X-Ray Vision Ch. 01: Discovered

Not a lot of sex. A love story really, with a weird twist.

I was wound up in my thoughts, going in circles, this day about the same as every other.

Walking to the bus stop.

Skeletons under the bank building - in the cement - three, hands bound behind backs, heads back in death-agony. Look away, hard to see, though I've seen it a hundred times.

Safe deposit boxes filled with guns, cash, fake jewelry.

Butt-plugs everywhere. Does every secretary wear them every day? Must help with the tedium.

Engine valves fluttering on that truck - will need a valve job soon.

Tall skinny guy - should get that tapeworm dealt with.

Breast cancer always tragic. Hand out a flyer, she gives a brief fake smile, stuffs it in her purse.

Three High School seniors waiting at the bus stop - all three pregnant. Is it a club? A dare? Do they even know? Very happy girls anyway. And what harm? They're having a fine life so far.

Old man, artificial heart valve plugging away. Good morning Mr. Gabriel! Good morning! We've talked many times. Happiest guy out here, knows he's not got long, still takes daily visit to wife in sanitarium, hoping for some flicker of recognition. I love people like him.

Young stockbroker with a gun. A courier? What does he think is gonna happen?

Maybe that guy in the alley, with the knife. Won't he be surprised if he tries it on the stockbroker.

Hard to figure sometimes, foreign object inside someone. She looks like a fashion model, but has a penlight up her large intestine. Turned on? Kinky.

Bus driver with hip problem, gonna need a new one by the time he retires. Gives me a tired smile as I get on board, familiar face, I ride several times a week.

The bus a parade of medical issues, bad teeth, bad feet, bad posture. Tragic remodeled multiple defense fractures, abuse victim most likely. Incipient strokes from insufficiency in arteries in neck.

Get off the bus down by the pier. Dredging built up the shore, 100's of feet out from original - back under here a scuttled sailing schooner, looks 18th century, a body in the hold, barrels of lead. Silverware on the galley table!

Two cannon balls embedded in the mud, the trail of their brief glorious trajectory traced in the earth where they came to rest on the old bank. Some skirmish, have to look it up some day.

Guns, guns everywhere, thrown in the bay then covered by time. Will be the mystery to archaeologists of the future - was there a battle here? No, just a long sad history.

Under it all, stone hearths of original aboriginal tribes. Pottery sherds by the millions, a blizzard of oyster shells. A favorite food! Smart people, and good for your heart.

Look deep under it all, see the long slow beat of a planet's molten heart. A billion years of slow heat and long passion.

Getting melancholy. Hard to see so much and not be able to do anything - one-eyed man in the land of the blind and all that.

Spend a slow day watching the seals with guts full of plastic, seeing through the waves to the barren seafloor, the stubs of old reefs dead and shriveled. The human litter embedded everywhere like a rash.

Brilliant colored patterned seashells, buried in the mud, generations of mollusks.

Hot bright turbine engines of jetliners taking off over the bay, people in racks like cattle, enduring.

Tankers making their ponderous way down the coast, bored seamen in hot boiler rooms, shirts off. A pair of gay guys madly thrashing in their bunk, working off the stress and boredom with sex.

Lunchtime - young couples stealing some time, walking among the shrubs away back of the beach, kissing and groping, hands under shirts and in pants. In the changing booths, behind the lifeguard tower, under the pier.

One bold couple at it under a blanket on the sand, not fooling anyone, she's scratching his back, his hips thumping out a steady beat as old as time. Cums in her, gets it right in there, the enthusiasm of youth!

Her spasms are beautiful, thrumming along her vagina to her womb, a greedy response to sudden insemination. Here! Here! beautiful living sperm, my egg is here! Always makes me smile.

Cool of evening coming on. Pay for admission to a club on the strip with cash I found stuffed in a drainpipe. I don't work; there's easy pickings if you can just see it.

This club always amazed me. The thumping of the band matched by pulses in every cock, every vagina, one glorious synchronized dance beneath the dance.

IUDs, cervical cap here and there. Not as many fake boobs as the young fellows at the bar think there are. Just two, and one's a waitress.

Every young man with a condom in their wallet, their shirt pocket. Most of the young ladies with one in their bra, if they wear a bra.

Hen party, bride-to-be already pregnant but just barely, two of her bridesmaids further along. Even the bride carrying condoms, so she must not know.

