Kismet Encounter Ch. 02

The day was beginning to shuffle into night in that part of the city, the number of cars on the street increasing, voices of pedestrians lifting from behind her as she knocked again. Growing up in Cleveland gave Camille a healthy respect for the night life, as in staying the hell away from particular parts of the city when the sun went down.

Although the neighborhood didn't appear to be threatening, she couldn't ignore the ominous malice she felt surrounding her. The small backpack felt heavier, her persistence being replaced by the need to sleep and the fear of an unknown city. She peered over her shoulder and realized she should probably knock louder.

Just as her fist made contact with the door, it opened, almost causing her to topple over. A tall brute of a man stood before her, long red hair pulled back in a bun and grizzly carmine beard trailing to mid chest. His green eyes pierced her as she stood suddenly feeling very minuscule.

"Can I help you?" he snapped.

Camille opened her mouth but felt incredibly dumb. She hadn't thought of what to say, except the obvious. "I need your help," she managed, her voice soft to her own ears.

He took in the sight of her worn face, the backpack on her slight shoulders and clothes rumpled from travel. A flash of recognition shone of his face. He shook his head, stepping back and gesturing her into his home with a chuckle. "I had a feeling you were coming," he said with insouciance, his voice deep and resounding.

She stared at him dubiously. "Wait, what? You knew I was coming here? How?"

He shook his head again and pointed inside. "I'll explain but not on my shitty front porch," he averred before turning and heading through the small entryway.

She followed behind, closing the door. Past the entryway led a long narrow hall, the walls appearing as desolate as the outside of the building. After several paces, she followed the tall redhead to the end of the hall, the two emptying into a massive living area, a computer station set up on the far wall. Calling it a desk wouldn't do it justice. The colossal post was comparable to what one might imagine being erected within the confines of a government intelligence agency or NASA.

"Welcome to the Aberrant Half-way house," he said with a sarcastic flourish, indicating to an ugly array of mix-matched chairs, an overstuffed black leather couch, and matching loveseat clustered around a battered wooden coffee table. He plopped down on the black couch and watched her expectantly. "Don't just stand there. Sit and make yourself comfortable. You look exhausted," he picked up a mug from the coffee table, bold lettering on the surface of the mug reading I Can't Adult Today.

Camille obeyed, slipping the bag from her back off before easing down on the loveseat. She waited for an explanation from the stranger as he sipped from a mug on the coffee table between them.

"I'm Allen. And you're Camille Silva, I take it?" after she nodded, he continued. "When you cut off your tracking device, I got a notification on my software that's linked with the project," when he saw Camille's confused expression and her posture stiffen, he continued, "I'm not working with them, but I do like to know what those bastards are up to. They've been watching me for years, or so they think. I only show them what they want to see, like breaching heavily firewalled sites and hacking shit just for fun," he smirked.

Camille sat and politely listened, still not quite understanding.

"What I've truly been doing is keeping tabs on their illegal activity, cataloguing the aberrants within my own database, making connections and corrections as I see fit. I know what was planned for you, what they wanted you to do. It's disgusting they think of us as cattle to be herded for their research. Like we're some genetic research pool."

Camille thought of the envelope she found in the van, the list of people with abilities for her to choose from in terms of recruitment. If he had access to the database where that information was taken from, maybe he would have a way to look up what they had on Malcolm.

"Wait a second," she zipped open the backpack, pulling the papers from its depths and handing them to Allen. He accepted the load and placed it on his lap. Camille watched him expectantly.

His eyes scanned over the list, his expression unwavering as he took in the various names. "There are a lot more than this in the city. Shit, there's more in this house," he said with a chuckle.

This piqued her interest. "You aren't the only one here?"

Allen shook his head, scratching his scraggly beard. "Oh, no. It's me, Brian, and Dylan. They found me on one of my forums. They're two brothers from southern Cali and were approached by the project after an incident. Luckily, we'd already been corresponding and they came right up to my little halfway house before anything happened," he laughed at his own joke.

Camille sat up, intrigued. "Where are they now?"

He took a sip from the mug on the coffee table before speaking. "I only make so much money offering my hacking services. Dylan works at a restaurant under the table and Brian is a street performer," he shrugged, crossing his leg over the other. "It helps pay the bills."

