by Linda Mooney
"Uh-huh. And?" She knew he was impervious to normal lightning.
"It wasn't natural, Chey. It was black lightning. A type not generated by nature. We think it could have had a negative charge, which was why it blew me out of the sky."
A pause. "We?" Cheyenne questioned.
"Sherandar and I."
"That bitch?"
"Hold on, sis. She saw me get hit. I was knocked unconscious and fell onto a roof. She pulled me to safety before I could be struck again."
Silence. His sister waited for him to continue his story. Paul sighed. "Anyway, we decided to team up together to find out what was going on."
"Together? Why?"
"Because she didn't cause that lightning to hit me."
"Or so she says."
"She didn't, Cheyenne," Paul rebuked her. "She said she didn't, and I believed her. She agreed to team up so she could clear her name. And before you chastise me again, let me continue."
"All right. Go ahead. I'm listening," the woman remarked, but he could hear her disbelief in her tone.
"We met over at the Westbrook Hills substation to study the effects of the explosion, when more storm clouds rolled in. Storm clouds that looked exactly like the kind I'd seen earlier."
"The black lighting kind?"
"Yes. Furthermore, they gathered directly above us. Not over the city. Nowhere else but right on top of us."
"Like they were being guided there, under some kind of remote control?"
"Precisely. We started to leave, when I was hit again. This time, I nearly went down for the count."
There was another sharp intake of breath. "And Sherandar?"
"She wasn't hit. It would have killed her if it had. But since she was next to me, she was affected and knocked out. We woke up inside a cage-like contraption, surrounded by concrete walls."
"You were captured?"
"Yes. Those two strikes nearly did me in, sis. Apparently that's what Bob was hoping for. But when he discovered I wasn't dead, he came up with another solution to his problem. Either it didn't occur to him that a third hit would have finished the job, or he wasn't able to generate another bolt."
"Wait. Hold on. Bob? Who's Bob?"
"That's what I need you to do. See if you can find out anything. I wish I could give you more information, but Bob is all I have. That, and the cell block I burned down was in that district over on Renfrow. Guess I caused that fire."
"Why did this Bob target you?"
"While I was unconscious, he made a comment to Sherandar. He told her we two were the only people who could stop him, which was why he had to kill us."
"You, I can understand. But why her?"
"Because she's super intelligent. Apparently Bob believes she's capable of coming up with some means to defeat him. I believe she can, too."
"So how did you escape? What was Bob's other solution?"
"He put Sherandar in the cage with me, knowing that if I tried to burn my way out, I would kill her. He also put us on a hunger watch. No food, no drink, nothing."
"But you got out!"
"Yeah. Somehow I managed to find enough power to burn my way out."
"And Sherandar?"
Now came the difficult part. The reasoning for what he did, and why he felt he had no other choice.
"She's alive."
"How?"
"I had her strip my uniform off me and put it on. I hoped it would protect her to where she would survive long enough for me to burn the place down, and I could fly us both out."
"Apparently your hunch was correct. But Paul, if she took off your mask, she saw your face!"
"Yeah."
"She can recognize you now!"
"Yes."
"How... Where did you take her? Surely you didn't drop her off at the hospital where others could see the real you?"
"No. I brought her here. To my apartment."
"Paul Canton, are you insane? To your apartment?"
"Chey, I was at the end of my rope. I needed reenergizing, and I needed it quickly. My power was totally depleted, and we'd gone three days without food or drink. I honestly didn't think I could make it to a hospital to drop her off, and then come here."
"How is she doing?"
"Very well. She's asleep at the moment. I just fed us a little oatmeal, and I was about to crawl back inside my regenerator when you called."
"And you're okay? You're sure? Don't lie to me, Paul."
He smiled. "I'm doing better. Honestly. But I need a little more time inside the capsule before I'll be strong enough to face whatever Bob tries to throw at me again. In the meantime, I need you to see what you can dig up on this megalomaniac."