Bartender has a shotgun under the counter, taser, Billy club. Response proportional to the threat I guess. Nods at me, flicker of a smile. I'm a regular, have warned him of trouble more than once, somebody comes in all hot and armed.

Like a flare to me, obvious instantly. He's glad to see me, doesn't know how I do it but glad for the assist.

No trouble tonight, everybody sex-hot and happy, music is good, drinks are watered down so nobody drunk yet, behaving so far.

The take is good, cashbox stuffed. A lean middle-aged guy shut up in the office behind the bar, bent over books. Genitals scarred by dozens of STI's; only one testicle. Probably in the business, the club business, the sex business because of feelings of insufficiency in that department.

No I can't see in people's heads, not their thoughts anyway. Just so often one thing is correlated with another, STIs with behaviors, postures with looks on faces, you get a sense.

Turn to the crowd, the stage. Two performers getting ready in the hallway behind the stage, he's sitting on a trunk, she's in his lap, panties by ankles, hips rising and falling, fucking before their number, trying to get centered, humping to the beat of the recorded music.

Number comes to a peak, and so does he, clenching balls, really long cock! strains up to meet her hips, she responds by mashing down, accepting his jism as it jets into her, pussy tight, young body pulsing with pleasure.

A beautiful dance-behind-the-dance, a little number just their own.

She pulls up her panties, trapping his cum inside, peck on the cheek, picks up her microphone and they're on, his still-warm cock stuffed down his pantleg so as to be obvious.

Crowd roars approval even though they probably don't know who these guys are. He breaks into a guitar riff, she's waiting for it, turns to the backup band, smiles, bows to them so the audience can see her wet panties, see she's sexy and young and just-fucked and hot and ready.

They're eating it up, and when she belts out her intro they roar again!

A get the bartender's eye, give a thumbs-up, he relaxes. I make my way to the side, a door to a hall, bathrooms, street door to the alley. Alarmed but long ago defeated.

I make my escape to the cool dark, it's like a humid summer day in there, all sweat and sex and body heat. Out here the chill is welcome, a fugitive salt smell from the water some blocks away.

Beach bum sleeping behind a dumpster, not injured, just drunk. Leave him to it.

Down to the beach deserted at this time of day, all the mayflies attracted to the light and noise of the strip. Walk in the cool before retiring to my beach condo.

Not deserted! One lone figure standing, looking back at the city, close to the water, feet wet. Hot in the cool night.

Not good. Folks in a good place are looking at the water, the lights of ships and planes, the channel markers flashing.

Folks in a bad place come to the beach, look back at what's hurt them, reliving their pain. I've talked to enough, I have some idea.

I approach at an angle, not intercepting, don't want to spook them.

Her. It's a her, in club clothes but not well-done, a combination of stuff probably bought earlier this week, put on as a vacation-costume.

Stomach half-full of liquor. No purse; no money belt. In fact, nothing but the clothes on her back.

Healthy, young, nothing obviously wrong. Must be a man at the root of it.

I pause, like I'm just noticing her. "Good evening! You startled me. Nobody comes here when the clubs are open but me."

She's been tracking me, a young woman learns to keep alert for creeps, stalkers. She's not threatened; her hips don't turn, her body remains slack, not ready to run or react.

Resigned. Like it doesn't matter. Not good.

"Are you all right?"

She doesn't respond, so I approach a little closer.

"Do you have somebody? A place to stay? Have you eaten?"

She gives a sad shake of her head. "No, he left. He took everything."

So. Abandoned by some confidence man preying on the young. A bastard. Took her money, took her trust, probably took her virginity. Left her with nothing, not even self-respect.

I just stood for a time, turned to look at the lights.

"It looks so happy! Folks in love, or out for a good time."

She reacted to that, started crying.

"Hey! hey." I put an arm around her, put her head to my chest, let her cry.

After a time, "It's not you, you know. It's him. Just a bastard; there are an endless number of them, like rats. Chewing away at us, gnawing at the good stuff, spoiling things for the rest of us."

She tried to talk. "He ssaid... he said...."

"He lied. He's a selfish bastard who will say anything. He may not even know any longer what's true and what's a lie. The tragedy is, he's good at it and sounds like he's saying truth."

I didn't know him, but I knew the type.

"You are young and strong! He can't take that from you, he didn't take anything that really matters.

It hurts because you're a good person, you trusted. He betrayed you; that's not on you, that's all on him.

