House of Dolls 2

by Harmon Cooper

  He looked over to see Coma in one of Celia’s exemplar outfits, just in case things got out of hand.

  His eyes shut, Roman mentally ordered a teleporter and gave his location.

  “Thank you, Celia,” he said as he took the rest of her power and turned to Coma, pressing some of it into her. “How do you feel?”

  “Stronger,” the masked doll said, tensing her fists.

  “I don’t know if this is a trap or not, so we have to both be ready. We also have to both be as relaxed about this as possible when we are around the director. Got it?”

  “Got it,” said Coma.

  Roman slapped his cheek a little bit, shook his hands out and loosened up his shoulders. He brought his hands in prayer position in front of his face just as the teleporter appeared.

  He barely noticed what the teleporter looked like, only that it was a woman, and as soon as Coma and Roman got in the place, they were gone in a flash, appearing at their destination in a matter of seconds.

  The teleporter vanished again, no words exchanged.

  Roman practically kicked down the door; it took incredible restraint not to use all his power to rip the walls open.

  “Please, Mr. Martin, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. The authorities will figure out what happened,” said the funeral director, the little man taking in Roman and Coma with wide open eyes.

  “What happened to her?” Roman asked, gasping for air as if there were no oxygen in the room. “What happened to my wife?”

  “I… Just follow me,” the funeral director said with a short nod. He led Roman into the back room, the same room he’d been in yesterday to see Celia’s body.

  Nothing was out of place—that was the first thing that struck him.

  There wasn’t a hole in the wall or crater in the ground, or anything to indicate someone had been here.

  But there was a body missing from the coffin at the side of the room, and that body belonged to his deceased wife. Roman reached for the funeral director and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling him in until they were eye to eye.

  “Please, Mr. Martin!”

  “I’m only going to ask you once,” Roman said, gritting his teeth. “Where the hell is she!? Who did you let in here!?”

  “No one!” the director said, gasping for air as he looked at the masked woman with Roman and saw that her fists were at the ready, awaiting some type of ambush. “I sleep upstairs,” he said. “I would have heard someone enter the room, and teleporters can’t port into these spaces, which is why you had to appear outside. Please let me down! The walls of all funeral homes are made out of an anti-teleportation material, same thing they use in prisons to prevent people from…”

  “Where is she?”

  “Please, Mr. Martin, let me down!”

  Roman realized then he was lifting the man and the corners of the room were starting to turn inward, forming spears. He dropped the funeral director and the room flashed back to normal, the funeral director not noticing the trembling walls as he stared into Roman’s orange, hate-filled eyes.

  “How could this have happened?” Roman finally asked.

  “It has never happened before, I swear, and the authorities will be here soon to investigate. Please get ahold of yourself, Mr. Martin. I would never allow desecration of the corpse, or for her body to be removed under any condition. I’ve been in this business my entire life. My family started this business—my grandfather. Please.”

  Roman turned away from the man, suddenly feeling ashamed he’d lost his temper. It was clear the funeral director had nothing to do with the disappearance of his wife’s corpse, his conviction evident on his face.

  “I’m sorry I lost my temper,” Roman said. “I took Celia’s death quite hard… I haven’t processed it correctly… I shouldn’t have done that.” He looked over to Coma to see her investigating the room, touching the walls and the floor in search of any sign an exemplar had been here.

  “Cancel the authorities,” Roman said, steeling himself.

  “Cancel them? They’ve already been informed, but it’s not their top priority because the…”

  “Because what?”

  “Because she was already dead,” the funeral director said in a low voice.

  “Cancel them. There is someone else I can talk to about this, someone else who may be able to do something.”

  Roman paced back and forth in front of the funeral parlor.

  He hardly noticed the gray clouds above, the moisture in the air, the wet street or the few drops that had started to fall from the sky.

  “Come on, Nadine,” he whispered, knowing full well he was being impatient.

