by Tom Andry
"No, Liz. Listen, you should..."
"Bob, I've got a ton to do. You understand. Call me tomorrow."
"Sure. I'll try to find some takeout that's open. Compare notes and all that."
"Sure. Sounds good. Get some sleep, Bob."
"Um, okay. You too."
She hung up. I turned back to Nissa who had managed to roll one of her sleeves up. She was stretching the other arm up into the air, trying to shake the other sleeve down. This drew my eye immediately down to the bottom of the shirt, which was being tossed around. I quickly looked up and stepped forward and grabbed her arm.
"Here, let me help with that."
I rolled the sleeve slowly. She smelled...clean. Her hair lay smooth and she'd pulled it back and tied it with what looked like a piece of leather. The sides of her hair were shorter than the top, but when wet, she looked positively normal. The shower had removed all the light makeup letting her natural olive complexion glow. The eye shadow was gone as well and the only thing that remained to remind me of her former look was the lower lip stud and the six, small, hoop earrings up the side of her left ear.
I don't think I'd ever been this close to her. With the mohawk, she'd always seemed taller. I wasn't overly tall, but standing over her now, I felt like a giant. She looked back at me, unabashedly, her brown eyes flecked with green. I felt myself, my body, respond to her proximity in a way I hadn't responded to anyone in years. As I rolled up the sleeve, I couldn't help but look down. She didn't seem to mind and even smirked a little. She shifted her weight and I noticed the hint of something green and purple on her skin peeking out from under the collar of the shirt on her right shoulder.
"Is that a tattoo?"
She grabbed the collar of the shirt and closed it quickly. "Cheeky!" She turned around, the bottom of the shirt flaring out with the movement. "Thanks." She turned again on the ball of her foot at the door and put a hand on it. "You need to use the bathroom or anything?"
"Uh, no. I'm good. Got stuff in the other bathroom."
"Yeah, I know." She closed the door.
"Wait, what?" But it was too late. She was gone. Into my bedroom.
Had I offered? I couldn’t remember but it seemed natural that she should have it.
I stretched my back, twisting my neck. Suddenly, I felt very stiff. I looked over at the couch. I could use a pillow. I'd spent plenty of nights on it without one, but I could ask her for a pillow. Or a goodnight kiss. I scoffed audibly at my own unoriginality.
Don't read too much into it, Bob. She's just a young girl feeding her ego by getting a rise out of you. She's not interested in you. Plus, she's half your age.
Well, not quite half.
I threw myself onto the couch. I thought about turning on the television, trying to find something that wasn't covering the day's events, but I knew it would be useless. There would be no falling asleep to reruns of sixties science fiction shows tonight. I sighed and rolled over, trying not to think about the possibilities.
# # #
Chapter 5
I was driving down a city road. Skyscrapers lined both sides of the street, blocking out the sun. The top was down, but I drove so slowly I couldn't feel the wind. Next to me, a pink car seat. Empty. I couldn’t look at it. I looked back to the road but it was gone. Instead, I was driving on a field of grass. All around I was surrounded by supers in their full regalia. Colorful spandex as far as I could see, stretching out to the horizon. They were here for me; I knew that, but I couldn't remember why. They watched me pass with blank faces, dead eyes. What did they want? Why was I here?
Looking up, I saw a speck in the sky. A shooting star in the middle of the day? My eyes shot down and I realized the sea of supers was surrounded by stands. Spectators. I looked back up. The shooting star was getting larger and there was something else. Confetti falling from the sky? Don't they see? Don't they know? He's coming. I looked in the rear view mirror, and saw that I was now surrounded by the supers. My gut was knotting. I needed to run, to escape. But how?
The first of the confetti landed on the back of my hand. My vision seemed to magnify as I stared at the glittering square. I felt a prick on the spot under the confetti. I flinched in pain and the confetti floated up on the wind. With it I could see a small piece of my skin in a tiny, tooth-filled mouth. I jerked my hand back and rubbed it with the other. Glancing around, the confetti was getting thicker. Great clouds of it surrounded the car. The supers seemed unperturbed. They just watched.
