This time the secretary is kind enough to let me know she's hosting Trish Talk, so I choose to let myself into her office to wait for her to finish. I find her purse there as well, and after a moment of curiosity driven by a bit of boredom I search it for the gun Simpson gave her.
Taking it out, I hold it loosely in my hand, studying it like one would a strange unknown specimen. I've never held a gun before, never even saw a real one outside of on the belt of a cop in my previous life. Of course in this life I have a bit more experience. And by a bit I mean when I forced Trish and Clements to put their guns against their heads to force Jessica's hands. That was it.
Yep, to put it lightly, I was a bit leery of guns. I thought I should probably still learn how to shoot and carry one though. The idea of never getting my hands dirty was a tempting one, but I needed at least one extra layer of defense if my powers were disabled and all the people I planned to use as walls around me failed in that task.
Still, it was something to keep on the backburner, and when Trish finally arrived back at her office, I kept my finger away from the trigger as I pointed the firearm at her. She froze up as one does when held at gunpoint, horror but also confusion filling her gaze as she realized who exactly was holding her at gunpoint. I drank in the irony of me using a gun to control someone instead of my powers for a long moment, before setting the gun down with a chuckle and finally speaking.
"Come in, close the door, sit down, do nothing else."
She does so promptly, having fallen under my control. There's not much fun to be had from having her frozen and terrified across from me though, we did that song and dance yesterday. Still, she has answers to questions I want answered. Smiling, I look her up and down appreciatively, "You look like you slept well. Tell me how you truly felt when you fantasized about me last night before bed."
Her horror is a bit more fun now, as it takes on a whole different tone as she's forced to answer me honestly, "Aroused and disgusted with myself."
Now wasn't that interesting. Despite having fallen out of my control, she still seemed to register the arousal as a product of her own feelings instead of recognizing it as my control. That might be a product of the fact that my order to forget yesterday seemed to go beyond the known time limit on my orders. Well, time to test just how permanent it is.
"Trish, you will remember everything that really happened yesterday."
Her brow furrows adorably in confusion and for a moment I think it doesn't work as I'm hoping… and then her face crumples in honest despair, her mouth opens in a silent scream of horror, and I do believe I am vindicated in my belief that I can restore the memories I take away. It seems to be a block that makes them forget, like one does sometimes when faced with horrific trauma, instead of an absolute erasure of the memories in question.
Still, she's crying now and I'm guessing she'd have her hands covering her open mouth if she could. I feel a twinge of guilt and regret. Not at what I did to Simpson, or the fact that I forced her to help, because frankly that man would have killed me given a chance, and she was the only way I knew how to get to him, or rather get him to come to me without suspecting a thing. But it's not like I took joy in making her or anyone else cry or feel pain.
I wanted nothing more to bring back the happy helpful Trish from yesterday, but I had a couple more questions while she was still out from any form of emotional control. So I went with the next best thing, "Trish, stop crying before you hurt yourself."
She does so immediately, just staring at me with condemnation in every fiber of her body. The terror was hidden as best as she could behind that look. I continue my line of questioning after a moment, "Tell me truthfully, when I ordered you to be happy yesterday, were you happy? Truly happy? Or were you in there on the inside, horrified but unable to control your body?"