  He’d only messaged her a minute ago; even with the speed of telepathically transferred messages, there was usually some lag time. If she had any outgoing messages encrypted, which she almost certainly did, it may take even longer. Plus it was early.

  “We’ll find who did this,” said Coma, her voice unwavering. The black-haired doll with the red eyes held a newspaper over her head to protect herself from the light rain.

  Roman didn’t know where she’d gotten it, but a cursory look around told him she’d picked it up on a covered bench outside the parlor, where a few issues sat in a heap.

  Roman noticed a picture of Mister Fist on the front page, the big man holding a water boiler over his head, his black mask covering the fact that he likely had a big grin on his face. Roman would have had one; being a strongman had its advantages, and being one with an additional elemental power was even better.

  A message came in, and Roman grimaced as it played out in his head: Good Morning, Mr. Martin. This is Dante from HR. I wanted to see if you could stop by the immigration office to fill out some additional paperwork regarding Mrs. Martin. Unfortunately, I’m unable to have a teleporter deliver this paperwork because I have to witness its signing. Please stop by my office tomorrow at your convenience, at or around noon. I have you on my calendar now. Let me know if you have any additional questions.

  “This fucking guy,” Roman grumbled.

  “Which guy?” asked Coma, the newspaper over her head getting soggier by the minute.

  “HR guy. I can’t wait until I don’t have to put up with this shit. Of all days. And he asks me to stop by at my convenience but gives me the time he wants me to visit. Whatever. I’ll sign the stuff and then rejoin you, wherever we are tomorrow.”

  Another message came to Roman, this one from Nadine: Hey, we can meet now, actually. I have something I’d like to discuss with you too. Can I send a teleporter? Reply with your location.

  Roman looked up at the funeral home: Willard Funeral Services, he thought back to Nadine.

  “Teleporter should be here any minute.”

  Coma nodded. “Hopefully Nadine can help.”

  Lightning crackled in the sky above and a cold breeze blew past, making Roman wish he’d worn a warmer jacket. It wasn’t long after that a teleporter appeared, a female who couldn’t be over the age of twenty. She wore a short plastic raincoat and a pair of matching rain boots, black with yellow polka dots.

  She smiled at Roman and without her moving closer to him, Roman, Coma and the teleporter simply faded away. Their bodies reformed in a room lit by…

  A person?

  Roman took a second look at Lisa and recalled her situation (especially now that he saw her lifeless body lying on the table). The shell of an exemplar was quiet as Nadine greeted him.

  Nadine sat at a table in the corner of the room, going over a stack of documents. She wore casual clothing—the first time Roman had seen her in such garb—but she still looked stylish, as beautiful as the first time he’d spotted her at the immigration office.

  “You first,” Nadine said as she looked up at him.

  “Me first?”

  “Please, sit.”

  Roman did so, Coma standing by his side.

  “You mean you’d like me to tell you why I contacted you before you discuss whatever it is you want to discu
ss with me?” Roman asked.

  Nadine took off her reading glasses and offered him a genuine smile. “What’s up?”

  “I received a message from the funeral director early this morning saying my wife was missing. I checked it out. There are no signs of disruption at all in the room, the walls are intact, the area is impervious to teleporters. Someone stole her.”

  Nadine raised an eyebrow. “Someone stole your wife’s corpse?”

  “Yes, and I’m hoping that you—I mean, the East—may have some way to check a crime scene. There are some exemplars with psychometry, as you’re well aware. Others can see traces of energies that have come and gone from a place. I don’t know any, and I figured you’d know.”

  Nadine closed the packet of paper before her. “Well then, it looks like we can arrange something, because I’m also in need of your assistance. What are your thoughts on a little vacation?”

  Chapter Seventeen: Reciprocity

  “I can’t come to class today,” Roman told Ava. It was early afternoon now, and he’d tried to cancel via mental message, but she had refused to let him, demanding that he meet her for a late lunch.

