit.”

“And then Charles starts keeping journals about punishing sinners and needing to remove the Devil from his son,” Morgan says.

“Which corresponds to Tobias’ drug use,” Emily adds.

“He’s trying to escape,” you say.

“So wherever Reid is, it was Tobias’ choice, not his father’s,” Morgan says.

“How do you figure?” Emily asks.

“Look at these two lives,” he says. “They’re like inverse graphs. One’s getting weaker while the other one’s getting angrier. Tobias would run away, his father would would’ve stood and fought.”

“Okay, but where the hell would he go?” you ask. “The dude barely ever even left his house.”

“So, Tobias uses drugs as an escape,” Prentiss says. “I’ll go back through the journals and see if I can find anything connecting his drug use to a hiding place.”

“I’ll help,” you offer, jumping at the chance to do something.

“Uh, where’s Gideon?” JJ says from behind you.

“He’s upstairs,” you tell her.

“Why? What’s going on?” Morgan asks.

“Hankel just posted the latest murder,” JJ says.

You sigh. “I’ll go tell him.”

After you relay the news to Gideon and Hotch, you find yourself back with Garcia with the rest of the team.

“I don’t understand,” Gideon says. “Why can’t we shut it down?”

“Because I can’t pinpoint his IP address,” Garcia tells him.

“So just remove it once he sends it,” Gideon says.

“The internet doesn’t work like that,” you explain.

Garcia nods. “Once something’s out there, you can never take it back.”

“It must remain. You can’t undo anything,” Gideon mutters, shaking his head. “Can you please do something? Anything? I do not want him thinking he has a pulpit.”

“A virus,” you say, quietly at first, then louder as the ideas forms in your mind. “What if people thought it was a virus?”

Garcia nods, typing away at her keyboard. “I have a list of everyone from the file-sharing chain. I could send out a mass warning that the video is actually a virus. I’m gonna do that, okay.” She turns to you and Gideon. “It’s done.”

You nod. “Good. At least that—” The computer beeps. Garcia spins back around in her chair just as another live video feed of Reid pops up on all of the screens. “He’s okay,” you breathe. You lean over Garcia’s shoulder, getting closer to the screen.

“This ends now,” Tobias says, stepping in front of Reid, who’s still sitting in the chair. His tone of voice tells you that his father’s personality is the one currently in control. “Confess your sins.” He slaps Reid across the face. You and Garcia flinch. “Confess!”

“I haven’t done anything!” Reid cries. Tobias punches Reid in the face. “Tobias, help me,” Reid squeaks.

“He can’t help you,” Tobias says. “He’s weak. Confess!” He slaps Reid across the face again. A tear slides down your cheek. You squeeze Garcia’s shaking shoulder. She puts her hand on top of yours and squeezes back. “Confess your sins,” Tobias says. When Reid doesn’t respond, Tobias yells, pushing the chair over, Reid with it. Reid hits the ground and begins to convulse, gasping.

“Oh my God, he’s killing him!” Garcia gasps. You stare at the screen, unable to look away. Suddenly, Reid stops gasping and convulsing, his head falling backwards with a thud.

“That’s the Devil vacating your body,” Tobias mutters.

“Is-is he…?” Garcia’s voice trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

You shake your head vigorously. “No,” you say. “No, he’s gonna be fine. I know he is, I’ve seen it!” Gideon walks out of the room. At some point, Hotch, Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ end up behind you. You refuse to look away from the screen, mentally willing Reid to move. Suddenly, Tobias rushes back on screen, kneeling next to Reid and starting chest compressions.

“Jason!” Hotch calls from behind you. You continue to stare at the video feed, unblinking, hand in hand with Garcia. You can feel her shaking, but you’re numb.

You finally let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when Reid gasps, coughing. Garcia gasps, tears streaming down her face. On the screen, Tobias leans backwards as Reid coughs.

“Wait, wait a second,” Emily says, breaking the silence in the room. “When was the video of the last murder posted?”

“9:23,” Garcia tells her.

