Comments to imagineer47@yahoo.com
What irony. Angela had spent the previous night crying, crushed at the mess she'd made at Ricky's, her self-respect and good reputation stripped away just as she'd stripped away her clothing in that humiliating display of mindless sexuality. Her gems had reduced her from powerful superheroine to powerless slave of her own desires. Disabling her emotionally and physically, rendering her unable to perform her self-appointed duties as the city's protector.
And on that very night, the agent of her collapse, Mr. Aquino -- Police Detective Noel Aquino -- stopped a robbery at the very QuickMart where Sapphire had made her debut. A professional, doing his job. Doing her "job" as well as she ever did, without the benefit of super powers. She was obviously a failure. An amateur. A joke. A cartoon. It was as if Mr. Aquino had in one evening erased Sapphire's existence and destroyed Angela's hope for a normal life.
No, Mr. Aquino didn't do it, Angela chided herself. It was those stupid sapphires. They did this to me. They're a curse. They've messed up everything. They've ruined my life. I wish I could just get rid of them.
But she couldn't.
It wasn't that she was afraid that someone might come looking for them -- and want to do more than just take them back. Since getting her shoes back from Josh, she hadn't even gone online again -- why should she, when there was no one she wanted to hear from? Paranoid fears faded as she settled back into a routine and the uneventfulness of life made Scott's world seem distant and unimportant. And as the sapphire's promise as a tool to accomplish good became more difficult to fulfill, with day after boring day fading into night after encounterless night, only the addictive super endorphin rush of using the stones remained.
And it compelled her.
Even as her emotions turned more to shame and despair, something inside her begged for the Sapphire high. To take to the air and float above the endless sea of blinking lights, to feel the warm embrace of the magical blue crystalline orbs, to defy the very Earth that would hold her down, to feel the changing energy licking at her most sensitive places... each day she awoke in shame, cursing herself for succumbing to the salacious song of the sapphires; each day she swore the previous night had been her last. And each night she donned as little clothing as her innate modesty allowed and strapped on the seductive stones for another hit of ecstacy.
It was a cycle broken for the first time in over a week last night. And as she prepared to head home after a depressingly-dull day at the fabric store, she wanted nothing more than to feel her sapphires' embrace once more. As Sapphire she always felt good, at least for a while.
Angela began to wonder if whoever had the gems before her would even want them back. Maybe the blue stones had proven too destructive, too seductive, and they'd cast them off to save themselves. Maybe the previous owner had possessed a strength Angela herself lacked, and they were glad to be rid of them.
Or maybe the sapphires had consumed them, and Angela was the next victim.
But how could something so terrible make her feel so good? So strong? So *alive*? She only wished it could last, that she could feel the rush always, that she never had to take them off or cover them up to let them recharge. But truth be told it was the cycle of power and powerlessness that was the real drug. As much as the feelings of strength and control thrilled her, she was addicted to the mind-blowing orgasms had under the influence of the sapphires' nightly meltdown and accompanying fantasies of being overpowered and taken by the imaginary villains she hunted.
She didn't need Ricky. Ricky couldn't make her feel the way her sapphires made her feel. The way Sapphire made her feel.
A little voice inside her head spoke: The sapphires don't make you feel the way Ricky does, either.
Angela shook her head clear. Maybe when Mr. Aquino cooled off a bit she could see Ricky again. For now, she was on her own. For now, she had only her sapphires to comfort her.
Besides, she told herself, it wasn't all about her. Sure, Mr. Aquino had stopped that robbery at the QuickMart -- *her* QuickMart. But Azmid had been shot in the process. It was just a flesh wound, true, but had Sapphire been there things would have been different. Maybe all the sapphires were supposed to do was to make her feel good; shouldn't she get credit for trying to make it something more? For making the most of what she was given? It would be selfish to retire the gems. Somebody out there needed her help, even if it was a little hard to find them right now.
Angela slipped the shiny tiara into her hair. A gasp of pleasure escaped her lips as the Sapphire energy embraced her.
Sapphire leaped into the warm night air, anxious to begin another adventure.
"Hey, Aquino, you're wanted in there." The senior detective jerked his thumb back toward the doorway he'd just come from.
