tagRomanceThe Entity Pt. 05

The Entity Pt. 05


This is the story of love lost, love explored, and love found in a place least expected. It is also a mystery that involves power, money, greed, and lust. While not as graphic as most here at Literotica I hope you find it an entertaining read. I apologize for the state of the work. It still needs proofing. Please vote and comment.


Chapter 12

Scanner Bob had arrived. In more ways than one. San Francisco's beautiful streets, quaint streetcars and lush hillsides didn't distract Bob. He was ecstatic at finding the ICB, noting there were two buildings, both bearing the department's shield. His arms actually shook a little with anticipation.

His next big arrival was the Palace hotel at 2 Montgomery Street. Yes, he thought, all these years of embezeling, it was time to reap the benefits and enjoy life a little.

Built in 1875, the Palace Hotel, when first built, was designed to be the world's largest and most luxurious hotel, towering eight stories over San Francisco. The architects' first mandate had been to make the finest hotels in Europe pale in comparison. The host to presidents, royalty and giants of industry, was now host to Scanner Bob, a man that sought his own niche in the annals of fame.

Bob gestured to the Bellboy to come closer. Pulling his duffle bag open, he reached in and pulled out a bundle of $25,000 dollars and set it on the counter.

"A week. And I'll need a tailor sent to my room."

While a mere check-in clerk might have been taken aback, the hotel manager didn't miss a beat as he helped his new guest check-in to one of the 32 suits they offered.

"If you could sign here, please, Sir." A card was turned and pushed across the counter. Putting pen to paper Bob signed with a flare, as most members of the social elite do. Fred Johnston was common enough, he thought.

An hour later Bob stood on a short platform as the young woman measured his inseam a second time, her fingers nestled snuggly into the edge of his briefs as she noted the measurement in a small note pad.

With no illusions of being a hunk, Bob's curiosity was pricked and he asked, "It's odd, isn't it?"

The raven haired beauty, her naturally curly locks pulled back, looked up from his knees with intelligent brown eyes and inquired, "What would that be, Sir?"

"Well, are you a seamstress or tailor?" He guessed she was in her mid 30's.

Her laugh was sweet and magical and Bob could feel himself becoming aroused as she explained. At some point in his life, he might have blushed as the bulge in the front of his briefs grew slightly, taking form, but Mistress had helped him overcome that.

"An only child? How sad," he replied as he looked down on Allessandra Martinelli, fourth generation Italian/American as she carried on the family tradition of fine tailoring for the rich and famous.

Allessandra had become immune to the results her gentle and attentive labors sometimes had on her clients. She did note that this one wasn't as old as most her clients and the bellboy had tipped her off about the grungy duffle bag she'd spied thrown on the bed.

"Not really," she replied as she stood and leaned in to pass the tape measure behind Bob's back, her arms encircling him, as she passed the small metal tab from one hand to the other.

Bob wasn't sure, but she was. Her breasts pressing firmly into his thighs just below his growing bundle.

When she continued, her warm breath blew across his stomach just above his navel and Bob felt a new surge of interest grow for Allessandra.

"My father wanted a boy to carry on the family business. He got a girl," she said in a mirthful voice as she took note of her clients growing interest in the family history.

Straightening, she didn't miss a beat as she knelt to take an outside leg measurement, not distracted in the least by the hard red protrusion sticking out of her Clients' elastic waistband. Serves Larry right, she thought.

"You can step down now," she said, stepping back to give Bob some more room. The small directive was comforting as he accepted it as a command.

With all his training, his own assertiveness had not been explored. He was even afraid he might stutter until he glanced over at the duffle bag full of one hundred dollar bills and put things back into perspective.

"So, three suits at $3,500 each, that would be $10,500," he ventured as Allessandra stood at his back, her warm soft thumbs pressing the tape into his skin at the edge of each shoulder, taking another measurement.

"Um, yes," was her distracted response as she pressed the brass tab of the tape measure into the base of his neck, sliding the tape between her thumb and forefinger, deliberately marking distance between her hand and her client with an extended pinky, the red painted nail sliding the length of Bob's spine to come to rest on his briefs at the top of the cleft between his buttocks.

