Their conversation moved on to work-related topics, from the differences in their departments to their supervisors, to how long they had been in the administration building, to what it must be like to work with immigration for non-exemplars.
Both Roman and Nadine only worked with exemplars, and the protocols for those without powers were entirely different. It was also harder to emigrate that way, especially if you didn’t have money.
Roman didn’t know what was in store for the rest of the night, but he had a feeling things were going well when Nadine ordered another bottle of apple wine. He would have enjoyed it too, had it not been for the pressing message from the hospital.
Mr. Martin, this is a nurse at the intensive care unit...
The message didn’t need to finish playing out. Roman had been dreading it for the last year.
He’d known it was coming, that it would only be a matter of time.
“I have to go,” he said suddenly.
“What’s wrong?” Nadine asked, concern spreading across her face and furrowing her brow.
“It’s my…” Roman gulped. The person’s name was what made it hard, the noun only half as difficult.
“Please, if there’s anything I can do.”
“I need to get to the hospital on 43rd and 25th.”
“I’ll go with you.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “No, I’ll go alone.”
“Trust me, I can help. Whatever it is, I can help.”
Roman laughed bitterly as he tossed his cloth napkin onto his plate. “Unless you know a healer…”
“Just trust me on this.”
Chapter Thirty-Four: Kevin’s Request
Regardless of the fact that he was currently blindfolded, Kevin was well aware he needed a new outfit.
It wasn’t fair that Turquoise and Obsidian were now wearing body-hugging dark-blue getups, their thighs exposed, with swaths of fabric missing at the back showing the bottoms of their ass cheeks. What they wore wasn’t practical, but most exemplars didn’t wear practical clothing.
As Kevin had seen multiple times at the immigration office, it came with the territory. Supers weren’t all vain, but most knew their clothing set them apart from non-exemplars, which had led non-exemplars to dress in similar ways, imitation being the successful casualty of flattery.
Even though Kevin was overweight, and his BMI alone would have forced the doctor to write him any number of prescriptions to combat diabetes and heart disease, Kevin fancied an outfit that made him look stronger.
He didn’t have muscles per se, but his arms were rather thick, so if someone designed a custom number for him, he could have some stitching that forced his arm fat into muscles. Regarding his waistline: as long as his pants were below the bottom of his belly, and not a high-waisted horror show that would give him a weird lump of fat just above his proof of Kevinhood, he’d be good to go.
Kevin had seen some supers—even a Type I—whose powers dealt with their girth. It was definitely a viable look.
Anything would have been better than the hospital gown he currently wore, its back open and his pale, dimpled, white ass visible, a cold draft tickling the hairs on his bum. Add to this his inability to see anything due to the black cloth covering his eyes, and Kevin felt exposed, more exposed than in a while, and this was coming from the man who’d been kidnapped and sex-tortured by poisonous cat girls over the last several days.
“Where are we again?” he asked Turquoise.
“You don’t need to know where we are; I’ve already told you that, so don’t ask me again, sweetie.”
Sweetie. Kevin liked that. His wife, Susan, had never had such cute names for him. She generally referred to him as Tubby, or Fat Dick, because he was fat and he had a large dick, not because he had a chode. Sometimes she “lovingly” called him Tubby Fat Dick.
So “sweetie” was fine by Kevin.
While the cat girls hadn’t given him new clothing, at least the two had been nice to him over the afternoon. They’d fooled around quite a bit, and Kevin’s balls felt more drained than they’d ever felt before. He didn’t know why the two were so horny, or what they saw in the middle-aged former immigration advisor who was presumed dead, but he didn’t question it.
Things were better that way.
The three came to a stop, and the blindfolded Kevin was told to wait outside with Obsidian.
Turquoise entered, and he heard her muffled voice behind a thick door. His nostrils flared; the place smelled like cardboard boxes, like a musty attic.
“We’re in a warehouse,” Obsidian whispered, her black cat ears flickering. “It’s where Paris holds these types of meetings.”
“It sounded a bit cavernous.” Kevin cleared his throat. “And thanks for telling me.”
“I don’t know why Turquoise wouldn’t tell you. I’m more open,” Obsidian said, her tail lightly flitting against Kevin’s ass.
He started to laugh. “That tickles…”
“Stopping playing around,” Turquoise told Obsidian as she stepped back out of the room.
“Just joking with Kevin…”
“Paris and Ian are ready.”
“Ian?” Kevin asked as they continued forward. His blindfold was removed by Turquoise, who kept the fabric gripped tightly in the hand that was always fumbling with prayer beads.
It only took a moment for Kevin’s eyes to adjust to the light, mainly due to how dark the room was, only lit by a single panel of glass placed high on the wall.
Paris sat at the front of the table, one leg crossed over the other, a bitchy look on her face that reminded him of his former manager, Selena, who’d been especially brutal with him since taking over their department earlier that year.