“And-and what were the time of deaths?” Prentiss says.

“The 911 call came in at 9:04, and the murder must have been minutes after,” Hotch says.

“That’s only a nineteen minute difference,” JJ says.

“That’s not a lot of time,” you say slowly. “Can we use that to narrow down where he might be?”

“How long would it take to post the MPEG?” Morgan asks.

“Two, three minutes, tops,” Garcia says.

“So let’s call it two,” Morgan responds. “You figure a maximum of 60 miles an hour in a residential area. That means Hankel has to be within a seventeen mile radius of the crime scene.”

“Garcia, can we see it on a map?” Hotch asks. Garcia presses a few buttons on the keyboard and pulls up a map of the area, a blue circular overlay denoting the radius of Reid’s possible location.

“Call Farraday,” Gideon says. “I want that area locked down like it’s martial law.”

“Guys,” Garcia says, pulling the video feed back up. Tobias is standing over Reid.

“You came back to life,” Tobias says.

“Raphael,” Reid whispers from the ground.

“There can be only one of two reasons,” Tobias continues, speaking as Raphael.

“I was given CPR,” Reid tells him.

“There are no accidents. How many members are on your team?” he asks.

“Eight,” Reid says.

“‘The seven angels who had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound,’” Tobias quotes. “‘The first sounding followed hail and fire mixed with blood, and they were thrown to Earth.’”

“He thinks it’s Revelations— the seven archangels versus the seven angels of death,” Hotch says.

“But there are eight of us,” you point out.

Hotch shakes his head. “Seven, if you don’t count Reid. He thinks we’re the angels of death.”

On the video feed, Tobias picks up Reid’s chair and has him sit in it. “Tell me who you serve.”

“I serve you,” Reid says quietly.

“Then choose one to die,” Tobias says.

“What?”

“Your team members— choose one to die.”

“Kill me,” Reid says, defiant.

“You said you weren’t one of them,” Tobias says.

“I lied,” Reid tells him.

“Your team has seven other members, the seven angels of death,” Tobias says. “Tell me who dies.”

Reid shakes his head. “No.”

Tobias pulls out a revolver from his pocket. He opens the chamber, places a single bullet inside, and spins it before yanking it closed again. He places the end of the revolver against Reid’s forehead. “Choose, and prove you’ll do God’s will.”

“No,” Reid says. Your heart threatens to beat right out of your chest.

You flinch at the click the revolver makes when Tobias pulls the trigger. “Choose,” he says.

Reid doesn’t move. “I won’t do it.”

Another click as Tobias pulls the trigger for a second time and you flinch again. “Life is a choice.”

“No.”

Another click and another flinch. “Choose.”

“I… I choose… Aaron Hotchner,” Reid says. “He’s a classic narcissist. He thinks he’s better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4— ‘let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.’”

Hotch walks out of the room as Tobias raises the revolver so it’s pointed above Reid’s head. He pulls the trigger and a shot rings out. You follow Hotch out of the room.

“I’m not a narcissist,” he says, flipping through the pages of a bible.

“Come on, look,” Gideon says. “You can’t take anything from that. He’s—”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“—in his right mind—”

“No, stop, stop,” Hotch says. “All right, everybody, right now— what’s my worst quality?” No one says anything. “Okay, I’ll start. I have no sense of humor.”

“You’re a bully,” JJ says.

“I’m a bully,” Hotch repeats.

“You can be a drill sergeant sometimes,” Morgan says.

“Right,” Hotch says.

“You bury all your emotions,” you add. Hotch nods.

“You don’t trust women as much as men,” Prentiss chimes in.

“Okay, good,” Hotch says. “I’m all these things, but none of you said that I ever put myself above the team because I don’t, ever. Reid and I argued about the definition of classic narcissism, and he knew that I would remember that.” He points to the open bible he’s holding. “And he also quotes Genesis, Chapter 23 Verse 4. Read it.”