She nodded, settling back in the couch, curbing a yawn before remembering her question. "Do you have information on all of the aberrants in the country?"

He shook his head, "Nah, not all of them. But I do know far more than they do, fortunately. My database is compiled with information they have obtained in combination with my own research and knowledge. I've got a couple of encrypted sites and forums where a handful of aberrants meet and discuss stuff, like the one Brian found me on. Usually mundane, sometimes serious."

Camille dug a water bottle from the bag, taking a sip before speaking. "Do you think you could find someone?"

**

Jude wrapped an arm around Natalie's shoulder as they sat on the couch. Over fifteen minutes of indecision and debate, they finally agreed on a psychological thriller on one of the more popular streaming apps. Natalie sunk into Jude's embrace, a sense of serenity in being so close to Jude. She relished in Jude's scent surrounding her, the strength of her arm holding her, the habitual rising and falling of her chest. She felt happier than she had in quite some time, simply basking in being beside her lover.

And then it hit her. Natalie was struck with the desire, no, the overwhelming need to create. It was an all-consuming exigency to put brush to canvas.

"I'll be right back," Natalie said, shooting Jude an apologetic look. Wriggling from Jude's arm around her shoulders, Natalie slipped from the couch. Her bare feet padded across the hardwood floor as she hurried to her bedroom, her skirt fluttering from her alacrity. Yanking her supplies from her closet, Natalie found a fresh canvas and her paints, tossing them on her bed a she hastily set up her easel.

Nothing else mattered but the image in her head, an impetuous yearning she couldn't deny. She loved Jude, with every infinitesimal atom in her body and she let go of her fear of Jude's rejection to this zeal. Her hands moved fast, praying to any deity listening that she could illustrate with quality of what she saw, what she felt within her. With languid strokes, jade spread across the surface, then a mixed topaz. A shutter of pale yellow, a collision of teal, a percussion of crimson. Her hands were steady now, fixated on the chromatic symphony.

With near trembling legs, Natalie took a few steps back to take in the result of her cathartic outburst. Her chest was heaving, her body galvanized. It was perfect. Natalie stared hard at the painting, her breath slowing, finding solace in its inception. Finally, the seemingly chimerical image was gingerly rectified. She laughed madly, a tear slipping down her cheek as Jude's arms wrapped around her from behind.

"It's incredible," Jude whispered beside her ear. Natalie shivered into Jude's body, feeling her breasts pressed against her back, tears trailing down. She swiped impatiently at her face, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. I swear I'm not usually this emotional," Natalie explained. Jude snuggled tighter, kissing Natalie's cheek from behind. "And, I'm done for now," Natalie added, turning to wrap her own arms around Jude's neck, kissing her.

Jude pulled back, her cerulean eyes piercing Natalie. She opened her mouth and shut it, closing her eyes with a grin. When she opened them again and spoke, her voice was hardly above a whisper. "Natalie, I know we've only known each other for a short time but," she paused, stealing another kiss from Natalie before continuing.

Natalie's heart raced, her mind whirling, her eyes watching Jude.

Jude pressed her forehead to Natalie's. "I love you," Jude breathed, her face aglow, eyes glazed with longing.

Natalie felt hot tears falling again, and she giggled. "Jude, I love you too," she managed before she allowed her desire to consume her.

Natalie grabbed the collar of Jude's shirt, tugging her toward the bed. Unlike their first night together, Natalie was determined to see every naked expanse of skin, to devour every part of her. There was no rush, the only urgency she felt was to search the contours of Jude's body.

Jude fell to her back on the bed, Natalie straddling her with her thighs on her side of Jude's. She dipped her head down, kissing Jude fiercely, her hands inching Jude's tee shirt up and over her head. Jude grumbled slightly when the kiss broke to release her shirt from around her neck, Natalie giggling at her impatience. She pulled her own shirt over her head to stave off any further disconnection from their lips and kissed her greedily.

Jude's hands grasped her sides, her fingertips burning her flesh with lust in their path to remove her skirt. Natalie frantically unbutton Jude's jeans and helped her pull them down, tossing them aside on the floor beside where her finished masterpiece sat snuggly on its easel, out of harm's way.