Noel Aquino let out a resigned sigh as he got out of his chair.
"By the way, nice job on the QuickMart bust a couple nights ago."
"Thanks."
"Close the door, Aquino. Sit down."
"Yes, sir."
Captain Ramirez leaned forward in his chair, adjusting the framed photo on his desk. Noel knew the photo was of the captain's family.
"Everything all right at home?" Ramirez continued staring at the photo.
"Sir?"
Noel's boss looked up suddenly, straight at Noel. "How's Ricky? He doing all right?"
"Um, yeah, I guess so. Yeah, he's doing fine." Noel was uncomfortable; Captain Ramirez didn't usually make small talk. He didn't usually have the door closed, either. Noel was acutely aware of the lack of noise in the room; the muffled din of the detectives cubicles outside the office leaked through the inside wall just enough to emphasize the silence between the two men.
"Did he get his grades up?" The last time Ramirez had talked to Noel on a personal level was a year ago. At that time Ricky had just finished his freshman year inauspiciously. Being of slight build the boy hadn't made the transition to high school well. An A student all through middle school, he'd nearly flunked his first semester in high school and drew only a C average by the end of the school year. Already shy and reserved, when older kids picked on him he'd retreated into his own world, spending his evenings reading comic books and his class time drawing. That summer Noel sat down and had a serious talk with Ricky. They'd made a deal: Noel bought him a drafting table and supplies and let him enroll in Art as an elective. In exchange, Ricky promised to stop drawing in class and to maintain at least B's in every academic subject and at least a C in P.E. Ricky kept up his end of the bargain and then some, getting almost all A's his whole sophomore year. The elder Aquino's only concern was that his son spent too much time indoors at the drawing table, but was willing to accept the boy's habits as long as he was happy. That changed when summer came and Angela started coming around...
"Um, yes sir. Ended the year with a 3.92 grade point average."
"He still drawing comic books?" Noel was surprised and impressed that Ramirez remembered so much; the captain was friendly with some of the other detectives but had always seemed cool towards Noel. Except for that time a year ago. And now.
"I- I guess so." The truth was Noel hadn't really talked to or even seen much of his son since catching Angela in his room... barely dressed Angela, stretched out on his son's bed, running her hands through her dark hair, her back arched, her firm young breasts presented so seductively... her lithe form gently flexing with each deep breath, calling to any red-blooded male within a hundred yards to come running to her, to touch her, to worship her, to take her...
"Noel?"
"Um, sorry, sir. Yes sir, he's still drawing. Though the subject matter seems to have changed lately."
"I thought I'd lost you for a second there. Different subjects? How so?"
"He started drawing women."
"Only natural, a boy his age. He's what, fifteen, sixteen now?"
"This one woman -- girl -- in particular. I told him to stop. I was afraid it was becoming an obsession."
"What, the girl wasn't interested?"
"Huh? No, she was *too* interested. I caught her throwing herself at him. He said he just needed a model for his drawing, and I believe him, but she was practically naked on his bed and had this... look... I dunno, it freaked me out. I found out she'd been seeing him a lot, making excuses like needing him to fix her computer, she even took him out, at least twice that I know of."
"You're getting old, Noel, you don't recognize infatuation when you see it. You've had The Talk with Ricky, right? He sounds like he's got a good head on his shoulders. Relax, you worry too much. I'd kill to have a cute girl interested in me. If I were Ricky's age, I mean." Noel shuddered at the thought of what he'd do to have a particular cute girl interested in him...
"But he's at that age when... well, he's so reserved, and this girl was throwing herself at him, she's two years older than him, graduated this year... I think she's obsessed." And now so am I...
"So you've been checking her out."
Noel was surprised. How did Ramirez know?
"So what did you find out?" Was Ramirez humoring him?
"Nothing really."
"How far did you go?"
"Sir?"
"Did you find out where she works? Where she hangs out? Who else she hangs out with? Does she do drugs? Go to wild parties? Is she going away to college? Did you check out her parents? Look for anything suggestive in the family history? Did you have Keri in Records hack the school district and pull her records?"
Noel felt numb. Ramirez knew everything. What could he say?
"Well?"
"H-how did you...?" Noel felt on the edge of an abyss.
