Super for You, Bad for Me

by Asta Idonea

  Apparently, that was easy enough. My job hunting had played right into their hands, proving the perfect opportunity for close surveillance. They’d come to an arrangement with the owner of the restaurant. The new chefs they’d hired, and any random customers, had remained in the dark as to the restaurant’s true purpose, but the so-called “regulars” had been a mix of paid actors and undercover police officers and special operatives.

  When I asked why he’d pretended not to speak English, Nguyen told me it had seemed easier. Plus, it had allowed them to talk between themselves without betraying to me that anything was amiss. I also wondered how they’d known I’d find the place and apply. Nguyen explained that their analysis of my life, using everything from government records to social media and CCTV footage, suggested that I’d eventually pass that way; although, they’d had to reject a number of other eager applicants while they waited. If I hadn’t taken the initial bait, they’d have dropped a flyer in my letterbox to lure me there.

  It was only when the window blew that they’d realized there was another piece in the puzzle. The surveillance team stationed outside had seen Laurence approach. They’d watched him break the glass before driving off. Unfortunately, his actions had taken them completely by surprise, and they were too slow to catch him. By some stroke of luck, however, he’d not worn his hoodie on that occasion, so they were able to get a clear enough view to identify him from their video footage.

  Nguyen described that as a “major breakthrough” in the case. Until then, they’d assumed I’d been born with my powers but that they’d only recently manifested. Now, in tracing Laurence, they deduced the slime to be the common factor. They’d approached the special effects company for the recipe, made up a batch, and run countless tests. But nothing yielded the same results. Whatever mistake Laurence had made in the process while under pressure that day, no one had managed to replicate it thus far.

  They’d kept tabs on us both after that. Nguyen had wanted to move on Laurence after the bus incident. He’d believed my actions back then exonerated me from further investigation. Others had favored circumspection. Laurence’s different approach with the bomb had caught them unawares. However, when they saw Laurence pursue me and Kane to the rooftop, they’d prepared to intervene. Sadly, they’d arrived too late, and my actions didn’t give them a chance to explain. The violence I’d displayed that day also renewed their concerns about me, making them determined to bring me in.

  Kane returned to the room at that point, freeing me from some of my lingering anxiety. They’d dressed his hand, where I’d burnt him, but otherwise he was fine. Pending results of a few final tests, the doctor had given him a clean bill of health. With that settled, we went through things from his point of view, but it wasn’t very enlightening. He’d blacked out during his fall and couldn’t remember a thing until he awoke and found himself strapped to a bed in Laurence’s secret laboratory.

  Providentially, one of Nguyen’s associates chose that moment to arrive with a copy of Professor Blakey’s signed confession—they’d arrested him when he exited the lift, as I’d imagined they might—and that document filled in some of the blanks for all of us.

  Everyone in Nguyen’s team had believed Kane perished. In reality, thanks to Laurence’s intervention, he’d landed more gently than anyone could have anticipated. Though it was more luck than judgment that his neck hadn’t snapped when Laurence caught ahold of his clothing to slow his descent. A waiting ambulance had immediately carried him away. The rapid response time was because Laurence’s friend drove the vehicle. Although he’d hoped to eliminate me, Laurence’s agenda had always been to kidnap Kane at the same time; he’d merely exchanged drugging him for the unexpected fall.

  In many ways, the accident had served Laurence’s purposes even better than his original plan since no one would hunt for a dead Kane as they would for a missing one. Instead of taking Kane to hospital, the ambulance driver, with Professor Blakey’s help, had smuggled him into the university. Professor Blakey, through his medical contacts in the “old boys’” network, had also aided in covering up the kidnapping from an administrative point of view so that no one would question the lack of a body. The plot involved a web of people, all of them roped in with the promise of powers in return. The police would soon pick up everyone named in Blakey’s confession and take them for questioning, including Brad, who was alive and suffering only a broken arm and a slight concussion from his collision with the wall. Once they had all of Laurence’s people in custody, Nguyen’s team hoped to gain further clarity on the logistics of how Laurence had accomplished the clever kidnapping without raising a single suspicion.

  Only one vital question remained unanswered: Who was the mystery figure with whom Laurence had spoken on the phone? Blakey had mentioned a rich backer, but he’d had no clue as to the person’s identity. Nguyen’s approach was the same as the one I’d planned; though doubtless he’d manage it more efficiently. He asked one of his team to review the calls and trace the number. They’d monitored Laurence’s registered phone, but he’d hardly used it in weeks. This one had to be a throwaway. Nguyen seemed surprised that Laurence would have had such forethought, but I wasn’t.

  Like me, Laurence had worked in the film industry. Any spy movie taught the basics of avoiding detection. Regular swapping out of throwaway phones was Going on the Run 101. Indeed, upon reflection, I was amazed at my own stupidity in keeping my phone on me. Although, in my case, I’d needed the Internet access, without which I never would have tracked down Laurence. It did chafe a little, though, when Nguyen confessed they’d known my whereabouts the whole time I’d considered myself to be “in hiding,” and would have done so even if I had ditched my phone. So much for choosing a motel off the beaten track. Despite his calm demeanor when he took my payment, the owner had recognized me, and he’d dobbed me in as soon as I went up to my room.

