by Lin Lustig
John leaned back against the counter while the kettle warmed up. “Even if the headquarters were blinked out of existence tomorrow, there are over a hundred UHP locations in the state of New York alone, plus all their international hubs. If anyone caught a woman using her ‘specialization’ to eradicate their research, it would only prove to the public that we are dangerous. We have to stay out of the spotlight while stopping this from happening ever again.”
“Well said.” Emerson's deep voice made John jump. He hadn’t heard him come in. He'd been so focused on projecting calm control to Licia that he’d blocked out everything else.
“Em. You came back?” He blinked hard as dread and joy mixed until his stomach churned.
Emerson didn't seem upset. Right then he'd give anything for Licia's ability to taste emotions, to know what he was feeling. Em glanced at him, but his expression was passionless and closed. His pant cuffs were damp, and he must have been freezing in just a t-shirt and jeans, but he didn't even shiver.
“I'm going to clean up your mess and do my job. That's it.”
It was more than he'd expected. More than he deserved, really, but the olive branch was so brittle he was afraid to say anything of worth. “Tea?” Emerson did a double take. The question was to keep them talking, but as much as it hurt to see that much distance in Em's stance, he was still here. “Or something stronger?” John held out his hand, offering the one thing Emerson might need that superseded a drink.
Emerson turned away. “Tea is fine.”
“Em, I—” Right now, he wished Licia and Glen would leave them alone, but they didn’t budge. “I know that none of this is fair. I know what I’ve done and that I don’t deserve to have you walk back in... but thank you.” John's heart kept throwing in a hard pound whenever the smallest hint of hope sparked, even if he knew it was unfounded. He squashed it. He couldn’t give Emerson what he needed, and he didn’t want to hurt him anymore.
Emerson paused and looked like he was about to say something, but then his eyes drifted away in a sad glance out the window. He didn’t speak as he turned away. They all watched him cross the room and disappear down the hall like he was a main attraction, but John found another mug and kept his shaking fingers from view. He hid in the kitchen, staring at the water as it boiled. He set Em’s mug on the desk when it was ready.
Emerson returned a couple minutes later in fresh clothes and sat on the couch. “How do we stop them.” He said it more like the title of an academic paper than a question.
Licia huffed, then continued like their conversation had never paused. “We thought we were keeping quiet and dismantling the company last time. The problem was Aubrey's ethics remained.”
“What if we got more of you working inside the company? My contact, Arissa, is one of you and she's been invaluable. Once inside, you can change it however you want,” Glen suggested.
“In twenty years of climbing the corporate ladder.” Licia joined John in the kitchen to select another tea and refill her mug. She could drink obscene amounts of tea and was rather picky, which, he guessed shouldn’t have been a surprise.
“What if I approach Aubrey directly. She'll want me back in the labs. I can get in and find where Tarrah is,” John suggested.
“Not a bad plan, if I'm the one getting in.” Licia raised her freshly steaming mug close to her mouth, her hands wrapping greedily around the hot ceramic.
“Absolutely not.” Emerson crossed his arms.
John made a new mug for Emerson. He was lost in thought as he poured the hot water. There was something about how it soaked the tea bag that caught his attention. It didn't submerge all at once, but once water seeped into a corner, the rest of the bag dunked quickly. Kind of like his career: nothing, until one role had caught and catapulted him forward.
Protecting their kind needed something to catch.
An idea tickled the back of his mind. His talents needed to be used. His connections. His image. Oh. “The others like us need to know they have something to trust—or rather someone. Me. What if I came out in support of us? Give Abnormals a face to rally around, then we expose the truth behind both WHRP and UHP. Change public opinion.”
Emerson said, “That's a terrible idea.”
At the same time, Glen said, “That could work.” It was never a good sign when Glen agreed.
Licia stilled mid sip. A slither of curiosity touched his chest, which didn't match his thrilling dread. This could ruin his image, or if he did this right, it could help his image. His mind churned through a bursting to-do list: call his lawyer, meet with his brand manager, get Chloe's ass over here ASAP. As his mind raced, John met Emerson's gaze. A hint of concern creased his brow, perhaps a little frustration in the jaw, but there was too much distance between them.
“You'd have to get ahead of this, before public opinion damns us,” Licia said, then resumed her cautious sipping.
“I'll make some calls.” He checked his phone. There was plenty of time to call Chloe and get a meeting pulled together. He felt Em’s eyes on him and glanced up. There was an uncertainty there that John didn’t know how to address. “I’m meeting Prisha tonight before the show. We called in Henry. I wasn't sure...”
“That's fine.”
His quick response stung, but he told himself this was good enough. He handed the scalding mug to Emerson. If he respected Em’s wishes maybe he would come around, see that he didn't understand the choices he'd made at the time. Emerson took the mug, careful not to touch him, and set it down without thanks.
CHAPTER 34
John
He spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone verbally vomiting the need for a team meeting as soon as possible. It was always a struggle to get his rigid agent to bend to a sudden change. John barely confirmed the appointment for tomorrow before he needed to get downstairs to meet Prisha. October was nearing its end, and with it would end their performances.