"I know because I've been there. Because your co-workers noticed you've been distracted lately. Because Keri still brags too much in the break room about what a hot shit she is with a computer. Look, Noel, I understand what you're going through -- I have a daughter, and when she was Ricky's age my wife had to constantly remind me to back off. And I almost went too far -- no, I did go too far -- the first time she got serious with a guy. A police officer is always protective of his family. Sometimes a little too protective."
Noel was silent.
"So what do you know about her? Did you find anything?" Ramirez seemed genuinely concerned. Noel spilled his facts.
"She works at a fabric store." Noel recalled following her bike to work, her coltish legs flexing, her heart-shaped ass rocking back and forth like a pendulum in those tight teal bike shorts... "Father died when she was six, still lives with her mother." Noel remembered standing outside her bedroom window at three in the morning, mesmerized by the rise and fall of her chest, only to duck behind a shrub when her mother's Corolla pulled up... "She's a homebody, doesn't seem to hang out with anybody or go anywhere." Except that time he saw her wave to him outside that house in Glenwood Estates, dressed like a Hong Kong hooker... "No obvious drug activity. She was a B-minus student in college prep classes. Only A was in drama. Not much on activities." Except slithering around on an impressionable young man's bed like she was in a music video...
"So?"
"So I can see how she could become obsessed."
"Or she could just be a shy girl who's attracted to a shy boy. Did they have any classes in common?"
"No, but I think he tutored her in ancient history last semester."
"There you go. So naturally there's an attraction. Let it run its course."
"I don't want Ricky to get hurt. Anyway, it may be too late for that. I told them they couldn't see each other anymore."
"Did that ever stop you when you were his age?" Ramirez grinned.
"I never went through that. My father and I had a good relationship."
"Well, your son's gonna do what he's gonna do. And eventually he's gonna get hurt. You know it. You can't stop it. You can't let being a police officer take up slack for being a father. So quit trying. Just talk with him, be around, know what he's up to, set reasonable limits, all that good-parenting stuff. Relax. Be honest. You just weren't ready to walk in on your son when he was with a young woman."
"It wasn't like that, sir."
"All right, Aquino, look. In the end it doesn't really matter 'what it was like.' What does matter is that somebody called yesterday to report suspicious activity, and a black-and-white rolls up to find your car parked down the street from this girl's house. Listen," Ramirez continued, "you've gotta back off. This kind of thing can get you in trouble. If the girl finds out, or if her parents find out, it could cost you your badge."
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now," Ramirez reached for a file on his desk and pushed it across to Noel, "since you're so motivated to find and follow women around, I'm assigning you the Avenging Angel case."
Noel wasn't actually slapped across the face, but he might as well have been. "Sir, you don't mean the thing in the World News Weekly, do you?"
"I didn't know you read it." Ramirez almost laughed.
"But sir, I've got real cases to work on. That case is closed. The QuickMart perps are already caught, confessed, and in court. They'll be in prison by the end of the week." Indignation rose in Noel's voice as he protested. "They're three-strikes scum, who cares if they were so doped up they imagined an angel came down from heaven and knocked them around? I don't care if Bozo the Clown made the bust, they're busted."
"I know, Aquino, but as ridiculous as it sounds I have to open a case. You know about the Library Park Rapist?"
Noel's face scrunched in confusion. "Yeah, Milton Spinner, found in the park all busted up after picking on the wrong woman. What's that got to do with the QuickMart job?"
"Spinner's lawyer is making noise about him being an innocent victim, some kind of mistaken-identity revenge thing."
"What a crock. The DNA evidence is a conclusive match to the semen found in all of his victims, and they all identified him in a photo lineup."
"True enough, but Councilman Trimble's picked up on it and is crowing about 'Selective Justice.'"
"Okay, so you have to try to find his attacker. I still don't see-" Noel paused as it hit him. "You're not trying to tell me his phantom attacker is the Angel from the QuickMart, are you?"
"Hell, Aquino, I don't know. But we've got enough shit going on here without *two* stupid distractions. The physical descriptions are a close enough match; hell, both of 'em talk about their attacker *flying* and throwing things without touching them. So I'm killing a few birds with one stone."
