Portal to Passion: Science Fiction Romance
Page 121
Eric raised an eyebrow at me, shooting me a look that insisted, “This is not my fault.” Or maybe “This is not my fault, now get me the fuck out of here.” At least, the latter is how I wanted to interpret it.
“We should go.” I glanced between Lydia and Lottie, speaking English again, and for once, I was actually anxious to leave her. Not because I wanted to be separated, but I wanted to get inside that motel room. As clichéd as it may have been, I had been right when I told Lottie that they were in my world now. For the first time in weeks, I felt fully in control, confident, invincible. And they were going to find out just how badly these human bodies could hurt if they fucked with her again.
Chapter 9
We didn’t have to wait long for them to leave. Eric followed them to a nearby restaurant – a Twin Peaks: I suppressed a disgusted groan – and I let myself into their room. These magnetic card readers were the best thing to happen to guys like me in a long time; getting into hotel rooms was one of the easiest things I ever did anymore.
I had thought it was telling that they were sharing a room, but the room was scattered and disorganized with the look of two men who were keeping their distance from one another. This arrangement had been one of expediency, not sexual attraction. I placed my bag at the foot of one of the beds. In the middle of the bed, someone’s suitcase was open and I quickly looked through it; nothing but clothes, some cash, a carefully hidden tin of Copenhagen. Judging by the labels on the clothes, this was David’s secret addiction.
Jackson’s suitcase was on the floor, propped open against the wall. It was no more revealing than David’s, except he didn’t seem to harbor the same predilection for repulsive tobacco habits. With so little to look through, I went back to my bag. It was relatively easy to spy on someone who didn’t realize they were being spied on.
I placed a camera behind the vent on one wall, then a second on the opposing wall so that we could see the entire room. The cameras could move, could zoom in on print so small that if they pulled a business card out of their pocket, we would be able to read it. A few microphones throughout the room, in the bathroom, their phone, would let us hear everything they said. We could hear the bedsprings when they rolled over at night if we wanted to.
I had just placed a third camera in the exhaust fan of the bathroom when Eric told me he was coming back for me. I grabbed my bag and left their room, walking to the other side of the motel where Eric would pick me up. It had taken less than thirty minutes. Jackson and David were still at Twin Peaks, ogling the poor girls who were desperate enough to work there but pretending to appreciate the thinly veiled sexual advances, the inability of men to keep their eyes off their breasts as they placed their orders.
There was nothing left to do now except return to my hotel room, set up our computers, and wait. For the second time that day, they didn’t keep us waiting long. Jackson and David came into their room soon after Eric and I had settled onto different beds, our laptops propped open beside us. We were going to start flipping through the sports channels, hoping to catch a baseball game, when the opening motel room door on our monitors caught our attention. Eric muted the TV but left it on. If they were just going to sit there and do the exact same thing we were doing, there wouldn’t be much point in not watching at least some of the game.
Jackson must have had the same idea, because he flopped onto his bed, grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels. David disappeared into the bathroom, then reappeared in the corner screen of my monitor where the third camera was looking straight down at him. David was visibly aroused. Apparently, spending his entire lunch staring at the cleavage of a girl in a tight tank top had that effect on him. I groaned. We both knew what was coming.
“Sometimes, I hate my job,” I muttered.
Eric grimaced as David pulled down his pants then turned his monitor toward me even though we were looking at the exact same images.
“I knew he was overcompensating. Who says size isn’t important?”
“Jesus, Eric,” but he had started it. I couldn’t help but look now.
David started furiously pumping, and we both grimaced this time.
“Do you think they know what penises are used for when they claim these bodies? Talk about buyer’s remorse.”
Eric snickered, egged on now by my willingness to joke about something. “Maybe his doctor friend can do something for that. I’ll bet he’s a virgin.”
“I’ll bet his girlfriend wouldn’t know if she weren’t anymore.”
Eric actually laughed this time, and we both groaned as David muffled his orgasm, trying to be discreet, and flushed the remnants of his lunchtime fantasies down the toilet.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve got a sure fire way to increase my stamina by at least 78% now.”
And just like that, I realized I had forgiven him. All of my attempts to remain professional, distant, aloof were gone; this was Eric, my best friend, the only person in the world who had cared enough to save my life day after day when all I had wanted was death, an escape from this afterlife I was trapped in. The man who wouldn’t abandon me even when he knew I had wanted to hurt him, and I was suddenly ashamed for it. We were men. We didn’t talk about friendship or affection or love. But in our juvenile bantering about one man’s unfortunate penis size, I realized Lottie wasn’t the only person who had ever loved me.
“Eric?”
“Dude, if you tell me you’re horny now, I’m leaving.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Eric just smiled and looked up at me. David had thrown himself on his own bed, contented and drowsy, relaxed and lazy as the baseball game – the same one we had on – played out on their television. I had to tell him. I had to do something decent for him for once in my life.
“It’s ok. I just… wanted you to know.”
Eric nodded at me, surprise only partially hidden in his expression and voice. “Thank you.”
