The Entity Pt. 05

Chapter 13

Fox News – Protestors surrounded a hotel in Atlanta yesterday where the Republican candidate Kerry Richards is staying during his campaign swing through Georgia, with protest signs that said 'WE HAVE RIGHTS TOO!' as a large group of Hispanics marched in protest of Richard's stance on the border fence being built between Mexico and the US. His support of the republican initiative has clearly turned into another embarrassment with the recent disclosure that illegal immigrants, most from Mexico, were actually helping build the fence designed to keep them out of the country. Democratic hopeful Arthur Wright took the opportunity to point out that aside from the astronomical cost, logistical impossibility of the plan and down right meanness it projected, something as stupid as a fence is what you get when the old guard approaches problems with their old school attitudes. He said it was a clear case of a complete failure in foreign policy. The republicans were not amused.

*****

His perch afforded him an unhindered view of the front grounds. He'd even managed to pull the blinds up by himself.

Michael likened it to fog burning off, the small circle he was standing in widening. At first, inch by painful inch, but today the edge of his circle had practically moved out of view. It started with his dream last night.

'Sure you can.'

Michael stood holding hands with a beautiful Asiatic woman, her eyes smiling half circles, her shinny black hair pulled back to drape behind her shoulders.

He knew her. He was sure of it.

'Try again. Tell me who I am.'

As in most dreams, continuity was thrown out the window and he was suddenly face to face with a bear of a man that spoke broken English.

'Michael. What want you to eat?'

It wasn't until the question that he noticed a white apron, spatula in one hand and a white rag in the other.

'Michael,' she purred, 'Remember what my grandmother said.' The Asian woman appeared again.

While there was no real way to measure dream time, Michael covered a lot of ground that night as an entire cast of people walked by, nodded, waved or just smiled, and walked on. The anxiety level went up a little when he discovered he was unable to touch them. Grab a hand or ask them to stop and talk.

Finally, it became too much and nudged him awake at four in the morning. Miraculously, he had a name for everyone. He'd spent the next couple of hours sitting in his bed going over his long list of family and friends.

Linda. Linda Woo. Yes, his girlfriend. They were going to Leo's, the man with the spatula, for the weekend. He was going to ask her to marry him.

His parents, aunts and uncles, grandma Bowels and her sugar cookies. Frank that owned the corner store by Linda's place.

He was smiling when the nurse came in.

"Michael. Glad to see you're up," she walked to his chart at the end of his bed, looked at her watch and finally noticed his smile, "Ah, what's with the smile? Did someone let the Cheshire cat in?"

Michael stood and brought his hand up to lean on the window casing, "I found something this morning."

The nurse smiled, walked to the window and admired the view with her patient, "Oh? And what would that be?"

"Me," Michael's face beamed when he answered.

"That's great, Michael. I'm going to find the Doctor. He'll be so happy."

"Just one question first," He watched as the nurse paused at the door.

"Has Linda ever visited me?"

The nurse's expression went from sunny joy to crestfallen before she answered, "Michael, let's get the Doctor and you can ask all the questions you want."

*****

Scanner Bob stirred, surprised to find a lump in the bed beside him. Even more surprised to find it was warm and wiggled when he ran his hand across the bare rump.

"Um. Mr. Johnston," a muffled voice exclaimed.

He had been tempted several times as they explored positions and furniture in the suit. They'd both found the balcony exhilarating and dangerous with the traffic passing below, windows, lit and unlit, looking on from the building across the street.

He'd thought how easy it would be. Even plausible deniability could be achieved. By then they'd gone through one bottle of spirits and were working on the second. She'd reached back and pushed him out, turned and hopped on the carved stone banister that surrounded the balcony where she balanced precariously, legs open, eyes taunting, inviting; even challenging. He'd found a small foot stool in what served as the living room of the suit and met her challenge.

Just a push he'd thought. His hands splayed across her breasts as he teased lightly forcing her to lean back over the busy street below. Her legs clinched and she laughed wildly, turning to look over her shoulder at the empty space that waited, her ankles locking around his back.

"Yes," she'd hissed through clenched teeth, "Yes. Faster! Faster! Harder!"

