by Paul Bagnell
*****
“Well, this concludes our working day,” McBridle said as she pulled up in front of Tom’s house. Her eyes perused his sharp face and sturdy torso. “Tom--”
He interrupted her breath, “Thanks for the lift home; I really appreciate it, greatly,” and motioned out of the vehicle.
She fluffed her shiny hair and moistened her available lips. “I’ll need your commitment on this assignment,” she said in a hurry.
“I’m committed,” he replied, half out of the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”
“I need action and dedication,” she said, and adjusted the rear‑view mirror and checked her perfect appearance, “and your diligent support tonight.”
“Like I said, I’ll do whatever I can; but tonight I have other plans,” (without making direct eye contact.)
“I don’t want any lame excuses; I’ll be expecting you.”
He looked at her, noticing that the late‑afternoon sunlight was radiating on her modelled face. He had fallen prey to her gentle demands. “All right then, whatever’s required.”
“Good, I’m glad you agree.” She wet her lips. “I acquired some classified documentation that could be in jeopardy of falling into the wrong hands. I want you to have a look at them. A fresh set of eyes may be able to shed some new light on with whom we’re really dealing with,” she said, and handed him her business card.
He flipped it over. Her home address was scribbled on the blank side.
“I’ll see you later and no excuses,” she instructed with an authoritative finger.
“Don’t worry, boss, I’ll be on time,” he replied hesitantly; then he closed the car door.
The house keys dangled from his hand as he watched her deluxe-model vehicle disappear into the distance. He advanced up the walk, unlocked the front door, and entered the living room where he collapsed on the couch like every spent working day.
The ceiling needed a fresh coat of paint he noticed, but it was McBridle’s juicy succulence that flooded his droopy eyes. She was intelligent, rich, and hungry for grown-man parts, definitely a thriving woman who could snap her dextrous fingers and make legions of well-to-do men jump to eager sexual attention.
The last daylight shone through the begrimed windows. He blocked the obscured glare from his naked eyes with his bare hand. He was defenseless against McBridle’s stimulating vision. She seemed even more desirable than ever before. Tranquillized by her maintained beauty, his eyelids fused; and he slipped into a sleep-mediation mode.
The awesome powers of the mind-crash encapsulated Tom’s psyche and shuttled him into the irregular realm beyond, where he stood in a huge foyer; a branchy illuminated crystal chandelier hung down from the decorative ceiling and cast a brilliance of gold and emerald shades upon the smooth plastered walls. Hypnotically, he was drawn in the direction of beautiful music, a popular composition from the Baroque era that he heard many times before but couldn’t quite identify the celebrated composer.
As he entered Exsorbo’s parlour, he noticed a tarnished yet well-preserved decorative painting. The artwork depicted an ancient stone-block city peppered with mauled peasants. It was a dejected moment captured on canvas. The vivid imagery lured his puzzled eyes deep into the beaten cobblestone streets where the weak lay dying and high into the battered clouds where circling demons ruled the bleak sky; the realism was maddening.
Tom turned away from the hellion scene; he was startled, Exsorbo stood near.
“Thrond, it is a pleasure to see you,” Exsorbo acknowledged.
Tom stepped closer, “Where is this world you talked about?”
“Soon it will be your infinite reality so have patience, my honoured guest and friend.”
The winds howled and beat against the stained-glass windows.
Exsorbo ignored the shutters banging against the exterior and heavy wooden frames rattling. He stared into Tom’s wide eyes. “How do you feel?”
He nodded, “I’m momentarily sane.”
“Saying what you feel is not enough; you must believe what you feel.” Exsorbo extended his hand and squeezed a masculine fist, and a ball of energy appeared, dissipating into Tom’s body. A tingling sensation affected the Nukyi’s mind, which soon spread throughout his rigid body. His legs failed and he collapsed to the couch.