He looked back at his monitor, embarrassed maybe, but grateful. I knew the awkward silence that followed wouldn’t last long. We were ok. We would soon be joking again about David’s poor decision making, or the way Jackson’s mouth hung open, a thin sliver of drool pooling at the corner, as he drifted off to sleep during the 6th inning. Or we would watch the game itself – cursing at the umpires, yelling at the runners on base, occasionally becoming mesmerized by a particularly compelling commercial for the Abita brewery or the promise that college football season was only two months away.
The next two hours passed that way and by the time anything significant caught our attention on the monitors again, it was just Eric and me, the easiness and comfort of our friendship banishing the anger and betrayal I had clung to since finding out about that kiss. I would never forget it, but I realized I didn’t have to. The belief that a person had to be perfect in order to be loved, which I’d kept wrapped so tightly around me like a security blanket since I was five years old, was slowly unwinding.
A ringtone that sounded like marimba broke off Jackson’s snoring. Eric and I immediately sat up, as if better posture would allow us to better hear or see what was about to happen. J
ackson’s eyes shot open and he grabbed his phone. We had no way of accessing the other side of his conversation right now. Somewhere, it was being recorded. A transcript would be sent to us soon; my reticence to have anyone else know about what we were doing in Baton Rouge had dissipated with the suspicion that Lottie wasn’t safe here. For now, Eric and I listened as Jackson supplicated himself to the speaker on the other end.
“Yes, Sir… I’m sorry, Sir, she just… it was reported correctly, I am certain… No, Sir, I didn’t… Yes, I would be happy to… You would like for me to tell her in person?… When?… Of course. I will do it tomorrow then… Yes, Sir, I understand… Sir?… Are you sure we should tell her?… Ok, yes, I will. … Goodb…”
He was cut off. Apparently, his caller had worse social skills than I did.
David actually yawned. “Tell her what?”
Huh. Muscle-Man-With-Little-Penis could talk.
“What I’ve been told to tell her,” Jackson snapped.
“Why not today? Right now? I’m ready to get the fuck out of here.” He stifled another yawn and I couldn’t help hoping Jackson wasn’t quite the spineless prick I was pretty sure he was.
“Because she’s at work, idiot. We’ll do it tomorrow then we can leave. They’re going to send someone to evaluate her.”
“No,” I said aloud.
Eric glanced over at me, but he was trying to keep his attention on the conversation in the motel room a few miles east of us.
“Fine. It would be easier to just get it over with now though.” David was bored.
“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fucking kill him.” I knew I should be keeping my mouth shut but the words kept rushing out.
“There are others involved already, David. It’s complicated now. If we had known about this sooner…”
David just shrugged. “So you tell them she has to go away somewhere. What can they do about it?”
“Fucking kill you, that’s what,” but this time, Eric actually shushed me. I had never been shushed before.
I glanced over at him, surprised – ok, kind of shocked actually - but bit my lip and tried to concentrate on shushing.
Jackson sighed impatiently and leaned back into his bed. “David, when I need you, I will let you know. Until then, find something to do that doesn’t involve irritating the hell out of me.”
David scowled at the baseball game for a few minutes, then apparently decided he needed to masturbate again and stomped off to the bathroom, being far less discreet about it this time. Jackson ignored him.
A message at the bottom of our screens lit up; the transcript was ready. We both hurriedly opened it. It was encrypted and the program took a few minutes to translate it; I was so full of murderous energy that I kept drumming my fingers at the edge of my laptop, kicking the wooden bed skirt underneath me, impatiently watching the agonizingly slow progress of the decryption.
“Dietrich, she’s at work. She’s fine. We have plenty of time.”
I wanted to agree with him but everything about Jackson and David, this caller, this new directive to tell her… what? Another lie? Some half-truth?… felt sinister, deceptive, dangerous. Lottie was in danger. I knew it as much as I knew that Eric would go along with whatever I decided to do about it.
The decryption finished, and the missing half of the conversation was there in front of me.
“Jackson?
Yes, Sir.
I read over your email. How the hell didn’t you know about this sooner?
I’m sorry, Sir, she just…
Oh, shut up. You fucked up. [pause] Are you sure this is all accurate? She’s telling the truth?
It was reported correctly, I am certain…
And did you tell her anything about this?
No, Sir, I didn’t.
Good. Then you will tell her this is exceedingly rare. That some part of her must have wanted this girl to live again. That most of us could not have done what she has done. That she is responsible for… resurrecting her.
Yes, I would be happy to…
I want you to tell her in person.
You would like for me to tell her in person?
Yes, that’s what I said, isn’t it?
When?
Tomorrow. Gauge her reaction.
Of course. I will do it tomorrow then.
You understand what this means for all of us?
Yes, Sir, I understand. [pause] Sir? Are you sure we should tell her?
We have to now. [pause] And one more thing. Tell her a judge is coming to evaluate her.
Ok, yes, I will.
Don’t fuck this up, Jackson. Call me if anything else happens.
Goodb…
[end transcript]
“Well, what the fuck does that all mean?” Eric muttered.
