by Maren Smith
She said it with more confidence, winning a tentative smile from Jim in turn.
“Thanks, but you’re just trying to make me feel better. I know how useless I am.”
“You’re not useless,” Ommin said, but Jim scoffed.
“How would that work, exactly? What am I supposed to do? Puddle myself under the bank vault door, and then what? Puddle the money off the shelf? Puddle it back out again?”
Britney snapped her fingers. “No prison could hold you. It’s true,” she said, when Ommin frowned at her. “Your villainous schtick could be, like, well… Houdini. No place can hold you for long, bwa-hahaha, and all that.”
Ommin’s frown deepened. “I don’t think this is what we should be encouraging.”
“It wouldn’t work, either,” Jim added.
“Sure, it would,” she told them both. “It’s against the law to keep anyone in a place without basic plumbing. If worse came to worst, you could always flush yourself down the toilet.”
“Britney,” Ommin warned.
But Jim only said, “Trust me, it’s not as glamorous as it sounds.”
If anything, he wilted even more, at which point Ommin decided he’d had enough.
He held up the Causwell takeout bag, with its forgotten food inside. “We brought you a burger and fries.”
“Oh,” Jim perked, though if anything his tone softened, sounding even sadder than before. “How kind. I’m so hungry.”
“Then snap out of it,” Ommin ordered. “What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t even be a villain,” he mocked, giving them both identical reproving stares. Britney had the grace to blush; they were definitely going to revisit this conversation when he got her home tonight. If she was sitting without wincing by Sunday, then he will not have been the Daddy Dom he was determined to make her believe he was. “Pull yourself together, man. If you want to eat what I brought you, then stop dripping so we can get out of here without creating a slipping hazard with every step.”
Blinking, Jim said, “Is there ketchup in the bag?”
Ommin had no clue. He looked. “No.”
Jim blinked again, then shrugged. “Fine. I’m hungry anyway.” He held out his hand.
There was a special place in hell for people who did what Ommin did now, but he held the food just out of Jim’s reach and said again. “Get up. Stop dripping.”
Dropping his hands, Jim whined, bouncing in bed and slapping his thighs, spattering bits of himself that immediately turned right around and tried to come back to him. He had a leg’s worth of water pooling restlessly under the wheels of his table.
“Nope,” Ommin said sternly. “Stop whining. Use your words.”
“I can’t stop dripping,” Jim whimpered. “They gave me saline.” He squirmed and the bed squished, wet paper tearing. “It’s not gelling with me very well. “
Stifling a sigh, Ommin relented, but only a little. “You still have to get up. Come on. You’ve got an entire mini me waiting for you on the floor.”
Jim rolled over far enough to look at the floor, sloshing water as he did so. “So there is.” Heaving a sigh, he sat up with his legs dangling over the side and touched a foot to the floor.
“Oh my God,” Britney said as the water rushed through his clothes to become a part of him again. She quickly covered her mouth, but the damage was already done. Jim had heard her.
Ommin glared, and she winced, but Jim only sighed again.
“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”
Taking the takeout bag from Ommin, shoulders slumped, he walked, squishing at every step, to the discharge desk.
“So,” Ommin said from the front seat of the Britney’s car. “Where should we take you?”
From the backseat, takeout containers rustled. “Right here’s fine,” Jim said around a mouthful of fries.
‘Right here’ was along a busy commercial street where there were no houses or apartments. In fact, Britney was just pulling up to the red light. She looked around too, but he could tell she was thinking the same thing when she slipped Ommin a sideways glance.
Twisting in his seat, Ommin looked at Jim over the headrest. “We can take you home, Jim. We don’t mind.”
“Oh, okay.” Jim ate another fry. “Take a left at the next light, then.”
They drove in silence, with Jim periodically giving directions. Busy downtown gave way to semi-commercial districts, then semi-residential districts, and finally, just as they were passing along the historic building complex of Aquatic Park, Jim said, “Home sweet home. We’re here.”
