25: Sapphire Watched

"And I want metallic foil trim all the way around the hem -- both the skirt and the top."
"That's not how I wear them," Angela grumbled, mostly to herself.
"Excuse me?"
"Um, that's not how I'd make them. Sapphire seems more no-nonsense than that."
"Well, that's your opinion. I think I know a little more about it than you. Are you even *on* the Internet?"
Internet? Was there stuff about Sapphire on the Net? "I don't have much time for that anymore."
"Yahwell, I've been following her career from the beginning. I have all the pictures, and expert photomanips, witness transcripts... there's even a copy of her police file, though I haven't been able to get that yet. She's like the ultimate girl, kickin' ass and gettin' all the cute guys to worship her. Some people say there's two of 'em, but nobody's seen 'em both at the same time, ya know? So they're just stupid. Anyway... metallic foil trim on the hems, ok?"
Angela shrugged. "Sure, okay, but that'll cost more."
"How much more?"
Angela stalled as her brain struggled to figure it out in her head. She knew how much fabric and how long a standard Sapphire costume took. Metallic foil, what'd it cost? "Go pick out the trim you want. Back there, on the end of the aisle marked "Ribbon."

The girl flitted across the store, grabbed the roll of one-inch silver foil, and flitted back. She would pick the tackiest and most expensive one. Angela noted the price, did some lip-licking number crunching, and quietly wrote down a number. She turned the pad so the girl could see it.
"That just to add the ribbon? What's the whole thing cost?"
Angela wrote down another number and wrote "TOTAL" next to it.
"That's with the glass sapphires and the wings and everything?"
"Everything but the shoes."
"I have the *perfect* pair. You'd die! How should I put those big stones on the shoes?"
"Depends on the shoe. You can hot-glue on the glass or use some thread around the mount to tie them on."
"Cool! And you're sure you can have it done before the Alluring Enduring Party?"
"How's day after tomorrow?" It would give her something to do. She'd found the Sapphire energy wasn't lasting as long at night as it used to. She tried not to think about how she was making that happen on purpose, even as her exposed Sapphire mule dangled lazily from her foot. And she tried not to think about why she was squandering that energy, even as flashes of dark fantasies raced through her mind.
"Fabulous! So, half now, half when I pick it up?" Her checkbook was out.
Angela shrugged. "Yeah, that sounds good. Make it out to Angela Barrett."

The girl bubbled in the amount and Angela's name, and looped her signature. She popped the check out of the book with a quick Snap! "Here you go."
Angela put the check in her bag and pulled out a measuring tape as she slid off her work stool.

"I need to measure you."
"Okay!" the chipper customer responded in sing-song. Angela came around the counter and started getting measurements.
"Now for the length, I want the skirt to come down to here," she marked her upper thigh with her hand, almost up to her crotch, holding it until Angela measured, "and the top to just cover my chest, to right here," she put her hand right under her breast.

Well, Angela thought to herself darkly, she's got the length about right...

"Don't make it too short -- I don't want to flash anybody, at least not accidentally! But don't make it any longer, either -- I don't need to be showed up in front of my boyfriend by some tramp. Okay?"

Angela tapped her pen to the notepad, indicating that she had the measurements to make it right. "Got it."

After the chipper coed had gone, Angela took another look at the fashion sketch she'd left. Angular charcoal marks etched an impossibly-slim girl with mile-long legs, short busty torso, twiggy arms, and a primitive mountain of hair spilling over a shimmering headband. The form was nude except for a pair of scandalously-short robelike wraps, one around the chest, the other around the waist. A dark shadow hinted at the junction between the girl's legs threatening to expose itself between the gauzy folds of the skirt, and twin shadows emphasized the almost-visible lower curvature of the over-endowed chest. Pencil-thin straps suggested the top's defiance of gravity, while cocked hips somehow kept the skirt in place.

So that's how the world sees me.

Angela preferred Ricky's comic-book artwork to this Vogue-ish cartoon. At least Ricky's drawings conveyed a sense of power and purpose; the fashion sketch just made her look like a vacant sexual object.

Angela was constantly battling between her desire to do good and her embarassment at being seen in the risque outfits the sapphires forced her to wear. It was amazing that people wanted to dress that way on purpose. Some girls just aren't shy about anything...