Forgoing the removal of the skirt, Jude's fingers tugged at the cotton fabric, wading it up and reaching Natalie's panties with ease. Her hand swept under the waistband, Natalie moaning when she made contact with her wet center. Her urgency to revel in the exploration of Jude's body was halted, her own body reacting to her lover's deft touch. Jude found her clit and brushed it lightly with her finger, Natalie's legs trembling. She suddenly found it very difficult to stay above her lover.

"Lay with me," Jude suggested, and Natalie obliged, pushing the blankets off the queen bed and situating herself beside Jude, her hand swiftly slipping beneath Jude's boxers. Jude chuckled as she leaned in, her lips against Natalie's once more. Her tongue caressed Natalie's with the same aptitude as the hand on Natalie's wetness below.

Jude's laughter was snuffed as Natalie's thumb grazed her hooded clit and she slipped a finger into her core, Jude whimpering against Natalie's open mouth. Natalie felt Jude's fingers dip into her, mimicking her own movements and she moaned sharply. Her head fell toward Jude's in the overwhelming sensation of pleasing and being pleased. Natalie felt the fingers of Jude's free hand raking down her side as she plunged deeper into her depths.

"Oh, Jude. God, I'm so close already," she breathed, the headiness of the oncoming orgasm biting at her patience as she quickened her thumb's pace over Jude's clit.

She felt Jude's muscles deliciously tighten around her finger, a drawn out groan coming from her lover's mouth, sending her over the edge. "Oh, Jude," she panted.

"Natalie," Jude whimpered, her body shuddering and on fire as she plunged her digits into her lover.

They held each other in the aftershocks of their fervency, their breath collectively slowing, their hands gripping each other. Jude opened her eyes to find Natalie's emerald gaze watching her, a soft smile on her lips. Natalie kissed her, a painter's delicate brush.

"I love you," Natalie said aloud. Jude held her closer yet, kissing her on her lips once more, her forehead, both cheeks, and her chin. She pulled back and set her steady sight on Natalie.

"I love you, too," she whispered, wrapping her arms around Natalie tightly, reveling in their newfound ardor.

**

The information the project had on Camille's brother was limited but, the important knowledge was Thorn didn't have him in custody. Every basic instinct should've steered Camille into not trusting the complete stranger. But, she felt safe in the home of Allen Bronson, even if he called it his little 'half-way house'. Safe enough that when he showed her to a vacant room with a bed, she passed out with ease.

The exhaustion had finally taken over and she dreamlessly slept for a few hours. When she woke, she found a pair of yoga pants and a tee shirt from her backpack and headed down the long, winding stairs to the strange living area with his computer set up. Her watch said it was just after eight in the morning and he was still where she left him, sitting in front of the bank of monitors.

"Do you sleep?" She inquired as she stepped closer to the screens.

Allen shook his head and nearly chortled. "Eh, not really. I usually sleep a few hours and I'm good to go. Especially when I'm involved in a situation. I found your brother. Sent him an encrypted text."

Camille knelt beside his wheeled computer chair and looked at the screen he indicated. She absently wondered what the hell her brother was doing up so early, the first message Allen having sent around one in the morning and he immediately responded. The long back and forth conversation between the two was pulled up, Allen giving a decent summary of what Camille had told him about her last few weeks.

Various rows of her brother replying with a demand for proof. She glanced at Allen's face. "How can we prove to him we're for real?" she figured her brother would be naïve enough to go with it but was thankful he was leery of the circumstances that sparked Allen contacting him.

"We could always show him," he offered, plugging in a couple of numbers causing one of five screens to shudder and darken. "Come closer, he won't be able to see you from down there," Allen suggested.

Camille stood, unsure of his motives until the black screen suddenly displayed her brother's face in real time.

Malcolm's hazel eyes widened, and he peered over his shoulder, bewilderment on his features when he looked back at his phone. "What the fuck?" he hissed, taking in Allen and Camille a second time.

She then noticed the tiny camera based on top of the monitor where her brother's face was staring back at her. She turned to Allen. "How did you do that?" She muttered with disbelief.

