by J. Judkins
Angel’s eyes became heavy in accusation. “You said it was a sex toy.”
“Only because I didn’t want Dad picking it up!”
“Ah.” Angel folded her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “One mystery solved. I had wondered how you managed to identify it so easily.”
“Where is it now?”
Angel reached down and pulled, and Kim let out a gasp. The unpleasant tingling stopped at once.
Kim looked at the device in Angel’s hand, but didn’t venture to touch it. “Well. That was . . . embarrassing.”
“I can’t speak to the embarrassment, but I’ll take your word for it that it must have been. Shall we continue where we left off?”
Kim hesitated. Should she mention the vision?
The brief interruption had done nothing to curb her desire. She still felt ready to finish what she’d started, but would stopping to discuss her experience kill the momentum? The foreign memory still burned in her mind, but for how long? Would it fade like a dream if she dared put it off?
Kim’s eyes fell to Angel, waiting expectantly, and she made her decision. To hell with the vision.
“I don’t really feel like talking right now,” Kim breathed in her best bedroom voice. She took the device from Angel and set it behind her on the nightstand. “Why don’t we put it off until morning?”
Angel lay back on the bed, her long whitish-blonde hair spilling out over her pillow. “If you’re certain that’s what you want.”
Kim couldn’t help but drink in the sight of her. How had she ever ended up with someone so amazingly beautiful and wonderful? “Yeah,” she breathed. “That’s what I want.”
A moment went past.
Then another.
“Angel?” Kim prompted.
There was no answer.
“You better not be asleep,” she warned.
The deep silence was followed by even more deep silence.
Kim scooted closer. Her eyes confirmed the truth she didn’t want to believe.
“Dammit, Angel, I meant put off talking until morning.”
Kim crossed her arms in a huff. This wasn’t right. Since when did Angel misinterpret things to avoid sex? It was supposed to be the opposite. Surely the entire concept defied the natural order of things.
For the longest time, Kim did everything she could to force herself into action, to wake Angel up and proceed as planned. But she couldn’t make herself do it. It simply wasn’t in her nature to be the instigator. Besides, her make-love-to-Angel-casual-like plan could only work in the heat of the moment. Anything blatantly obvious would be counterproductive and defeat the purpose.
Completely out of options, Kim lay next to her beautiful, yet increasingly frustrating girlfriend and glared up at the ceiling. Why did Angel even feel a need to sleep, anyway? She must be doing it just to spite me. That has to be it.
Was there a silver lining? Considering how far she’d gone out of her way to justify her plans, perhaps she’d gotten lucky things hadn’t worked out?
Kim gave her pillow a vicious thump. She sure as hell didn’t feel lucky.
Chapter Fifteen
Kim woke up alone in an empty bed. She threw aside the covers and for once didn’t feel overly self-conscious about waking up naked.
Her mind felt clear. Or at least, clearer. Certainly not fogged over with lust and blind desire to do this and that with Angel. She wasn’t obsessing about it, or thinking about it. Not even a little bit.
Except, of course, for actively thinking about thinking about how she wasn’t thinking about it. Which didn’t count.
Kim looked up at the ceiling and let out a deep sigh. Okay, fine. Admit it, Kimmie. You’ve got it bad.
So, what now?
There had been a distinct transition in her relationship with Angel. An invisible line had been crossed. What this meant for her in the long term, or even the short term, she couldn’t say. The answers refused to come, dancing elusively just out of reach.
Despite what she once believed, her feelings toward Angel weren’t becoming more manageable with time and experience. They were becoming more intense, increasingly more chaotic. Control was an illusion. The old tried and true ignore-the-problem-until-it-goes-away strategy simply wasn’t paying off as expected.
The evidence may not be conclusive as of yet, but it was piling up. How long had she been feeling this way?
For a long time now, Kim realized. She hadn’t crossed that particular line on their very first night because she hadn’t believed Angel was being entirely truthful. She’d enjoyed everything Angel had to offer, but her own emotions were still in doubt.
So what did it say about her today, at this moment, knowing that she was 100 percent looking forward to taking that all-important step?
It meant . . .
Wait, who said anything about looking forward to it? There were other reasons mixed in.
The fact that she was willing to do it today, when she’d been apprehensive about doing it before, only marked it as a point of transition. It told Kim that this was the moment she finally realized she trusted Angel. The last hurdle had been overcome. She knew Angel loved her emotionally, and knew in her heart that she wouldn’t abandon her and leave her wanting by the wayside.
That was it. End of story.
But Kim’s hopeful subconscious refused to give up. If you refused before because you weren’t in love, her mind prompted, yet today you’re willing, then that must mean . . .
Kim’s conscious mind rebelled. Who cares about any of that? That doesn’t matter! I’m going to go through with it because of reasons, damn it!
But first things first . . .
Kim thought back to the previous night, and what amounted to a foreign memory being stuffed inside her head.
It all came back to her in a rush. All of it. Every last detail. The memory felt as if she were reliving an actual experience. Not even her own memories were as unnaturally vivid and realistic.
The foreign memory hadn’t faded at all.