You take the bible from him, quickly locating the passage. “‘I am a stranger and a sojourner with you. Give me property, for a burial place among you, that I may bury my dead out of my sight.’”

“He wouldn’t get it wrong unless it was on purpose,” Hotch says confidently.

“Tha-that’s right!” you gasp, the clue jogging your memory. “He’s in a cemetery!”

You all rush back to Garcia. “Pull up the map of the seventeen-mile radius again,” Hotch tells her. She does so quickly. “Reid’s in a cemetery.”

You all examine the map quickly. “I don’t see a cemetery,” Prentiss says.

“Call up the first time we saw Reid,” Gideon tells Garcia. She taps a few keys and pulls up the earlier video stream.

“I won’t choose who gets slaughtered and have you leave their remains behind like a poacher,” Reid says in the video.

“Check to see if there are any reports of poaching in the last couple of days,” Hotch says.

“Okay, uh…,” Garcia says, typing on her keyboard. “A farmer reported two sheep being slaughtered on his property.”

“Where are we talking?” Morgan asks.

Garcia zooms in on the map. “Wait, what’s that patch of green there?” JJ asks.

“Marshall Parish,” Hotch says. “I think it’s an old plantation.”

“Wait,” Emily says, “Tobias wrote in his journals about staying clean and keeping away from Marshall.”

“Guys, there’s a cemetery on the grounds,” Garcia says as the computer beeps.

“Let’s go,” Hotch says. You all rush out the door.

* * * * *

As soon as Morgan shifts into park, you’re jumping out of the backseat and drawing your weapon. You follow Morgan and Prentiss around the back of a small building as Hotch, Gideon, and JJ take the front.

Morgan kicks the door open. “FBI!”

You follow him into a small room, where a fire is still crackling in the fireplace in the corner. Hotch, Gideon, and JJ are in front of you, walking through the front door.

“Clear!” Morgan shouts.

“Clear!” Hotch says.

“Ah! What’s that smell?” Prentiss asks, coughing.

“Let’s spread out,” Hotch commands. “They have to be on foot. Let’s go!”

You turn around and begin walking through the overgrown bushes, your flashlight shining in front of you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Prentiss do the same. You find a rusted metal gate and walk inside of it, moving past old, weathered gravestones.

Suddenly, you hear a gunshot. “Reid!” you scream, breaking out into a run. You weave between the headstones, heading in the direction of the sound.

“Reid!” you hear Morgan shout.

You run around a corner and find Reid kneeling over Tobias Hankel. “Over here!” you yell to the others, running over to him.

“There he is!” Hotch shouts from behind you.

You rush over to Reid, dropping to your knees beside him. “Are you okay?!” You reach over and hug him before pulling him to his feet as the rest of the team catches up to you.

“I knew you’d find me,” Reid says, throwing his arms around you. After a moment, you take a step back, and JJ surges forward to take your place.

“I am so sorry,” she says quietly, clinging to Reid.

“It’s all right,” Reid tells her. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Gideon grabs Reid’s arm gently. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Reid slowly pulls away. “Can… can I have a second alone?”

“Of course,” Gideon tells him, and the rest of you take a few steps back to give him some space. Reid kneels down next to Tobias’ body, his back to you. After a moment, he stands up and walks over to where the rest of you are waiting. You put a hand on his shoulder as you walk out of the cemetery, finally able to put this behind you.

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bestgaddi-com · 5 months ago

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mariacallous · 2 years ago

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For now, Alex Lagetko is holding on to his Tesla stocks. The founder of hedge fund VSO Capital Management in New York, Lagetko says his stake in the company was worth $46 million in November 2021, when shares in the electric carmaker peaked at $415.

Since then, they have plunged 72 percent, as investors worry about waning demand, falling production and price cuts in China, labor shortages in Europe, and, of course, the long-term impact of CEO Elon Musk’s $44 billion acquisition of Twitter. After announcing his plans to buy the platform in April, Musk financed his acquisition with $13 billion in loans and $33 billion in cash, roughly $23 billion of which was raised by selling shares in Tesla.

