by Nic Tatano
"Or, what?"
"This might be part of his original endgame."
The gloves are now off.
Rebecca Cruise, now United States Senator Rebecca Cruise, is in Washington today, having taken the oath of office this morning.
So it's time to get pro-active and take the initiative. Sorry, Mom, but the hell with waiting for her to make the next move. Fuzzball and I are teaming up on one of our investigations, only this isn't a paying gig.
We're going to project ourselves and find out all we can on the Cruise Missile. He's going to be the fly on the wall in her Senate office while I'm going to zap myself over to her New York townhouse and do some digging. She's out of town so I should have plenty of time to go through everything, though my main objective is her computer. Since technology was my father's thing, the thinking is that she's got plenty of digital information. Mom is keeping an eye on our actual selves while we're out of our bodies.
Fuzzball takes the reclining chair while I stretch out on the couch.
"Just stay away from the windows," he says. "She lives alone so you don't want to spook the neighbors into thinking there's a burglar in the house."
"Copy that," I say, saluting him as I get into detective mode.
"And I don't think her little boytoys will be hanging around with her out of town," he says.
"How long will you be gone?"
"Till I get what I need. Anyway, you ready?"
"Yeah, let's rock."
Mom heads to the kitchen. "Good luck, you two."
Fuzzball closes his eyes and I know he's off on the DC astral projection shuttle. Frankly, it's amazing to me that he can go such a long distance. I do the same, focusing on the photos I've seen of her home from a real estate brochure Fuzzball dug up.
I materialize in the living room. I don't turn on the lights, as I don't want to do anything that might make neighbors suspicious. But there's plenty of natural light filtering through various windows, so I can see fine. The room is professionally decorated but doesn't look lived in. A brown leather couch and matching love seat dominate the room, accented by a couple of oak end tables, a coffee table and an antique secretary. A large framed print of Monet's water lilies is the only thing on the wall. It's one of those living rooms "for show" that never gets used. I flip open the secretary's top and look in the drawers but it's empty, obviously a decorative piece.
With absolutely nothing of use here, I leave the room and move down a long hallway and find what is obviously her bedroom. A king-sized four poster bed, matching nightstand, and a beige wing-backed chair fill this room. I can't resist, so I open the door to her walk-in closet and rummage through the racks. One side is filled with professional clothes, which is probably the stuff she'll wear now that she's back in the public eye. The other side features her cougar seduction fall collection: an age-inappropriate wardrobe comprised of ridiculously short skirts, revealing dresses, various spandex items and a bunch of stiletto heels. But no computer, no papers, no books of any kind other than a legal thriller on the nightstand.
The kitchen offers nothing of interest, and considering the oven looks as though it's never been used I'm going to assume she doesn't cook. Big shocker there. The fridge is bare, without the usual children's crayon drawings or photos.
The guest room offers nothing of use either. The tour of the first floor complete, I head up the very creaky hardwood stairs and find what I've been looking for.
Her office.
The strong smell of cigarette smoke hits me as I enter.
A large oak desk sits in the center of the room, illuminated by a large circular window in the center of an exposed brick wall.
And there's a laptop computer on the desk.
I slide into the leather swivel rocker behind the desk. I flip open the laptop and hit the power button.
The stale tobacco smell is awful so I shove the marble ashtray filled with butts to the far end of the desk next to a copper lighter in the shape of the State of Liberty.
I drum my fingers on the desk as the laptop hums to life, hoping the thing isn't password protected.
The screen on the laptop clears, and thankfully it isn't.
Since I'm not sure what I'm looking for and could be here all day, Fuzzball has taught me a technique by which the whole contents can be copied and emailed without any record showing up on her computer. (The stuff our government can do is scary, though, in this case, very useful.) I go through the steps and send countless gigabytes to the secure address at The Summit. Take that, bitch.
I can't help but smile, knowing my main objective has been completed. But there could still be more, so I decide to continue searching the rest of the house. When I get up from the chair, what I see stops me dead in my tracks.
A framed photo sitting on the credenza near the window.
Rebecca Cruise is much younger, in her early twenties, laying in a bed, hair matted, no makeup, looking exhausted but smiling, as she holds a baby.
It's obvious she's just given birth.
And standing behind her, wearing a huge smile, is a man.
My father.
My jaw clenches as I grab the photo. I study it, the looks on their faces much different than the other photo I was shown at The Summit. Where the other picture showed people who might have been friends, this shows something much more. I turn the frame over, and start removing the photo.
Not because I can take it with me, because I can't. I want to see if there's a date on the back.
The loud distinctive metal click of a deadbolt turning makes me stop. I hear voices from the first floor, a door close, then two sets of footsteps heading up the creaky stairs.
My hair stands on end as I quickly put the photo back in its frame and on the credenza.
A light in the hallway turns on.
My last thought before I disappear isn't one of hate for my father.
It's that I might have a half-sibling.
I'm pacing in the living room like a caged animal, waiting for Fuzzball while trying not to explode with the information I've stumbled upon. But I need to unload this on someone, and soon.
