"I'm telling you, he's not our man."
"What makes you say that?" Captain Harris leaned back and crossed his arms, staring at the detective on the other side of the desk with what his colleagues liked to call, with much jocularity, the Raised Eye of Scrutiny. "How can you be so sure?"
"Just a hunch," replied Detective Leonard Oliver, smiling with all the confidence of a card player who had the deck comfortably stacked.
"Hmm," replied Fred Harris, scowling and lowering the Raised Eye reluctantly. "Your hunches are usually spot on. How do you do that, anyway? You're almost always right. It's really damned annoying."
Len gave a quiet chuckle. "I like to think I've developed pretty good instincts over the years," he replied, "but in this case, it seems pretty obvious. The gun's the same kind, yeah, but the license for it was filed years ago. If you're going kill your wife, why use your home defense gun, which you know the cops will check first? Why not get rid of it, at least? No, I'm pretty sure the lab will come back with a negative on this one."
"So you're saying he didn't do it, then?" asked the captain doubtfully. "Because he sure had the motive, and the opportunity."
"I'm not ruling it out," said Len with a shrug, "but I'm sure this wasn't the gun. Yes, it's been fired recently, but he said he went to a firing range, and I bet tomorrow morning's donuts that'll check out. Remember, Mr. Mason works for NASA. You know when you say someone's not a rocket scientist? Well, he is a rocket scientist. Someone like that wouldn't shoot his wife without a well thought out plan. If he did do it, and I'm not saying he did, he'd at least have swapped guns on us."
"Yeah, I can see that," replied Harris, nodding to himself. "Sure, that would work. We check his gun, the ballistics don't match, and so we rule him out as a suspect."
"Yep. Or of course the alternative, that this is someone who knows he has a gun like that, trying to frame him. Don't worry, I'm on top of that one already." Len held up a couple of sheets of paper, on which were a variety of hastily-scrawled notes. "These are all people he works with that I'm going to be interviewing tomorrow."
"Looks like a lot of work. You sure you don't--?"
"No." Len shook his head. "No, definitely not. I'll handle it myself, Captain. Personally."
Len lowered his head, and his right hand moved out almost reflexively to the paperweight sitting next to his inbox. His left index finger traced itself around the object in an almost loving caress. Of course, it wasn't a paperweight at all, but a car, reduced to miniature size almost two years ago by a man named Howard Taylor. Howard escaped justice then, fleeing the country, but the woman he'd also miniaturized was left in the vengeful hands of his friend, Stephen Matthews. Len, suspicious of the man's motives, kept a close eye on Stephen, and then, a few months ago, there was a confrontation outside his house. During that ill-fated encounter, Stephen used the weapon--apparently officially known as a "collapser," but still a shrink ray by all accounts--on Len's partner, Renee Allen. To protect her from exploitation by the media (or worse), Leonard covered up the battle and now kept her, along with Stephen's two other ex-prisoners, in a safe environment in his basement. Oh, yes, and Stephen was there as well, himself also a victim of the collapser, a fitting punishment for the terrible things he'd done.
Since that fateful day, Leonard hadn't accepted any other partners on the job, and to his credit, Captain Harris understood, and didn't try to force one on him. Len spent some time "investigating" the mysterious disappearance of Stephen Matthews, which the rest of the force knew nothing more about, least of all his captain. Only when the trail proved completely cold did Len return to other police work, which he buried himself in, often sealing himself in his office for hours at a time. Captain Harris thought this was nothing more than diligent police work, but if he'd known the truth...well, Len didn't really like to think about what might happen if he did.
Fred shook his head and sighed. "It's been six months," he said quietly. "You can move on any time, you know."
Leonard stood and took a few pacing steps, eyes fixed on the little car on his desk. "I know, and I have, really. I know it doesn't look like it, but I think I've adapted as best I can. I'm still going to keep my eye out for Matthews or Taylor, if either of them pop up again, but I think I've put that whole sordid business behind me now. That's why I have to keep flying solo, Captain. I've gotten used to it, and it makes me a better detective. It really does."
"It's always better to have someone else to lean on, though. Someone to bounce ideas off of. Someone to play good cop/bad cop with, if it comes to that."
"That's just it, Captain." Len stopped pacing and looked at Fred directly, as he often did when emphasizing a point. "Sometimes, when I'm stuck, or need advice, or can't figure something out, it's like she's right here with me. I can hear her, like a little whisper, helping me when I need it. Does that sound crazy?"
Captain Harris considered that for a moment, and then chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, it does, a little bit. You really loved her, didn't you?"
Len nodded slowly. "Of course. I think we all did, a little, but she was my partner, and we were...damn, I wish I'd talked to her about this before...well, before."
Fred stepped forward and put a hand on his friend and co-worker's shoulder. "Sorry to open old wounds," he said remorsefully.
"It's okay, Captain. I can talk about it. Like I said, it's like she's with me now, whenever I need her. A guardian angel, if you will. Anyway, if you partnered me up with someone else, it just wouldn't be the same. I think it would make me less effective in the field, for one thing. Plus, whoever you assigned to me would surely think I was nuts."