Bob actually quaked a little and said, "This is the first time I've had suits tailor made," he paused as she came into view again, tape measure draped across an arm, her granny glasses almost at the tip of her strong Italian nose and a pencil and pad in the other hand, "Do tailors accept a tip?"

She seemed to study his tall, lanky frame, what she decided were gentle, hound dog eyes and ruffled hair before reaching for the waistband of his briefs, two fingers sliding in at the gap created by his intense interest in the family history, pulling the garment down in front.

Bob was flustered for a minute when she finally grasped his full interest in the family business, her warm palm sliding slowly back and forth a few times.

"I think there may be a measurement we forgot to take."

"S So," Bob did stammered slightly as his eyes rolled back slightly before refocusing, "That tip. What about a tip."

"It depends," she said with a business like, deliberate tone.

Bob watched as she pressed the brass end of the measuring tape into his splay of pubic hair and stretched it out. He gasped when she wrote the number down.

Turning from her client, Allessandra walked back to the small writing table that bore stacks of material samples and sat to transfer her notations to her client book. Her decision was made. The hell with Larry. She wanted to have a little fun, get a little wild. Now she'd find out just how good a tipper her client was.

Glancing over her shoulder she put the first offer on the table, "Well, I often think my clients get uncomfortable standing around in," her eyes drifted down to see if she still had his interest, "practically nothing. I've never offered before," which was true, "but I would say... ," and the pencil eraser came to her teeth as she chewed a little and Bob watched, not breathing, "a 10 percent tip would put me in the same state of dress as my client."

Bob gathered his thoughts for a minute, reached for the waistband of briefs and pushed them down past his knees. Stepping out of the puddle of white cotton material he crossed to the bed in two long strides and pulled the duffle bag to the edge.

Walking to the table he dropped a small stack of bills on the table while Allessandra watched his bouncing shaft.

Standing, the stack of bills folded inside her purse beside the first bundle, she walked behind the changing screen that had been set up by the hotel in the corner of the bedroom and Bob watched as articles of clothing were draped across the top.

When she stepped from behind the screen Bob felt a stutter come on and decided not to comment as his own personal incarnation of the Goddess Venus appeared in nothing but black high heels.

Bob didn't even count the rest of the stack as he dropped it on the table and asked, "And what will that get me?"

Glancing at the stack, Allessandra walked to Bob and kneeled at his feet. "That will get you anything your heart desires for a very long time," her voice low and sultry.

Scanner Bob idly wondered if Allessandra really understood how long a very long time could be. His hand started pulling on Allessandra's hair, urging her to find his rhythm as he wondered how hard it was going to be to find Tammy.

No matter, he thought, Allessandra's distractions are worth the wait.


Theodora experienced the same sensation of pale, washed out vision when she first opened her eyes. Her throat felt dry and she moved her tongue around trying to find something to swallow. A blurry, white capped head appeared and she felt something hard prick her parched lips.

The head leaned down and said gently, "It's a straw. I have some water for you."

The sound was more of a fuzzy, melodic roar but Theda finally made out the small white protrusion and opened her mouth. Sucking greedily she saw another blurry head appear and lean in close.

"Theodora," came from the roar as it seemed to quiet some, "How are you, Dear?"

Theda swallowed more and turned her face toward the bobbing head. She knew who it was. Her thoughts were all in place and she was suddenly overcome with a wave of depression, followed by a raging anger.

"What happened you fool?" she managed to yell, which came out as a horse whisper, "Why hasn't it happened? Why did you wake me up?"

She felt pressure on the side of her head pushing gently. Letting her head loll to the left she was startled to see a withered old bag of bones, eyes closed, mouth slack, slumbering beside her.

An absolute rush of joy and triumph pulsed through her body as the realization settled in. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as Theda tried to express herself. Nothing came out and the bobbing head returned and leaned closer.

"Wait, Theodora," the voice was becoming clearer, "I need to know how much you understand."

Theodora stopped and concentrated. Moving her eyes she found the head again as it started to come into focus. Suddenly the Doctor materialized. Color still faded, but there he was.

"If you know what must be done, nod a little."

The nurse stepped to the doctor's side and handed him a syringe that was full of a clear fluid.