"And I'm the stone. Gee, thanks. What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Work it. I don't expect you to find anything, but I expect you to act like you're looking hard. Redirect the press to me. I want an update every day."
"What about my other cases?"
"Give the car stereo thefts to Johnson." Dammit, that was Noel's best case. "The rest are lost-cause burglaries anyway, so they can sit unless some new evidence falls in your lap."
"I'll get right on it, sir. You can tell the press you have your best man on it," he said with clear sarcasm. He was lucky he wasn't suspended, but even so, this was humiliating. He got up to leave.
"I trust this will keep you out of trouble with your son's girlfriend." Ramirez called after him.
"Yes, sir," Noel said over his shoulder just before he closed the office door.
"Hurry up, TJ. It's almost 3 o'clock."
TJ was limping as fast as he could; he still didn't quite get the hang of walking with a cane, and his arm was starting to get sore. "Relax, Spence. The airport'll be plenty busy till at least 7."
"Man, Valerie really fucked you up," Spence marveled.
"Yeah, getting blindsided and pushed down the fucking stairs will do that," TJ lied.
"Chicks just don't fight fair, man."
TJ wasn't about to tell Spence the truth. Despite the flash of pain in his hip every time he took a step and the occasional dizzy spells, he still had trouble believing what had happened three days earlier. Valerie was no delicate flower -- hell, she'd been on her own since 14 -- but TJ outclassed her by six inches and eighty pounds, and had extensive gang-fight experience from his younger days. He should have mopped the floor with her. Considering the huge way she'd tried to rip him off -- that airborne nightclub princess had been *his* score! -- Valerie was lucky he didn't just kill her. Yeah. TJ didn't know what she'd slipped him to knock him out like that, but it wouldn't happen again.
"No, they don't."
It was Spence's idea to capitalize on TJ's condition. The airport was full of easy marks. Spence would knock a mark into TJ; TJ would snatch their wallet as he grabbed the mark to try to keep from falling; when they weren't looking he'd pass it to Spence, who would disappear. Spence had hoped he could get Bobby to come along, but the younger hood declined, mumbling something about cameras.
They'd practiced a couple of times on suits in the business district before catching the bus out to the airport. Spence now had two cell phones he could sell to the phone cart clerk in the mall for $20 each.
TJ convinced Spence to start on the sidewalk at Arrivals. "Everybody's getting their wallets out to get a cab or tip a porter," he'd argued.
Fang Manxie adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder before stepping out of the baggage claim area and onto the sidewalk. The transition from carpet-hushed passengers watching carousels to concrete-amplified transportation momentarily distracted him from his thoughts.
The wall of noise carried with it an undertone of exhaustion.
Max looked up at the signs along the middle island. The city downtown express bus stop was a hundred yards upstream. He was not here on the company's dime and was not about to burn his cash on taxicabs or rental cars. There was no telling how long he would have to be here.
Max slid his hand into his coat pocket, feeling the cool metal of the amulet. He would be here as long as it took to find her.
"Hey, check him out."
Spence pointed downstream toward the last baggage claim exit.
"Who?"
"Mr. Black."
TJ scanned the crowd for a moment before seeing him. A Chinese guy, 30 to 50 years old he guessed, though he wasn't very good at guessing their ages, black turtleneck, open black overcoat, black cargo pants, black boots, small black duffel bag over one shoulder. He looked like the type to carry cash, and a lot of it. 'The badass wardrobe will not save you, my friend,' TJ thought.
"I'm on him," TJ said to Spence. "You go around to the right and get him from behind."
TJ moved slowly, laboriously, only partly acting.
Max moved upstream through the crowd with an experienced grace. He tried not to think about the huge throng of people here during this peak arrival time, or the small fraction of the total arrivals and departures that they represented, or the small fraction of the city's population the airport's comings and goings represented. The gems and their wearer could be anywhere in the city, or in another city altogether. Max sought a needle in an endless field of haystacks. But he pushed these thoughts out of his mind and remained focused on the outcome he desired. The girl was here. The gems were here. He would find them.
As if to encourage him, the amulet shivered briefly in his pocket.
Max stopped in his tracks. Had that been his imagination? Some sympathetic vibration with a nearby bus or plane overhead?