Fred nodded and retreated towards the door. "All right, if that's what you want, I won't bring it up again. If you're going out after a suspect, though, I expect you to wait for backup, is that clear? I don't want another of my best officers disappearing into the blue."
"Yeah, I got it," said Len. "Anyway, let me know when ballistics comes back, but I think you'll find I was right."
"I wouldn't be surprised." Captain Harris flashed the Raised Eye once again, but just as quickly let the matter drop. "Fine, then, I'm outta here. I suppose you'll be burning the midnight oil again?"
"Not midnight, but yeah, I got some more paperwork to do. I'll be gone in an hour, probably. Maybe sooner."
"Okay, see you tomorrow."
With that, the captain turned and left, shaking his head as he departed. He didn't need to ask if he should close the door--he knew Leonard Oliver well enough by now to know he liked his privacy.
Before the slam stopped reverberating around the room, Len was already locking the door from the inside. He kept his blinds closed as well, for he couldn't very well have anyone discovering his little secret, the one that, even now, was wriggling out from underneath the inbox and leaning against the paperweight that was, to her, just the right size.
"Funny," said the miniature Renee, grinning up at him from her position alongside the car's hood, "I never really thought of myself as the guardian angel type."
"I was speaking metaphorically," replied Len, keeping his voice low as he patted his four-inch partner gently on the head. "What I mean is you're my inspiration. Not to mention my own private forensics lab."
Renee giggled at that. "Yeah, I hate to think what he'd say if he knew I was the reason your 'hunches' about ballistics and such always turn out to be right. Probably blow a gasket."
"Yeah, and then assign you to the lab permanently, I bet. You'd revolutionize testing, I'm sure. You certainly catch a lot of detail at that size."
"I can see it now," said Renee, still grinning. "They'd set me loose on every crime scene, so I could hunt down fibers and hairs...oh, what fun that would be!"
"Like shuffling around on my desk all day is any better," remarked Len, indicating the mess of papers, envelopes, and assorted other items scattered about her.
"It's not so bad." Renee began to meander around the desk, kicking at the edges of random papers and Post-it notes as she went. "It keeps me busy, and I'm still a cop, even if I'm only four inches high, and nobody but us knows it. At least I'm still able to contribute. To be part of your life."
"I'm glad for that, too." He started to collect some of the pages together, chuckling as she jumped and dodged each sheet that came near. Sometimes, when he needed a break from police work, the two of them would play a game of some sort, and he was grateful for the distraction. Most of the time, though, she busied herself with going over evidence for one case or another, often picking out details that no normal-sized cop would ever spot. He, meanwhile, worked on other aspects of the case, and together, they made a formidable team.
The only trouble was, nobody else knew about it. To the rest of the world, Leonard Oliver was just a great detective. He knew Renee missed the real experience, missed being part of that world, and would leap at the chance to reverse what had been done to her. To be his partner again, for real, if only that was possible.
If only it was possible...
Len looked away as he continued collecting his notes and printouts, sorting them for later perusal. All of this could keep until tomorrow, he knew. He'd been staying late at work almost every night, primarily because he enjoyed his work, but also because Renee needed a lot of time to handle her side of it. Being small meant it took a lot longer to get certain things done. Len didn't mind, though. He was perfectly happy watching her inspect bullets, study a gun, or crawl about some other piece of evidence like a wallet or handbag taken from a crime scene. Sometimes he'd pretend to read something on the computer, clicking occasionally to keep up the subterfuge, when in fact he was just taking in the sight of little Renee, lost in her work.
She was so cute, so precious...he loved her, very much so, but sometimes he wondered if it wasn't too much. She was completely dependent on him for everything, after all, and that seemed to go both ways. He could no longer imagine life without her. If anything ever happened...why, he'd never forgive himself. Never.
"So we're going home early tonight, then?" asked Renee, seeing him busy himself with the desk-cleaning ritual she knew so well. "I was hoping to get another look at that evidence bag from the Ritters case."
"Oh, come on," said Len with a shrug. "You already dug through all that stuff half a dozen times."
"Yeah, but something's just not right, and I'm not seeing it."
"Well, you know how it is. Let's get you home, we'll both get a good night's sleep, and when you come back tomorrow, whatever it is will jump right out at you."
She nodded. "Yeah, I guess so. Still, I'm not really all that tired yet, and like you said, I could use something to get my mind off this stuff."
"What did you have in mind?"
"I don't know. A movie, maybe?"
Len nodded immediately. "Sure. Let me get some dinner first. You still have anything to eat in your bag, or do we have to drop by the house?"
"I still have a snack or two to tide me over. Too bad you don't have the collapser on you--I'd love a piping hot hamburger right about now."
"Yeah, well, forget it, I'm not carrying that thing around where somebody can steal it! You can just wait. If you really want a burger, I can pick one up on the way home from the movie."