“Now your inter-mind is open to absorb what I teach. Remember, all this earthly reality is not what it seems to project.” Exsorbo paced back and forth like a master philosopher conducting a scripted lecture. His words echoed high into the room, the intensity of his demanding voice caused the lights to flicker.
“These things are simple,” Exsorbo stated, “life forms must live and die yet do they really understand their ultimate purpose? The true nature of existence on earth is a mystery. It is inconceivably short, yet I am here to interrupt your simple life.” He stared directly at Tom, “It is for one reason and one reason only you are here. You are the key to all reality.”
Tom tried to comprehend but was confused.
Exsorbo's voice intensified, his facial expression became more powerful, his body language more defined. “Look into my eyes,” Exsorbo commanded. “What do you see?”
“I see the flames of battle and war, senseless blood and death, and feel an unbearable pain and suffering. I hear the cries of torture mixed with the crashing of angry steel.” He looked away. “Could this be my infinite destiny?”
“It was once your ruthless pleasure. This bloodshed has ended, but what is about to be unleashed into this universe has no comparison to what you have envisioned. If you fail your mission, there will be no existence for you to return.”
“How can that be possible?”
Exsorbo flexed his mighty voice. “Your ultimate destiny is on the planet Rossinda where your archrival awaits you. He is a Merless Knight Warrior, a loyal follower of evil. His might is capable of destroying you. He hungers for senseless pain, and death. I come before you to show you who and what you are. Now there is no turning back until your ultimate objective has been absolutely accomplished.”
“I believe and understand, but I don’t think I’m the one you seek for this mind-crash mission,” Tom replied truthfully.
“You are the last Nukyi, the one who escaped the dungeons of the most-wicked evildoer, ever. He is Ferronkus, Lord of Figure. Unimaginable darkness will be unleashed. You, and only you, can stop it. All that is or will be, is in your hands. You must believe that you are the only one capable of completing this impossible task, or there will be no stopping this evil force.”
The words were profoundly etched in Tom’s mind, and he could barely contain his mental strength and snapped free of the spell rendered upon him.
“It is time. You must leave.”
“I need more knowledge about this galactic space war.”
“That is beyond my duty of contract.”
“You bring me here, I got to know.”
“There is no defined explanation. It’s just the way it is. Now go. These dreams can only last so long without damaging your earthly reflexes. You must leave, as I command.” Exsorbo's presence vanished and with him the ills of war and death. A wave of darkness smothered the rich light, and the saintly music faded.
Tom opened his pasty eyes and realized he was sprawled out on the living room floor. He sat up, his heart pounded. He rose to his unstable feet and stretched his skeletal muscles in one continuous motion while breathing deep to clear the stale air from his healthy oxidizing lungs.
He entered the kitchen and filled a tall glass with water from the faucet and guzzled it, spilling half on his shirt and half on the floor. His watch hand chronically trembled as he looked at the dial. “Seven p.m., I got to get ready, McBridle’s expecting me to be on time,” he mumbled, mentally detached.
Soaked with sweat, he showered; then changed into jeans and a bland-looking T-shirt and donned his leather jacket.
The card with her home address was crumpled tightly in his hand. He took one last look
at it before stuffing it into his pocket with a reserve of washed-up dollar bills and then got on his way.
Sty Street was about fifteen minutes from his place--closer than he realized. He turned the corner and stopped in front of number thirty-two. The homes in this neighbourhood were very roomy and very expensive. He saw her vehicle parked in the driveway so he was sure this was the correct house.
His knees seemed weak as he advanced up the front steps and rang the bell.
McBridle greeted him at the door with a big smile. “Come in; you’re right on time,” she said pleasantly. She accompanied him through the entrance and into the family room where she plopped down on a lofty Persian rug, her legs outstretched in front of the mounted digital television. “Tom, come and sit next to me,” she said, and continued sorting a short pile of file folders.
Tom removed his jacket and tossed it over a chair.
“Can I get you anything--water, beer or maybe wine?”