Ninety long minutes later Fuzzball finally opens his eyes. I haven't told Mom about what I've learned, nor am I sure if I should. I know the revelation would hurt her. Especially if my father was having an affair before he left us.
As for the possible half-sibling, I'm not even sure how I feel. It's too much, too soon. But, as you've come to learn, that's pretty much the norm when it comes to me.
Fuzzball rubs his eyes as he flips the lever on the recliner and returns to a sitting position. He turns to me, "Oh, you're back already."
"Been back for an hour and a half."
"How'd you make out?"
"We lucked out. Her computer wasn't password protected, and I copied everything like you told me, but I couldn't stay long."
"Why not? She's in D.C."
"She is, but someone with access to her house isn't. A few minutes after I got there I heard two people enter the place."
"Do you know who it was?"
I shake my head. "Nope. I was upstairs in her office. I heard people coming up the stairs and I needed to get out of there before they saw me."
"Well, at least you got the computer, that's huge. You're an honorary member of the CIA. You're a girl in black."
"Thanks, but I'll pass on that title. What'd you get?"
"A few things, but not much. She was basically getting introduced to Frank Parker's staff, so she wasn't alone for long. But when she was, she made a phone call that was interesting. She told the person on the other line to make contact with your father Saturday night."
"Do you know who it was?"
He shakes his head. "No. She covers her tracks well. The number didn't show up on her cell and I couldn't hear the voice on the other end, not that it would have told us much. Besides, it was a ten second phone call, and it was obvious she was giving the order. But what we can take from this is that she's not the person w
ho has been contacting him."
"But if she's a dream weaver, doesn't it make sense it would be her?"
"You might think that, but it could simply be a very powerful mind reader. Remember, your father isn't necessarily dreaming, he's in a coma. Anyway, Jillian, we'll figure it out. At least we know exactly when your father will be contacted."
"Detective, there's something else—"
Mom walks into the room carrying a pitcher of lemonade, so I clam up. "I heard you guys talking. Good trip, detective?"
"I got some very useful stuff. Cruise is not the one contacting Jillian's father."
"Hmmm. Interesting." She puts the pitcher on the coffee table and begins pouring glasses. "Well, we knew she wasn't working alone."
Fuzzball nods as she hands him a glass and he takes a sip. "Yeah, but we still don't know who she's working with."
I walk Fuzzball out to his car as I need to get away from my mother. "Detective, I found something else. Something I didn't want to tell you in front of my mom." I tell him about the photo, and the implications. I'm concerned he held something back on the photo he brought to The Summit. "I was wondering if that photo you got from the feds had a date on it."
He looks me right in the eye and I know he's not trying to hide anything. "Sorry, Jillian, it was something taken from his home after you guys fried him. I take it there was no date on the photo you saw tonight."
"I was about to take it out of the frame to check when I was interrupted."
"Well, it could be something as innocent as him visiting a friend in the hospital."
"Nice try, Fuzzball. I know two people in love when I see it. He looked like a very proud father. Same as he did in the photo holding me."
"Look, kid, don't take it so hard. Your father was not a nice person. But you have a great mom and a lot of people who love you."
"Yeah, I know. Deep down I guess I'd still like to meet the guy mom fell in love with."
"That's understandable, but he no longer exists. Anyway, I guess we'll have to do some more investigating on their relationship if you're going to be able to sleep nights. I'll put one of my guys on it. If the child was born in this country there will be a record of it. But with your father's assets, they could have easily gone abroad and kept it quiet. Or the records could have been deleted. She was in politics before, so the last thing she'd need would be a record of a love child. But if your father does have a kid out there, we need to find that person. It might be a big part of the equation, it might not. And there's something else we need to consider."
"What's that?"
"Your father has two powers and so does Cruise. If they actually did have a child together, can you imagine what their offspring would possess?"
To say I'm in shock is putting it mildly as Roxanne and I breathe in the sugary air of her family's pastry shop. I've already wolfed down one cannoli and am considering another. Check that, I'm considering a third. I've already decided on a second.
"You tryin' to make the weight?" asks Roxanne.
"I'm stressed. Leave me alone and get me more pastry." I clap my hands. "Chop chop."
"Demanding little redhead, aren't you? Though you won't be little for long if you keep this up." She shakes her head, gets up, walks behind the counter, and returns with a second cannoli. This one is dipped in chocolate. "Knock yourself out." She slides the plate across the table, then takes my hands as I reach for it. "Hey, look at me." She gives me the soulful sisterly look we've shared since childhood. "This stuff with your father and Cruise doesn't change who you are."
I squeeze her hands and feel my eyes welling up. "You're the only sister I've ever had. The only sibling I want."
"Old Sicilian saying: members of a family often grow up under different roofs."
"Is that sorta like you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family?"
"Something like that. Just because you have a blood relative doesn't mean you have to love that person. Or even like them. Hell, we've got an entire flock of black sheep in my family. And if you do have a half-sibling, no one says you have to accept this other person. If we can even find out who it is. And so what if your father knocked up another woman? It doesn't change your views of him. It's actually par for the course if you ask me."
"Rox, I'm more concerned with my mom. She went through enough this spring…and now this."