The next left took them onto Beach Street where they drove slowly along the historic park until they finally just pulled in as close as they could get to the cove and parked near the curb. During the day, the museum, the beach, the bocce ball courts, all of it here was a mecca for tourists and residents alike. It was dark now, however, so while there were still a few joggers, people walking dogs and in groups along the beach and pier, there were a lot of homeless now too. Ommin could tell by Britney’s open dismay that was where she was looking. He was looking across the grass and beach at the ocean.
“Jim,” he said carefully, twisting in his seat to look at him again. “Are you homeless?”
Folding the top of the takeout bag to save the rest for later, Jim managed a smile for both their benefits. “Well, you know… it’s kind of hard to maintain a job when you can’t stop leaking. It’s not so bad, really. I just find a quiet place to puddle and no one bothers me while I’m sleeping.” Popping the door open, he started to get out, then paused long enough to say, “Your seat’s a little wet. Sorry about that.”
Britney held it together long enough for him to get out, but as soon as the door closed, her jaw dropped. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “That poor guy!”
It was worse than she knew. That ‘poor guy’ had bought him coffee and croissants. With money he’d gotten from who knew where and which he surely couldn’t afford to spend. But he’d shared it with Ommin, and Ommin hadn’t even appreciated it. Not really. Not like he was appreciating it now.
“We can’t let him leave like this,” she whispered.
Ommin was thinking the same thing, but it was killing him. Jim might say he was fine, but there was no way Ommin would be able to let him walk off onto the beach to sleep in a tidepool somewhere, just so he could take Britney home, spank the hell out of her, and then spend the rest of the night pounding her into her mattress. He’d never be able to live with himself if he did.
He let his head fall back onto the seat, stifling a groan, rubbing his face, knowing what he had to do and already regretting it.
“This is not how I wanted to spend the night,” he sighed, but he was already unbuckling his seatbelt and shouldering open the car door. “Don’t think for a second this gets you out of trouble.”
She startled all over again. “What, me? Why am I in trouble?” she called as he got out of the car and shut the door behind him.
He didn’t go back to spell it out for her. Whether she knew it or not, he was absolutely going to talk to her about trying to convert Jim into a villain, and by ‘talk’ he meant he was going to spank her little bottom raw. But he couldn’t focus on that right now. He ran after Jim, catching up to him halfway to the fountain.
“Get back in the car,” he told the smaller man.
“It’s fine,” Jim said, which annoyed him.
“It’s not fine.”
“I’ll be fine,” Jim corrected himself. “Honest.”
“I’m not leaving my only damn friend to sleep in a bucket on the beach,” Ommin said, not yet sure whom he was more irritated with in that moment.
That stopped Jim. So, Ommin stopped too. They stared together at the curved pier that circled the cove. Ocean waves rolled up gently onto the beach, an instant and alluring balm on his unquiet soul and an attractant he dared not get any closer to. A stray salt drop in the air right now would cause him to change, right here in the open.
“I’m your friend?�
�� Jim asked, soft and surprised.
Ommin wasn’t sure which of them that made more pathetic. “Duh,” he answered gruffly. “You brought me a croissant and coffee.”
“Four,” Jim corrected. “Although I did drink most of them. And I ate the scones.”
“It’s the thought that counts. Or so everyone tells me.”
“They tell me that too.” And then Jim sniffled.
Oh God…
“Don’t cry,” Ommin started to grumble, but the next thing he knew, Jim was hugging him.
“I’ve never had a friend before.”
Neither had he, Ommin thought and patted his back. “Get in the damn car,” he said gruffly, but Jim only sobbed.
“Get a room,” a homeless guy on a bench mumbled.
Jim sobbed louder.
Jesus.
Patting his shoulder, Ommin couldn’t help it. He smiled.