  After nearly four hours at the station, Nguyen advised us that we could leave. In light of the situation, he booked us into a hotel room, all expenses paid, until the truth came to light and we could see about countermanding Kane’s death certificate and retrieving his frozen assets. There was also a need to avoid the media for a few days while Nguyen’s superiors decided how best to release the story.

  Kane and I remained silent during the journey from the station to our temporary lodgings, but that was more from fatigue than because we didn’t want to talk. Although I longed to reconnect with Kane on a physical level, my body simply wasn’t up for it, and clearly he felt the same way because we showered together and climbed, naked, into bed with nary a touch. Once under the covers, however, Kane snuggled against me. It was comforting to have him back in my arms, and I fell asleep contented for the first time in what felt like forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  WE SLEPT through most of the next day, rising only for food and toilet breaks, and on the second day, we woke around 11:00 a.m. I was keen to stay in bed longer, but Kane insisted it was time we rose and resumed some sort of normal routine. So we got up, called room service, and brunched. The staff also dropped off some temporary clothing Nguyen had left for us, which comprised of jogging bottoms and baggy tops. He’d also included baseball caps and sunglasses, in case we needed to venture outside undetected.

  News of Kane’s survival and my exoneration had already hit the press—we’d caught a report on the news late the previous night—but we weren’t yet ready to face the public, so, rested and refueled, we got back into bed instead and made up for lost time, reacquainting ourselves with one another’s bodies.

  That evening, we turned on the television to catch the news, only for a surprise headline to render us momentarily mute.

  Director Barry Hidgkin Implicated in Kane Teague Kidnapping.

  We boosted the volume and listened as the reporter related how police had traced a call from the deceased Laurence Bartholomew’s phone to Barry. They’d picked him up for questioning earlier that day and he’d immediately confessed all.


  As the report ended, the phone rang. It was Nguyen, who confirmed the veracity of the news report and added a few details of his own, having obtained permission to do so from his superiors, given the unusual circumstances of the case.

  Apparently, Barry had heard tell of my plank-wielding self-defense when Laurence alerted him to the possibilities it presented. Laurence had experienced his own telekinetic awakening by that point and had drawn the connection to the slime. He’d persuaded Barry they could reproduce it and sell it for an astronomical sum.

  With Barry’s directing career heading toward an ignominious conclusion, he’d seen the chance of a payout and signed on. His role had been that of paymaster, providing the capital for the raw materials Laurence needed for his experiments. He’d known about Laurence’s attacks and Kane’s kidnapping but had kept quiet, still hoping for success. However, when Laurence failed to deliver on his promise, Barry had threatened to go to the police. Unfortunately for him, the police had come knocking on his door first.

  “Well, that solves that mystery.” Kane’s arm around me was a reassuring weight. “That’s all the loose ends tied up, right?”

  I shook my head. “We still need to get your affairs back in order. That may not be easy.”

  “My lawyer will handle that. I already spoke to him while you were sleeping. He thought it would take a few weeks, but he didn’t foresee any insurmountable obstacles under the circumstances. I spoke to my parents as well. They want to see me, of course, but I persuaded them to wait a few days before they drive up. They’re looking forward to meeting you too.”

  “Me?” The familiar fear of parental introduction gripped me.

  “You can’t avoid it forever, Os. If you can face Laurence, I think you can handle my family.”

  A surge of guilt accompanied all this talk of family when I realized, in all the excitement, I’d not yet contacted my mother. Slipping out of Kane’s embrace, I picked up the handset and dialed the number. My mother answered and immediately burst into tears when she heard my voice, which only made me feel worse for not having thought to call sooner. She made me promise to visit soon, and bring Kane, so it looked as if family meet and greets were going to become a trend in my near future.

  When I finished that call, I dialed another number. Actually, I couldn’t quite remember it, so it took three attempts to reach the right person. Speaking with Ellen made talking with my mum seem like a walk in the park. I had to endure a three-minute—I timed it—nonstop tirade before she broke off in tears. Making two women cry in the space of a few minutes; that had to be bad karma. She was determined to see me at once, so I swore her to secrecy and gave her the hotel address and room number.

  She was hopping mad over my “antics” when she first arrived, but Kane soon charmed her into a better mood. At one moment, as she stared into his eyes with obvious adoration, I worried that he would face a second kidnapping if he didn’t stop flashing his pearly whites. Ellen would make a formidable opponent if it came down to a fight. Luckily it didn’t get that far. Ellen departed an hour later, after extracting a promise that we’d keep in touch and visit her soon, and Kane and I went to bed.

  Kane’s lawyer called the following morning. Money was still a work in progress, but he’d managed to get new keys cut for Kane’s house and permission for Kane to resume residence, pending completion of everything else. He would drop off the keys at reception. Kane’s stuff was mostly still in situ. He told us it was fortunate the truth had come out so soon. Much longer and it might have made things tricky with probate.