But a visit from the police was the last thing he needed. He doubted his false name at the front desk would stand up long under close scrutiny.

Sliding his hand across the smooth skin, his fingers tickled lightly across the dark line that separated the twin globes, and elicited another response.

"Food, Mr. Johnston. I need food."

Calling room service he simply asked them to send up one of each breakfast item on the menu, a pot of coffee and a bottle of Champaign.

The muffled voice became clearer as Allessandra rolled on the bed and snuggled into him, his arm clutched between her breasts, "You are so decadent, Mr. Johnston! So crazy! Just what I needed!"

He enjoyed her wet ministrations as she nibbled his ear and licked the side of his neck. Her hand wandered and he could feel them wrap warmly and pull.

Hands behind his head, propped in the bed, he scanned the room while she entertained herself with his body. Her fabric samples where strewn about, her clothes still draped over the changing screen in the corner. The small wooden work box, undoubtedly a family heirloom that contained her tools of the trade, sat open on the floor and bolts of material were stacked on the couch.

A small tornado would have done less damage, he thought.

A rap at the door and her head appeared from beneath the sheet. He no longer stuttered in the presence of his Venus. His command was immediate and strong. "Open the door."

Her compliance was just as quick sliding from between the sheets and padding toward the changing screen to retrieve something to simulate modesty, if not provide it.

"Did I say you could dress?"

The question hung and she froze a few paces from the screen, arm up; prepared to grab something off the screen.

The rap came again followed by a male voice identifying room service.

What the hellshe thought, and grinned lasciviously. I've tripled my tip and can probably double it again.

Turning on her heel, Allessandra strode to the door and flung it wide open. A small gasp emanated when she saw Mitch, the bellboy that had tipped her off about the duffle bag full of money, ready to push the cart in.

Fortunately, the training of a five star hotel kicked in and his only comment was, "Good morning, Miss," as he pushed the cart past her.

She started to close the door when she realized there was another cart. Two more, actually. And two men behind them, one carrying a basket of fruit and the other with a bucket of ice, the neck of a bottle of Champaign sticking out.

Stepping back she held the door open as a small army marched into the room, each soldier glancing sideways as they passed the naked beauty, and started setting up their morning meal.

Bob was now standing in the bedroom doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist, "Don't you want to put something on, Allessandra?"

At last, she thought, as she noticed everyone glance in her direction to see what her response would be. "Yes, Mr. Johnston, I would. Thank you."

He raised a hand to stop her from stepping past him to the bedroom and held up her black heels with the other hand, "These should do nicely."

The room burst into a symphony of sound again, as she reached for the shoes, dropped them to the floor at her feet and stepped into them.

Once the army retreated she went from livid, as a string of Italian spilled from her lips, to a tigress as she pushed him back on the bed and planted herself.

"Mr. Johnston, you are such a naughty boy," came out around ragged breaths as she impaled herself, her heels digging into the mattress, punching small holes in the sheets.

They were both ravenous and actually managed to sample everything that had been delivered, even finishing a few of the dishes. Allessandra smiled and chatted while Bob listened and dealt with his inner demons.

His mind kept returning to his small collection of special tools. He could hear the clicking sound of the razor knife as he slid the blade out and back in. The wide eyed stare of terror above the silver duct tape that would hold Allessandra's screams in.

She was talking about a recent breakup as he stepped in the bedroom and retrieved the duffle bag, carrying it into the living room. The pruning shears popped into sight as he dug around, Allessandra watching casually as he rifled the bag.

A knuckle at a time,he wondered?

As he continued to dig around, his hand closing on the textured handle of one of the hunting knives he asked, "Allessandra, how long to finish my suits?"

Allessandra smiled as she watched him fish through his bag full of money and replied, "Really, Mr. Johnston, it depends on how long you want it to take."

Bob glanced sideways at the raven haired beauty sitting naked at his breakfast table making an unveiled offer.Yes, I bet it does,he thought.

Allessandra watched as Bob slowly brought his arm out of the duffle bag and gasped when she saw what he clutched in his fist.

"That's $25,000. I need one suit this morning. The second tomorrow. And the other anytime in the next six days. Also some shirts. Will that about cover it?"

