31: Sapphire Provoked

A high-pitched burbling reached a submerged and meditating young woman's ears. A furrowed brow broke a plane of bubbles, the sudden splash of water almost deafening against the silence of her broken mantra.

The interrogative sound repeated, now more shrill in the steamy air above bathwater.

The phone.

Breasts rose above the waterline, clinging bubbles protecting private modesty as Angela reached for the handset.

"Hi, mom. Yeah, I'm on the cordless. I'm taking a bath."
"Didn't you see my note on the table? I asked you to call me as soon as you got home."
"I'm sorry; I didn't go into the kitchen. I had kind of a long night so I headed straight to the tub for a warm soak."
"I'll say you had a long night. You never called. And I've been calling home every hour since I left for work this morning."

Even through the static in the cheap old cordless phone, Angela could tell by the stress in her mom's voice that this was not going to be short & sweet. She let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"Angela, are you in trouble?"

"Please mom, not now." Angela's voice was pleading, barely above a whisper.

"Yes, now. I worry about you. As long as we live in the same house, at the very least show me a little courtesy."
"I'm sorry, mom. Sometimes I get... tied up."
"What?" Her mom was shocked.
"Not literally, mom." At least, not exactly, not so far. Except for that time Josh made her wear that humiliating Super Girl costume...
Angela sunk back down low in the suds, begging the bubbles to wash away that dirty feeling...

"What are you doing all hours of the day and night that's so involving you can't stop and call me to tell me you're not lying in a ditch somewhere?"

"I... I can't tell you, mom. It's... private. Don't worry, I'm okay."

"Don't lie to me young lady, I know better. Don't think I don't know you sneak out to the back porch late at night, and tell me you're working late when you're somewhere else, and tell me you're out with certain people and you're off doing God knows what until all hours of the night. Don't think I haven't noticed your change in wardrobe since graduation, and don't for a minute tell me it's all because you got a job at a fabric store and suddenly discovered fashion. This isn't like you, Angela; I know my little girl is too smart to get involved with drugs or fall in with dangerous people, so quite frankly I don't know what to think. Have you been inducted into some weird cult? Are you clinically depressed? Is your behavior the symptom of some physical problem? Are you involved in a bad relationship? Honestly, Angela, I try not to pry, and I think I'm a pretty understanding parent. I don't ask for much, and I don't interfere, but this is just too much. I'm living with a stranger."

Angela was near tears. She wished there was some lie, some sweet happy yarn she could spin to ease her mother's mind. But the weight of her situation and her exhaustion strangled her thoughts, leaving her only the truth of weary desperation. "I'm sorry, mom. Please just trust me when I say I'm all right. I wish I could tell you what I... what's going on, but you wouldn't understand."
"How will you know if you won't trust me? I may not always understand, but I always listen. You know you can tell me anything, honey, and you'll still be my daughter and I'll still love you."

"I know, mom, I do. Please, just don't ask me anymore okay?" Angela's voice broke; tears welled up. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't know what your Big Secret is, Angela, but it scares me, and it hurts to think that you're just shutting me out of your life. You may be a grown woman, but I am still your mother." Gladys Barrett's own voice wavered with the emotion of a breaking heart. "And if you feel you can't stand to tell your mother what you're doing with your life, at least let me know when to expect you home. Because if you don't even care about me that much..." Gladys paused to gather her strength "...then I'm afraid I can't let you stay."

Tears streamed down the tired teen's face; her voice sounded so very small. "M-mom, please..."

Gladys Barrett's voice was suddenly very businesslike. "I have to go now. You have a lot to think about. And I hope when I get home tonight you'll have something to tell me."

The handset clanked down heavily onto the payphone's cradle. Gladys leaned up against the wall, unable even to breathe for several long moments in fear of the bridge she'd just crossed. She didn't want to lose her daughter, but one way or another she was slipping away. Dark silent moods, erratic behavior, no social activity, a disturbing change in wardrobe and image. Gladys knew that the end of high school was a life change, the final measure of childhood, and she now regretted not having taken a firmer hand in preparing her daughter for it. Her own parents had not been there for her, and Gladys foolishly thought that would be enough for her own daughter.