"Fair enough." She scuttled across the desk, dodging the last of his papers, until she came to the sunglasses case sitting next to his monitor. There were no glasses inside, however. She got down on hands and knees and crawled inside, turning around as she did so until only her cute little head poked out. Her dark brown locks, caught in the static electricity, stuck to the sides comically, making Len snicker even as he picked the case up and carefully inserted it into his vest pocket.
Truthfully, he was happy she suggested a movie tonight. He could really use the distraction, actually. As usual, they'd pick something that was in its second or third week of release, so there would be no crowd, nobody to see her watching from inside the glasses case, or if they felt really adventurous, from his shoulder or open palm. Quite often, if the mood was right, he'd rub her back gently, and eventually she'd fall asleep, only to playfully complain later about missing the end of the film.
Either way, eventually the night would end, and he'd have to take her back home, where sooner or later he'd put her back in that glass-covered home of hers, to take her place alongside the other two victims of Howard Taylor's accursed device. There, among things and people her own size, she could at least be comfortable, until the next day when he took her back to the station. Back to work alongside a giant, and an office far too big for someone like her.
What was it like? He sometimes tried to imagine life from her point of view, and couldn't quite wrap his mind around it. To be carried around in someone's pocket, and walk around on a desk, with everything so ordinary turned so gigantic...it would be like a dream, he was sure, or perhaps a nightmare. Sometimes, when he really tried, he could grasp the sheer awesomeness and terror of it all, and then it would slip away, as much by his own will as any other reason. There was a part of him that wanted so much to understand, and another part that really, really didn't. Not one bit.
All he knew was that she was small. She was tiny, incredibly delicate and precious, and he loved her more than anything else in the world. He would care for her for as long as necessary. For the rest of their lives, if that was what it took.
"All right, keep your head down," he said after a moment, gathering up his briefcase and heading for the door. "Let's go see what's playing."
With a frown, Kayla Robertson reached up and switched off the television. Another night of news with no mention of collapsers or antidotes or the missing inventor named Howard Taylor. No, everything was fine in the rest of the world. No one had any reason to imagine that somewhere out there, a man knew how to build weapons that could shrink people down to the size of dolls.
People like her...
Kayla's mouth settled into a firm, taut line. Damn that Howard! He said he'd fix this, but he hasn't, and it's been over a year now. Was he ever coming back?
She had to believe he would. That was the one thing that kept her going throughout all the cruel things Stephen Matthews did to her. The one glimmer of hope that made life at four inches high worth living. The thought that someday, somehow, Howard would return, and she'd be normal again. So she could go back to her life, or whatever semblance of it she could salvage after all this time.
She stood up and stretched, pulling back her long black hair, several locks of which were dangling down about her eyes. She needed a haircut, but then, where was she going to find a stylist in this place?
Moving quietly to her room, Kayla searched around until she found a couple of hairpins, which were among the many things Leonard Oliver had seen fit to miniaturize for her. They at least kept her bangs at bay, but the rest of her hair was way too loose for what she had planned. With a bit more effort she tied most of the bulk of it back into a ponytail, which still draped back well below her shoulders, almost to the middle of her back. Well, she thought wryly, that's what a year and a half of growth will do.
Too bad neither Mary nor Renee knew anything about hairstyling. Kayla could've let them try their hand at a trim, but for some reason she just didn't like the idea. It would be just her luck that they'd ruin her hair entirely.
Not that it really mattered. There was no one to see her except the same four people, day in and day out. Well, five if you counted that rat bastard Stephen, on the few occasions Len dragged him up to the Estate, just so the women he'd miniaturized could throw things at him. Leonard always stopped short of any worse forms of physical abuse for the hapless prisoner, which was too bad, because Kayla could think of a few things she wouldn't mind doing to that scumbag.
She made her way out of her room, carefully avoiding the doors where Renee and Mary were presently sleeping. Mary always skipped the news, often reading for a while before bedtime, but the faint light under her door was already out. Renee had been in bed for over an hour, ever since Len opened the roof and lowered her inside. Another long day for them, and judging by Renee's flushed complexion and the thin layer of perspiration on her forehead, they'd been rather busy upstairs. The dark-haired miniature detective barely said a word before hopping in the shower and heading off to bed. In fact, listening carefully in the near silence that surrounded her, Kayla could hear Renee's faint snores coming through the door. Even asleep, she sounded happy and content.
Kayla shook her head sadly. Everything was so easy for Renee. She hadn't experienced what being tiny and helpless was really like, had she? No, she always had Leonard there to watch over and protect her, and give her some semblance of a normal life. No wonder she could sleep easily through the night, like she didn't have a care in the world.
Kayla sighed. If only she could nod off so easily. These days, sleep came in fitful naps, an hour here or two hours there, whenever she could find them. Her dreams were either nightmares from the days of Stephen's torture, or pleasant promises of normalcy cruelly dashed when she snapped back to wakefulness to remember, all too well, how small and pathetic she really was.