Her hand reached for the bundle where Bob trapped it before she could pull the bills away. "There are some rules."

"I'm sure there are," replied Allessandra with a small, evil grin as she drug the bills from beneath Bob's hand. "I think I need to call my father this morning and tell him I've been called away on a trip."

Scanner Bob smiled and announced it was time for Champaign.

*****

Tammy peeked around her pillow and saw Linda's naked form as she disconnected the laptop and stored it in its case. She didn't know why she felt like she did and she wasn't sure she wanted to. But there was no denying feelings were there when, at two in the morning, Linda announced she'd like to chat with Michael. Alone.

Linda disappeared from view and Tammy heard the shower door slide open followed by a jet of water. She glanced at the other bed and noticed it was still fresh; no one had slept there last night.She must have chatted all night,she thought.

She couldn't say it was jealousy. Abandoned or neglected made more sense. And while they came closer to describing how she'd felt, she didn't like either one.

She'd practically staggered to bed, shoving her overnight bag off one side and littering the floor with her clothes. Sliding between the sheets sans her customary Tee-shirt, she'd actually harrumphed, or at least recalled it that way, and turned away from Linda as she sat typing away at the laptop. Then it seemed the more she lay in bed, the drunker she'd become.

"Hey, Red. You gonna shower?"

Tammy groaned to herself and threw her legs over the side of the bed. She immediately became aware of her dry, cotton filled mouth and the slight throbbing at her temples.

Standing, she steadied herself on the nightstand between the beds and was suddenly overcome by a need to pee.

Having relieved herself she stood outside the shower stall waiting for Linda to finish when the frosted glass door slid open and a soapy hand grabbed her forearm, pulling her in. Her resistance was more for show and she cursed herself at the realization.

"You look bad, Red," Linda said as she shoved Tammy under the hot water where it fell on her wavy red locks.

Tammy looked around for a bar of soap and finally accepted the one Linda was holding out. "Could I ask you a favor," Tammy's voice a little gravely.

Linda stood in the corner, her hands running over her breasts chasing soap suds around. "Sure, Tammy."

"Don't call me that. Don't call me Red."

Linda invaded Tammy's space and stepped into the spray, "Sure. It's just that you didn't seem to mind it last night. You even thought it was funny."

Tammy was suddenly confused as she tried to recall being addressed as Red the previous evening. Or more importantly, finding it funny.

"Actually you thought it was cute," Linda added.

With that the bar of soap shot out of Tammy's hand and thudded against the glass surround, both of them watching the errant object slide around the wet shower floor.

Coming to rest over the drain, they both stared for a second before laughing.

Tammy started to relax as she contemplated Linda's revelation until Linda invaded her space again, soap bar in hand, and started rubbing it across her back.

Linda felt Tammy's back go stiff but persisted, both hands at work as they slid to Tammy's sides and provoked a small giggle and squirm when they found her ribs.

Tammy quickly stifled the sound, stepped to the corner of the shower and held her hand out for the soap, a look bordering on reproach played across her face.

Linda just stood in the spray, her mouth agape in an expression of confusion and placed the bar in Tammy's hand.

Tammy went back to work, apparently ignoring Linda, rapidly becoming concerned about the moment they seem to have shared together that involved pet names and laughing, until her space was invaded again as she looked down her leg, the bar of soap sliding under her hand to her knee, and saw Linda's feet come into view.

Raising her head slightly she saw the long, deep, indent of Linda's navel. "What?" she asked in a voice that made even her cringe.

She felt Linda's small, delicate hands on her shoulders and she finally stood, finding herself a foot from the exotic beauty she so tried not to look at.

"What's wrong, Tammy?" Linda took half a step forward, her eyes searching Tammy's and waited for a response.

Tammy couldn't stand the closeness and slumped back against the cold tiles in the corner of the shower. "What are you talking about, Linda? When did you call me Red last night and when did we laugh about it?"

Linda stepped back into the spray and studied Tammy for a full minute. The scrutiny was almost as uncomfortable as Linda's close proximity a minute earlier.

Finally, sliding the door open, Linda mumbled, "Forget it," and stepped out, sliding the door shut behind her.