Her eyes were drawn to a business card stuck to the wall above the phone. "Sapphire Exposed." Sapphire and Black Widow. Two sides of the same coin. The fantastic stories of superhuman vigilantes certainly underlined what a dangerous place the world could be. Angela needed to find her place in it before the darkness of chance opened up and claimed her. As it had done to Gladys at that age. Left to chance, her own life had seen years spent just scraping by, letting things happen, never working toward anything, until one day a friend forced her to *take* a chance. That awakening blossomed into love and happiness and direction. Direction kept for the sake of her newborn baby daughter when tragedy later took her husband. Gladys hadn't made much of herself by any callous social standard, but she was alive and kicking, well-grounded and satisfied, and hopeful that as she'd found and kept a positive place in life, her daughter would do the same without so many missteps and steps not taken.

But Gladys' hope was slipping against ominous signs that Angela was lost. Perhaps only an exaggeration or two away from becoming an embittered casualty-in-waiting like the Black Widow. What was *her* mother's mistake? And what upbringing could have led Sapphire to her present place in the world? If Angela were given such a weighty mantle, what path would she choose?

Gladys feared her attempts to raise her daughter were now falling short of even the mundane challenge of coming of age, much less such a remarkable destiny as that the young woman called Sapphire must face. Gladys despaired that perhaps despite best efforts Barrett women were forever resigned to drifting struggles for a good simple life.

"Dude, that's your cell phone." Johnson tapped his partner.
"So?" the other Johnson asked.
"Aren't you gonna get it?"
"Who's calling me here?"
"Maybe it's Ginger. She's supposed to be coming in today."
"Why the hell would she use a public network?"
"Maybe the private network's been compromised."
"Eric *is* a clever bastard..."
"Or maybe it's that cute chick at the grocery store finally screwed up the courage to call you," Steve teased as his partner flipped open his phone.

"Yello."
It was Ginger. "Pull back and gear up. We move for extraction in ten minutes. Position yourself for rear entry."
"Got it."

Johnson straightened up after leaning over to listen in. "Didja hear that? Ginger Hartwick demands rear entry. Now that's an order I can get behind."
"Shut up. You know what this probably means."
"Yeah, I know. As long as I don't have to watch when they break her."
"I dunno. Boss can be a sick fuck sometimes."

Eric Lockwell's phone unexpectedly blared to life, a distinctive ringtone marking an intercepted and cloned call.

Ginger was here.

Eric pressed Mute+Send and listened intently. After a few seconds, he hung up, shaken by the news into a sudden clarity.

Jesus. Weeks of hand-wringing. Unable to approach an innocent girl whose life he'd so carelessly endangered because he dreaded the decision it would force upon them -- either turn her back on her friends and family and disappear with him, or stay and face certain death at the hands of a ruthless power-mad renegade secret agent.

The choice would be made for them in ten minutes.

Concerns over how to break the news, over how to approach her, over how she might react, over the tough spot it put him in, over the unfortunate life-altering choices it thrust upon her, all vanished in the sudden immediacy of the threat.

Hi, Angela, my name is Eric Lockwell. I think I love you. I'm here to ruin your life. But trust me, it beats the alternative.

The words would work themselves out. The important thing was to ensure her safety. Eric knew what Ginger Hartwick wanted, and he knew she couldn't afford to leave anyone alive. Not even an innocent girl whose only crime was flirting online with a stranger.

A van up the street suddenly sprang to life, lurching off around the corner. Eric had to move quickly; in a few minutes Johnson and Johnson would be back on foot to slip around the back of the Barrett house. He needed to be inside before they could suspect anything.

Eric gathered his weapons and ammo and moved to the front of the van. He'd left the radio on...