“We have to stop them. Tonight.”
Eric pushed his laptop away from him and faced me. He was thoughtful, contemplative.
“We need to be careful. What if we… shit, Dietrich, we don’t want to start a war with some… remember that whole Independence Day thing I warned you about?”
“I’ve never seen that movie. Eric, this is Lottie. You heard David. He was threatening her. And why would they gauge her reaction? How do they want her to react? And a judge? What the fuck is she being judged for? I don’t want them around her. Ever.”
“I don’t either. But we can protect her without triggering some intergalactic invasion.”
“You watch too many movies.”
“We’ll be there tomorrow. Let’s see how he reacts. He knows more about what’s really happened to her.”
“Yeah, and I’m planning on finding out what he knows.”
Eric thought about that.
“Ok,” he conceded, “but let them meet tomorrow. We know where they’re going. We can always follow them to Waco.”
I shook my head. “Not both of us. We can’t leave Lottie here alone.”
“I’ll stay. But Dietrich…”
I shot him an I’ve-already-made-up-my-mind look, and Eric sighed. “Be careful. They’re not… Christ, we’ve never had to deal with anything like this.”
“He’ll bleed. They both will. What’s so different?”
Eric just shook his head. “That’s the problem. We don’t really know.”
Chapter 10
The next morning started off like a repeat. David had taken his position at the table again, isolated, indifferent, while the rest of us sat around the living area. Jackson was trying to affect an air of sympathy and composure, but his trembling fingers as he adjusted his glasses or set down his water glass belied him.
Eric wasn’t sitting this time, but stood by the wall between them where he could reach either David or Jackson if one of them made him feel like it. Jackson was only attempting to fake coolness; Eric exuded it. His arms folded loosely, a bemused smirk playing at his lips, his posture loose and relaxed, Eric was the master here, the others his chess pieces, the king watching neutrally over his kingdom.
Lottie sat sandwiched between Lydia and me on the sofa, both of us wanting to be near her. Unlike yesterday, Lydia was nervous about this second visit. Her fingers kept twitching, and she would occasionally reach over and squeeze Lottie’s hand as Jackson continued to prattle on about how he’d never been to Baton Rouge and how nice it had been to get out of Waco, and even Texas, for a while.
Lydia smiled and asked polite questions when she knew it was appropriate, but even her effervescent personality was starting to wear down.
“Well,” he said at last, “I found out some information for you yesterday.”
Lottie stiffened between us.
“I consulted with someone who has more knowledge about these things than I, and he said it is theoretically possible, but exceedingly rare, for one of our own to have the kind of power that it would take to resurrect a person’s mind.”
“Wait, huh?” Lottie shook her head, as if she could knock loose the tangled logic he was trying to force in there.
“You wanted this, Lottie. We had no idea you were such a powerful young woman. If we had known, we would have never let you come here. But you wanted to save her. So you did.”
Lottie stood up, her jaw set and eyes burning, her small slender fingers balled into fists. She was shaking. “Are you telling me I did this? I did this to myself? This… what? This half-assed suicide?”
She was yelling. I didn’t know if I should try to calm her down or not. Lydia just looked scared.
Jackson didn’t seem concerned. He didn’t
even flinch. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“No. No. No, I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this. I wanted me, I want me back.” She was still yelling, and Jackson was still indifferent.
Now was definitely not a good time for me to try to calm her down; I was just the guy who was here because she was still my formerly-dead-fiancée whom she was claiming she didn’t actually want to be at the moment. I looked helplessly at Lydia, who sat there, wide-eyed and pale.
Great. I was on my own.
“Well, Lottie, you made your decision, whether you remember it or not,” Jackson insisted. Son of a bitch.
“I do remember seeing her! I remember her funeral and I wanted to comfort them but not like this!” Lottie was shaking.
I slowly reached out for her hand, glancing at Lydia to see if she would give me some sort of warning if I was about to do something incredibly stupid, but she was cemented in that state of shock and horror.
“How did you want to comfort them then, Lottie?”
My fingers brushed hers and she didn’t jerk away from me. It took a second for her to realize I was there, trying to touch her, to remind her she wasn’t alone, then she opened her fist and let me hold her hand. I was still struggling to understand that despite her anger and fear, she loved me; not just because Lottie had loved me, but because she loved me, too. And that made me hate Jackson even more.
Lottie took a deep breath, squeezing my fingers, trying to calm herself down. “Like any decent person would. How can anyone watch something like that and not feel it? What about you? Weren’t you at this man’s funeral?”
Jackson hesitated. “Yes. Of course it’s tragic, but without death, we couldn’t survive here.”
“I know. But I had never seen anything like that.” Lottie sank back onto the sofa with us. Lydia’s eyes had filled with swollen, fat tears. I didn’t doubt Lydia had felt the grief of Jamie’s funeral just as powerfully. “When her mother was there alone, or she thought she was, I sat next to her. The whole time. The way she was crying and, I don’t know, I thought, I would die if it could give this woman her child back, but I never thought of anything like this, I swear! I wouldn’t even know how.”