"Hey, he left seventeen years ago and she did fine. She's a survivor. Tougher than you think despite the outward emotions."
"Yeah, I know."
"You gonna tell her?"
"Not if I don't have to. It would hurt her too much and, honestly, what's the point? But I have to tell Sebastien because of the implications. Like Fuzzball said, a child from those two could have powers that are off the charts."
"Or this person might not have powers at all. The muses in my family skip a generation."
"That would be nice, but the way our luck runs there's another evil comic book villain out there."
"But suppose we find this person, Jillian, and he or she turns out to be a decent human being? Might be an incredible ally."
"With those two parents? I highly doubt it."
"Your father is the antichrist and you turned out okay. Evil can skip a generation as well. Or maybe good is a dominant gene."
"That's a nice way to look at it. I sure hope you're right." I look back at the pastry and lick my lips, my anxiety already having burned through the first one. "Can I have my cannoli now?"
She smiles and lets go of my hands. "Sure. I'll lend you a pair of my stretch pants."
"Smart ass."
"Just trying to lighten you up. Speaking of which, why don't you go spend some time with Ryan tonight?"
I look at the clock on the wall. "It's kinda late. And I don't wanna ride the subway at night."
"I didn't imply that you should. Just beam yourself over there. Jillian to Enterprise: energize."
I hear my mother sawing wood through her closed bedroom door as I make my way up the stairs to my own room. I'm mentally exhausted from all I've learned today and want to simply shut my brain off for a while. I close the door, take out my cell and text Ryan.
Are you still up? Desperate redhead ready to drop by.
I hit the send button and hear the familiar swoosh which tells me the message has been sent. Now I wait. I curl up in a ball, knees to my chest, and wrap my arms around my legs. I really don't want to be alone right now. Roxanne put things in perspective and made me feel a little better, as did my cannoli binge, but I need my boyfriend.
My phone dings and I eagerly hit the button that will reveal the message.
Sure, but take a cab. Don't want U on subway.
The hell with that. I stretch out on my bed, close my eyes, focus on his dorm room.
And materialize in front of him.
He jumps back, grabbing his chest. "Dammit, Sparks, you gotta warn me when you're gonna do that. It scares the hell out of me when you just appear."
"Sorry, I didn't want to wait."
"But I'm glad you're here. This is a nice surprise."
I move forward and wrap my arms around him, lean my head against his chest. He rubs his hands across my back, then pulls away and tilts my head up with one hand. "What's wrong, Sparks? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"You're not too far off."
I unload everything, telling him the story of my trip to Cruise's house, the photo, not telling mom. How my mind has been going off on tangents as I try to process the possibility that I have a half sibling out there somewhere. While wondering if that person is as evil as the parents. Or maybe someone who might possibly help us?
He kisses me on the top of the head and gently strokes my hair. "I'm sorry, Sparks. That's an awful lot to process. I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything. Just hold me."
"That I can do."
He hugs me tight as I bury my head in his chest, breathing in his cologne. I really don't want to leave. "Ryan…can I stay he
re tonight?"
He pulls back and looks at me, eyes wide. "Seriously?"
"I don't mean…that. I mean spend the night. Sleeping here. With you just holding me."
"Your mother know you're here?"
"Doesn't matter. She trusts me. And we're not going to do anything."
"Sure. Besides, when we do take the big leap I want the real you. Physically, I mean."
"Yeah, me too."
Ryan gets into bed, still wearing a tee shirt and sweatpants, and I slide in next to him. I'm exhausted. I throw one leg over him while resting my head on his chest. "Sweet dreams, Sparks." He gently kisses my head.
"Not a problem anymore."
"Really?"
"Yeah. The angel's little trick with the ring works great. When I run into someone I don't like, I basically tell them to go away, snap my fingers and they disappear."
"Good. Glad to hear she can't screw with your head anymore."
I tilt my head to look at him. "Speaking of which, young man, in the dream she created the other night you were on the beach with some cheap stacked blonde in a string bikini who was all over you."
He leans his head up to look at me. "Really? Was she hot?"
I playfully slap him on the shoulder. "Watch it, Mister. I can beam outta here in a flash."
"I'm sure she was a slut. Thankfully I'm not into that type. Y'know. Cheap stacked blondes in bikinis. Don't even care to look at 'em."
"You really are mastering the care and feeding of redheads."
He leans back, rests his head on the pillow and wraps an arm around me.
I’ve never felt better as I fall asleep.
Chapter 10
When I first woke up I was disappointed I did so in my own bed. When I got up to look in the mirror, I was glad I did.
The last thing the man of my dreams needs to see before we take the big leap is how I look in the morning. Not that I'm a candidate for the road company of Tales from the Crypt or anything, but my combed-by-an-eggbeater hair, droopy eyes and dragon breath aren't exactly a man's idea of a fantasy. I'd personally like to do what Kristin Wiig did at the beginning of Bridesmaids: wake up before the guy does, get gussied up, go back to bed and pretend to be asleep. Then when he wakes up I'll look as good as I did when I turned in and he'll think I'm radiant 24/7. Of course, after we're married there'll be no turning back for Ryan from this haggard ball and chain.