Stopping at the refrigerator, she pulled out a bottle of Gatorade and stuffed it into a small backpack she'd brought from her room. From that same pack she withdrew a set of gloves and a heavy utility belt, which she attached with practiced skill. There was a reason she chose to lay around the house this evening in workout clothes, and it wasn't because she'd finished jogging around the track earlier. No, she had something else in mind.
With a final check to ensure both her roommates were still snug in their beds, she crossed the expanse of the Estate--their pet name for the glass-covered environment once built by Howard Taylor and now maintained with care by Len Oliver--and came to the access door that led to the jogging path. Nearby, a bicycle waited, and she climbed aboard carefully, making sure she remained completely silent. Even the pedals didn't click as she worked her way out into the covered tunnel and eased the door closed quietly.
She rode for a short distance, not bothering with a helmet or other protective gear, seeing as she wasn't going far. At the farthest edge of the Estate, where it adjoined the basement wall, there was an access hatch intended for use only in emergencies. Len was very careful with his little guests, and had alarms installed in his home that warned of any intruder. Should someone trip the wards, Kayla and the others were to run to this exit or any of a couple of others, where they could quickly descend to the floor and down into safe-like panic rooms. Unless the trespasser knew exactly where to look for them, they'd be protected there until Len could show up to investigate the intrusion.
Kayla had no intention of taking one of the rolled-up escape threads down to the floor, though. The idea of getting some revenge on Stephen Matthews crossed her mind, causing her to smile briefly, but anything like that would be hollow and pointless. He was already a prisoner, and at their mercy, which was surely torture enough for someone like him. Besides which, she was better than that. Kayla knew she would get little satisfaction out of taunting Stephen, even if he did deserve it.
No, she was heading the opposite direction. Without a thought to the danger, she began to climb, using cracks in the walls as handholds. After about a foot, she came to the first of the shelves, on which she'd stashed another coil of rope and some pitons. Using these, she easily navigated up to the next shelf, and the next. From there it was a quick grappling hook toss to the drop ceiling, and then a short climb up to the nearby ventilation duct.
Inside, through the corner of the mesh she'd so carefully worked into a flap, were several handmade weapons, and some other supplies. Kayla paused a moment to down a few gulps of Gatorade before pulling on the tall boots that would serve as foot and leg protection once she reached her destination. With spear in one hand and flashlight in the other, she made her way into the dark tunnel, avoiding cobwebs and the occasional curious insect, which scuttled away hastily at her approach.
After a few minutes of meandering through the ducts, she came to the exit. The heavy grating would've stopped anything else her size, but not the determined Kayla Robertson. Some weeks ago, after a lot of work and sore fingers, she'd managed to undo the screws that bound the panel to the wall. Now, with just a few easy twists, she could push the bottom edge out, like a colossal pet door that opened only outward.
Back in Stephen's house, when she contemplated escape for so many months, she'd gotten this far--to the edge of the house, but no farther, thanks to his mental conditioning. All of that was gone now. The only thing making her hesitate was the threat of danger in the great outdoors. There could be any number of gigantic creatures lurking out there, from cats to raccoons or worse, and Kayla knew her pitiful spear wouldn't do much against something like that.
She didn't care, though. A thin smile crossed her lips as she pushed the gate open and slid through, out into the cool night air.
The early summer evening was beautiful. Nothing seemed to be moving, for the air was still. Huge weeds towered over her, partially blocking the half-moon that glowed in the faraway sky. A black beetle the size of her head crawled past, meandering over a tangle of dead vines amidst the gray stones that lined the edge of the house. About a foot further on, past a series of bricks pressed into the ground, the neatly trimmed lawn began, already glistening with the first layer of evening dew.
Kayla hesitated, listening for a long time. In the tree several yards away, near the center of the back yard, a few night birds sang in high-pitched twitters. Other than that, everything was quiet. Gripping her spear tightly, she began to move along the edge of the house, staying in the shadows and probing ahead with her spear. Once, when she first explored out here, she blundered into a spider's web, and that unpleasant experience taught her it was impossible to be too cautious.
After a few minutes she came to the huge metal structure she knew to be part of the home's air conditioning system. The device was quiescent now, but on warm days it would shake and hum, making it impossible to move around safely. She depended on her hearing more than any other sense out here. Already it had saved her from any number of dangerous encounters. Fortunately the device remained silent, so she pressed on.
Some time later Kayla came to the wooden fence that lined the back yard. Getting past this was easy, for it was made of alternating slats that allowed someone her size to easily slip through. Now she was directly adjacent to Leonard's house, with a clear view of the driveway, which was empty. Even in the summer, he always parked his car in the garage. Kayla grinned, remembering what had happened to his last vehicle, during Len's previous encounter with Howard. If Renee's stories were true, it was now nothing more than a paperweight on his desk.
She made her way farther, to the front porch, from which she could see the entire cul-de-sac. Len lived in an ordinary suburb, alongside a variety of neighbors, most of whom were more than pleased to have a police detective living on their block. If they knew what he kept in his basement, they probably would've raised more than just an eyebrow or two.