  While we were packing our meager possessions, with the intention of quitting the hotel and relocating to Kane’s place as soon as possible, Nguyen stopped by with an update. He advised us that all those implicated in the plot would face charges. Once we resolved Kane’s legal and financial situation, all that remained was for us to stand as witnesses during any trials. Other than that, we could return to our normal lives. In theory, anyway. I had a strong suspicion that it wasn’t going to be that easy.

  Nguyen asked again to speak to me regarding my powers, and how I could, and should, use them, so I promised to meet with him later in the week. He also wanted to run some MRI scans. Laurence’s autopsy had revealed that the slime had had an adverse effect on his brain tissue—a contributing factor in his erratic behavior—which confirmed my own prior theory. Although I didn’t display any of the same symptoms, they wanted to be certain I was suffering no ill effects from my own exposure, and I reluctantly agreed.

  Nguyen told me not to panic. According to his science guys, the problems Laurence had faced were likely caused by something particular in his genetic makeup. Or else from the mode in which he’d acquired his powers. After all, he’d inhaled the fumes while brewing the mixture, rather than swallowing the finished product. But Nguyen was right: it was better to be safe than sorry, despite my continued reservations about men in white lab coats.

  On the whole, I was willing to follow Kane’s example and trust Nguyen. Although our former relationship had stemmed from a lie, and our prior communication had had its limitations, I had previously considered him a friend. I was also confident that Kane would kick up a fuss if anyone tried to lock me in a research facility or perform unsanctioned tests on me. His celebrity status packed a punch, especially in light of his miraculous resurrection. No one would win out against popular opinion if he led the charge.

  A couple of hours after Nguyen left, Kane and I collected the newly cut house keys from reception and caught a taxi to his place, shrouded in our baggy ensembles. Inside, all was the same; although, someone had cleared out all the food, so we’d have to make a trip to the supermarket in due course. Kane had a secret stash of cash in his bedroom, which he found untouched, so that would feed us for a few days until everything else worked itself out.

  Kane’s lawyer had promised power by the end of the day, and the water was already running. As it happened, the electricity took until the following morning, but that didn’t matter. We ate takeaway pizza by candlelight, and sitting there with Kane, licking cheesy strands from one another’s lips, I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that everything was going to be all right.

  Epilogue

  THE REST you doubtless already know. The days and weeks that followed were quite the media circus. There remained a few dissenting voices, but for the most part, the public was thrilled that the police had cleared Greenbird of any wrongdoing and that Kane was safe and well. My fan club regrouped and expanded, while Kane’s also experienced a surge in membership. As we slowly returned to everyday life, we became the most photographed couple in England. The National Theatre even commissioned a play about our story, which will premiere next year. They approached me and Kane to play ourselves in the piece, but we politely declined, partly because it seemed a tad narcissistic and partly because we were too busy.

  Kane had started principal photography on a new film. Meanwhile, I had two new jobs with which to contend. I’d decided to leave acting behind me. I was never going to make it big, and if I did so now, it would be down to my celebrity status, not my talent. Instead, I found work with a construction company. I shifted all their timber and steel around for them, saving them a fortune in machinery and its upkeep. The one proviso is that they let me leave on the spur of the moment, whenever I receive a call from job number two.

  Nguyen kept his word: there was no experimentation after the MRIs came back clear. He even offered me employment within his team. They pay me a small retainer and I am on call, as Greenbird, whenever they need assistance. It’s a fun gig, and it makes me feel useful.

  Not everyone is thrilled with the arrangement. There have been a handful of small protests. Some people think I belong in a cage; others still believe I’m the criminal mastermind behind Kane’s kidnapping and that it was some bizarre attack on Barry Hidgkin for not giving me a lead role in his last film. On occasion, that makes me angry, and then the fire flares.

  One of the conditions of my
employment with Nguyen is to get the flames under complete control. Therefore, once a week, I travel to a secret location to meet with a lovely psychologist and behavioral therapist called Andrea. It’s Andrea who suggested that I should write this account. She hopes that getting the full story out there will both silence my remaining critics and allow me to exorcize some of the guilt I still carry over the things I did—or nearly did. I’m not convinced it’s going to work, but I guess only time will tell.

  Everyone else is doing fine. My mother gets on so well with Kane’s family that she’s moved in with them, which is a little weird. Agent Nguyen is back to full-time secret-policing, while the restaurant is once more in the hands of the original owner and has become a tourist hotspot. Business is also booming for Ellen, who has released a collection of Greenbird-inspired fashion wear, as well as putting together the occasional costume replica for cosplayers.

  Trials are coming up soon for those involved in the attacks and Kane’s kidnapping, so we’ll have to wait and see what happens there. (This book won’t release until after the jury reaches its verdict in the final case, so as not to raise claims of a mistrial.) Meanwhile, they rushed postproduction on the film that started it all, keen to benefit from the general furor, and it has smashed box office records worldwide. The studio has already approached Kane about a sequel.

  As for Kane and I, we’re as happy as Larry. We got engaged earlier this month, but the wedding won’t be a grand affair—just family and close friends in an intimate ceremony. We’re both in the spotlight enough as it is.