"I'll get right on it. What do you plan to do about Sherandar? Now that she's seen you and knows where you live. Oh, geeze, Paul, she'll discover your real name and who you are!"
"I know. I know. It was a chance I had to take, but I had no other choice."
"Yeah, you did. You could have let her die," Cheyenne softly replied. "But that wouldn't have been you. You wouldn't let her die to save yourself." She sighed loudly. "So you're going to stay holed up there until you get your strength back?"
"Yes."
"You still haven't told me what you plan to do about your new roommate."
"Until she's healed enough, she's staying here."
"Paul, are you sure? I think those lightning strikes affected your common sense."
"She's a brilliant woman, Chey. Maybe, between the both of us, we can come up with a deterrent to defeat Bob."
"And then what? Let's say you two bring this Bob guy down? What happens then? Do the two of you go back to being arch enemies?"
With one simple question, she'd struck at the core of his dilemma. What would happen? Was it even a possibility he and Sherandar could remain in some sort of partnership? Or would they go back to the way they'd been, always at war? Always on the defensive? Always on the lookout? At the thought, his stomach twisted into knots.
"I don't know, sis. I...just...don't...know," he admitted reluctantly. "Guess we'll have to wait and see."
Chapter Twelve
Awake
Sunlight was streaming into the bedroom when she awoke. Since there was no clock on the nightstand, it was hard to tell what time of the day it was. Not that it mattered.
She was hungry and she needed to pee. On top of that, her skin felt tight and dry, and sticky. Sitting up in bed, Sherandar looked around. "Okay. What first? Eat or bathe? Right. Pee first," she announced softly, and crawled out from under the covers.
She paused at the window to glance out, and was surprised to spot several familiar sights in the distance. "Well, I'll be damned. We’re still in the city. Quazar, you're a local boy!" Laughing to herself, she went inside the bathroom and turned on the light. Again, she had to pause in amazement.
"Ho-lee shit."
The room was a shrine to black marble. From the sink to the shower, the floor and the walls, the place gleamed. Even the toilet was black porcelain. The rods and rings, however, as well as the faucet and fixtures, were brass. A pure white towel and washcloth hung near the shower, and several more lay folded on top of a brass shelf above the rod. If she could have whistled in amazement, she would have.
"Damn! Being a superhero must pay big bucks."
She gazed around the half door in the shower. She had never seen one where the fixture was on the wall opposite the spray head. Turning on the water, she started to undress, when she finally caught sight of herself in the huge mirror above the sink. Her face was reddened with first degree burns. Strands of her hair that had failed to remain inside Quazar's head mask were burnt to a crisp. But other than that, she looked in remarkably good health despite what she'd been through.
Shedding the uniform, she dropped it onto the floor since there didn't seem to be any kind of hamper nearby. If there was, she didn't feel like searching for it. "Besides, he's probably going to want to throw this one away anyway."
The water was tepid
when she stepped inside. As the strong spray hit her skin, she groaned in pleasure. A bottle of body wash and a bottle of shampoo plus conditioner sat on a small ledge below the shower head. She helped herself to both, not caring if she'd smell like a guy when she was finished.
She must have spent a good half hour soaking up the heat. When her stomach's call for sustenance grew too insistent, she reluctantly turned off the shower, dried off with the towel, and tromped back into the bedroom to check out what was in the bureau's drawers. Pulling out a pair of sweat pants and an old white T-shirt, she quickly dressed. Without a comb to remove the tangles in her hair, she bundled up her mane in a towel and went in search of the kitchen.
If the bathroom wasn't enough to stun her, the state-of-the-art kitchen did. Again, Paul's decorative preference for black was evident here. Except, in this case, it was black granite that covered the counters. Even the dishwasher, cabinets, and massive four-door fridge kept the color scheme.
All except for the stove.
Sherandar stared at the old, pale yellow range and oven. It was a gas burner, and obviously an antique. "With all the other modern marvels in this place, why are you using this old thing?"