No, there it was again. It was distinct, deliberate. Amazing -- the amulet was trying to tell him something. He gripped it more tightly as his eyes scanned the crowd around him. Was she here?
Max resumed walking, examining the women around him. The tourist? The businesswoman? The college girl?
TJ saw Spence dodging and weaving to catch up to "Mr. Black" who had stopped momentarily but was on the move again, apparently looking for someone. TJ braced for impact . . .
Max felt himself pushed roughly from behind. His right hand stuck in his pocket still gripping the amulet, his left instinctively reached out to catch his balance -- and struck an injured young man in the shoulder.
And without warning, a rush of images and feelings overwhelmed him. A girl. Night time. Writhing. The Stones! Naked. Wet. Tight. Hard. Triumph. A girl again. Struggling. The Stones! Pain. Submission. Humiliation.
TJ collapsed to the ground, the Chinese man stumbling and landing on top of him. TJ reached awkwardly for the man's pants pocket but couldn't get to it. The man rolled off him and quickly stood, breathing hard and holding one hand to his forehead. The other hand jammed itself into his coat pocket. Fuck, he's a hands-on-the-wallet type. TJ made a show of grimacing and holding his hip, which really did hurt like hell. Maybe he could pry the wallet loose when the man helped him up. Not surprisingly, everyone around them quickly backed away and resumed their own courses, throwing nothing more than the occasional covert glance at the collided couple. TJ noticed Spence behind the mark, just standing there looking stupid and obvious. TJ could see that this technique was going to take a little more practice.
Max's head was spinning. What had just happened? His right hand immediately squeezed the precious amulet tightly to confirm that he still had it. It was vibrating more regularly now. It was surely communicating something. Something about the young man he'd just been pushed into.
Someone spoke up from behind him. "Hey, watch where you're goin', dude! You almost knocked me over! And you nailed that poor guy! Aren't you gonna help him up?"
Max turned to apologize. "I am very sorry sir," he said, accidentally bumping into this other person, also a rough-looking young man, perhaps a street tough, who was unexpectedly very close to him. So close that his shoulder brushed the other's chest as he turned.
And another flash of image and feeling, though not as intense as the first. Again the girl. Night. Grabbed hand. One of the Stones! Disorientation. Chase. Grass. Cold. Ripping. Hot. Gasping. Slick. Squirming. Spent.
Max staggered back a half-step, trying to comprehend what he was experiencing. It was as if contact with these two caused him to black out. No, to see something. To experience something they'd experienced.
He noticed the amulet was warm in his clenched fingers.
The traveler turned back to the injured and fallen one. "You... you know the one I seek."
"Huh?" He looked confused. "Could you help me up?" Max extended his hand. The young man took it.
Again Max felt the flashes of experience. This one had felt the stones recently. The girl was young. Short? No, now she was tall. Angry. He couldn't quite see her face. He felt a tugging on his hand.
"Ow, ow! Leggo!" The still-prone man was trying to pull away from him; why? He looked ill.
"Fuck, leggo, what'r'you doin' t'me? Ow, it hurts! Leggo! F-fuuckkhh..." TJ's whole body convulsed and went numb. First he felt like he was gonna hurl, then just kind of dizzy.
"Where is she? Show me..." the Chinese man said mysteriously, imprisoning TJ's hand in an iron grip. "Show me..." he repeated.
"Where is who?" TJ replied weakly; he suddenly felt like he did when he was totally blitzed, barely coherent. What was Mr. Black mumbling about?
"The one with the stones. Where can I find her? What is her name?" Whatever it was he was really insistent about it. For some reason TJ found himself thinking about Valerie and the beating she'd given him, and the strange feeling that she'd somehow fucked him afterward, but that didn't happen, did it? What did this stranger want with Valerie?
"V-valerie?" he mumbled. Man, his head hurt. He felt so tired...
"Yes, Valerie. The one with the Stones."
TJ remembered the blue diamonds that bitch had stolen from him. "WWaidafughenminit, them'r MY rocks... she canth havum..."
"Where is Valerie?" the man pressed. Why can't he just leave me alone? TJ felt so awful, like he was gonna pass out... it was as if this man's grip was sucking the life out of him... for some reason he remembered Valerie's mailing address from that time he had to write it on the Penthouse subscription card... and was reciting it...