Prisha's red Porsche halted in the loading zone just outside the double glass doors of the building lobby. John jogged outside and opened her passenger side door.
“About time,” Prisha greeted as John sat down and wedged his work bag behind the seat.
“I’m early. You cheated and messaged before you were here.” John gave her some side eye, but she grinned and leaned over to him, offering a soft kiss and a smile. He readily took them both, lingering with his lips against hers, soaking up the tenderness and intimacy there. Finding comfort.
Then again, how intimate could he ever really be with her? He'd never be able to be honest with her about everything—such as what he was, for starters. Anything they had was doomed, just like his other relationships had all been.
“I hate waiting.” She grinned, then her attention went to the road and John let his stay on her.
“You're my best friend, you know that?”
“Please. You're only sweet talking me to get my panties off.”
John laughed, then took her hand. “I'm serious.” Even if he didn't get to keep her, he could still appreciate her, and he would.
She risked a glance to check him out. “I noticed and it's freaking me out. Quit it.”
He raised his hands in surrender.
Prisha drove them north to the Theater District, which would have been faster on foot given both the regular traffic and intertwining pedestrian traffic. Her obsession with her car was useless in the city. She didn't seem bothered by the ant's pace in her 200-thousand-dollar speed machine and instead cranked up a song on the radio, swaying to the beat like a leaf in the wind. When the chorus came on, she belted it out—off key. John took a video on his phone, then immediately regretted it when she noticed and threatened to feed him his own balls like gulab jamun. So, naturally, he kept the video for future blackmail.
The Rum Runner bar wasn't even trying to hide. “I thought you said this was a speakeasy?” John quirked an eyebrow at the location, complete with bistro tables full of tourists enjoying gastro-pub lamb burgers and artisanal drinks. Th
e neon sign wasn't helping the speakeasy feel either.
“Trust me.” Prisha led the way inside and through the overfilled tables and booths to the back with the unisex restroom. There were three unused stalls and a service closet.
“Great. But if you've developed a new toilet kink, I think I'll pass.” John lazily crossed his arms. She pulled him towards the supply closet and opened it to a set of stairs leading up.
“Now that's what I'm talking about.” John nipped her earlobe and went on ahead. She pawed him off and laughed. It felt so good to wear this mask with her, the mask of a man too obsessed with playful sex to have any worries. The man who delighted in their games with no weight resting on his shoulders.
The upper level bar’s atmosphere was dark and secretive; tall booths, curtained off rooms, and the smell of absinthe made John's toes tingle. Once they settled into a private booth and wine was delivered, their typical innuendo-infused banter leveled off.
“How are you? Really.” Prisha's tone sang of concern and John couldn't help but duck his head.
“I'll get by. What about you? Did you catch the news?” Anything to switch the subject, though now his brain ticked back over to the to-do list before the meeting tomorrow.
“Yeah, crazy stuff. I had no idea there were really people who could do stuff like that. I mean you always hear of super tasters or super sleepers, but this seems so alien.”
Something in the way she said it sounded off, but he needed to test his plan, and Prisha was always a low risk variable to him. Even here, sitting like this felt soothing. Just being around her settled him, just like Emerson always did—had. “I'm going to publicly support them.”
She fumbled her glass, spilling a touch of white wine down her front. “That sounds like a terrible idea. Why would you do that?”
John shrugged, his heart racing as warmth crawled up his neck. “I have a friend who fits the description.”
“You do?” Prisha squeaked and she cleared her throat. “Again, with these friends. Who?”
John glared. “Like I'm going to out them. But they're just like anyone else, other than a little unique. Not much different than the rest of the world. I think people will overreact now that medications are being introduced. Next thing you'll hear is it's caused by organic cilantro,” he joked. Prisha made a that-was-a-terrible-joke face. John continued, “All I mean to say, is they need someone in their corner.”
“Are you in their corner?” She asked, her tone implying more. He swallowed some of his wine to stall. Would it be the worst thing to come out to her? He’d come out with being bisexual to her—or rather she’d walked in on it—and she'd shrugged it off like he'd said the sky was blue. The most intriguing thing about Prisha was her overall lack of fucks on everything. She was keen, calm, and clever with a tongue as wicked as her body. In another world he could have fallen for her, but his heart was too troubled as it was. No, drawing Prisha into this further wasn't what he wanted for her. Plausible deniability in case public support backfired, that’s what she needed.
“I need a polarizing cause in my career right now.” John swirled his wine, keeping his gaze off her face.
Prisha sat back. “John, I've been thinking—”
“Shit. Don't you break up with me, too.” He leaned in with a ready grin to cover an honest worry.
She waved her hand. “Not that. It's about me. I'm...” she blew out between her lips like a horse. “I'm desperate to bribe you to attend the gala with me now after all this. It's on Halloween, full masquerade theme and all.”
Mentally, John let out a tired breath and relaxed. “Can't find a date?” He teased. She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. Attending in secret wasn't a bad idea. He could gather information and get a feel for the crowd's reactions. “I'm talking to my team tomorrow, but given that I want to support these specialized individuals’ rights to be unique, if I'm found attending, I'm not sure it will send the right message.”