A pot sat on one of the burners. Over on the counter, next to the double sink, sat the tray he'd used to bring their breakfast. More utensils and bowls filled the sink.
"Since he cooked, it would only be right for me to clean, right? Got to do something to pay for the hospitality. But before I get elbow deep in suds, let's check out the fridge. Let's see if he has anything other than beer and leftovers in it."
Once more, she was in for a shock. "Damn, Paul! What are you? Some kind of closet connoisseur?" The shelves were stocked with food items. There were greens in the crisper, eggs and cheese in their own little areas, and not one single carton of Chinese takeout to be seen. Even the freezer had its share of neatly labeled meat wrapped in butcher paper. The only prepared item she could find was the carton of vanilla ice cream.
"What? No toaster waffles? No frozen pizzas?"
Checking the fridge again, she found a slab of Havarti cheese. As she nibbled on it, she decided to take in the rest of the house.
A short bar separated the cooking area from the small dining table that was tucked on the other side, near the living area. On the table, she found a laptop computer and a yellow legal pad. Curious, she checked out what he was working on.
"Hmm. Looks like a recipe. Bourgeoisie oatmeal with applesauce and cinnamon. Sounds like what you served up earlier, Quay-Quay." She looked back at the kitchen. "So you're an amateur chef. Man's gotta have a hobby, right?"
She strolled into the living area, prepared for anything. Or so she thought. "Okay. I give up trying to pigeonhole you into a category, Paul," she admitted as she took in the worn and comfortable furniture: the overstuffed fabric sofa; the faux leather rocker recliner; the TV tray; the wall sectional filled with books, CDs, and old LP records; an outdated stereo system. Everything except for the obvious.
"Where the hell is your TV, Paul? Who lives without a TV? I'd have thought you'd at least like to catch yourself on the evening news."
Licking her fingers, she quickly checked out the only other rooms in the apartment, a second bath and bedroom. Both were very simple, very common, unadorned and totally unremarkable. Sherandar blinked in confusion, then glanced over her shoulder, to where the other bedroom lay.
You put me in your bedroom, when this one was available? Why?
A shiver went up her spine, and her pulse quickened. Why? The one word question repeated itself over and over in her mind. Why? Why was she allowed to use his bedroom, when he had another one at hand?
"But you weren't using it," she argued with herself. "You slept downstairs."
Maybe he planned to join you later?
Damn wishful thinking!
"I'd like to go back and lie down some more, if you don't mind."
"Solar regenerator. Basement," she muttered, and went in search of the way down. She found it at the end of the hallway, abutted to the kitchen. At first glance it appeared to be a closet until she opened the door and saw the steps leading south. Nodding in appreciation, she followed the wooden stairs.
A single bulb lit the dark space, throwing shadows on the cement block walls. She noticed a second laptop lying on a workbench, and went over to inspect it. Of course, the laptop was password protected, but she knew she'd be able to hack that with little difficulty. The workbench did have a few tools hanging on the wall in front of it, and the tool chest parked beside it also contained a decent set, but there were still a couple of items she'd need to procure.
She picked up the phone left charging on the table. Hitting the button, she noted he had seven new calls and four unread messages. It, too, was passcode protected. Sighing, she put down the phone and checked out the rest of the small area.
The regenerator sat along the far back wall. Actually, it looked no different from a normal tanning bed. A band of hard white light horizontally ringed the middle of the capsule, and the dials on the brick above it were indicating maximum output. She patted the top of the tube.
"Rest well, Quay-Quay. I'll be back in a jiffy. Right after I pick up a few things I'm going to need."
She left the basement and went straight to the bedroom to search for his wallet. It took her nearly twenty minutes, but she finally found it in, of all places, a defroster bin in the fridge.