Andrew wrapped up his progress report. Now that he'd found the girl -- the *right* girl this time -- he was hopeful that he'd finally be out of the doghouse. "So I staked out her house last night. She didn't go anywhere. But I think she sent someone a signal."
"What kind of signal?"
"About 9pm, after her mother left for work, she got dressed up, like she was going out."
"I thought you said she didn't go anywhere."
"She didn't," Andrew defended. He was surprised at the accusatory tone. "She just stood there in the window, like she was waiting for someone. She was all dressed up, like in a two-piece cocktail dress." Like what Ginger wore that time she took him clubbing. His prick twitched just thinking about it. "And she was wearing four of the stones. One on each hand, and one on each shoe."
"Just four stones. Are you sure?"
"Positive. I looked very closely. No earrings, no choker. And she wasn't wearing the panties." He looked at the FedEx scan again. No, he remembered the red satin bikini she'd hiked up those coltish legs underneath that short-short flared skirt. Definitely not the same.
"So you got a good look." Did Andrew detect jealousy?
Andrew cleared his throat. "Yes. Yes I did. She stared out the window a long time. But she never left the house."

"Listen, Dean. Don't do anything. Just keep an eye on her -- from a *safe* distance -- and call me if Eric shows up. No contact, and no cowboy shit. I'm sending two teams who know what they're doing. Stay out of their way. You've fucked this up enough, don't make it any worse. Am I clear?"

Andrew Dean seethed. "Crystal."

"I'll be back the day before the party to pick it up!"

That was three girls in two days. If Angela didn't know better, she'd think that Sapphire was becoming an underground phenomenon. It was a good thing they all wanted the same flouncy camisole and matching miniskirt that Sapphire had worn on that first fateful night -- it meant making the custom pieces didn't take too long. The design was super-simple, just one piece of cloth each sewn into a conic band and elasticized along the top edge, sometimes with spaghetti straps over the shoulders. It also meant maybe there weren't any other photos of her later adventures floating around out there.

Still, all the attention made her uncomfortable. And depressed. She was hardly living up to the image of the powerful heroine that the first two young women had fondly described. But this last girl wasn't even interested in that -- she'd just wanted

The bell rang again. Angela looked up to see a tall blonde heading straight for her.

"Hi, I understand you can make me an outfit for the Enduring Alluring party."
"I've done a little sewing. If I can't do it there are other ladies who work here who can help you. You have anything specific in mind?" Angela asked the question despite her gut telling her the answer.

"Um, yeah, actually. A friend gave me your name." She looked around; there was only one other person in the store, off in the corner. Nonetheless she lowered her voice. "I understand you do comic-book costumes."
Already I have a reputation, Angela mused darkly. "Well, sort of."
"I was wondering if you could help me put together something like this." The blonde opened her purse and pulled out an inkjet-printed page, smoothing it out on the counter. "I know some people think what she's doing is wrong, but I'm glad that somebody finally has the guts to fight back against the evils perpetrated against women."

The image was not what Angela expected. But it was not unfamiliar, either.

What the blocky print of a low-res download lacked in detail it made up for in intensity.

Unnaturally long and slender arms and legs arched out from a slim, firm body tightly sheathed in a black cropped tank top and high-cut bikini bottoms, a long black cloak billowing behind her, long black hair whipping angrily back from a menacing scowl.

It was the Black Widow. The very image Angela had seen on the news. This girl had probably gotten it off the TV station's web site, Angela reasoned. It was Ricky's work, she was even more sure of it now.

The room began to move; Angela steadied herself on the counter. It's just a costume, her head argued. But her heart won the day. As troubled as Sapphire might be, she was no killer. This Black Widow was bad. Angela would have no part of her glorification.

"I'm sorry, I can't help you."
"But I thought-"
"No. I think you need to leave." A very stern Angela pointed toward the door.
"Well! I'll just do it on my own, then," the blonde huffed as she stormed out.

What was wrong with people? This Black Widow woman wasn't a comic book character or a villain from some bad TV show; she was real. And she was killing people. You can't just go around killing people.

But how is she any different from you? Now that you know what the Sapphires can do, how can you still use them?

Angela held her forehead in her hands in despair. The gems on her wrists refracted dazzling light across her closed eyelids.