I looked around for something to protect myself. Why wasn't I wearing a shirt? I jabbed at the button that would put the convertible top back up, but it wouldn't respond. I slammed my foot down on the accelerator and the engine sprang to life. Growling like an enraged lion, the rear wheels spun, creating a cloud of smoke and dirt behind me. Any second the wheels would grip and I'd be free.
Then I saw him.
Doc Arts. The man who had been responsible for the dissolution of my marriage. A marriage that had ended because of the death of my newborn daughter. At the time, there had never been a cross-birth, a child born from a tippy and super couple. But he had promised. He swore he could do it. And when he couldn't, he blamed me.
No, that's not right. Not just him. All of them. The supers.
The supers, even my wife, had all blamed me, my tippy genes. Doc Arts was in the middle of the field directly in front of the car, perhaps a hundred feet or so ahead. He wore his standard lab coat, green scrubs, and black rubberized boots and gloves. He stared at me with his mechanical eyes, his left hand in a bag held under his right arm.
"No, you're dead!" I screamed.
He extracted his hand, tossing a handful of the confetti into the air. As he did so, he seemed to shrink, to deflate. He threw another handful, then another. He got smaller and smaller. Blood started oozing from around his mechanical eyes, from his nose, his mouth. His cheeks grew sallow, his skin a dead, gray color. The confetti started to swirl all around him. It was eating him the same as it had tried to do to me.
"No!" I yelled again, realizing that the tires were still spinning. I looked around, the other supers now all had bags in their hands and they were throwing more confetti. They too were bleeding and becoming emaciated. The cloud of confetti was so thick I could barely see. Finally, the wheels gained purchase and I shot toward the cloud. I slammed on the brakes but nothing happened.
"NO!"
I awoke on the carpet next to the couch to the sound of food sizzling in the kitchen. I rubbed my throbbing shoulder as I sat up. I glanced at the wall-clock - seven thirty-two. Damn, it was early. I stood up and saw Nissa in the kitchen, a plate of eggs and bacon forgotten in front of her. Her eyes were wide.
"You always wake up like that?" she asked.
"Like what?"
"Screaming."
I shrugged, rubbing the back of my head, "No, sometimes I have bad dreams." I nodded at the stove where more bacon was still sizzling, "That for me?"
She nodded, her eyes questioning.
"Cool, thanks." I smoothed out my shirt as best I could, ignoring her stare. I was still wearing my clothes from the previous night. I swallowed, my mouth dry and stale from the previous night's drinking. "You know, maybe I'll just take a quick shower first."
I fled the living room for the safety of the bedroom. The bed was made. "Jesus," I whispered breathlessly, "it even smells like her in here." I rubbed the cold sweat from my brow, the aftereffects of the dream still causing my pulse to race. She had not only made the bed, but also straightened up the room. Clothes were neatly folded on top of the dresser, the hamper was closed, and even my shoes were lined up against the foot of the bed. I took a deep breath and walked to the bathroom.
In there, the changes were even more dramatic. I'd been living like a hermit since Khan left, since the incident with the Doc. If there was one thing a bachelor did poorly, it was maintaining a bathroom. Mine was usually better than most, but nearly six months of self-imposed exile had taken its toll. It was the sort
of place I only visited when I had to. It wasn't unlivable, but there wasn't a surface that didn't need a good scrubbing.
It had received all that and more.
The smell of lemon disinfectant permeated the air. It must have been mine, but I couldn't remember buying it. Maybe Khan? He often replenished supplies...
Damn you, Khan. You didn't have to die.
I leaned over the gleaming counter, looking myself in the eye. I held my eyes open, willing them to water. Khan deserved it. He deserved more than I'd given him. He'd deserved his full cure, not the half one he'd had to settle for. Doc Arts had promised him that, but before he could deliver, I'd let him die. I'd let those...creatures...consume him. At the time I'd thought I was justified, that Doc Arts had reaped what he'd sown.
But the dreams.