"Cold hard cash, right, Paul?" she giggled. A glance through the bi-fold revealed his driver's license, three credit cards, and the sum total of two hundred three dollars in bills. She paused to check the ID. "Age thirty-one. Confirmed bachelor, eh?" Taking the bills, she silently promised to pay him back someday. After grabbing a baseball cap from his bedroom closet, she stuffed her hair underneath it, then slipped on a pair of his flip flops. Although they were too large for her, they were the best she could do until she bought some shoes for herself.
Armed with a couple of paperclips, which she stuffed into her pants pocket, she left the apartment to go shopping.
Chapter Thirteen
Intimacy
Paul awoke feeling better than he had in several days. Normally he renewed his energy whenever he went out into the sunlight. But in an emergency, he resorted to the solar pod for a quick boost. In this case, the capsule had been a lifesaver.
Lifting the lid powered down the light that fed his cells, and he swung his legs over the side...and froze. A familiar figure sat on the small stool in front of the workbench. She was hunched over whatever she was working on. A pair of headphones cradled her ears, keeping her oblivious to everything around her.
He immediately spotted several bags sitting on the floor around her, and his anger quickly rose. Getting to his feet, he walked over to stand beside her.
The table was filled with an assortment of items he couldn't begin to identify. His tools also lay scattered about, and he spotted a soldering iron he knew he didn't own resting on a block of wood. At her elbow lay his drill. In addition, her headset was plugged into his phone, meaning she had hacked his passcode.
He started to tap her on the shoulder, when his gaze was drawn to the way she worked, quickly and with an economy of movement, as if she'd done this sort of thing countless times. He allowed himself a few moments to watch her use a teaspoon and funnel to fill what appeared to be large ball bearings with a powdery substance. Several paper cups were lined up in front of her, each one bearing a different shade of some sort of granular matter. She'd already completed several strands of the spherical objects, which hung from a high intensity lamp he also didn't own. A jeweler's loop was strapped to her head, and every so often she'd move her body in time to what she was listening to. Curious, he hit the button on his phone to see what was playing. Santana on Pandora radio.
"Sleep well?" She'd realized he was there, and pulled down the headphones to rest around her neck. The magnifying glass in the jeweler's loop gave her one eye an eerie owl-like appearance. "You got some seriou
s explaining to do. You know that, right?"
"Explain what?" He waved at the workbench. "What is all this stuff?" Including the bags on the floor, he added, "You left here when you'd promised me you wouldn't leave the apartment? And you hacked my phone!" He made it clear he wasn't happy with her.
"I told you I would be careful. Besides, I needed a few things you didn't have. I wasn't gone long. Honest. As for your phone, next time pick a different code than your birthday."
He kept the scowl on his face, even though he should have known she'd disobey. "You left the apartment unlocked?"
She made a face. "Of course not." Pushing something toward him, he saw it was a couple of bent paperclips. "You need to have your locks replaced, too. They're too easy."
"Where did you get the money to buy all this?" he continued, figuring it out before she replied.
"I found your wallet in the vegetable crisper in the fridge. The wallet with your drivers license, which has your birth date listed, which gave me the clue to unlocking your cell phone. Oh, and another thing, Mr. Canton. You have a freaking ebony card? An ebony card? Less than three percent of the world's population owns one! And while I'm at it, what is with you and the color black? Black marble in your bath, black granite in your kitchen. You don't own a TV, and you have another bedroom you could have stuck me in instead of your own." She turned to give him a perplexed look. "And don't get me started on that kitchen and that old gas range."
"Then don't," he abruptly interrupted her. Jerking the headphone jack from his phone, he snatched up the cell, pivoted around, and started for the stairs. "I'm going to fix a bite to eat, if you're hungry." Without looking back, he knew she'd follow him.
"I think I know how Bob is manipulating the weather," she commented nonchalantly.
He paused on the steps and glanced back at her. "I'm listening."
"Of course, I'm just speculating. But if I was needing a quick and easy point of origin, I'd use a drone."
"A drone?"
"Why not? It's small, compact, portable, easy to navigate."