Chapter 8
Britney dropped them off at Ommin’s. It was hard for him to tell if she was still in shock from being told she was in trouble and also that she would have to wait to receive her consequences, or if she was disappointed that he wouldn’t be coming home with her.
“I don’t want to leave him alone tonight,” he explained, practically over Jim’s cheerful, “Just throw a stopper in the sink, I’ll be fine.”
“I have to go to work tonight anyway,” Ommin told them both, and then to Britney, more softly, “You do too, right?”
When she nodded, he said, “Can we get together after?”
“I’ll be home by 7:00 am,” she confirmed.
“I’ll be there by 7:30. I want your nose to the corner, bare bottom on display, hands behind your head. Daddy’s belt has some things to say to you about encouraging people with differences to turn to a life of evil.”
When understanding dawned, she had the grace to look ashamed. “Yes, Daddy.”
He leaned in through the driver’s open window far enough to kiss her on the forehead, and then, because her unhappy lips were beckoning, he kissed her on the mouth.
“You won’t sit for a week,” he promised gently. “Also, there will be butt stuff, so brace yourself.”
Dark as it was, it wasn’t so dark that he couldn’t see her shiver. “Okay.”
Patting the car door, he let her go and took Jim up to his apartment.
Ommin’s one room flat wasn’t made with friends in mind. Neither were his bathroom or kitchen sinks. Although he felt weird, he eventually put a stopper in the old clawfoot tub and spent the next hour feeling like a crummy human being because Jim was so damn happy about it.
“If I overstay my welcome, just let me know,” Jim said, as Ommin gave him the three-second tour. And then again, when he popped a couple TV dinners into the oven for them both. And most recently, as they sat side by side on the couch in front of the television to eat. “Oo! The Big Bang Theory,” he commented as Ommin surfed through channels for something to watch. “I haven’t seen that in forever.”
So that’s what they watched instead of Ommin taking a nap, which was what he really wanted to do, until it was time for him to go to work.
“I’ll clean while you’re gone,” Jim promised as Ommin changed into clothes he didn’t mind getting dirty in. “When friends are staying with friends, they ought to do something to earn their keep.” He followed like a puppy at Ommin’s heels, keeping up a cheerful chatter while he made sandwiches for lunch break.
He’d never had anyone talk to him this much. Not in years. It was going to take some getting used to, and all Ommin could hope for was that he did, in fact, get used to it. Preferably before he snapped and bit Jim’s head off for no other reason than simply being grateful.
God help him, Jim even followed him to the door. “If you tell me what time you’ll be home, I’ll make waffles,” he offered, and then just before Ommin could make his escape from the apartment, threw his arms around him for one last hug. “Drive safe.”
“I don’t have a car,” Ommin reminded, trying not to roll his eyes.
“Bus safe,” Jim amended.
Ommin couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy just to go to work, and he did it with wet arm prints wrapping his shirt at rib level. Walking down two flights of stairs to the building’s main exit, he made reminder notes on his phone to pick up waffle fixings on his way home from Britney’s.
Work was hard. For the first time in years, Ommin found himself watching the clock and damn if time didn’t pass at wintertime molasses speed. Britney was a constant in his thoughts. For the first part of his evening, he found himself plotting what Daddy ought to do when he saw her next. Hug her first, he decided. Spank her second. Ask about her day while she finished up in the corner, with a bright red bottom and probably tears still drying on her face. On his first break, he bought one book by an author named Renee Rose, and another by Golden Angel so he could plot out where butt stuff ought to happen in the coming event.
When he wasn’t thinking about Britney, spanking or butt stuff, he was thinking about Jim.
At lunch, he took a hard look at his finances and browsed apartment ads online to see if he could afford a two-bedroom somewhere within commuting distance to both Britney and his work. The entire latter half of his shift was spent cleaning university classrooms and hallways and checking his phone, just in case Britney messaged him. She didn’t, and all through that last half hour, his own doubts over her silence killed him.