“Many investors, particularly retail, who invested disproportionately large sums of their wealth largely on the basis of trust in Musk over many years were very quickly burned in the months following the acquisition,” Lagetko says, “particularly in December as he sold more stock, presumably to fund losses at Twitter.”

Lagetko is worried that the leveraged buyout of Twitter has left Tesla exposed, as interest payments on the debt Musk took on to fund the takeover come due at the same time as the social media company’s revenues have slumped.

But Tesla stock was already falling in April 2022, when Musk launched his bid for Twitter, and analysts say that the carmaker’s challenges run deeper than its exposure to the struggling social media platform. Tesla and its CEO have alienated its core customers while its limited designs and high prices make it vulnerable to competition from legacy automakers, who have rushed into the EV market with options that Musk’s company will struggle to match.

Prior to 2020, Tesla was essentially “playing against a B team in a soccer match,” says Matthias Schmidt, an independent analyst in Berlin who tracks electric car sales in Europe. But that changed in 2020, as “the opposition started rolling out some of their A squad players.”

In 2023, Tesla is due to release its long-awaited Cybertruck, a blocky, angular SUV first announced in 2019. It is the first new launch of a consumer vehicle by the company since 2020. A promised two-seater sports car is still years away, and the Models S, X, Y, and 3, once seen as space-age dynamos, are now “long in the tooth,” says Mark Barrott, an automotive analyst at consultancy Plante Moran. Most auto companies refresh their looks every three to five years—Tesla’s Model S is now more than 10 years old.

By contrast, this year Ford plans to boost production of both its F-150 Lighting EV pick-up, already sold out for 2023, and its Mustang Mach-E SUV. Offerings from Hyundai IONIQ 5 and Kia EV6 could threaten Tesla’s Model Y and Model 3 in the $45,000 to $65,000 range. General Motors plans to speed up production and cut costs for a range of EV models, including the Chevy Blazer EV, the Chevy Equinox, the Cadillac Lyric, and the GMC Sierra EV.

While Tesla’s designs may be eye-catching, their high prices mean that they’re now often competing with luxury brands.

“There is this kind of nice Bauhaus simplicity to Tesla’s design, but it’s not luxurious,” says David Welch, author of Charging Ahead: GM, Mary Barra, and the Reinvention of an American Icon. “And for people to pay $70,000 to $100,000 for a car, if you’re competing suddenly with an electric Mercedes or BMW, or a Cadillac that finally actually feels like something that should bear the Cadillac name, you’re going to give people something to think about.”

While few manufacturers can compete with Tesla on performance and software (the Tesla Model S goes to 60 mph in 1.99 seconds, reaches a 200-mph top speed, and boasts automatic lane changing and a 17-inch touchscreen for console-grade gaming), many have reached or are approaching a range of 300 miles (480 km), which is the most important consideration for many EV buyers, says Craig Lawrence, a partner and cofounder at the investment group Energy Transition Ventures.

One of Tesla’s main competitive advantages has been its supercharging network. With more than 40,000 proprietary DC fast chargers located on major thoroughfares near shopping centers, coffee shops, and gas stations, their global infrastructure is the largest in the world. Chargers are integrated with the cars’ Autobidder optimization & dispatch software, and, most importantly, they work quickly and reliably, giving a car up to 322 miles of range in 15 minutes. The network contributes to about 12 percent of Tesla sales globally.

“The single biggest hurdle for most people asking ‘Do I go EV or not,’ is how do I refuel it and where,” says Loren McDonald, CEO and lead analyst for the consultancy EVAdoption. “Tesla figured that out early on and made it half of the value proposition.”

But new requirements for funding under public charging infrastructure programs in the US may erode Tesla’s proprietary charging advantage. The US National Electric Vehicle Infrastructure Program will allocate $7.5 billion to fund the development of some 500,000 electric vehicle chargers, but to access funds to build new stations, Tesla will have to open up its network to competitors by including four CCC chargers.