"I heard they bugged the Barrett house," Chuck said in between mouthfuls of Bugles.
"Yeah, I'd like to get in on that surveillance loop," Mikey winked.
Andrew Dean was pissy, as usual. "You heard the boss. Any of us go within a mile of the house without explicit orders and we're canned."
"Damn, must be the boss's time of the month."
Andrew just growled and returned to the couch.
"S'okay," Mikey smiled at Chuck. "Once the streams get cleared out of analysis it'll be easy to pick 'em up off the archive server."
"I guess they didn't find the rest of the stones while they were there."
"Can't conduct a very thorough search when you're under orders not to disturb anything."
"Not so. They brought in the X-Ray Specs."
"I thought those things didn't work."
"Yeah, they finally got the bugs worked out. Read about 'em in this month's American Surveillance Technology. They still kill most household pets within a week and the suit weighs like over a hundred and fifty pounds, but they work great. The Company rig is camo'd to look like a really fat guy out to read the meter; the gear and shielding is inside the fat suit, with the head unit and goggles in pockets on a tool belt. The neighbors never suspect a thing, unless they take a Geiger counter to their dead parakeet."
"Sweet. Still, I wouldn't want to be the poor bastard who gets that duty."
"Not if you wanna have children."
"So, Agent Dean, tell us again how the hot little hunny did a striptease for you."
"Not for him, for Eric."
"Oh, dude! That's cold."
"What?"
"You know Eric took his girl."
"Oh yeah. Sorry, Andy."

"It wasn't for Eric," Andrew spoke from the couch, still staring at the wall. "It was for us. She knows we're watching her. She knows we want the stones. She probably knows we searched her house. She's telling us she doesn't have all the sapphires, and if anything happens to her, we'll never get the rest of them."
"Which you already know, because you found her partner with the other stones."
"And lost her."
"Fuck, dude! Why you always have to rub shit in?"
"I'm just saying."

Andrew continued. "This girl has been toying with us from the beginning. Eric really knows how to pick 'em. But my 'superior' thinks she's just an innocent bimbo Eric's using -- one who's so hot that he'll get stupid just to protect her."
"Yeah, well, don't worry about it buddy," Mikey said as he hopped over the back of the couch. "You're out of it now. Field work ain't all it's cracked up to be."
"Yeah, man, be happy you're still a geek like us."
"With one difference," Andrew brooded.
"What's that?"
"When Eric Lockwell shows up, he's gonna know it was me that found her. And he's gonna be pissed."
"True dat." "Sucks to be you."
"Thanks for the support."

Sapphire's landing was poor; the gemstones sparked in protest, only their dying energy keeping him from completely collapsing on the deck. It had been a short trip, but already she could feel the heat on her skin. The heat of need. The girl staggered inside.

The house was dark as she leaned up against the curtains that covered the glass door. Her hands were already at her swollen breasts, kneading them rudely underneath the cropped satin top. God she hoped her mom wasn't home! But rational thoughts didn't survive long against the onslaught of sapphire-driven sexual energy. Her mind was a blur of memories real and imagined; she hardly needed a cohesive fantasy anymore.

A cool hand cupped her sex. "Ooh, please don't touch me there." A sharp fingernail hooked worn satin and curled upward, tearing a ragged hole; slender fingers slipped inside the breach, one curled to tickle her swimming nub, another delved between wet lips into heaven...

Sapphire fell over the arm of the couch to land askew on the cushions. One foot perched on the top corner of the couch, stiletto heel threatening to puncture the material; the other heel dug into the carpet. Hips thrust lewdly upward, improving the angle of attach for the intruding fingers.

"Oh God, it's happening again!" she gasped. She tossed her head back and forth, hair flying, trying desperately to shake her tiara loose. She'd perched it precariously on purpose just for this moment, but it still didn't want to fall. She felt so close; her hand was ablur over her clit. "No, I'm losing my powers!" she whimpered in feigned horror. In a moment of frustration her hand finally left her chest long enough to knock the tiara away. She was immediately rewarded with a mind-blowing rush; the room glowed blue in the gemstones' death throes. The girl's body tensed and shook with the sapphire-enhanced power of orgasm; she gritted her teeth, the only glimmer of self-control fighting the urge to scream in release. Finally, the teen went slack, melting into the worn-out couch; her right shoe slipped off her toes to thud on the floor. Slowing waves of pleasure spasms coursed through the disheveled damsel, giving way to calming, deepening breaths.