  “You’ve already told me that,” she said as she closed her menu. Coma sat next to Roman, still in her borrowed superhero getup. They hadn’t gone home yet, Roman not able to face the home he had once shared with Celia, and part of him was happy Ava had strongarmed him into meeting for lunch. “What happened?”

  “I have an H-Anon meeting tonight,” he began. “After that, I think I’m just going to go home and think about some things. And I’m going out of town tomorrow.”

  “Are you?”

  The fiery exemplar looked down at her feet, offering a small view of her cleavage. She reached forward and picked up a small, fluffy white dog named Bonbon. She had already introduced Roman to the dog, and his only thought was that it was delicate and cute but useless against an intruder—not that someone with the ability to burn down an entire block needed the protection of a guard dog.

  “Yes, and I should be back in a few days.”

  “Do you mind if I ask where you’re going?”

  “I have some things to attend to in eastern Centralia. Some family.”

  “Do you hear that, Bonbon? Roman has family in eastern Centralia,” Ava told her dog. “He never mentioned that before. And I don’t remember reading it in his record, do you?”

  The dog barked, a high-pitched squeak.

  “Can I hold it?” Coma asked.

  Ava looked from Roman to the animated sex doll. “You know what? Sure. You can hold her; just be careful.”

  She handed Coma the dog, which Coma carefully brought down into her lap. Bonbon was a lapdog, so she was used to being held and didn’t struggle at all.

  “Well, you need training regardless of your vacation plans, so if you’re not coming today, you’ll need to come tomorrow before you leave.”

  Roman picked his menu up again out of habit, just to give himself something to focus on as he got his thoughts in order. “Sure, I can come in the morning before I go to work.”

  “I thought you had the week off,” Ava said as the waitress approached.

  “I have to go in to do something for HR, no big deal.”

  “I see. I’ll have my usual,” Ava told the waitress, a short woman with a mousy face and curled hair. “He’ll have my usual too.”

  “I will?” Roman asked her, raising an eyebrow.

  “Trust me, this place has the best soup and sandwiches. You trust me, right?”

  “Sure, I’ll have what she’s having.”

  “And for you, ma’am?” the waitress asked Coma.

  “I already ate,” said the doll, her soft hands lightly scratching behind Bonbon’s floppy ear.

  “Why do I feel like you aren’t telling me something?” Ava asked after the waitress left.

  “Believe me, I’m telling you as much as I’m able.”

  She laughed. “You know, with a power like yours, there are many things you could do that I wouldn’t know about. Hell, you might even have more aspects to your power than you’ve let on.”

  “I’ve told you everything about it now, including that I can modify paper,” Roman reminded her. “You’ve tested the rest; you’ve seen what I can do.”

  “Moving on.” Ava finally took a long sip of carbonated water from a wine glass. “I thought more about what it would take for you to be on an exemplar team—you know, the same type Mister Fist is on. With heavy training, and also an internship, it may take upwards of two years. That said, you could start the internship during the training process, which is a route many take. However, I get the feeling you don’t want to wait two years.”

  “I’m not getting any younger.”

  “You wouldn’t tell by looking at you, Roman,” she said, raising her wine glass to him. “You are a strikingly handsome man, and you’ve kept yourself quite fit, which is one of the common issues when non-exemplars becomes exemplars.”

  “But most non-exemplars, if not all, do have a heightened condition already,” he said, recalling Sam’s sniffing power. Roman hadn’t really processed what the guy had done, and usually it wasn’t the power of smell with non-exemplars so much as a slightly heightened agility.

  “Compared to what?” Ava asked.

  “You know, I never actually thought about that part. Maybe it’s just something non-exemplars tell each other to make us feel more valuable.”

  “It’s understandable, and there is evidence to suggest non-exemplars truly do live up to their other name, half-powereds,” said Ava, “but not everyone’s slightly enhanced ability has to do with physical strength, like your little friend in the H-Anon group.”