Prisha took a sip of her wine. “Specialized. I'm not sure that's the case.”
John thought back to Licia standing in a towel in his guest bedroom, her anger boiling over at how they labeled themselves as something other than human. Hearing Prisha's hesitation constricted his lungs. “Everyone has something they're naturally good at. My friend's skills aren't that different from a savant. We can all do it, but she's taken it to the next level.”
Prisha bunched her lips to the side. “Then why would the world’s second most trusted humanitarian company want to protect us from them?”
There it was. Us and Them. “Because UHP has a corrupt and manipulative CEO.” Actually, he had no idea if Kostas was corrupt, but if he was condoning Aubrey's work, then it was enough to condemn him.
“You really don't like UHP, do you?”
“Never have.” John let his gaze and mind wander around the dark room.
“And you're not going to tell me why?”
John licked his finger and swirled it around the edge of the wineglass, making it sing. “Not tonight.” He let the ethereal notes give them a second to think.
“I have to attend, contractually speaking, but maybe we can find a way to give them a subtle middle finger in the process.”
He stopped messing around and quirked his brow at her. “Waiting to see how the glass shatters?” This was the Prisha he adored, never backing down from a challenge, never taking the easy way out. If he asked, she might actually dive into the deep with him, but he’d never put her in that position.
“Something like that.” She softened, then her foot slid up his pantleg. “I'd make attending worth your while.”
Other positions, however...
CHAPTER 35
Emerson
Emerson lounged on the couch of their theater room—aka his new bedroom, which was somehow still more comfortable than the hotel room he’d stayed in last night—into the early hours of Thursday morning reading various world and local news pages, falling down rabbit holes on research an Israeli company had done on the effects of microplastic on the human brain, how it might be the cause of these new Abnormals. An Australian doctor proposed that these advances represented a resurgence of latent DNA markers triggered by the planet-wide frequency change from The Shift.
Emerson scrubbed his face and in the dark of his eyelids he saw John's pained face again. It came back to haunt him at unexpected moments. He'd collected his belongings from the bedroom and moved into the theater room, but it wasn't like he was moving out. It was only across the hall. He needed to raise his professional boundaries, and this was a sure way to cut off the lingering temptation to touch John, to comfort him. Because of course he still cared. The heart wasn't like a light switch. But John's past was damning.
Married. Starting the company. Lying for years. Hiding behind ignorance.
Emerson should have seen it sooner. There were signs, and instead of doing his job, he’d done John. He'd let love and sex distract him from finding the truth. But he'd fix it. He'd make sure Licia never killed again and John would never have another chance to hurt their kind.
The battery warning blinked in the bottom right corner on the screen. Emerson shifted to plug it in, then opened the Anons page and nearly dropped the laptop. There were over three hundred new comments for him to moderate and the site had been hit over eighteen thousand times in the last hour. He traced the referrals back to the National News Network and cursed. A new article had been published with resources for and about Abnormals. The Anons was listed at the top. So much for a quiet place for their discussions.
Some of the incoming posts were from existing users freaked out about the UHP announcement. Most were from new sign ups, ranging from introductions—come on, don't use names people—to asking for meet ups. Shit.
He could appoint more moderators, but beyond deleting personal information and banning users, there was little he could do to keep the influx of new members manageable. He already had an SSL and security plug ins, ridiculous passwords, parameterized quer
ies, and the page was through the most secure web host available. But there was little he could do to protect the users from their own stupidity. If it were just himself at risk, he wouldn't hesitate, but this?
Just like how he couldn't protect John from his idiotic choices. Being a public figure in support of the Abnormals? He was insane. That kind of press would shatter his career, especially since these responses leaned into fear and judgement. John was walking into a reputation slaughter, but all Emerson could do was hope John's team would talk him out of it.
If it were Emerson's choice, he'd keep John's head down and keep him out of any of this—he couldn't be trusted not to fuck it up further, but John was John. Attention was his game and it was time Emerson stopped pretending he knew how to play.
In a new post he declared the site’s official support of Abnormals, explained the new situation and reinforced the rules, and then opened comments. He'd ask John in the morning for which users he knew who could be trusted to help, because otherwise the only one that came to mind was Licia. No way he'd make her a moderator. He'd trust her when hell didn't just freeze over but went full ice age.
CHAPTER 36
John
John woke on Thursday morning with a sore back and saltwater crusted at the corners of his eyes like white sand. He scrubbed his face and cringed as the morning puffiness made him look his age. Maybe he needed more water. Did he have anything after drinks with Prisha last night? Appetizers and alcohol weren't going to get him through this. If he got through this.
Luckily Wednesday night showings were always smaller, so it had been less of a slap to see the theater only half full. He’d let loose some of his building vibe on the audience since he couldn’t rely on Em to keep him in check, and made sure the attendees had a good time—or would when they got home.
Clanking echoed from the kitchen, ceramic on quartz, cupboards open and shut, feet shuffling. His condo was alive, but he'd never felt less so. Even his vibe only bubbled like a glass of champagne left out overnight. Everything felt off and wrong, though that might be because he was a touch hung over, too.