The metallic tick-tick-tick of the clock on the bookshelf punctuated the silence of the room. Angela regained her composure, and with it growing shame.

Sitting up, hands smoothed the girl's scant garments to reclaim some semblance of modesty. One hand found a silvery tiara and perched it atop unruly hair. Standing now, still a little dizzy, the waistband of ruined panties snapped apart on one side, unfettered whisps of satin falling to caress a thigh. Bending over to pick up one shoe, then leaning over the couch arm to fetch its mate, breasts swayed into view then return to their shelter beneath a short silken curtain; a sharp intake of breath marked their nipples' continued sensitivity. Slowly bare feet shuffled off down the hall to the safety of the bedroom. The bed received an emotionally-confused teen's supple form; it lay forlorn for long moments. A pair of tears lingered on a cheek before disappearing into the bedspread.

Finally air chilling skin motivated action.

Angela looked at herself in the mirror. She was a wreck. Like she was every night. Her body still fairly buzzed in the after-effects of the experience, perpetually on the verge of uncontrollable shakes. She yanked off her ruined underwear and tossed them in the trashcan next to her bed. Why did so many nights have to wind up like this? Why was it that no matter how hard she tried to make good use of her gift it eventually teased her into wanton submission?

But how hard are you trying, really?

Angela reflected on her activity of the last few nights. Since that episode in Twisted Oaks. The night she'd learned that the unbidden urges the sapphires instilled in her weren't the only price exacted for their use. Those people she'd touched weren't pillars of society, but they hardly deserved the fate the cursed stones had dealt them. As soon as she'd gotten home, she'd resolved never to wear them again.

Well, be honest, Angela -- not as soon as you'd gotten home. As soon as you'd gotten off.

And it wasn't until the velvet-shielded gemstones were reflexively slipped over her wrists the next morning that she was reminded of her dilemma. Whoever they belonged to before her was sure to want them back. And surely not for the good of Man. They would certainly do bad things to her to reclaim the evil sapphires, and then do God knew what with them to others. Angela had a duty to keep them safe. They were her burden.

Or so she rationalized. Truth was simpler: she felt naked without them, an irony that she struggled to suppress. And now it seems she was addicted to the high they gave her. As horrified as she might be at what they made her do, as depraved as she might feel after an episode, a part of her couldn't forsake the thrill, the duality of power and weakness.

But she couldn't go around killing people. And she couldn't just turn her back on those she'd already touched. So the more clear-headed thoughts of day became the plans of night. If she was to be forever cursed to wear the sapphires, she had to understand what effect they were having on others. But how?

In desperation, Angela had spent the last few nights as Sapphire hanging out at the QuickMart. Waiting for something to happen to Dirk. After all, she'd "interacted" with him just like the others. Maybe not as much as the three punks in the van, but at least as much as the QuickMart duo. At first she'd thought of telling him to get checked out; she'd thought she should warn him. But what good would that do? According to the news the medical community was baffled by what had happened to the bodies and coma patients that Sapphire and Black Widow had piled up. So mostly she'd just kept an eye on Dirk, in the slim hope that she could learn something about the affliction.

It was hard to feel sympathy for Dirk. Dirk was a low-life. Dealing junk in front of the QuickMart. He was so blatant it made her forget her original purpose for watching him. She'd called the cops on him twice, but apparently he had a spotter; he always knew when to disappear around back into one of the nearby houses' yards. She felt frustrated and helpless watching him work. She fought the urge to just swoop down and collar him herself. Between what she and Black Widow had done, the cops were probably more interested in collaring her than a small-time dope pusher.

So after three nights of boredom and frustration, tonight she'd given up on him and gone back to the alley behind the nightclub, and the park a block away. She didn't know what she'd expected to find, except powerful memories of a heroine's career in shambles from her very first night out. But it beat watching crime in progress and feeling helpless to stop it.

Angela peeled off the simple camisole top and stepped out of the simple skirt. She held the camisole up to the light, then the skirt. They were a little thin and revealing, but they'd go another night. She mostly kept to the shadows anyway. Sad that the real Sapphire's uniform had to be even simpler in construction than the ones Angela was making for other girls. Sadder still that what had at first seemed a glorious gift of good had turned so ugly.