The only way that he really gets a piece of you, is if you change because of it. If you stop trusting, stop hurting. Get old and tough and insensitive."

Like me. I thought it, but didn't say it.

"Instead stay young and alive, feel the hurt when you've been injured, honest hurt."

I didn't know if I was helping, but some of it got through to her. She cried harder for a while, but then stopped, maybe cried out.

She squared her shoulders. "I don't have anything. Can I borrow something? To get through the night."

"I have a condo up the beach, spare room, full fridge. Lets go there, get out of the cold, have a bite, get some sleep. See what the world looks like tomorrow."

She looked ready to say no, so I added "You in your room; me in mine. It's your call. I'm no creep. I can see you're in need, and I'm not a sociopath, I help my fellow man when they need it."

My dumb platitudes convinced her. She held her head high, nodded once.

I pointed at a light in the distance, started off, put a hand out for her. She didn't take it, but followed.

I made conversation as we went, relieving her of the need to say anything, let her gather herself.

Walked over the buried seashells, the rusted buoy run aground decades ago and buried in the sand. An entire jeep, burned out, sunk deep now. Guns, plastic hotel key cards. The usual.

We got to the steps that were my place, steep and long, dark from the beach up to a porch and then my condo.

She got reluctant again.

"I'm going to go up, turn on some lights. Don't want you getting hurt in the dark! You follow when you're ready."

I gave her a sympathetic smile, put a hand on her shoulder. Turned and started up. I wasn't to the top, I heard her feet on the steps, coming after.

Good! I wasn't going to force her to do anything. She had to want it. She'd had too much of men forcing her to do things; I had no right to claim any power over her.

Flip the porch light on, everything looked more inviting. Outdoor furniture, sun-bleached but comfortable.

Inside, more lights. A corny beach-condo with seashell wall hangings, paintings of sailboats, big stuffed couch. Kitchenette with bar, three stools.

Doors to the bedrooms, a bathroom.

"You wanna use the bathroom, I'll put some frozen pizza in the oven. You want some Sprite? Too late for caffeine for me."

She made a beeline for the bathroom, didn't respond.

I heard water running, saw her pee, wash her face. Strip out of her panties, wash them in the sink. Scrub them hard, as if to get rid of all trace of him, wring them dryish.

Came out, paused in the hallway, taking the place in. Boldly opened a door, the one to the guest-room, bed made and otherwise empty. Satisfied I'd not lied about that.

A good sign, she cared about herself again.

"It'll be 15 minutes until pizza. How about something to hold us over?" I surveyed my kitchen, seeing what was in the cupboards, the fridge.

"I have some chips, some ceviche from the shack down the way. Best on the strip!"

I put a bowl on the counter, dumped a bag of chips. Fished the marinated fish from the fridge, pulled the plastic wrap off, set that beside.

She looked confused. I took a tortilla chip, scooped some fish-chunks on, stuffed it in my mouth, made yummy sounds.

She got the idea, went at it, loading up a chip, gobbling it down, loaded another. Remembered to sit on the barstool. Ate another.

I let her fill some of that hunger gap, dilute the liquor.

It was never pleasant to see a person chewing, swallowing, the thick wad slumping along their throat to squish in their stomach.

Especially when they were starving, not chewing well. Some of those chip shards looked sharp going down. I'd long-ago gotten the knack of just not looking.

I let her finish the ceviche, just puttering at the stove, getting a couple dessert plates out for the pizza. The timer ding!ed and I fetched the pizza out onto a cutting board.

A few deft rolls with my pizza cutter, slipped the largest slice onto her plate.

She blew on it, an expert pizza-eater as most of us are. Folded it, got a nibble from the end, some cheese on her chin, hot!

Seeing her like this, cleaned up and in good light, doing ordinary things, she did look appealing. A midwestern healthy unlined face and body, strong, not exactly shapely but would definitely be somebody's cup of tea.

She got some calories in her, and I saw her awareness return to the room, see where she was, see who I was.

"You're not old!" Blurted out, then shamed of what she'd said.

I laughed. "I know, I sound like an old Dad sometimes with my platitudes. I may be boring, but I'm not old."

She smiled back, glad I'd not taken offence. "I like boring, I think. Better than..."

I agreed.

She decided to say something. "So what are you?"

I gave her the who me? look, but she wasn't buying it. Smarter than most, way smarter. Didn't mean she couldn't be taken in, the bastard had done that easily.