He had no idea what silence meant. She was probably busy with work. She might have been agonizing over the what was going to happen once she got home. According to one of the books he’d bought, having to wait for punishment was a punishment all on its own. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that.
He took a break he wasn’t entitled to long enough to download more books and told himself he was going to read at least a chapter a night, probably for the rest of his life, until he learned how this whole Daddy-dominant thing worked.
It was fifteen minutes to quitting time and Ommin was taking out the trash when the entire university was rocked with what he at first mistook for an earthquake. He grabbed a wall for balance, but even as he did so, the tremors ended far too abruptly. That wasn’t an earthquake was the thought that went through his mind, just as the emergency sirens started to sound. He waited to see if the shaking would continue, but there were no aftershocks. A few minutes later, as he was shoving the garbage carts out the university doors to where the dumpsters were located, he saw why.
The entire horizon to the south of the building was lit up, but not like daylight. Rather, the bright flickering orange-yellow glow was a fire.
It was a really big fire.
He had to walk halfway around the building before he found a window overlooking enough of the southern parts of the city that he could see it. One glimpse at the smoke and flames sent him running for the nearest TV.
For a change, at least, it wasn’t him in the news. Only minorly relieved, he perched on the edge of the nearest faculty desk to watch as a lunatic in black and orange spandex marched up and down in front of the burning remains of a collapsed building on live action news. He was yelling at the cameras. Grabbing the remote, Ommin turned up the sound to hear what was being said.
“Can you hear me?” the lunatic raved, in a voice as deep and grinding as gravel. “Where are you? Where is my archnemesis?”
Archnemesis?
“Seriously?” If he weren’t so appalled, Ommin would have laughed at the verbiage.
“Where is the Sharkman!” the lunatic bellowed.
And just like that, he was back in the news.
“Oh, for fuck’s—who the hell are you?” Ommin yelled back, instantly annoyed. “When the hell did I piss in your Cheerios?”
“Come to me!”
“The hell, you say,” Ommin retorted.
“Come to me, Sharkman!” Bunching his fists, the man in spandex struck a dynamic pose and flames belched from both his hands, shooting into the already burning building an
d stoking the destruction higher. “Come to me and we’ll see who’s still standing when the smoke and rubble clear!”
“Yeah.” Unimpressed, Ommin snorted. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you afraid?” Deep as gravel, mocking laughter boomed through the television speakers.
“Not hardly.” Folding his arms, Ommin glared at the screen. “I’m also not an idiot.”
“I can make you come,” the villain taunted.
He snorted again. “Not in a million years.”
Turning to something off camera, the lunatic beckoned. “Henchmen!”
“You’re kidding, who the hell has henchmen? Are you—” Ommin leaned in closer, trying to get a better look as the camera filming the action zoomed out to bring into focus two other lunatics, also in orange and black spandex, only with bright yellow H’s in the middle of their chests. The smoke from the building almost obliterated them, as well as the figure they were struggling to lug between them, out into full view of the reporters. “What—”
It was Britney.
Ommin went cold.
With another deep maniacal laugh, the villain boomed, “I am Master Blaster, Sharkman! Come and meet your Master!”
“Oh, bitch,” Ommin breathed, his gaze locked on Master Blaster as his henchmen paraded Britney’s struggling, kicking form before the cameras. “Oh, bitch. You just made the biggest mistake of your life.”
Ommin had to tip the cab driver an extra ten just to get him to the scene of the chaos. Or maybe it was just to pick him up. He was pretty pissed, by that point. And now, seeing Britney bound with her hands behind her back in person instead of on TV didn’t help soothe his temper. He made a mental note to stop at an ATM so he could get an extra twenty dollars; he didn’t see himself being any calmer for the ride home.
Police had the scene completely surrounded, but they weren’t doing anything. Hell, they weren’t even talking to the guy still strutting like a peacock on the partially charred rubble of the building he’d destroyed. Now and then he bellowed, “Bring me Sharkman!” And shot flames into what parts were still on fire.