The confetti wasn't some sort of symbol - it was real. Microbots, they had called them. Tiny robots that Doc Arts had created, but couldn't control. Yet another science project run amuck. So many examples. These damn supers; they just couldn't help themselves. They played God daily. They killed, they maimed, and they didn't think anything of it. And when you really needed them, they let you down. Let Abigail...
"Stop it."
I took a deep breath, willing the vision of the car seat out of my mind. I took another. I felt old. Out there was a young girl almost half my age making me breakfast and I was hiding in the bathroom. What had happened to my life? How did it come to this?
A buzz.
When you live alone, you need to plan for contingencies. If it means phones and intercoms in the bathroom, that's what it means. The light on the intercom blinked again with the accompanying buzz. Before I could reach it, I heard a response.
"Yes?" It was Nissa.
"Delivery for Mr. Moore?"
"From whom?"
"Lady, there are like fifteen packages out here. They are from all over."
Damn you, Ted. I told you I didn't want upgrades.
"Fine, I'll buzz you in."
I stripped off my shirt and slacks, careful to fold the latter over the rack in the corner. Ted had designed the pants (and jacket and shoes for that matter) to be self-cleaning. A little steam and the dirt and grime just disappeared. Not sure how it worked. Actually, knowing Ted, I'd bet he wasn't quite sure how it worked either. I'd left the jacket in the other room, but it'd be fine. I'm sure I had steamed it clean at some point recently. Maybe.
Honestly, there was nothing like a hot shower to clear my head. I stood there, my hand on the wall in front of me, letting the water run over the back of my head. Outside, Nissa was dealing with the delivery man. Before I had fled, I saw that she still had on my white shirt, but had tied it around her midriff. She'd put back on the sneakers and jeans she normally wore and somehow had managed to restore her mohawk.
I shook my head; how had she done that? I certainly didn't have anything at my place that would do that to her hair.
"Bob?"
Damn it. I practically sprinted from the shower to the intercom. Why hadn't I put it closer to the shower? I pressed the button, "Yeah?"
"You about done? You've got to see this," Nissa was using her professional voice again.
"Out in a second." I rushed through the rest of my shower. When I finally met Nissa in the waiting room that doubled as her office, my white shirt was sticking to my still wet chest and I was reminding myself that I still needed to put on deodorant.
"This is bullshit!"
"Listen lady, I just work here. You signed for it."
"If I had known, I wouldn't have signed for the damn thing. What are you guys doing working today? Isn't everyone supposed to stay inside?"
The driver shrugged, "I got a call. Full day's pay for one delivery. For that kind of cash, I'd deliver to an active volcano."
Nissa was standing in front of the door to her office with her arms barring the doorway. Behind her were a line of delivery drivers in various uniforms.
God damn you, Ted.
There was no half way with him. I never knew whether he'd come through with his promises. Most of the time he'd tell me he'd do something and I'd never hear another thing about it. But when he did follow through, he did so with a vengeance. Ted always struck me as a super villain in the making. He never felt appreciated by the super community and my running theory was that it was just a matter of time before he unleashed his master plan. But he always acted more the playboy than the mad scientist. Half the stuff he invented barely worked. When he did finish a project - like my clothes or his PPP - they were usually brilliant. But in between the successful projects were a long line of failures or marginal inventions that might work or might kill you. I never let Ted give me anything until he adopted a particular attitude. I couldn't describe it exactly, but it was a combination of an excitement and swagger. When Ted got that look on his face, I always worried. Had he developed the next long-lasting light bulb or a doomsday device?
"What's going on here?"
"Mr. Moore?" the delivery guy in front, holding a huge box, wearing brown and yellow, looked relieved to be dealing with someone other than the angry, mohawked girl blocking his path. "Your assistant here signed for these packages..."
"I see that. How many are there?"
He glanced behind him nervously. From what I could see the hallway was already full of delivery guys with arms full of packages. "Um...the thing is...the trucks keep coming."
I paused, my mouth open for a second, "Huh?"