She felt cursed. Dirty. Dropping her "uniform" in disgust, she padded into the bathroom to drown her depression in bath oil and scented candles.

As she did, a van parked across the street started and drove off.

"Dammit Dan, why do you always have to pull out early?"
"Shut up, Steve, it's time to go. We don't want to sit here too long or the neighbors will get suspicious."
"And they won't get suspicious if a van suddenly drives off at oh-three-hundred hours after nobody gets in it."
"Shut up, Steve. You're just pissed because you didn't get to see what she'd wear to bed tonight."
"And you're just anxious to get home so you can whack off to the tape of this girl frigging herself. Well tonight I'm turning the tape in *before* you make your 'personal backup copy.'"
Dan groused. "You never know when you're going to need some personal insurance."
"Yeah right," Steve retorted. "Personal porno is more like it."
"I wasn't the one complaining about pulling out early. You've seen four nights of her sleepwear collection, and you got to see her come five nights in a row. Aren't you ever satisfied?"
"I won't be satisfied until I get to tap me some of that ass," Steve joked. "Besides, after last night's see-through nighty, I just had to see what else she has in those drawers."
"You've already seen what's inside her drawers. You've seen her buck naked and screaming 'oh god, more, more!'" Dan said, mimicking a girl's ecstatic screams. "That's about as good as you'll ever get in this job."
"And when Eric shows up and they haul him away, anybody's gonna care if I come back for a little party?"
"Steve, you need to get a hold of yourself." Dan saw in the rear-view mirror as Steve grinned and grabbed his crotch emphatically. Dan jerked the wheel, squealing the tires and sending Steve careening up against the banks of surveillance equipment along the van's walls. "Not like that, you horn-dog. Seriously, you need to chill out. Get a hooker. Put this girl out of your mind. You can't mix business with pleasure, you know that. You'd be terminated. I can't believe you're even talking about it."
"Relax, dude. I know we can't, but it's fun to think about."
"As you're polishing the bishop?"
"Shut up, Dan. Can't you enjoy your assignments?"
"Well, I think this one is over. Five nights in a row she dresses up like a nightclub slut, sits on the back porch for hours, then comes in and frigs herself. She's not even using her computer anymore. I don't think she's meeting Eric. I don't think Eric's coming with the other stones."
"That's cuz Eric doesn't have the stones. We've got her stones right here." Steve grabbed his crotch again.
"Seriously, you need to see a shrink about that," Dan said, realizing the pun potential as soon as it escaped his lips. "And don't even make a joke about shrinking." Steve's open mouth closed, suppressing the unwanted line. "Look, we've been watching her for five nights now, and Johnson and Johnson," Dan glared into the rear-view mirror as Steve's smile spread, "Johnson and Johnson have been following her around for five days. There's no meet, no drop-off, nothing. Eric knows the game; he's long gone. This case is stone cold. They had weeks to meet before Andrew found her; if Eric didn't do it already then he's not going to do it. She's obviously not an international spy, just an extremely horny teenager. I'm sure Command is going to call for extraction as soon as the house is empty. They'll have to find Eric and the other four stones on their own."
Steve turned serious. "And you don't think they're gonna squeeze her?"
Dan grimaced. "I don't want to think about that. I've already told them I don't want to be on the interrogation team." Dan knew if Command decided she knew something they wouldn't be nice about getting it out of her.
"Hey, don't be so down; maybe they'll just fuck it out of her," Steve said, punching Dan playfully on the shoulder as he chuckled.
"That's not funny."
"Well, seriously, maybe it'd work. You saw the same thing I did. The damsel-in-distress act. She's got a definite hangup. You know they'll use it."
"Look, I said I don't want to think about it." The van pulled into the service entrance of an industrial building. "Let's just turn in what we have and be done with it, okay?"
"All right. I'll buy you a beer."
"You can't, everything's closed."
"Shit, I hate working nights. I'll buy you a beer when this is over, all right?"
"Fine."

"So, will you be needing us for surveillance again tomorrow?" Dan asked his superior.
"No," the shadowy figure behind the desk replied, pausing to blow smoke rings with a cigar. "Take the night off. I'll let you know Sunday whether you'll be needed further."
"So Johnson and Johnson will be supporting the extraction?" Dan knew he was being nosy, but his boss tended to take the 'need to know' clause pretty lightly with his regulars.
"No, we're not doing an extraction. This job is going to be finished on-site."