My fantasy has turned to madness
All my goodness has turned to badness
My need to posess you has consumed my soul
My life is trembling I have no control

Eric stepped out of the van, looked quickly up and down the street, and with a predatory grace hopped the fence.

Angela dunked her face in the icy-cold water for the third time, finally patting herself dry. The tears had gone, but not the sorrow.

Her mom was right. Angela had to leave. She'd already foolishly put her mom's life in danger. Looking around and hoping nobody saw her flit off into the night or flutter back home was child's play in an era of radar and night vision and spy satellites and consumer infrared digital cameras and the Internet.

She'd long passed the point of no return. Sapphire was a wanted fugitive. Even if she cleared her name, stories of her exploits had already made the news, and even if she never donned the gems again she was bound to be hounded by opportunists, power-hungry criminals, even the government. Indeed, if she simply disappeared she was inviting peril to seek her out and force itself upon her. She'd been exposed to enough superhero lore to know how these things worked. She had to leave, if only to lead the trail away from the person who meant more to her than anything.

Her heart ached at the prospect of leaving. But it nearly broke at the prospect of leaving without telling her mom why she had to go.

What choice did she have? With a pair of killers on the loose and gunning for her, she didn't have time to stick around and work it out. It was too much to take at once. "Mom, I'm Sapphire. No, really. I fly around in skimpy outfits and beat up bad guys, but sometimes they take advantage of me. And I think the Black Widow and the Hunter are trying to kill me, and the Hunter knows my weakness. But don't worry. I'm doing good." There was no telling how Gladys Barrett would react to the news, but it wouldn't be good. Her mom's reaction might even put her at risk.

Maybe Angela could come back someday, or call or write, try to explain things when she'd figured them out a bit better herself. But for now she'd have to leave her mom in the dark. It was the only way to ensure her safety.

Angela had known this summer was her first as an adult -- there was no back-to-school September to dread, no summer classes, no arts and crafts camp to cheat her of valuable time-wasting at the mall or in front of the TV. But if she'd had any idea of the extraordinary burden the adult world would place on her, she would have flunked every class and stretched out high school forever. And if she'd known the suffering and death the sapphires would cause, nevermind the personal humiliations, she never would have played at being a superheroine. She never would have put on those cursed stones at all. She never would have spoken to Scott. "Don't talk to strangers." How she'd so flippantly dismissed such grammar-school forebodings. She was a big girl, she knew how to handle herself. What a foolish girl she'd been. And what a foolish girl she still was. Less prepared in the knowledge of what she'd unleashed and what impossible task lay before her than she'd ever been. Trapped by events she'd set in motion. Her life consumed in this frightening destiny, forcing her to sacrifice everything she had just as she was beginning to appreciate it.

Hers was the life of a superheroine. And it sucked.

Ginger stepped forward, planting her high-heeled shoes with practiced skill, keeping her balance as the floor of the panel van jostled and shimmied beneath her. Burnett saw her approach in the rear-view mirror. "Yeah?"

"Did you get it done?"
"Cooper -- hand Ms. Hartwick the trigger."
Ginger accepted what looked like an upscale garage door remote. It probably was. Burnett actually preferred consumer-grade parts from the local home improvement superstore. Maybe that's why he was missing a finger.
"Do the others know?"
"They're clueless," Cooper grinned.
Ginger harrumphed. "Well, that's more or less a permanent condition."
She looked to back to Burnett. "How much time will we have?"
"Depends on the house. When you press the left button, that'll open the gas valve wide. Five minutes, maybe. Though you don't wanna be lighting any matches while you're in there."
"And the right button?"
"Shorts the gas range burners' ignition. Provided there's enough gas released in the house to reach the kitchen, it'll explode within a second."
"What kind of range does this transmitter have?"
"Well, it's a garage door opener." Burnett sounded insulted by the obvious question, but Ginger's glare told him that his answer was not sufficient. "Couple hundred feet. But I wouldn't trigger the first one until you're inside."
"Why not?"
Cooper answered. "This chick's got a thing for candles. If that valve opens and she's home taking a bath, she could be barbecue before you get through the front door."