"Well, I had fifteen. But these guys here," he motioned back at the delivery girl behind him in a red and blue uniform, "they showed up just after. Seems they got another ten. And I think I saw another truck or two down there."
"Crap."
He shrugged as best he could with his arms full, "Sir, it's not our fault. Why'd you order all this stuff, anyhow?"
At first I turned to Nissa, then thought better of it and responded to the delivery guy, "This is all pre-paid, right?"
He shrugged, "S'far as I know."
I shook my head, "Nissa, just...sign for it. Find a place. This is Ted's doing. You can expect more craziness. Just..." I looked around, "take notes."
Her eyebrow went up, "Notes?"
I took her to the side, motioning for the delivery drivers to wait, "There's a lot you don't know about Ted. Just keep your eyes open. Anything you see that looks...weird, write it down. If my guess is right, we're going to have a pretty busy day."
"How come?"
"Ted promised to upgrade my office. Make it more secure. This is probably only the first wave."
She nodded slowly, uncertainly.
"There's a storage area downstairs. Here's the key. Number 12. Have the delivery guys stack them all up in there. Keep any paperwork. We're going to need to figure out what all he did and we're probably going to have to do most of it after the fact." I put a hand on her shoulder, surprised at how delicate she felt, "This may be a big test for you. Keep your wits about you and don't let them push you around."
She scowled, "Me?"
"Sorry," I smiled, "forgot who I was talking to."
She shot me a devious grin, "Natch!" She turned and directed the delivery drivers back down the stairs, "Alright. You've got deliveries? I'm ready to take them. Head back down and I'll let you know where you can shove 'em."
I smiled and shook my head approvingly. That girl seemed older than twenty.
* * *
Nissa had spent most of the morning downstairs, meeting and directing the deliveries. A few drivers had attempted to circumvent her by using the intercom. I had ignored the buzzing, comfortable that she'd get to them soon enough. Finally, lunch had come around just as she'd gotten through the last of the trucks. She entered my office, plopping down on the only other chair. She put her feet up on the edge of my desk and pushed back. The chair didn't move.
"What the..."
I laughed, "Bolted to the floor." She looked down, "Not that you could have moved it anyhow. Thing weighs a ton."
"Why?
"
"Let me tell you a story, little girl," her eyes grew hard as I rolled mine, "fine, little lady." That didn't soften her eyes. I continued regardless, "One day old man Bob was talking with a client. This client had hired Bob to find out who was ripping his tights."
"Ripping?"
I nodded trying to keep my face hard, "A very serious thing for this super. You see, well, his costume cost a small fortune. He had a thing for gold."
"The color?"
"The color, the substance, the whole idea of it. Called himself the Mitas Man, if I remember correctly. I'd have to check the files."
"You mean Midas."
I shook my head seriously, "No, I don't. He was very clear that he was the Mitas...something. I'm pretty sure it was Man. Anyhow, he was super strong, even by super standards, so there weren't many who dared argue with him. Those who did usually ended up unconscious and painted gold."
"No," Nissa covered her smile with her hand.
"Oh, yes. His tights were lined with bags of this gold paint. He had a nozzle that came out of his belt that he'd use to spray his defeated foes. In order to make sure those paint pockets would survive the battles, he had a super genius devise some sort of flexible, but super strong material. It was nearly indestructible, but it seemed about once a week, he'd wake up and his tights would be completely shredded. Sometimes, they'd have huge, animal-like tears in them. Other times, punctures from millions of tiny incisors or they'd be mauled into unrecognizable clumps of gold. One time, it looked like something had consumed it and shat it back out into the middle of his bedroom."
"Wait, all this while he slept? How come he didn't wake up?" She leaned forward and picked up the cracked box containing the explosive blue ball in the stasis field.
I reached over the desk and took it away from her gently, "Don't touch."
"What is it?"
"Dangerous is what it is."
"Fine, so how come he didn't wake up?"
"That's what was driving him batty. He couldn't figure it out. He'd tried everything from staying awake to getting friends to watch him sleep. Nothing worked. Finally he came to me." I paused.