  “I wouldn’t consider that guy my friend, but I guess it boils down to a simple truism: everyone wants to be something they’re not, even if they’ve achieved exactly what they want to be. Does that make sense? Because it’s what I’ve noticed.” Roman took a sip from his own water, gritting his teeth as he thought of his wife’s stolen body returned to him.

  Whatever it takes, he thought as he carefully set his glass down, aware of the fact that focusing on it any harder would likely animate it.

  In a way, Roman was blessed by how quickly he had adapted to his power. He’d heard of other exemplars and their struggles through puberty with the blossoming of their powers, but Roman had experienced none of this. Sure, there had been a few growing pains, but he felt like he had better control over his power as each day progressed.

  “You see, that’s the face that worries me,” Ava said.

  “What face?”

  “You went from relatively happy to a cold glare in the time it took for you to set a glass down.”

  “Things have happened, things I have to deal with, and that’s all I’d like to say about that. Now, you made it sound like you had another suggestion for a possible path to public service…”

  “Ah yes,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “You may prove beneficial to a rapid response team, and remember, a lot of these people are thought of as heroes as well. They’re not on a team that technically goes around fighting exemplars who have turned criminal, but they do sometimes encounter them, and they’re the people who truly keep the city safe. You know, it’s a myth, all this hero nonsense, people flying around and lifting things and saving others. The people truly saving others are the first responders, public defendants.”

  Roman thought of the newspaper picture he’d seen earlier, Mister Fist rescuing someone by lifting a large stone slab. Could it really have been just a PR stunt?

  “And I’m sure you’re thinking of some of the pictures you’ve seen in the papers and the tabloids, but take it from me, and I hate saying it like this…” Ava cleared her throat. “A lot of that stuff is staged. In real hero work, the type that some of the most famous exemplars take part in, the work is less saving and more killing, to be as frank as possible.”

  “They save people too.”

  “That’s true, but
they kill a lot more, and not all these people are the criminals they’re after. Some of them…”

  “Here’s your bread,” the waitress said as she set the basket on the table. “And your rosemary garlic dipping sauce.”

  “Some of them what?” Roman asked after she left.

  “I’m sure you know this from working for the government already in your role as an immigration advisor, but not everything is black and white. Not everything is as simple as it seems. I don’t want to go into it any more than you want to go into what’s actually on your mind right now. So, how about we change subjects?”

  “Fine by me,” Roman said. Bonbon barked and Coma lifted her into the air, bringing the dog’s face close to hers and smiling.

  Ava smirked. “So you’re off the hook for tonight, but tomorrow morning I want to see you bright and early. Think you can handle that?”

  “Sure, I believe I can.”

  “I am not a super-powered individual. I am not an exemplar. I have never had a superpower. I am not a hero, nor will I ever be a hero. I am not a superhero. I am half-powered. I will always be half-powered. I am a non-exemplar. There is nothing about me that is extraordinary. I am not a hero. I am not a superhero. I am half-powered. I will always be half-powered. I am a non-exemplar.”

  Roman said the mantra along with the others. Ironic, sure, but there had been a time in the recent past when Roman hadn’t felt the sting of irony in his life. As soon as he’d finished reciting the twisted mantra, Roman received a message from Harper letting him know she’d be working tonight and that she’d love to catch up.

  I’ll come by if I can, he finally thought back to her as Bill, the H-Anon sponsor, took the stand. Harper, the waitress he’d met the night Nadine had stood him up, continued to be patient with him.

  Roman appreciated that.

  “Thank you, everyone. I want to remind all of you that pledges are due at the end of the month, and I will personally read each of your pledges and follow up with you on them. Plus more volunteer work, and no groaning, Sam. It’s important to remember who we are, and who we’re not,” said Bill. “That doesn’t mean we aren’t powerful in our own way, but as per the Centralian government regulations and Title XII, it’s important for non-exemplars to recognize they do not share the same powers as some of their peers. This does not make them lesser; it only makes them different.”