Bare feet padded into the kitchen. A petite looking young woman approached the refrigerator wearing two towels, one in a loose turban and one just barely covering her assets. A foot hiked up onto the counter; the towel parted up the side, the lower curve of taut young buttocks peeked into view...

Angela regarded her smooth leg suspiciously. She hadn't shaved her legs in... she didn't know how long. Pits either, she thought as she ran a hand underneath an armpit, feeling nothing but silky-smooth skin. Was her hair falling out? Was this some kind of sapphire-radiation poisoning? There hadn't been any more hair than usual in the drain; if anything there'd been less, and her long dark mane had never been healthier. But she was completely smooth everywhere else. Even... down there? A hand checked furtively, and pulled back in shock. Even Down There. Guess I don't have to pack the razors and Nair...

"Wow, you *are* beautiful."

Angela shrieked, jumping back. Adrenaline charged her.
Is he armed?
Is he going to grab me?
Where are the sapphires?
What condition are they in?
Can I get them on before he can attack me?

The man sat unmoving in the old overstuffed chair, his hands draped over the chair's arms, his legs crossed.

"It's me, Scott. Scott Phillips. Listen, I'm sorry about barging in on you like this, but..."
Oh, God. No. Not now. Not today. Any day but today.
She was about to bolt for her bedroom when she saw something on his lap.

He had her sapphires.

The room spun and tilted, then went dark.

"...Angela... Angela? Come on, sweetie, snap out of it."
She heard someone talking to her. She was laying down, on a couch. Her mom's couch. "Wha-? What happened?"
"You passed out. Here, drink this."
Angela's eyes were slowly coming into focus; she took the offered 'World's Best Mom' mug and brought it to her lips. She sipped at the tap water for several seconds before becoming fully aware of where she was... and that the hand and the voice were male.

Suddenly she was wide awake... and cowering in the corner of the couch.

"Woah, calm down, I'm not here to hurt you. I'm Scott, remember?"

Angela eyed the intruder suspiciously as events came back to her.

"What are you doing in my house?" she asked, though she suspected she knew the answer. She looked about frantically, calming down only slightly when she saw her sapphire wristbands and shoes on the kitchen counter next to her tiara. She eyed him with fear and mistrust; there was no way she could get around him and get her things on before he could wrestle her to the ground. Or pull a gun on her; she caught the flash of a polished handgun in a shoulder holster between his leather jacket and his white ribbed muscle-shirt.

"Listen, Angela. I don't have a lot of time. Where are the other sapphires?"
She looked away. "I don't have them," she said with dread.
"Oh, shit." He ran his hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Can you get them?"
"I don't know where they are, exactly. They were... stolen." That was true enough for the moment.

"No wonder they couldn't find them," he said to no one. "And you must have kept these with you." He could see by her expression that he was right. "So you were expecting someone to come looking, weren't you." It wasn't really a question. "I guess it was pretty obviously too good to be true." He sighed in resignation and stood up. "Well, there's no use crying over spilt milk. Come on, we've got to get you out of here. We don't have much time."

"What are you going to do to me?"
"Angela, I'm here to protect you. I'm sorry I got you in this mess in the first place."

He was being way too nice. She'd written him off as a bad guy a long time ago; this wasn't working for her. "I don't understand," she fished.

"I know. There's a lot I haven't told you." He held out his hand to pull her up off the couch; she wasn't taking it. "Look, now's not the time to get into it." He put one hand on the butt of his gun, "Don't make me do this the hard way." She took his hand and let him pull her up off the couch. "Hurry up, get dressed." She hurried to her bedroom; he followed, his eyes following the bouncing buttocks... until he met a closed door.

"Start talking," she commanded from the other side of the door.