“No, I’m fine, maybe something later,” he said, and sat across from her and watched the syncopated motion of her hands as she arranged the work. It was obvious that she was schooled in the art of corporate diplomacy and majored in deceptive accounting.
As odd as her female behaviour, she was ill-fitted in a pair of worn-in track pants and a heavy sweater with a droopy, stretched-out neck that settled down into her natural cleavage. He never saw her in anything other than tailor made business suits nor had he ever seen her wear her hair pulled back and tied in a ponytail so her homey appearance seemed somewhat alien to him. He was, somewhat, confused by her closet personality.
McBridle handed Tom a document and said; “I’ll be back in a second.” She went into the kitchen; then she disappeared into another room.
The word “CLASSIFIED” was typed cross the plain-white covered page. Inside, a twenty-page report was accompanied by a secured memo signed by a senior government official. The paper referred to a missile system in the final stage of development titled: THE SKY TRACKING CARRIER SYSTEM. The opening paragraph described the system’s purpose--far superior to any launch system created with military intentions that clearly outweighed its cost, although, secretively debated, congress could no longer support a weapon of such destructive potential.
He continued deeper into the report. Five years prior, congress had drafted a bill that suspended the construction of weapons of mass destruction. Clearly this system would be a direct violation of the law if the project continued. The last paragraph stated that if this technology fell into wrong hands, it would shift world power dominance from the United States to a foreign hostile regime.
After reading the document, Tom realized that the government was covertly involved. If this were the case, there would be more than the media to contend with as well as an army of Federal agents tracking his backside, looking to tear him a new butt.
From around the corner, McBridle peeked out, “Tom, there are others--just help yourself; I’ll be back in a few minutes. I have to make a phone call.” Again, she slipped out of sight.
When his eyes grew tired and his mind bulged with unanswered questions, he stood and worked the stiffness from his cramped legs; then he sat on the couch. The leather upholstery was soft, soothingly cool, and easy to touch.
“What did you think of this rotten jar of pickles?” McBridle said, as she emerged from the kitchen.
“I think we have our work cut out for us,” he replied.
McBridle uncloaked her passionate personality. Her muscles were tight; and in one continuous motion, yawned her arms overhead, amplifying her strong, slender figure before she slithered on the couch next to him.
They sat observing each other.
“This investigation will get more complicated the deeper we get into it,” she admitted, as she subconsciously twisted her earring.
Tom somewhat agreed. “I hope we’re not in over our heads,” he said as he stroked his chin in thought.
“Our task is simply to find the security leak--nothing more. As you can see, our government wanted this system suspended; but it’s obvious someone else didn’t.”
“Are you saying the project may have continued at Carravecky’s?”
“Perhaps,” she replied. “We know there’s classified activities inside Carravecky’s; but Doctor Carravecky isn’t about to tell us the particulars of his business. Our job is to plug up the leak any way we can and keep their information inside. We know Carravecky’s security is like the Federal Reserve so we’re dealing with a technology mastermind. The information I requested today may reveal some undiscovered clues and details that could lead us in the right direction.”
Tom listened, but it was like he followed her lips but couldn’t hear her tongue; the scent of her baited skin and her tasteful mouth caused his mind to wander beneath her clothes.
“Are you okay?” she asked. The sharpness of her voice broke his allure. “I suspect you were wondering why I provided Robert with a security file with your name on it.”
“Yeah, a little,” and stretched his chin.
“Robert Carravecky is a security “nut”. He insists that we provide him with personal and confidential information regarding our employees each time new faces are introduced. He wants to know exactly who they are and where they come from.”
“I understand his security concerns. I don’t have a problem with that.”
McBridle reached down and picked up a file folder. Her sweater bagged open and her breasts pushed forward. “Well, another day is over, a little less debt,” she said, and bundled the file with the others.
“Well, I guess I’ll be leaving; don’t want to be late for work tomorrow,” and motioned to get up without glancing in her direction.