Tammy just stared at empty space until she heard the bathroom door slam shut.

Linda stood naked in the sun light pouring through the window, toweling her hair dry. She really didn't want to go back to the bathroom and use the hotel hairdryer.

Her thoughts a jumble as she reflected on her chat with Michael. She was now a believer, saddened, but a believer.

'I don't know,' had been his response.

'But why don't you?' she'd pleaded.

'I recall something happening. A process. Probably the process where they stole my mind, but I have no other thoughts until I woke up here.'

He'd pointed out that if his body, well, he, hadn't been seen in the last year then he was most likely dead. Linda had pounded on the table, tears like small rivers on her cheeks.

It was so unfair. To lose him, find him, and lose him again.

'I won't do it,' she'd typed.

'You have to, Linda,' he'd insisted.

Linda didn't respond.

'I'm not a computer game, Linda. Something you can get out and play with when you feel the urge. Believe it or not, intellectually, I'm as much a living, breathing person as you are.'

She didn't respond again so he continued.

'That's the problem. My humanity was taken away when I was separated from my body. Intellect is not enough. Think about this, Linda,' appeared on the screen and she responded.

'What?'

'We have something, right now, no one else has ever had. I died. Somehow. Maybe it was the accident, maybe it was something more sinister, but I'm gone. But we get to talk. We get to say goodbye. We get to say all those things people are left wishing they'd said. What a gift we've been given.'

They'd chatted another hour and Michael, the Entity, had sent her off to bed.

'We'll have a few more moments, Linda, before I'm gone.'

Her clothes had fallen at her feet and she wandered around her bed to get in the one Tammy wasn't sleeping in. A hand on her bare thigh had surprised her. The request had surprised her more.

"Come to bed, Linda."

It wasn'tget to bed, orturn the light off and get some sleep. It had been,come to bed. Which, to Linda, meant our bed.

And she had. She'd lifted the sheet, noted Tammy's nude body in the shadows and slid in beside her kissing her lightly on the lips goodnight. Taking Tammy's hand from between their bodies she'd rolled away, pulling Tammy around her like a blanket as she had the previous night.

"Night, Red," Linda had whispered.

Some small giggles and Tammy had replied, "Night, Bitch."

The hairdryer in the bathroom stopped and the door flew open. Tammy strode out of the bathroom and fished her overnight bag off the floor where she'd pushed it the previous night. Pulling out an outfit, she started to get dressed.

"So we need notarized copies of birth and death certificates for Mary Elizabeth, her daughter, Samantha, my mother, Martha, and, myself. Is that right?"

"That's it," Linda answered.

Pulling her top on Tammy said, "You can wait here if you want. Or whatever you want to do. I'll get this and be back by noon." She snatched her purse off the dresser and was gone before Linda could reply.

Great, Linda thought.

*****

Michael was walking with only a cane, the walker had been banished and a nurse still accompanied him as they strode up the hallway toward the elevator. The nurse was sure the cane would be gone in another week or ten days. A visit to the roof garden had become the highlight of his days.

He still reeled from his meeting with the Doctor. How could it be? How could his mind be moved from one body to another? His degree in computer science told him how it might be done, but even after the Doctor walked him through the process, explaining each step; he had trouble wrapping his mind around the whole idea.

"But why has no one come to visit me?"

The Doctor bowed his head briefly and contemplated the best way to deliver the next line. The script had been written over a year ago. But the important part was the delivery.

His eyes came up, grave and sincere, and locked onto Michael's. "Michael, do you realize what we've achieved here? Do you know what would happen if the rest of the world found out?" he guffawed at the mere idea, "Michael, with what we've done, anyone could come in here, order a body, and come back in seven years and wake up in a new, younger them," as if struggling for words, the Doctor stumbled and blustered a few seconds before continuing, "Why, it would be against the natural order of things. W W Why, it would be blasphemy!"

Michael stared at the Doctor's face. The incredulous expression. He absorbed just how distasteful the whole idea of people cheating old age was to him.

"I mean, we'd never have time for the real medicine! For saving people's lives! For the important things," Michael was sure the good Doctor would stand and shake his fist at the angry hordes any minute.