Noticing a slight movement in Theodora's head, the doctor leaned in and said, "If the answer is yes, blink your eyes twice."

Unlike Michael, Theodora's shoe fit perfectly as her mind swam in bright, lucid memories and thoughts.

The doctor smiled as the emerald green eyes blinked twice and came to rest wide open.

"Good, Theodora. I am going to pick up your hand. I want you to squeeze my finger as hard as you can."

Theodora felt her left hand raised and sensed something in her palm. Closing her eyes in concentration she squeezed with all her might.

It should be enough, the Doctor decided.

"Now, I'm going to insert the needle and place the syringe in your palm. I'll put your thumb on the plunger and I want you to push as hard as you can. If you understand, blink twice.

The nurse wheeled an I.V. drip in place between the two gurneys and pulled the plastic tube up until she had the medication injection point in her hand. Handing it to the doctor, she watched as he firmly inserted the needle into the hard rubber circle until the tip poked out the other side, bathed in the saline fluid that ran down the tube into the old, tired body.

The doctor brought the plastic syringe to Theda's hand and pressed it into her palm. Covering the back of her small frail hand with his, he brought his thumb down on hers guiding it to the plunger while his fingers curled around hers, bringing them firmly in place on the cold plastic tube.

Leaning down he whispered once more, "You're ready, Theodora."

The response was immediate as her hand started to tremble in his. For a few seconds he was afraid she wouldn't be able to do it. Before he could apply additional pressure to her thumb the plunger quickly drove home.

Theda's eyes were closed and small beads of sweat had formed on her brow from the effort.

The Doctor gently pried her fingers from the syringe and pulled it free, placing it at her side, on the gurney.

Turning, he leaned down and listened. It's already started he thought.

Three ragged breaths later it was over. Pulling back the lid on the one good eye, the doctor looked intently into the pupil as he moved a small pocket flashlight to the side. Reverently, he reached down and pulled the sheet up over the old bag of bones head.

Turning back to Theodora, he was startled by her wide eyed expression. Leaning in, thinking something must be wrong, he listened as she struggled to whisper something.

A chill ran up his spine as he relayed her instructions to the nurse.

"Burn the body. Immediately."

Theodora felt no chill. Nor did she feel any remorse or nostalgic sympathy for the cold blooded murder she'd just perpetrated. She actually thought it an eloquent redefining of suicide.

No. Theodora felt something much more satisfying as she caught the movement of the sheet covered gurney in the corner of her eye as the nurse rolled it out.

She felt free.


Tammy was asleep and, as much as she would have detested the idea, was leaned into Linda, her head resting peacefully between Linda's head and shoulder in the crook of her neck.

Linda kept playing back the Entity's answer from the previous night. I'm Michael.

Adding that to her musings, and the convinced tone of Tom, and she felt resigned to accept what she'd learned.

She shuddered trying to imagine. It had taken a while as she lost herself in the drive up the coast but she'd finally figured out exactly what she should be imagining.

An isolation box came to mind, her body floating in water at body temperature, no light, the closest simulation to input being one dimensional sound. Working, thinking, living with words. Nothing else. No corporal response. No touch or smell. No real awareness of self. Yet, at the same time, being able to move around the globe with a mere thought.

But if it's been done, it can be undone.
She was sure of it.

Tammy stirred and Linda glanced out the window of the jumbo jet and watched the clouds drift by below. The billowy wisps drew her mind back to the morning, to the softness of Tammy's body, the small cocoon of warmth they'd created together under the sheet. As quickly, she recalled the confused revulsion Tammy had expressed.

A melodic ding and a metallic voice came over the planes intercom announcing their imminent arrival at Chicago's O'Hare airport.

Turning her head slightly, Linda whispered above the sound of the plane, "Tammy. Wake up. We're going to land."

She was rewarded with a slightly ruffled but broadly smiling Tammy that automatically raised her arms, fisted her hands, and stretched with a long sigh.

Tammy's head turned to find Linda and she said mirthfully, "Oh, it's the bitch. And my dream was just getting interesting."

Linda was relieved. At least Tammy seemed to be joking about the day's occurrences.