“Stay, put your feet up, have a beer; and don’t worry about tomorrow.”
“No, I better get going,” he insisted, half to his feet. “I got things to do at home.”
“Just one beer, one small drink for the road,” she said, as she eased him down into the couch. Then she went to the kitchen and returned with two bottles. “So, Tom, do you have any other secret hobbies other than digging in the sand for antiquities?” She passed him a cold one as she sat next to him.
Tom shrugged. “No, not really.”
“What do you do in your free time, you know, like on the weekends?” she asked.
He sucked back a drinker’s mouthful. “I haven't had any free time between work and sleep although I manage to bowl once or twice a month. Other than that, I’m your typical ho-hum, stay-at-home, boring guy with a cracked family life.”
McBridle accepted his fake modesty and tilted the cold bottle to her warm lips. “I heard you’re divorced.”
“It hasn’t been finalized yet. All that she requires is that I sign the papers and release her from my insanity,” Tom admitted freely.
“I assume she’s from Washington State?” she inquired.
“No. British Columbia. I met her up north at a village campground, about 12-years ago.”
“Then she’s a Canadian girl?”
“No. She’s originally from Massachusetts. Her family moved from Cambridge when she was just a young girl.”
She noticed the redness in his eyes. “You look sleepy.”
He leaned into her breath. The tie that secured her ponytail had loosened and fallen down. He eased her golden hair away from her tantalizing eyes for a clearer view of her unmasked face.
She took no offense to his manly advance and seemed to welcome his gentle touch.
“Everything comes at the wrong time in my life. I’m sorry I have to leave,” as he motioned to get up.
“No, no, it’s early,” she replied reassuringly and pressed him back down. She jumped up and turned the stereo on low volume. “Stay; just one more beer and enjoy a few songs.” She tempted him with some twirling dance and strong drink. “Stay, it’s early; no one will know.”
Tom could sense her prowl for uncommitted sex, but he tried not to notice. Any other woman, any other time, and h
e’d leap at the trill; but tonight, one thing held him back--her unpredictable authority within the firm.
He took a few seconds to admire her leaning grace. She allowed him a view while he decided his pleasure. She sank close to him. His hand touched the contour of her youthful face. The mellow sounds of the eighties ignited the pent-up air. He knew he could take her at any moment, but he resisted and backed away. The stress of his failed marriage made him more conscious about destroying relationships, especially with the woman who signed his pay checks.
It seemed so strange to him that the entire time he worked for the company he never once saw her lose herself. She was all business and no play. He glanced at his bungled watch. His actions indicated he was getting ready to escape her touch.
Whether it was an accident, a coincidence, or an act of desperation, she spilled beer on the front of his shirt; then she ordered him to strip, but she didn’t wait. She tugged the wet T-shirt over his head like she was undressing a man doll.
Tom didn’t resist, but leaned forward to make her job easier.
Her eyes froze; she admired his muscular torso.
He noticed there was sexual gratification in her physical actions.
Her hand glided across his chest as she wiped the wetness from his skin; the sensation was provocative and created a jolt of womanly passion within her sweet love channel.
He stood before her like a heroic soldier who had return from battle. He fully realized his body had completely changed; it was Exsorbo who had enhanced his weak human performance. He grabbed his bundled up shirt, threw on his leather jacket, and said, “I have to leave,” as he headed for the door.
McBridle stopped him. “Tom, tomorrow I have business in the office to take care of before we leave for Carravecky’s,” she said seriously.
“Do you need my help?” He zipped up his jacket.
“It’s not required, but we’ll see.”
They stood at the door face-to-face and breath-to-breath.
McBridle arched forward and gave him a goodnight kiss.
It startled him; the intimate affection lasted seconds but seemed longer. He was at a loss for a descriptive explanation.
“We’ll talk tomorrow morning; go home; get a good night’s sleep,” she said, and locked the door behind him.