Kevin took Paris in for a moment, from her dark bangs down to the tight pencil skirt she wore. He had a feeling she was an exemplar, just like the man who sat next to her, a towering goliath with red skin, black clothing, a silver necklace, and thick protrusions jutting out of his forearms.
Definitely a Type II Class C, Kevin thought, unless he’s killed someone. Then he may be a Type I…
The two continued talking as if Kevin wasn’t standing before them partially nude.
“It really was that easy,” said the man Kevin assumed was Ian. “I don’t know how this guy did it, either. I know you promised you could do something, but I’m not going to lie, I was ready to tear that place down trying to escape. I was damn certain they’d come for me.”
“I don’t know what he did, but whatever it was, it worked. You’re now here legally. And I hope you wouldn’t be stupid enough to attack a Centralian government building.”
“Like I said, I was ready. But everything worked out okay. The rest went pretty easily because of his letter of appeal. The Overstay Committee realized their error, and that was that. I just need to file the extension in three months, filing early this time.”
Paris rolled her eyes. “You’ve never done anything on time. That’s why you were in that predicament in the first place.”
“He also had my felony changed to a misdemeanor, the real reason I was getting caught in the system. I don’t know who that guy is, but your hookup at the immigration office is worth his weight in gold.”
Immigration office? Kevin tried to parse through what they’d just said. Who could they be talking about?
“And I’m not even paying him—can you believe that?” Paris said under her breath as she turned to Kevin. “So this is the famed Kevin Blackbook, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kevin started to sputter.
Ian laughed, long and hard, a laugh the former immigration advisor was all too familiar with. The big man’s tone matched that of many of the bullies who had fucked with Kevin over his forty-odd years.
“And how have the girls been to you?” she asked, an eyebrow lifting. “Have they been treating you well?”
“Sure,” he said, not wanting to throw them under the bus. He looked left to see Obsidian smiling, her sharp canines
on display. Turquoise had a similar look, although one of her ears was bent forward.
“Good, because we wouldn’t want an important guest such as yourself inconvenienced. I see they scratched you some.”
“Some” was an understatement. Kevin had claw marks everywhere, on every part of his body. Most were small, but a few—especially on the insides of his thighs—were quite thick.
“I’m sorry for that. They can get a little touchy.”
“It’s fine,” Kevin said.
Ian snorted. “Ever heard the phrase, ‘Look what the cat dragged home?’ Well, that’s what’s going through my mind right now. This is our fucking asset?”
“Keep your mouth shut, Ian,” Paris snapped. “Mr. Blackbook, what can we do to make you comfortable?”
“Clothes.”
“Yes, you want clothing. Any type?”
“Your type.”
“A skirt?” Ian asked.
“No, I mean their type, like Obsidian and Turquoise.”
Ian squinted at Kevin for a moment. “You want to parade around here in what is essentially a bathing suit?”
“No, I mean…”
“…Ah, you want something an exemplar would wear, correct?” asked Paris.
“Yes,” Kevin said, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve given up on my previous life. I want to fit in better, and I don’t want, um, everyone to see my ass.” He turned to show them what he meant. “It’s a little cold, too.”
Ian snorted again, and Paris stared at Kevin for an uncomfortably long time. “Okay, okay. We’ll get you an outfit. Besides, you’ll need it tomorrow.”
“What’s happening tomorrow?” asked Kevin.
“We’re done here,” Paris told Turquoise, looking away from the former advisor. “Call one of our teleporters and wait for them in the other room.”
Chapter Thirty-Five: Hospital Doom
It was nobody’s business.
Only a few people knew who Roman visited at the hospital almost every morning. Maybe these visits were out of a need to repent, a false sense of hope, a desire to change everything that had happened.
Goddamn was Roman sorry.
And no one was supposed to be there, no one was supposed to see something like this. No one was supposed to know the truth. This was who Roman actually was, why he had to go to Heroes Anonymous, why he’d become the womanizing fool he had become over the last two years.
The truth of his petty existence.
“Mr. Martin, I’m glad you got here so quickly.”
“I’m Nadine, Nadine Under,” said Nadine as she shook the doctor’s hand. Like all doctors at this hospital, Dr. Logan was a non-exemplar, a male of about fifty-years-old with gray hair and a soft, dimpled smile.
“Well, as you can see, things are starting to turn south.”
“Turn south?” Roman gulped. He looked to the hospital bed at a needle that was scratching a jagged line onto a sheet of paper.
Roman sucked back tears, noticing his power dial flash in his peripheral vision.
He’d been ready for this moment to come at any time over the last two years. He’d known it was going to come, that they wouldn’t get a healer. Non-exemplars never got healers. Non-exemplars were expendable.
“Two years is a long time to fight,” the doctor said with sadness in his eyes. “There won’t be much more time now. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow.”
“Fuck.” With that word, a wave of emotion moved over Roman. He was unable to prevent himself from dropping his head into his hands, tears streaming. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Nadine told him, her hand on his shoulder now.
“She doesn’t deserve this,” Roman finally blurted out. “I’m the one that deserves this, not her. It was me—dammit it was me.”
