Well, it is true. The Flynn effect is the increase of IQ test scores of people through the generations. He was looking at her thirty years ago—the same faraway look, quickly changing into an impish grin. He was still remembering her when someone whispered to him who the girl in front of him was.
She was new to the city, filled with ambition and luckily a little talent. The same way he supposed Mercy was, when he first saw her those many years ago.
He was hanging out with some friends, and one of them happened to bring Mercy along. Her hair was in a cute disarray, an arranged chaos. When they were introduced, he was sure their stares lingered on each other. It took him some determination and a little cheating on the shots to make sure the friend who brought her ended up drunk before him. The next day, when he brings her along, it would be too late for his friend. There won't be a need for an explanation. But nobody brought anyone home that night, or to anywhere else for that matter.
"I see what you're doing. You should know I am the one that's after your friend."
He could only laugh. He brought his glass up and near her, and she clinked it with hers.
He had to ask her, to be sure. And it was true.
"How is she?"
"Happy as one in her condition could ever be." She knew their story, what happened to this man and her mother. It was long before her parents met. But the time that this man was with Mercy resulted in so many projects that old compilations and tickets served as clues to her to unveil old tales. "Do you feel anything for me?"
He was taken aback by her question. Surely she did not mean if he—
"In that way. Of course this is hypothetical. Does seeing me invoke some stirrings in you, like what you felt for her?"
"Of course not!" He was appalled. The temerity of this child—
"I'm only asking. See, you're not a monster after all."
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