"Thank you. I trust you will keep our exchange private." Max released the fallen man's hand; it fell limp as he passed out. Before Max could kneel to examine him, he felt a rough tug on his shoulder.
"Hey, asshole, what the fuck are you doin' to my friend?"
Max spun around, one hand instantly grabbing his assailant's and spinning it around painfully behind his back; Max's other hand, still gripping the amulet, shot to the taller man's neck, pressing his thumb hard into the base of the jaw. This caused the man to twist to one side, causing his pinned arm further pain. The punk was immobilized trapped between the pain in his neck and that in his arm and shoulder.
Max was surprised at his own boldness; in such a crowded place he would ordinarily have made a subtle lightning jab to the solar plexus and escaped in the throng of people. But somehow the amulet and the rush of raw data compelled him to press for more. And somehow no one around seemed to notice the controlled violence taking place.
"You know her also, but you are not so freshly experienced as your fallen friend. But your taste was sweeter." The images with this one were less clear, less powerful, less... satisfying. He stared into his captive's frightened eyes, as if looking for more.
Spence felt dizzy; this guy was a psycho! "I-I don't know how you know Valerie, but we're just friends, honest. Sh-she doesn't mean nothin' to me, man, nothin'. You can have her..." Spence's legs felt wobbly. This Chinese man's eyes seemed to stare right through him . . .
The amulet had stopped vibrating. It was hot to the touch. Max relaxed his hand, and released his captive, who collapsed to his knees in a daze.
"Good day," Max said as he moved off. How fortuitous. Max now had a destination. Though he knew not yet what to do when he reached it, he was confident that the amulet would guide him.
"Yeah, this'z Dean." Andrew pulled into a parking lot and stopped.
"Um, Andrew Dean?"
"Yeah, this'z Dean."
"This is Walter Peck. With the Saab?"
Andrew stopped the CD player. "Yeah?"
"Um, yeah. Listen, the body shop just called me. About the car. Um, they said they found a... nametag in the vent thingies up by the windshield."
"Nametag?"
"Um, yes. I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, but I thought maybe that might be important."
"Whose nametag?"
"I had a heck of a time explaining how it got there. I think he's suspicious."
"Whose nametag?"
"The... the girl I hit, I presume."
No shit, Sherlock! Andrew let out an exasperated sigh. "What's the name on the nametag?"
"Oh. Oh! Valerie. Sorry."
"Valerie Soary? How do you spell the last name?"
"Oh, no, no, I said I was sorry. The nametag just says 'Valerie.'"
"That's it? No company name, or logo?"
Pause. "You know, I don't think they mentioned it, but I didn't think to ask. It was kind of awkward, I'm glad I didn't ask, that would have been strange."
"Strange?"
"Well, I said it was my wife's friend's nametag. She, um, borrowed the car and I guess lost her nametag."
"Okay, do you have the number of the body shop handy?"
"Um, yes, hold on just a second, let me go get it..."
Andrew heard the phone clatter down on a counter or table. He waited almost half a minute before giving up and hanging up. "That's not exactly having it handy, now is it Mr. Peck?" he said to no one. He hit the Info button on his phone.
"Yeah, um, um, Lars Auto Body. Yeah. Thanks. [pause] Hi, can you give me directions? Yeah, I'm on... um, you know, I can't see the street sign, but I'm at the Oakmont Fashion Center, you know it? Yeah, okay... okay... left on Spenser... uh-huh... yeah... yeah... got it. Thanks... No, I'm coming to see Mr. Peck's Saab... Yeah... No, I'm with the insurance company..."
"Can I keep this? Mr. Peck said it was okay, do you need to call him to make sure?"
"Naw, go ahead. I just care about the car."
"Great, thanks. The estimate looks fine, by the way."
Andrew turned the plastic bag back and forth, looking at both sides of the nametag suspended inside. It had probably been handled by every grease monkey in the joint, but it didn't hurt to be thorough and check the prints. Didn't hurt him, anyway.
Garden Guardians. What kind of place could that be?
Well, Valerie, whoever you are, you're about to get got.
And I ran, I ran so far away.
I just ran, I ran all night and day.
I couldn't get away.