“Please, you’re going to disturb her,” said Dr. Logan.
Roman shouldered past the doctor and crouched at the bedside, his vision blurring as he took in his wife’s face.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he whispered. “I’m just so fucking sorry.”
“What happened?” Nadine quietly asked the doctor.
“I’ll leave that for Mr. Martin to discuss with you. I have to check on another patient, and I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes, okay?”
Roman didn’t acknowledge them.
He was looking down at his wife’s frail form, a breathing apparatus over her mouth, her head shaved. It was entirely his fault she was here. His behavior since she’d been admitted to the hospital only made him feel guiltier.
His cheating had begun in a red-light district, a drunken night a few months after the incident that had put her in a coma. He had hooked up with a prostitute—one like Coma, who’d been dressed as a super.
His next hunting ground had been his Heroes Anonymous class, which he hated going to. His addiction to the pleasure and escape that he derived from sex had only grown from that point forward, until Roman had become the man he was now, the man kneeling at the bedside of the woman who’d been in a coma for two years.
The woman he’d loved, the woman he’d betrayed.
He cried for multiple reasons: the guilt, her pending death, his promiscuity. Everything hit him in that moment, and Roman could not for the life of him hear what Nadine was trying to tell him. His coworker was behind him now, her hand on his shoulder as she said something unintelligible.
“Celia,” he whispered, wishing the words would somehow wake her up. The bed began to rattle, her breathing apparatus and the blanket covering her thin body curling at the ends.
Roman caught himself just in time.
A deep breath in, he tried his damnedest to steel himself and suppress his new ability, his power dial lighting up again.
There was nothing Roman could do. He’d accepted this long ago, and he’d been desperate for a healer from any of the provinces to come through his immigration line. But they never came—they really were that rare. And besides, if a Class H had come through, there was still the issue of his wife being a non-exemplar.
Non-exemplars were rarely healed.
“Left to fucking rot,” Roman whispered, each word more bitter than the last. “Left to fucking rot.”
Nadine’s words broke through to him: “Roman, I have a solution for you.”
It was then that he stopped sobbing and wiped his tears away, turning to see Nadine, a kind yet borderline sinister smile on her face.
“I’m sorry you have to see this,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“Forget about that part. I’m going to tell you something now that may surprise you. After I tell you, you will know more about me than I would like you, or anyone, to know. At that point, if you don’t go along with what I’m offering, I will be forced to take drastic measures.”
Roman almost laughed. His eyes dropped to the floor beneath Nadine, realizing that it would only take a second for the floor to collapse, for her to fall to the next level, where he could pulverize her with the ceiling and anything else he wanted to put down that hole.
“That’s an odd look to be giving me,” she started to say.
Roman sniffed, wiping his nose with his arm. “What are you proposing?”
“Once I tell you this, there’s no going back. With that said, I’m actually…” Nadine bit her lip. She usually didn’t have this much of a problem with the big reveal, but there was something about Roman’s light-orange eyes and disheveled white hair, his puffy red cheeks, the way he looked at her with resting ill intent… It was making her feel nervous. “I’m a spy for the Eastern Province.”
Roman swallowed hard. “You’re what?”
“I’m a spy for the Eastern Province, and I’ve been watching you for a couple weeks now, wondering if you could help me somehow.”
It was the second time in the last few minutes that Roman felt like laughing, and even with the tragedy before them, the irony that he was now being courted by two spies seemed like something out of trolley-stand paperback fiction.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m deadly serious,” she said, not sharing his laughter. “And I believe there is a way for you to see your wife one last time.”
“Celia?” Roman looked to the frail thing in the hospital bed—her shaved head, the way she twitched ever so slightly.
“Celia has been out for a long time, hasn’t she?”
“Two years,” he said on the tail end of a sob. “Just about. A little less, actually.”
“We do not have any healers; that’s not what I’m offering you. What I am offering you is a Type II Class A.”
Roman raised an eyebrow at her. “A telepath?”
“Not any telepath. This one has the ability to unite two people’s consciousnesses.”
“But she’s unconscious.”
“She’s in a coma, yes, but the telepath that works with us has dealt with similar situations before. Say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”
“Just like that?” Roman asked, still eying her in a curious way. Nadine still couldn’t figure out why he kept looking at her feet and the ceiling above her.
“Just like that. Of course, I’ll need a few things from you in the future.”
“I figured as much.”
Roman was about to protest when he stopped, realizing that he now had some leverage considering his new power. If there was anything he could do to see Celia again, even if it was semi-artificial, he’d do it, and forging whatever paperwork or whatever else Nadine wanted was worth it.
It could be a set up, he thought as he looked her over.
But it didn’t feel that way. And if it was a setup, Roman could end everything pretty quickly by bringing the building down.
“Fine,” he finally said. “What do we need to do next?”
“Just let me handle everything from here. Do you trust me?”
“I don’t know.”
Nadine smirked. “That’s good enough for me.”
House of Dolls Page 15