Kayla moved out farther, staying close to the wall, as if it could possibly provide any protection for her now. This was where she was most vulnerable, for if anything were to pop out of the shadows, she had nowhere to hide. The night was peaceful, though, and she padded along in silence, unmolested, until she passed the front door. Then she heard a rustling ahead, in the bushes that decorated the front of the house.
Pausing, she brandished her spear, and after a moment found the source of the noise. A mouse was skittering about, probably hunting for bugs to eat. Kayla relaxed. She'd encountered this particular creature before. As she waited, it sat up on its hind legs, sniffing, and noticed her a moment later. With long whiskers twitching, it approached curiously, continuing to test the air, until she poked at it with her weapon. "Beat it, Mickey," she muttered softly, and the mouse took the hint, hopping away back into the shadows.
The presence of the rodent made Kayla relax a bit. With Mickey around, that meant there clearly weren't any cats or other predators in the area. Plus, the mouse would act as an early warning system. A stray cat on the hunt would pursue the furry little beast long before it went after her.
Turning away, Kayla moved out onto the porch, until she came to one of the sloping metal legs of Len's outdoor lawn chair. Putting the flashlight away, she began to carefully shimmy upwards, making sure she didn't drop the spear in the process. After a couple of minutes she came to the padded seat and scrambled out onto it, where she celebrated the completion of her journey by polishing off most of the rest of the Gatorade.
With that done, she stretched out on her stomach, gazing out at the street beyond. Several homes were visible, with cars scattered here and there, parked along curbs or in driveways. The pale light from streetlamps high above made the whole tableau look like something out of an old black and white movie.
She watched the street for some time, listening to the soft rhythm of her own breathing, enjoying the peace and quiet. Moths fluttered about the distant lights in fuzzy clouds, and more than once an unseen dog barked as a jogger or late-night cyclist meandered past, but otherwise nothing moved on the dead-end street. Everything looked serene, as if the whole world was at peace.
Kayla sighed to herself. That was the world she once lived in, right out there, almost close enough to touch. Lying here, looking out from her little perch, she could almost believe she could just stand up and walk out among those cars and buildings, along those darkened sidewalks, as if she were still a part of the collective beehive of humanity.
The cruel truth was she couldn't, though, and no matter how much she tried to imagine otherwise, she didn't belong with ordinary people. Stuck like this pitiful size, she wasn't really a person at all. If anyone found her, they'd treat her like nothing but a toy, because that's what she really was. That's what living with Stephen had taught her, and even though Leonard was far more pleasant to be around, and did his best to take care of his miniature charges, they were still just toys to him.
Looking out at the dark street, imagining the sleeping people, living their ordinary lives, resting before another day at work or school, Kayla could only sigh. The pleasant view just served to remind her how much she'd lost.
The funny thing was, when Kayla thought about it, she couldn't really recall if she truly enjoyed her life before. Yes, she was very good at what she did, but that was all. She lived alone, with no intention of ever starting a family, or being part of anything other than the elite executive club at the bank. She drove herself towards that goal with single-minded devotion, forgetting along the way that the people under her were really people, and not tools or pawns to use for her own advancement. That was her mistake, and she recognized it long ago, but not before the damage was already done. Howard turned her into a toy as punishment for her arrogance, and there was as yet no way to undo that terrible crime.
So she waited and watched, hoping, dreaming, and yes, even praying that one day Howard would come up that driveway, where she waited so longingly for him. He'd get out of his car, and see her little figure waving from the chair. He'd approach with a smile, magic wand in hand, and turn her back to normal...and then she'd slap him silly, and finally kiss him, probably, if she didn't knee him in the groin first.
Yes, that would be a glorious day, if only it would ever come.
Until then, she would wait, watching from this very porch, for as long as she had to, if that's what it took. Hoping and believing and praying, even as she stared numbly at the dark and sleeping world, softly crying herself to sleep, until at last some sound woke her, and she remembered where she was. That she was outside, in the darkness, alone and small and helpless.
That fear, that terrible gnawing fear that clawed at the deep places in her gut, was now the only thing that made her still feel alive.
If nothing else, Kayla told herself, even as she crept warily back to the distant safety of the basement, as long as she could still feel something, she was at least, in some tiny, miniscule, pitiful little way, still human.
The Estate was still silent, save for the barely audible hum of the refrigerator, and an occasional faint rasping from under Renee's door. Nonetheless, Mary Blaisdale glanced cautiously to and fro as she quietly slipped out of her room, grateful as ever that the ground underfoot was carpeted.
She glanced warily at Kayla's door, which was partially open. Mary doubted very much that Renee would be disturbed at all by her departure, but Kayla was a notoriously poor sleeper. In fact, Mary wouldn't be surprised if Kayla was awake right now, tossing and turning on her bed, struggling with the personal demons that haunted her still.
Mary half expected Kayla's face to pop out of that doorway, but to her relief, there was no sign of her roommate this time. The rest of the Estate was dark as Mary slipped silently through the living room, and past the empty kitchen. Sometimes Kayla fell asleep on the couch, or exercised late in an effort to wear herself out. However, the absence of any lights anywhere pretty much ruled out that scenario.