Was I going to do that? She'd had enough of that. So had I.

"What do you mean? Other than a boring beach-condo guy that likes walks in the dark?" Giving her a chance to back down, not press the point.

"No, what kind of... person." She said it like she was not saying 'human'.

"What gave me away?" I never lied to people. Too much of that. She'd made me, and that was that.

She nodded. "You saw me way before you should have. In the dark. You found your way to the condo, no lights, no moon, right to it."

"Could have been just a trick of the harbor lights, and long experience finding my place."

She tilted her head, agreeing. "But then, you knew what you had in your kitchen without opening any cupboard doors. Nobody knows what's in their cupboards without looking. So you... looked."

She'd seen that. I had been careless there.

"And in the bathroom - you put ordinary stuff in the under-the-sink cupboard. Nobody does that, you can't see what's in there, it's just for junk. But you have soap, toothpaste, washcloths."

I'd never thought of that one! A giveaway, at least to this sharp cookie.

"Not much storage space!" I protested, but it was no use. She had me cold.

She waited me out, blowing on her pizza, taking bites, just watching me. Not afraid. I think we were past that. Hell, she'd been ready to throw herself in the surf, she wasn't worried about a kind man on the beach. No matter how strange.

How to say it? "I can see. Right into things. Like in 3d."

"Like Clark Kent? X-Ray vision?"

"Something like that. An X-Ray is just two-d, just a shadow of what things are inside, all muddled up and overlaid. I see it all, like I'm stripping away what's in front. Nothing is 'in front'. It's all just... there."

"So you just... looked into the cupboards, and went straight for the tortilla chips. Because they were plain in front of you."

I nodded. "Like I knew where my condo was. That old rusted buoy buried deep in the beach. The dolphins playing just outside the surf."

She looked intrigued. "Like what I was doing in the bathroom?"

I smiled a little, nodded. "I didn't look, much. I like to respect personal space. Just to make sure you weren't going to..."

"To do myself harm. Thanks, I guess." She had colored a little, but got over it remarkably quickly.

She chewed thoughtfully. "Can you tell if I'm pregnant?" Just like that, it came out.

I looked her in the face, then carefully turned my gaze to her belly. She straightened, to give me a better look I suppose, but it didn't matter.

"No. Not pregnant."

She laughed, but I could tell she was relieved, this was not just a little game.

"Anything else you want to tell me? About my health? Any tumors? Breast cancer? Blood vessel in my brain about to burst?" She said it lighthearted, but a little nervous.

I pretended to 'scan' her but of course I'd already seen everything about her, from the moment we met on the beach.

"You are healthy as a horse. Good heart; good lungs; strong bones and teeth. Maybe gonna have a little trouble with that wisdom tooth some day."

She tongued the right-hand lower one, already aware it was a little crooked. Smiled suddenly.

"You could be a handy friend! Hell, a doctor! Imagine the good you could do!"

I nodded, having been down this road before. "But to be honest, couldn't everybody be a good doctor? If they spent the time and effort, dedicated their lives? Why me? Just because I don't need an MRI machine?

And think about it. I'm not some microscope, I can't see cells and diseases. I said you didn't have cancer; well, not a tumor that is big enough to see. So you still should visit your doctor, still get a pap smear regularly."

She nodded, digested that.

"So what do you do? Do you have to work? Have you figured out some angle at the casino or something?"

I smiled again. "Casino machines are all electronic nowadays. All I see are circuit boards. No help there."

"Cards? You could play blackjack like a pro!" She seemed delighted by the idea.

"I've thought of that. When I was a kid I tried it. They tossed me out as a card-counter. I'm banned from most places around here.

And I decided early on, I don't want to be a leech, don't want to just take from people. I was raised right, and cheating is wrong."

Her face fell. That put the brakes on most of the things she had thought of right off.

I put an end to it. "Anyway, it's late, I promised you supper and a bed. You've had supper; you already found the guest room, extra blankets under the bed."

She smiled at that; of course I put things under there, I didn't lose them, I could see them plainly.

I laughed. She was clever, smart, funny, quick. It was a joy to talk about myself so honestly and not get panic and fear. For once.

"You never answered. About what you do."

I sighed, decided to tell the truth.

"I just... pick up money when I need it. It's everywhere. People squirrel it away, forget about it, leave town, get old and die, whatever. Just today I found six hundred in a drainpipe behind a gas station. Why it was there, we'll never know."