“Unless Tesla opens up their network to different charging standards, they will not get any of that volume,” Barrott says. “And Tesla doesn’t like that.”

In a few years, the US public charging infrastructure may start to look more like Europe’s, where in many countries the Tesla Model 3 uses standard plugs, and Tesla has opened their Supercharging stations to non-Tesla vehicles.

Tesla does maintain a software edge over competitors, which have looked to third-party technology like Apple’s CarPlay to fill the gap, says Alex Pischalnikov, an auto analyst and principal at the consulting firm Arthur D. Little. With over-the-air updates, Tesla can send new lines of code over cellular networks to resolve mechanical problems and safety features, update console entertainment options, and surprise drivers with new features, such as heated rear seats and the recently released full self-driving beta, available for $15,000. These software updates are also a cash machine for Tesla. But full self-driving features aren’t quite as promised, since drivers still have to remain in effective control of the vehicle, limiting the value of the system.

A Plante Moran analysis shared with WIRED shows Tesla’s share of the North American EV market declining from 70 percent in 2022 to just 31 percent by 2025, as total EV production grows from 777,000 to 2.87 million units.

In Europe, Tesla’s decline is already underway. Schmidt says data from the first 11 months of 2022 shows sales by volume of Volkswagen’s modular electric drive matrix (MEB) vehicles outpaced Tesla’s Model Y and Model 3 by more than 20 percent. His projections show Tesla’s product lines finishing the year with 15 percent of the western European electric vehicle market, down from 33 percent in 2019.

The European Union has proposed legislation to reduce carbon emissions from new cars and vans by 100 percent by 2035, which is likely to bring more competition from European carmakers into the market.

There is also a growing sense that Musk’s behavior since taking over Twitter has made a challenging situation for Tesla even worse.

Over the past year, Musk has used Twitter to call for the prosecution of former director of the US National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases Anthony Fauci (“My pronouns are Prosecute/Fauci”), take swings at US senator from Vermont Bernie Sanders over government spending and inflation, and placed himself at the center of the free speech debate. He’s lashed out at critics, challenging, among other things, the size of their testicles.

A November analysis of the top 100 global brands by the New York–based consultancy Interbrand estimated Tesla’s brand value in 2022 at $48 billion, up 32 percent from 2021 but well short of its 183 percent growth between 2020 and 2021. The report, based on qualitative data from 1,000 industry consultants and sentiment analysis of published sources, showed brand strength declining, particularly in “trust, distinctiveness and an understanding of the needs of their customers.”

“I think [Musk’s] core is rapidly moving away from him, and people are just starting to say, ‘I don’t like the smell of Tesla; I don’t want to be associated with that,’” says Daniel Binns, global chief growth officer at Interbrand.

Among them are once-loyal customers. Alan Saldich, a semi-retired tech CMO who lives in Idaho, put a deposit down on a Model S in 2011, before the cars were even on the road, after seeing a bodiless chassis in a Menlo Park showroom. His car, delivered in 2012, was number 2799, one of the first 3,000 made.

He benefited from the company’s good, if idiosyncratic, customer service. When, on Christmas morning 2012, the car wouldn’t start, he emailed Musk directly seeking a remedy. Musk responded just 24 minutes later: “...Will see if we can diagnose and fix remotely. Sorry about this. Hope you otherwise have a good Christmas.”

On New Year’s Day, Joost de Vries, then vice president of worldwide service at Tesla, and an assistant showed up at Saldich’s house with a trailer, loaded the car onto a flatbed, and hauled it to Tesla’s plant in Fremont, California, to be repaired. Saldich and his family later even got a tour of the factory. But since then, he’s cooled on the company. In 2019, he sold his Model S, and now drives a Mini Electric. He’s irritated in particular, he says, by Musk’s verbal attacks on government programs and regulation, particularly as Tesla has benefited from states and federal EV tax credits.

“Personally, I probably wouldn’t buy another Tesla,” he says. “A, because there’s so many alternatives and B, I just don’t like [Musk] anymore.”

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