Mary sighed with relief as she made her way cautiously through the garden towards the door that led to the jogging track. The last thing she wanted was to be caught sneaking around, especially dressed as she was. Decked out in the lime-green vinyl minidress and white thigh boots that had been in her suitcase the day she was miniaturized...well, there was only one reason she would put on that particular outfit.
As she slipped through the exit and made her way down the darkened tunnel towards the exit, Mary silently cursed herself for the millionth time. Why was she doing this, anyway? Why did her whole body tremble with anticipation? Why couldn't she just, for once, refuse to give in to her dark desires?
She couldn't help it, or so she tried to tell herself, night after night, when she lay awake in bed, shivering, imagining what she could be doing, if only she took a short trip down to the floor. She knew it was wrong. There wasn't anything that could possibly be more wrong about what she was about to do. If the others knew...if they had even the slightest inkling of what happened late at night--not every night, but often enough--Mary shuddered again at the thought.
She came to the exit and frowned. The bike was here--Kayla's bike, the one she liked to ride endlessly around the track, sometimes for hours. Usually she parked it inside the main door. Was it broken? Yeah, that was probably it. Maybe it had a dropped chain or flat or something, or maybe Kayla just decided to run the rest of the way. In the end, it didn't really matter. Mary didn't stop to investigate, but pressed on.
The coil of thread awaited, at the edge of the precipice that dropped a couple of feet to the distant basement floor. She shoved the rope with her foot and watched it fall into the darkness. With a yank to ensure it the knots were still secure, she quickly descended, going hand over hand to avoid a friction burn on her hands, or damage to the shiny, clingy boots she was so proud of.
Back in the day, she would wear those boots on the dance floor, sometimes along with this particular dress, other times with equally revealing clothing, unabashedly advertising herself for all to see. Inevitably a man, someone with courage and high standards, befitting someone of Mary's obvious caliber, would approach. The two of them would cavort and strut, in time to the music, and when he passed her silent test, they'd move on to another kind of dance, the sort performed horizontally.
Then, when the night was over, and her lustful desires were satisfied, Mary would put on her impeccably tailored business suit, locking the shameful outfit away, and return to the real world, leaving the dark side of herself behind. She could return to work then, focused and recharged, until the next time she felt that primal urge. There were no strings attached, no troublesome relationships to sever, just a faceless one-night stand who she was sure left just as fulfilled as she was. She would never see him again, and that was the way she liked it.
Only now there was no more dance floor, and no Las Vegas to visit and conceal her shameful secret side. There were no strange men to flirt with, to buy her drinks, and lead her to their rooms. There was Leonard Oliver, of course, but he was a giant, sixteen times her size, and he was already taken. He might as well have been married to Renee, and Mary would never get between them. She had always avoided relationships, and while she was sure some of the men she'd encountered were husbands in their real lives, that didn't matter in Las Vegas. There, they both knew the rules. Here, in Leonard's home, the rules were just as clear.
So that left only one other possibility. Distasteful and disgusting as it was, Mary had only one choice available to her, and so she made her way in secret, through the dark basement towards her detested destination.
In the morning, she knew, she would hate herself. She would curse and swear, and insist she'd never do anything like that again, but she always would. Her addiction was plain to see, and she knew that's what it was, but that made it no less difficult to control. The longer she waited, the harder she tried, the more she could feel the tugging of those invisible strings. The call, like a siren's wail, wafting up from the dark corner under the stairs that even now she was fast approaching.
The high heels under her feet made a rhythmic two-stroke clacking as she walked steadily across the bare concrete towards her forbidden rendezvous. A faint glow ahead illuminated her goal. In the alcove underneath the stairs leading up from the basement, there was a large cage, the kind used to transport cats or small dogs on trips outside the home. Inside, a few pieces of miniaturized furniture lay scattered haphazardly about. The nearby television was on, flickering faintly, the sound of a late night talk show just barely audible now over the clicks of her footsteps on the floor.
He must have seen her coming, for he was sitting up, dressed only in ragged jeans and a partially torn T-shirt. Stephen Matthews was thin, but not emaciated. His arms were firmly toned, and shoulders broad, for he had little to do in his prison save exercise, and clearly did so regularly. His face was pale, like the rest of him, from lack of exposure to sunlight, and he clearly hadn't shaved in at least a couple of days. His dark hair was long and needed cutting very badly. He hadn't made any effort at all to maintain his appearance, not that Mary would've expected otherwise.
She stopped at the edge of the bars, looking at him and scowling, crossing her arms petulantly. "You look like shit," she commented, which to her was nothing less than stating the obvious.
"I'd say the same about you," said Stephen, getting to his feet, "but I'd be lying. We both know you look amazing. You're quite the gorgeous little slut, you know."
"Fuck you." Mary paced back and forth. "You couldn't even try, could you? You couldn't even make an attempt to complement me."