"Angela, my real name is Eric Lockwell. I'm with the government. I'm a... secret agent. A spy. Those sapphires I gave you didn't belong to me. I stole them from some people who... you're gonna laugh... well, they think they could be used to build some kind of big laser, when really they're just really big gems, but they're still worth a lot of money to whoever has them."

Angela was shocked. So they didn't know about the stones? What they could do? Well, that changed everything. She tugged the sweater back over her head and tossed it on the bed, going to the closet in hopes of finding one last workable Sapphire uniform out of her thoroughly-looted wardrobe.

Angela didn't need this. She had her own problems. Where were these creeps weeks ago before everything had turned to shit? She would have gladly given up the stupid stones then; but now she was committed. Mr. Aquino had been right. She was a superheroine. She had a pair of evil super-powered killers to stop. She didn't have time for this.

"Keep talking," she stalled.

"Well, my employers are a little pissed that I took the sapphires, and they've been looking for me. Well, actually, they've been watching you for over a week now waiting for me to show up so they could get them back and clean up their mess."

Angela opened the door a crack. "You've been spying on me?"

Eric heard a vehicle pull up outside.

"Look, Angela, I don't mean to be rude, but we have *no* time!" He grabbed the doorknob and pushed in. "I have to get you out of here, right... now . . ."

All of Eric's higher functions shut down as his eyeballs communicated directly with his most primitive self.

Dark blue sheer split sleeves with satin cuffs. White sheer short swimsuit wrap tied in a knot at one hip. Dark blue lace string-bikini panties underneath. And her breasts just sitting right there, live and uncensored, perky as could be. Angela saw where his eyes were stuck and spun around, turning her back to him, stalking around the room looking for something.

Eric regained voluntary motor control of his tongue. "Umm, baby, we don't have time for this..."
"Keep your pants on, it's not what you think. Shoot, I can't find a top!"

Eric looked around; there were articles of clothing everywhere. She would be the death of him. The death of them both, actually. He grabbed a sweater. "Here," he said, tossing it at her, "this'll do."

"You don't understand," she said with growing frustration. "I can't wear that!" She had one arm clutched over her chest modestly. After a few more frantic moments spent with her eyes darting around the room, cataloging all the places she'd looked, she realized she'd exhausted every last workable blouse, camisole, tube top, and baby tee.

Jesus, Eric, you'd think by now you'd be used to the self-absorption and skewed perspective of teenage girls.
But right now it wasn't a charming personality quirk, or even an annoying turn-off.

Right now it could get them both killed.

They both heard a car door slam outside. Angela's head snapped to the window; she peeked outside through the curtains. She rolled her eyes. "Friends of yours?" she said with a disgusted tone.

"Angela, in about sixty seconds some very bad people are going to be in your house, and we need to be gone before they get here. Now come *on*!" He waved her out with one hand; the other opened his jacket to flash his gun.

Angela let out a big "whatever" sigh, walking/stomping toward him like a petulant schoolgirl forced to put down her dolls and finish her chores. As she walked she hiked the skirt-wrap up her torso, stretching it over her bare breasts into a makeshift top. Eric's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets; he almost tripped over his own feet backing out of her room.

"These people who are coming to get us. Do they include a tall skinny bitch and an asian dude?"
What was she talking about? "No... why?"

She pushed her way past him, heading back out to the kitchen. "Are they police?" she asked over her shoulder.
"No! Angela, I know this is a lot to absorb all at once, but I really don't have time to explain every little detail right now. They're not coming to arrest anyone. These people are coming to *kill* you to get to me."
"So why don't I just kick you to the curb, then?"

She'd grabbed the tiara and stuck it in her hair and snatched the two wristbands off the counter before he realized what she was doing.

"What are you doing? That's really not a good idea," Eric said, grabbing the shoes before she could get them. "I don't even see how you can walk in these things. Come on, put some pants on and let's go." He motioned her toward the hallway and her bedroom beyond. She just stood there, hands on her hips, as if waiting for him to hand over the shoes. "Come on," he waved again. She remained frozen to the spot, giving him a stubborn look.