Unfortunately, neither had the embarrassment.
Kim found a convenient wall to beat her head against and proceeded to do exactly that. She and Angel were supposed to go out into the world to find and steal alien technology, not take it home and see if they could have sex with it!
The dull, throbbing headache helped only in that it gave her something new to complain about. Kim slipped on some clothes and padded off to the bathroom to find an aspirin.
Angel was seated at the kitchen table. Kim poured herself an orange juice and sat down opposite her, avoiding eye contact. How was she supposed to broach such an embarrassing subject? Should she start with the vision? Or discuss the device itself?
Her thoughts were interrupted when Angel reached across the table, slid the orange juice from Kim’s side to her own, and took a sip.
Kim raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was that yours?”
“No. It was yours,” Angel said.
“Would you like me to pour you some juice?” Kim mocked.
“No, thank you.”
“I could, you know.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
Kim recovered her pilfered drink and placed a fingertip on the edge. “Mine. Not yours. Mine.”
“It tastes better when it’s yours.”
“Speaking of thieving tendencies, I wanted to talk to you about something.” Kim’s hands smoothed down the material of her jeans. “Last night, when you used that thing on me . . .”
“The Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator?”
Kim grimaced. “Yeah. That. I kind of blanked out for a second.”
“I remember.” Angel nodded. “One moment you were lost in sexual euphoria, doing your best to deny giving voice to rising—”
“Stop describing it!”
“Sorry,” Angel said; she didn’t sound sorry at all.
Kim grumbled something unintelligible.
“You were saying?” Angel prompted.
“Something else happened. While the . . . rest of it was happening.”
“You mean, something beyond your euphoric—”
“Yes. Beyond that. I’m not sure how to describe it.” Kim raised a hand, as if to grasp the elusive thought. “When I blacked out, I wasn’t unconscious. I felt as if I were sent a picture, except it was more like the memory of an event. As if someone thought of this one specific building really intently, and then somehow took a snapshot of it and stuffed the entire experience into my head like a psychic text message.”
Angel became still. “This happened to you last night?”
Kim nodded.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You didn’t give me the chance.” Kim made no attempt to mask the bitterness in her voice. “You fell asleep.”
“Could it have been one of your own memories?”
“It wasn’t mine.”
“How can you be certain?”
Kim’s hands clasped the drink before her, but didn’t pick it up. “You’re going to think it’s stupid.”
Angel waited.
“I remember thinking to myself, ‘where in the world are my sunglasses?’ I know it wasn’t my own experience because it was really bright out, and I never go anywhere without them. Whomever the memory belonged to didn’t seem to care.”
“When you see a bright outdoor scene from a movie, you don’t automatically reach for sunglasses,” Angel pointed out.
“This wasn’t a movie clip, Angel.”
“Perhaps the device can be used to call up old memories? Children rarely wear sunglasses. Could it have been a childhood memory?”
“No, it seemed recent to me. I don’t know how I know, but I know.”
“Were you able to recognize where you were?”
“It was just a street.”
Angel slid her hand closer to Kim’s. Touched by the gesture, Kim met her halfway.
The moment her orange juice was unguarded, Angel deftly stole the drink away. “Were there other people around you?”
Kim’s eyes narrowed. “I’m the one who buys that.”
“And I thank you for doing so.” Angel’s face was smug as she took a long drink before returning the glass to Kim’s side of the table. “Were there others around you?”
“I didn’t see anyone, but I know a few others were around.”
“Describe the weather.”
“It felt like a summer day. Sunny. A bit windy.”
“What do you remember about the buildings?”
“I didn’t recognize it.”
“Interesting choice of words,” Angel remarked. “Was there one specific building that seemed more important than the others?”
“Didn’t I say that before?”
“Was the important building surrounded by other buildings?”
“Yes, on either side.”
Angel’s fingers drummed the table as she considered her next question. “Tell me about them. Were they restaurants? Shops? Office buildings? Did you see any advertisements or signs?”
“I know there were two restaurants behind us.” Kim’s eyes lit up. “A Chinese buffet, and some sort of delicatessen. That’s it! We could look them up!”
“Very good.” Angel took advantage of Kim’s excitement to pilfer another drink. “This knowledge should put us in good standing with our employer.”
“Yeah. About that.” Kim grimaced anew. “I don’t think we should turn it in.”
Angel raised an eyebrow. “Why not? Isn’t this what we were hired to do?”
“Yes, but we used it, Angel! We can’t let them have it now. They’ll take it and run tests on it!”
“Why is that a problem? It wasn’t damaged.”
“I know it’s not broken. That’s not the point.” Kim ran a hand through her hair. “It’s just . . . I don’t want them finding out what we . . . how we used it last night. It’s embarrassing!”
“We could wash it off.”
“Washing off a murder weapon never works in the police dramas. And anything stronger might damage it.”
“I wouldn’t think an alien artifact would be vulnerable to cleansing agents. I don’t foresee a problem.”
“It isn’t just physical evidence I’m worried about. Last night, I somehow managed to pick up a memory from a previous owner.”