"Oh, come on, you didn't come here for complements." Stephen tugged absently at the thin wire attached to the collar about his neck, the one that kept him permanently tethered to the inside of his cage, even if he could get the front gate open on his own. "You only came here for one thing."
"So full of yourself, as always." Mary found herself stopping in front of the sliding section of bars that served as the door into the cage. With a tug of a nearby lever she could pop the entrance open, but for the moment she let her hand hang idle. "What if I came here to tell you I was through with all of this? That I'd come to say I was never doing this again? What would you say then?"
Stephen considered that for a moment, and then began to laugh. He laughed until the frown on Mary's face became very pronounced, and then finally replied, "You know that will never happen."
"Yes it will," Mary insisted in frustration. "Someday soon."
"Even if it does," he went on with a shrug, "it's no skin off my nose. I don't need you, anyway. You're the one who needs me."
"I don't need you!" Mary yelled, stamping her foot on the cold concrete floor, making a surprisingly loud snap that surprised even her. "I don't need anybody! You're just--you're like a bad habit! I could quit any time I wanted to, but you know what? I like coming down here, and looking through these bars, and seeing you like this, broken and humiliated, eating the scraps Len feels like throwing you, spending you days watching television and rotting in this prison. That's why I come here, Stephen. That's the only reason."
"Are you done?"
"Yes, I suppose I am." She frowned and crossed her arms again, waiting to see what he would say.
After a moment, Stephen threw back his head and laughed again. "You still can't admit it, can you?" he managed between breaths. "You just can't! You're such a slut, Mary Blaisdale, and you always were, and you always will be. You don't give a crap about me at all. You're here for yourself, for your own gratification. When I shrank you, back in Vegas, you were there for the same reasons you're here right now. That's why you're wearing that outfit, and why you put on makeup and did your hair. You're just a filthy little whore, and that's the truth, no matter how you slice it."
"I'm not a whore!" Mary screamed, and with that she pulled on the lever, pushed through the gate on the bars, and climbed angrily inside. Stephen was still laughing as she rushed towards him, furious, and slapped him hard across the face.
He stopped laughing at once, as if a switch had been thrown, and put his hand to the stinging red mark on his cheek. "So there it is," he growled, no longer amused. "There's that famous Blaisdale slap. Just like the first time you came on to me, when you led me on, back when we first met. If only I'd known then what a slut you really are."
"I'm not a--!" she started, lunging to strike him again, but this time he was ready. His arm came up quickly, grabbing her by the wrist, and she struggled momentarily, but was no match for his strength. The muscles in his forearm and biceps flexed with power she had no way to resist.
"Yes you are," intoned Stephen in a low voice. "You always were, Mary. If I'd only known what you really wanted, when you first slapped me. I shouldn't have just let you walk away. I should've thrown you to the floor and had my way with you."
"That would've been rape," she insisted. "You know it would've been."
"But you wanted it." Stephen chuckled again. "It's not rape if you want it, Mary. But you couldn't very well tell me that without ruining the whole charade, now could you?"
"You don't know anything about me!" she yelled, struggling against his grip. "How dare you judge me!"
"I don't have to judge you," he went on. "You already judged yourself. Now come on, Mary, why do we always have to go through this elaborate song and dance, this inane little pretense of foreplay? Just admit the truth, for once. Admit you want me, because I sure as hell want you, and if you didn't fight so much, this could really be something special."
"Never!" she screamed, beating and clawing at him with her free hand, but all that did was force him to grab her other arm. She thrashed about wildly, kicking, snarling, working herself up into a frenzy. "I hate you! I hate everything about you! Let me go, goddamn it! Let me go!"
"Fine," he replied, taking a deep breath. "Have it your way, then."
With that, he drew her to him, ignoring her struggles, and with some effort his eager lips found hers. At first she bit and snapped, but he was relentless, ignoring the pain, and within moments she had surrendered, kissing and clutching and pawing at him, lost in that hateful dark desire, twisting and fighting for position until they were hopelessly entwined, gasping for breath when they could, shedding clothes as they staggered towards the bed, ferociously mating like animals until finally, at last, they both collapsed from sheer exhaustion.
And, when it was all over, as she lay there, panting, body heaving from the effort, soaked with mingled sweat and other fluids, a faint smile of blissful satisfaction across her tiny face, Mary Blaisdale wept.
Stephen was asleep when Mary finally crawled away, or at least he did a good enough job pretending to sleep that she didn't catch on. Nor did she care, really. She didn't try to be quiet as she pulled on her wrinkled dress and zipped up the boots, and wearily made her way out the front gate, which she checked to make sure was securely fastened from the outside. At least she knew he couldn't come after her. That chain about his neck kept him trapped in the cage all the time, even if he somehow figured out a way to open the front panel on his own.
Her head hung low as she made her way forlornly back towards the distant Estate. The tears had stopped by now, replaced with an empty feeling of abject hopelessness.