"You really have no idea, do you?"
"What are you talking about? Angela, they'll kill you anyway. They want the sapphires."
Her response was angry. "Well, I'm not *done* with them!"

This girl was impossible! What part of 'they're going to kill you' didn't she understand? Did she think they were role-playing? "Angela, this is not a game. I'm deadly serious. I really am Eric Lockwell and government agents are really on their way up to your porch *right* *now* and they *really* *do* want to *kill* you." He reached for his gun. "I didn't want to have to do it this way, but..." he started to point the gun at her, but something happened and the gun slipped out of his hand. He stumbled and grabbed at it, dropping the sapphire-adorned heels and changing the gun's trajectory several times before it hit the floor and clattered off behind him.

Of all the times to get a case of butterfingers...

Angela crossed over to where he'd been standing as he turned to pick up his gun, calmly righting the dress shoes and slipping into them. By the time he had his gun back in his hands and pointed in a useful direction she stood before him looking for all the world like some kind of Miami Vice cartoon prostitute. Okay, maybe more New Wave Hookers than Miami Vice considering how see-through her wrap-top and panties were... Damn, this girl was chock full of innocent attitude. It had been so appealing when they'd been indulging each other online, but right now it was going to get them killed.

"Angela, these are not the kind of people you fuck with."

"Neither am I," she snapped.

Suddenly they heard the boom of a kicked-in door. Eric reacted instantly, grabbing around Angela's waist, spinning her around behind him, and throwing them both to the floor behind the couch. Laying on top of his charge, Eric shoved the heavy particle-board coffee table over on its side, using it as a makeshift shield.

Two shots from a very big gun rang out through the house; Eric heard one smack the coffee table; the other broke a window behind them.

"Angela Barrett, this is the FBI! Put down your weapon and lay face-down on the floor and you will not be hurt!" Eric recognized Burnett's voice.

"Listen up, bitch! We're here for the stones!" That was Ginger.

Angela struggled underneath Eric. "Get off me, you idiot!" she hissed.
Eric rolled off, coming up to a crouch. "Well, come on then!" he admonished. Eric peeked up over the couch, firing two quick covering shots toward the front door to buy some time, then grabbing her hand and starting for the back door.

He hadn't taken two steps when he felt a violent tug, and the girl's hand was free.

Eric turned to see his sweet Angela strutting defiantly toward the front door, hands out and behind her like an Old West gunslinger. Except that she didn't have any guns. His brain couldn't compute any logical course of action, except to drop his jaw.

"Freeze!" Burnett shouted, planted firmly in the center of the doorway, both hands holding his Model 1911 aimed at the girl's shoulder. His eyes flashed down to observe that she carried no weapon. And that she was scarcely dressed. And that there must be a chill in the room.

The girl's hands jerked suddenly forward, palms flipped to face him. His trigger finger twitched in reflex.

He'd never felt recoil like that before. Did his weapon fail? No... Did he just get hit by an invisible bus? No... so why was the foyer rushing forward? Why was the doorjamb making hamburger out of his shoulder? Why did he feel like he'd just belly-flopped into concrete? Why was he outside, looking up at his partner and his boss? Why were they looking at him like they'd just seen a ghost?

Eric was dumbfounded. "Fuck me," he heard someone say. It was him.

Sapphire turned on her would-be savior, this man who'd created this whole mess in the first place. Her eyes flamed with anger.
"Not after all the trouble you've caused, Mister. Siddown!" She waved a wrist at him dismissively. The next thing he knew he was across the room, pulling himself up out of a smashed piece of furniture.

There was a crashing of glass behind them. Sapphire swung an open palm around behind her; whatever had stormed in through the window was hurled back out with a winded Thud. Sapphire turned her back on the stunned trio at the front door to address the back door intruder. "You're gonna pay to get that fixed, asshole!"