He shrugged, glancing at Camille. "It's incredibly easy to FaceTime a phone from a computer. And, don't worry, this videocall is far too encrypted for them to breach as long as we keep it brief. And before you ask, I have my ways, " he alluded before turning to the screen, "Let's make this quick. Malcolm, is this proof enough?"

Her brother stared in disbelief before his found his voice. "Cammie, it's been weeks. I thought you were dead! Is he telling the truth? Were you really kidnapped?"

She nodded, fear knotting her stomach that he would be next. "Yes, and they know about your ability too. I don't think you're safe, Malcolm," she stressed.

Allen leaned forward, his eyes directly at the camera. "How fast do you think you could get to Seattle?"

**

Three days later, Camille sat across the room from her brother, Malcolm and the two brothers from California.

Luckily, Malcolm had turned eighteen that past spring, abating the fear of him being wanted as a runaway. Allen had managed to set up a strict itinerary for her younger sibling after sending money through a diverted account to Malcolm's savings their parents had set up for him as a child.

Allen had him pull the money out and ditch his phone before catching the first of many buses on his long travel from Cleveland to Seattle. The trip only put him out a little over $200, only transferring to disrupt, if any, trace on his whereabouts. Allen waited until he arrived to completely explain the resistance to both siblings.

He explained in detail about the various aberrant abilities in the community he created online as well as in person. They ranged from what the siblings had to Allen's unnatural ability to bend and manipulate electrical wavelengths and, subsequently, the ease of breaking down firewalls and protective electronic mediums. His talents were irreplaceable to a career hacker.

One thing they had in common was the press from a certain research group, reaching out to different individuals. Just as she had found Camille, Dr. Thorn had been scouring the country for similar individuals, approaching Brian and Dylan after a bout of their pyrotechnic skills being exposed during a concert gig. A friend of Allen's turned up missing, and then another in a different state.

He began to dig into the information he had, discovering the clandestine Project Caydence. At first glance, it seemed to be synonymous with a certain illegal project executed by the CIA in the 1950's and '60s only to unveil it was corporately funded rather than government. This, he explained, made it possible to dismantle their power.

His plan was to expose the illicit project but, to do that, they needed help. With many of the other aberrants he knew either too fearful or too destitute to assist, they had to find other means of assistance. Allen held the now crumpled packet Camille brought with her in his hand and turned to look at her. "Hey, we've got a candidate."

She pulled the wheeled chair she sat on over to the computer desk beside him and peered over his shoulder at the names he highlighted. "Telepaths?" Camille inquired, dubiously glancing at Allen. She wasn't sure how their talents would help them bring down a heavily funded, multi-faceted illegal scientific research study spanning the entire country. The screen held much more information than the highlighted page, the details enclosed overwhelming.

He nodded, "Yeah, but they're loaded and right here in the city," he claimed, obviously aware of her doubt even with his eyes still on the monitor in front of him. "Roland and Jude Costello. Daughters of some big wig pharmaceutical CEO. Now, I'm not too sure of Jude, but I know a thing or two about Roland," he admitted with a grin.

Camille sat closer, her brother peering over their shoulders after coming back from the kitchen, crunching chips obnoxiously in her ear. She was glad he was safe and out of potential harm but, she still found his eating and general teenage boy behavior cringe-worthy.

Allen typed furiously on the keyboard, his brows scrunched. "Ah, here it is," he finally said, a window opening to a social media site. Camille chuckled when she saw a hashtag for the woman in question:

#CostelloFlyTrap

"Wow, I'm not sure that's the kind of social media following I would want," she interjected. The countless tweets beneath the trending tag were varied; some women boasting their encounters with the promiscuous woman, others slewing obscene text.

Malcolm's chewing momentarily ceased, "Cam, what's a pillow queen?"

Camille ignored her brother's blissful ignorance, unwilling to disclose the meaning of the term to him. Dylan cleared his throat and began to say something, but Camille turned toward him with a threatening glare, stifling his explanation. Brian chortled loudly beside his brother with a shake of his head, causing his blond curls to bob back and forth.

Regardless of Malcolm technically being an adult, he was still her baby brother and she wouldn't allow anyone to displace his innocence. She turned her attention back to Allen. "You're sure about this?"