Angel’s expression didn’t change.
“Am I going to have to spell it out for you?” Kim again combed a hand through her hair. When she realized she was doing it, she placed both hands flat against the table to keep them still. “What if the next owner picks up stray memories we may have left behind?”
“We were only able to activate the device through a very specific set of circumstances.”
“What if Harrison or one of the others turns it on by accident?”
“I seriously doubt a professional researcher would ever choose to have sex with it.”
Kim babbled and stammered incoherently.
“I didn’t mean to imply an insult,” Angel said. “You’ve convinced me. Let’s hold on to it for now. We may have further use for it.”
Kim snorted. “Yeah. It’s a literal plot device. The whole thing sounds like a bad My Little Pony joke.”
Angel gave Kim her very best what-in-the-world-are-you-talking-about stare.
“It’s a fan-based definition of the word ‘plot,’” Kim explained. “As in, ‘I watch it for the plot?’ If you were a fan, you’d get it.”
“Ah,” Angel said.
“You understand?”
“No.”
Chapter Sixteen
Naomi strode through the halls of Brookings Pharmaceutical as if she owned it. Today marked her first day as a supervillain, the first on her personal quest to claim a life for herself.
But her transition wouldn’t be accepted by all. A few minor obstacles would need to be overcome.
Speaking of which . . .
“Good morning,” one of her coworkers said. The man stood in Naomi’s path, smiling as if pleased to be personally obstructing her rise to power.
Naomi altered her course slightly, pretending not to have heard him. It was vital she remain focused on her task.
“Did you bring something?” the man asked, keeping pace with her.
She shifted her burden from one hand to the other in an attempt to shield it from view. She recognized him now—Robert something-or-other. A wage-slave drone from marketing.
“Yes,” Naomi said. Then she thought better of it. “No.”
Robert’s stare remained devoid of the light of comprehension.
“Yes and no,” she amended. “It’s complicated. They’re intended for another purpose, is what I meant to obscure.”
He blinked.
Whether satisfied with her answer or hopelessly confused and determined not to show it, the results were the same. He went away. Naomi continued on unabated.
Brandon’s double doors were closed. On any other day, this minor deterrent would have been enough to delay her. But not today. Today, she was a supervillain. She knocked a courtesy knock before seizing the left door handle, pulling it open as far as it could go, and then brazenly walked inside without asking for permission. Her skin felt flush with excitement. The subtle disrespect would probably go unnoticed by her target, but that wasn’t the point of the exercise. The important thing was that she was able to do it.
Brandon’s office was very similar to Naomi’s own—a desk, with space for chairs on either side. The windows were the only difference. Naomi didn’t have any, while Brandon’s windows at the far wall offered an unflattering, close-up view of the building next door. The sight of dirty brickwork made Naomi appreciate her own office’s ordinary walls.
Brandon gave Naomi no more than a cursory glance. “I didn’t see you this morning. Where were you?”
Naomi smiled a secret smile, content to wait until after the door had eased shut behind her. She reveled in the implied insult. Brandon’s telling words wou
ld prove beneficial, giving her the mental push necessary to follow through on her plans, to do what needed to be done.
He wasn’t aware of it, but Brandon was digging his own grave. Hammering the nails in his own coffin. Barking up the wrong tree. There were other phrases which would doubtlessly apply to the situation, but few of them made sense when one stopped to analyze them.
“Yes, that’s true,” Naomi said.
“See that it doesn’t happen again.” Her self-centered boss returned to his own work, apparently considering the matter settled.
Naomi focused on the callous dismissal, allowing deep-seated resentment—both real and imagined—to simmer and burn within her. His cruel attitude. The condescending judgment. That hideous, ridiculous-looking tie. Brandon was guilty of all of it. This had gone on long enough, and could not be allowed to continue. Absolute power had corrupted him, absolutely. Something needed to be done.
He needed to be . . . removed.
Naomi attempted to cackle maniacally in her head, but it made her feel ridiculous. She gave it up.
With a flourish, Naomi pulled away the wrapping from her tasty treats. “I’ve prepared snacks for you.”
Her boss didn’t even glance at the plate she offered. “Not interested,” he said, and waved her off.
Naomi opened the office doors, then turned back, as if reconsidering. “If you don’t try at least one, the others might become suspicious,” she said in a confidential whisper.
Brandon cast an irritated glance beyond Naomi, to the office workers outside.
At that moment, Naomi knew she’d won. Her gamble had succeeded. It was hard not to smirk. In truth, it didn’t matter if any of the humans were paying attention or not. What mattered was keeping up appearances. The act of eating in front of others was a necessary part in maintaining the illusion of normalcy, and none of their group were immune to the deeply ingrained need to behave according to human expectations.
Even Naomi couldn’t count herself immune, but unlike the others, she wasn’t using willpower to overcome her own personal social conditioning. Her new supervillain persona gave her the freedom to follow a different path, to ignore old rules by following a new pattern of behavior. Being a villain allowed Naomi the ultimate freedom to plot Brandon’s downfall, even while holding true to her original purpose.