Ginger called in to Eric from behind the protection of the doorjamb and outer wall. "Eric?"
"Ginger," Eric replied with false warmth. "What's a backstabbing *bitch* like you doing in a place like this?"
"Well, *honey*," Ginger grunted with excessive sarcasm, "what do you expect when you give *my* jewelry to some teenage *slut*?"

Sapphire's gaze turned from the still-recovering Eric to the still-prone thug on her front porch and the still-hidden voices at the front door. They were trading barbs like she didn't even exist. A breeze blew through the broken-open house like a wind tunnel, flapping Sapphire's wing-sleeves. She was suddenly very aware of just how little she was wearing. But she was beyond caring.

"Unless one of you is named Ed McMahon and you're carrying a big fat check with my name on it, I suggest you all Get the Fuck Out Of My HOUSE!"

Ginger checked her pistol. She looked at Agents Cooper and Dean. "Shoot to kill," she snarled.
Andrew was incredulous. "Are you insane?"
"He's here, she's here, the gems are here, am I missing something?"
"We don't *know* that!"
Ginger tapped her ear. "House is bugged, stupid. Two minutes ago she said the other four stones were stolen. So neither one of them is of any use to us. Let's go."

Before Andrew could lodge another protest, Ginger snapped around the doorjamb, gun raised, shots fired. She expected to see Angela holding a shotgun -- what else could have knocked Burnett back on his ass like that? -- but she was unarmed.

And unhurt. Ginger's aim had been off. It wouldn't be this time. She looked right down the sights and into the girl's eye. The trigger pulled. The weapon hissed. The girl flinched.

Impossible. Ginger lowered to the girl's chest and pulled again. Cooper now stood to her right, crowding the doorway, firing left-handed and gangsta-style as was his custom. He wouldn't miss.

The girl's top disintegrated where the rounds impacted, but there was no dissapation of energy, no penetration, no blood, no reaction. Only bright hot sparks as the bullets *bounced* *off*...

Ginger fired again and again, fighting to keep the gun on target, the slide pistoning, twin plumes of plasma venting upward with each shot. Sapphire took two swaggering steps forward, suppressing the reflex to cringe as a half-dozen pinpricks tapped her chest, shoulders, and face. As the shooters' faces slackened in disbelief, the furious forceful female raised her forearms in front of her and, bowing her head, pushed violently forward with an animal yell.

The doorjamb splintered as the two attackers were blasted past it. Plaster cracked. Front door snapped in two, one half bending around the doorframe, the other half crashing through the shattered window adjacent. Shards of glass and wood peppered Sapphire's would-be assailants, who scratched like crabs in the sand for escape down the front walk.

Sapphire stepped to the doorway. She heard broken sounds behind her; twisting her hips and upper body around, she spied Scott Phillips aka Eric Lockwell moving toward her, hands up and out in an "I won't hurt you" gesture.

"You've done enough," she snarled. Eric froze in his tracks, the face of fear growing. "Get OUT!" she screamed, spinning on one leg, other leg coming up around and snapping a waist-high kick. Though she was still four feet away from him, Eric felt as if the kick had gone right through him, hurtling back through torn curtains and shattered picture window, slamming into a tree trunk before toppling face-first into a rock-garden, out cold.

Ginger recovered her feet around the corner of the house, releasing her spent clip and searching for a replacement tucked into her skirt. She was shy a heel, and her white silk blouse was shredded, little sliver-pricks of blood peppering her ample chest. She didn't understand why brute force wasn't working. Her fingers touched on something unfamiliar clipped to her skirt. Something plastic.

Andrew tugged on her sleeve. "Let's go before she *kills* us..." Ginger looked over her shoulder past her traitor-to-be. Cooper was already helping Burnett into the van. "All right," Ginger agreed. "Plan B."

Sapphire strutted down the front walk; she could hear an engine racing; someone shouted "come on!" She reached the front of the garage to see the woman halfway into a panel van, with the others already on board.