"Can you fuckin' believe it? I tell 'em my whole story, they record it an' everything, then nothin'. For three days I wait. Finally I calls 'em up, ya know? 'We're running something else this week. We'll get back to you.' They better not print that shit without payin' me or I'll sue their fuckin' asses. Can you fuckin' believe it? So how's the team doin' without me?"

Chad looked away and sighed. Dirk was stuck in a rut; this was the third time today he'd asked about the team, and the fourth time he'd told his World News Weekly story. If it'd been anybody else Chad wouldn't be here now. But he owed Dirk a lot. It had been Dirk, sophomore quarterback phenomenon, who'd convinced Coach to give freshman Chad a shot at Varsity. That was two years ago. They'd been through a lot together -- up to losing the State Championship last year in overtime -- but even so, it was really hard being around Dirk now. He just wasn't the same since The Beating. Chad tried to tell Dirk not to let it bother him so much -- hell, Chad saw and felt for himself what the chick was capable of, and he knew Dirk had nothing to be ashamed of -- but there was more to it. It was like Dirk had seen for the first time that he was vulnerable, mortal. He didn't do what his doctors told him, he was popping way too many painkillers, and he was smoking pot all the time now. His mood was permanently ugly. Chad had a feeling that Dirk might never fully recover. Maybe Dirk was an asshole, and maybe he did go pounding on those little faggots one too many times, but he didn't deserve this. Any more than Chad deserved to have to watch his friend self-destruct.

"The team's hangin' in there. We got a new kid looks pretty good at quarterback. But he's no Dirk Hurley. We can't wait to get you back, man."
"I can't wait to get back. I'm supposed to go to the doctor's next week for a checkup."

There was an awkward silence as Dirk pulled out a joint and nurtured a light. Chad looked away. He didn't mind if Dirk smoked occasionally -- it probably helped with the pain -- but Chad could tell this was hardly Dirk's first of the day.

"Listen, man, I gotta go. I'll catch you later."
Dirk tried not to lose too much of his toke. "Yeah, okay," he said in a reedy voice.

Halfway across the parking lot, Chad turned, backing up as he spoke. "Hey! You should come down to practice, go over the new playbook."
Dirk coughed. "Yeah, maybe." He wasn't even looking at his departing friend.

A younger boy who knew Dirk only by reputation exited the QuickMart. "Hey, Dirk," he called out as he headed toward his bike at the other end of the storefront.

"Hey,... Conner. Hey check this out, dude." Dirk wanted to tell his story again; this kid hadn't heard it yet. When he saw Conner glance up for a moment and then return his attention to his bike lock, Dirk pushed himself off the wall and sauntered over with his best "I'm sober" walk. "So check it out," he restarted. Conner was on his bike but dared not leave while this older jock was talking to him. He fidgeted as Dirk launched into his story.

"Hello, Manxie," Azmid greeted his new regular, being careful to pronounce his name as correctly as possible. "This is not your usual time. What brings you here so late?"

Max was about to answer when he felt a warm sensation. His hand went to the top of his chest, where the amulet hung at the end of a necklace underneath his shirt. He felt it vibrate for a moment. He quickly scanned the store for other customers; who could it be? Out of the corner of his eye he spotted someone walking past the front of the store. A young man, walking with unusual stiffness for someone of his age.

"Excuse me," he said to the clerk as he went outside to investigate.

Conner's whole body was oscillating as both legs fidgeted furiously, attempting to dissapate the frustration of having to listen to Dirk The Dopehead tell the same bullshit story. They stopped suddenly when he noticed a slender Asian man standing behind his verbal assailant. Dirk noticed that Conner's attention had shifted; he turned around.

"Can I help you?" Dirk said as rudely as possible, forgetting that he was a businessman and this gentleman could, despite appearances, be a customer.

"Excuse me; I overheard your fascinating and disheartening story while I was inside. Is there more? My name is Max." He held out his hand for a handshake.

Dirk eyed the outstretched hand suspiciously for a moment, but the prospect of an interested party overcame any mistrust. "I'm Dirk," he said as he grabbed the man's hand firmly --

-- and felt the world collapse around him.