"We've got a lot to do-," Linda was interrupted by the chirp of her cell phone. Pulling the small item from her pocked she glanced at the display before clicking through the menu to find a new message.

"Tom said we shouldn't use this, that they're not secure," Linda said distractedly as she read the message.

"It would seem we have reservations at the Omni." Neither seemed surprised or impressed. After first class from San Francisco to Chicago, where else would they stay?


"What's the plan," Tammy asked over her wine glass. She'd contemplated leaving when she noted candles on each table, low lighting and Edith Piath singing La Vi en Rose in the background.

They'd arrived at the hotel to find a room waiting. No comment was made when Linda inserted the key card, opened the door and they found two queen size beds.

Linda seemed contemplative and preparations to find sustenance, just like the cab ride, were quiet.

The doorman recommended a small bistro just a block away and there they sat waiting on Linda's char-grilled steak with béarnaise sauce and sautéed potatoes. Tammy went for something lighter ordering a goat's cheese and herb spread served with sour dough bread.

Tammy ceded her white wine to share Linda's Château Pech-Redon '99.

"I need to bring you up to speed," Linda said as she contemplated Tammy's demeanor. After her fumbled apology, nothing else had been said, the business at hand taking precedence.

"What did Tom want when he called this morning?"

"He chatted at length with the Entity after we went to bed last night. One thing he did was confirm something the Entity told me," Linda's voice trailed off before she finished, "Something I didn't believe. Something I don't want to believe now."

The waiter appeared and placed plates in front of each before refilling their wine glasses.

Tammy noticed how uncomfortable Linda had become and prodded, "What, Linda? What did, Tom, confirm?"

"We know who the Entity is," her voice was flat, not triumphant as Tammy might have expected.

Tammy reached for her glass and watched a small storm cloud play across Linda's face.

Linda sat her wine glass down and cut a piece of sirloin. Bringing the bite to her mouth, she paused, set the fork on her plate and blurted out, "It's, Michael."

Tammy just stared, a slice of sour dough bread heaped with goats cheese in a holding pattern two inches from her mouth and tried to decipher Linda's expression and what on earth her dead boyfriend could have to do with a global technology threat.

"I don't get it. What does, Michael, have to do with the Entity?"

"Michael is the Entity," Linda replied flatly as she retrieved her fork and continued her meal.

"How can that be, Linda?" Tammy wasn't tiptoeing this time, "Michael's dead."

Linda's chest flushed and a small tear finally found freefall from her left eye. "I know," was all she said before pushing back from the table and heading for the ladies room.

Tammy decided to wait at the table and pulled her purse open. Fishing around she found what she was looking for and started reading the Entity's list again. Then it came to her. I'll be damned she thought.

Linda returned, puffy eyed but composed. Pushing her plate away she pulled her wine glass in front of her and took something more than a connoisseur's sip.

"Look at this." Tammy shoved the piece of paper across the table. "Mary Miller is my grandmother's mother. My great great grandmother."

"Are you sure?"

"Not yet. But when we get to the hotel I'll call my dad and check."

Abandoning the rest of their food and asking the waiter to cork and bag the half bottle of wine that was left, they headed back to the hotel and the laptop.

"Wait," Linda said just before Tammy pressed the power button, "Let me explain what we think happened to Michael."

Tammy leaned back in her chair, brought her feet up to the seat and cradled her half glass of wine while Linda explained.

"We have no idea how but Michael's mind has been scanned into a computer system. Tom says there are a lot of theories about it from as far back as the '33 Chicago's worlds fair, but no one he knows of has figured out how to do it.

"From what Michael was able to tell him, he was stored on a computer system and somehow got out through an internet connection."

Linda explained Michael's desire to be destroyed and passed on some of her and Tom's theories about why. By the time she'd teased the last drops from her glass, the wine bottle was empty and Tammy felt a little overwhelmed.

"Ok. Suppose this wild theory is true. What does a mind scan and a virtual Michael have to do with me?"

Linda pulled her long black hair from behind her back where it was trapped by the chair and raised her glass to Tammy, "Beats me, Red," and the last of her wine disappeared as well. Pointing at the laptop she added, "Let's find out."

Tammy hit the power switch and they both sat in silence reviewing their own personal list of questions for the Entity.

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