"Go, NOW! Don't you EVER come back!" she screamed.

Ginger refused to be intimidated. This girl may be telekenetic and bulletproof, but Ginger already had her weakness pegged. "I'll tell your mom that you send your love." She slid the door closed.

Oh, you did NOT just bring my mom into this.

Before Sapphire could begin to give chase, a hot wind suddenly surrounded her. And it was getting hotter. She was unexpectedly airborne, launched out beyond the yard and into the street. A thousand pinpricks peppered her backside. She mentally clenched in response, curling into a ball and rolling with the shockwave, unfurling to come to rest in a crouch.

Sapphire turned to see a massive, smoking hole in the middle of her house; a black cloud ringed by multicolored bubbling flame slowly rose overhead.

The stalwart superheroine rose to her feet amid the shattered and smoking falling pieces of debris that were all that remained of her childhood home. The van was swerving, still recovering from the shockwave of the blast, but was already rounding the corner making its getaway.

They Would Not Get Far.

Recalling too many episodes of "World's Wildest Police Chases," Sapphire wound up and let fly a two-handed shove, aiming for the back of the van as it turned the corner. There air split with a tremendous metallic boom as the rear suddenly lifted and launched sideways, throwing the vehicle into a spin before skidding to a stop. In a single bound, Sapphire was at the sliding door of the van, yanking it open and blasting back whatever dared be inside.

Ginger found herself thrown across the middle seat of the van, smacking her head into the side panel. In a flash, Sapphire was in the van, grabbing her by the lapel and yanking her toward the door, holding the wily agent's face just inches from the heroine's furious eyes.

"You're not going anywhere near her."

Burnett, Cooper, Andrew, Mikey, and Chuck sat motionless, not wanting to draw this female phenomenon's ire, knowing that any attempt at escape or self-defense was pointless.

Ginger sneered. "The only way to make sure that doesn't happen is to kill us all." Andrew was frozen in horror; was she *trying* to get them all killed?

Sapphire dropped Ginger. She was right. Was Sapphire prepared to *kill* to protect?

Ginger enjoyed the searching look of indecision that played over the girl's face.
Mikey and Chuck were simply in awe of a woman who could not only stare death in the face, but was so bold as to dare it to strike.

Sapphire's face hardened. She had no choice.

Ginger saw the resolve forming. But rather than cringe, she smiled. "Of course, you might want to start with the two men who are already on their way to you dear old mom's diner. Every second counts, you know."

Sapphire's eyes narrowed. "You're bluffing."
"I'm not. And if they don't get a call from me in ten minutes, and every hour after that, they'll kill her." Sapphire's face darkened. "You see, dear, I had no idea you were so... exceptional, but your loverboy is a cold-blooded killer, and he needs strict boundaries. It's my job to set them."

Sapphire looked to the reluctant one sitting quietly in the back of the van for confirmation.

Andrew had no qualms about seeing Ginger killed, but she wasn't bluffing. "It's true," he nodded in resignation.

Ginger tapped her watch. "Tick tock. Better hurry. If you drive really fast you could save her."

Sapphire gave Ginger a look of hateful frustration. She pushed off the older woman, knocking her across the van. Sapphire's toes only touched asphalt for an instant before she was blasting skyward, quickly disappearing beyond the trees.

Ginger gathered herself up, straightening out and brushing off her red jacket.

"Fuck me, she can fly," breathed Burnett, still craning his neck to look up through the windshield at the place between the trees where Sapphire had vanished.

Cooper let loose a low whistle of amazed appreciation. "Maybe you shouldn't have told her about Rosewood and Taggert."

Ginger dismissed the concern. "Unless she can also travel back in time, it won't matter. Rosewood and Taggert picked up Mrs. Barrett ten minutes ago. Now let's get out of here and get back to the warehouse before Miss Superbitch comes back."

The van slowly pulled out of the development just as fire trucks roared past.