Stephen was right about her. He was right in every way. She was a slut, to use his crude terminology. She was addicted to sex. It was a drug, a compulsion she couldn't control. One way or another, she had to have it. No matter who it was, or how terrible. The more she thought about it, the more disgusting it became. Stephen Matthews was a horrible person, an evil rapist who'd earned himself quite a luxurious penthouse in Hell, but he was also the only man available to her, and so she went to him, time and time again, hating herself for it but unable to stop.
When she was with him, she felt only loathing. His touch was foul and his desires perverted, and yet, she knew deep down that was exactly what she needed. The dirtier and more disgusting it was, the more exciting the encounter became. She wanted him to abuse her, to force himself upon her, to hold her down and cause her pain. The more she resisted, the more explosive the final result.
In other words, the more she liked it.
That was the bottom line. When it was all said and done, at the moment of orgasm, when he took her to that limit, that was when it was all worthwhile. That high, greater than any drug could produce, was what she sought. That was what she dreamed of, and that was what kept her coming back, time and time again. That was why, no matter how much she swore and cursed and promised herself otherwise, she knew in her heart she would visit Stephen Matthews again.
She reached the thread rope and started to climb. The ascent wasn't hard, and she'd performed such maneuvers hundreds of times since becoming small. Drained of energy as she was, though, it seemed to take forever.
At the top, Mary pulled herself onto the table and collapsed, gasping for breath, and the tears came again. She sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes. Why didn't Len just kill him? Why did they keep him alive? If that bullet had been just a few inches lower, he wouldn't be here, and there would be no one to visit. No outlet for her pent-up frustrations. What would she do then?
She'd thought of that before, of course. In the dark, lying in her bed, thinking about the horrible things Stephen did to her, she wondered what would happen if he weren't there. Self-flagellation wouldn't do the trick, of course. Mary knew that from experience. It might slow things down a bit, buy her some time, but that was all. She had to feel the touch of a man, and the dirtier the touch, the better. So what if Stephen weren't around? Would she beg Len to abuse her? Or would she sneak out of the house somehow, and find someone else? Someone gigantic, with massive fingers and hands that could hold her like a doll? Would she have to beg him too, or would he mistreat her as a matter of course?
Not that she could get out of here, even if she wanted to. The place was like a prison, with no exits she could reach. Unless she could climb...
In fact, as she lay there, wiping her eyes and staring up at the distant ceiling, she spotted something moving high above. At first her heart seemed to stop, for it might've been a huge spider clambering across the wall, but she quickly realized it was a human shape. A woman, moving purposefully downward, dressed in leotard and tights, with boots and gloves to assist her grip. Her long dark hair was tied in a ponytail, dangling midway down her back.
Kayla, Mary realized at once. She certainly did know how to climb, didn't she? But where had she been? What was she doing up there?
The distant form reached the top shelf, where Len stored supplies for his tiny guests, and disappeared momentarily from sight. Mary suddenly realized she was in real trouble. Kayla would spot her for sure if she stayed where she was, even in the shadowy darkness of the basement.
Hurriedly, she got to her feet and scampered away, moving along the rim of the covered running track until she was out of view behind the wall. From there she could peek out and watch Kayla's movements. For a moment there was no sign of the little wall climber, until finally she appeared again, descending from shelf to shelf and then all the way to the tabletop, apparently using invisible handholds, or maybe glue on her gloves and boots. That's what it looked like, anyway.
Once she descended far enough, Kayla hopped off, dusted herself for a moment, and moved over to the waiting bicycle. Aha, thought Mary, that explains the bike's presence. Kayla didn't hesitate or glance around, but took off down the dark tunnel and vanished from sight.
Mary took a few deep breaths to calm herself. That was a close one! If Kayla had seen her...but she didn't, and now she'd surely go to bed, having tired herself out with her late-night journey to the ceiling.
Curious, Mary moved over and ran her hands across the faded paint. Sure enough, here and there a few tiny cracks or holes were visible, something even Len probably wouldn't have noticed, had he cared to inspect that spot. Experimentally Mary tried working her fingers into those handholds, but quickly gave up. There was no way she'd ever be able to make it up there. Well, perhaps in the light, and with better clothing on, and when she wasn't dog tired, but not like this.
What was up there, though? She was still curious, but in the end it didn't matter. Kayla probably just wanted to do something different, she reasoned. Something that didn't involve the same old riding around or workout machines. Climbing up there was probably something akin to therapy for her.
Mary shook her head, put it out of her mind, and started walking back towards the interior of the Estate. With any luck, she could sneak back to her room unnoticed, and then, her perverted need for sex at last sated, she could finally sleep.
"Morning, ladies," said the booming voice of Leonard Oliver from somewhere far above. Kayla, as usual, didn't look up, but only waved briefly, eyes fixed on the television. Her eyes had dark circles under them, which was typical, considering she'd barely slept.
From somewhere in the back of the building, over the sound of running water, Mary's voice called out, "Morning!" Of Renee, there was no sign.
"Did you all get some sleep?" inquired the detective, voice accompanied by a scraping that indicated he's taken his usual seat, where he could watch the goings on inside the Estate from a position of comfort. "If it's too chilly down here, let me know and I can turn the thermostat up a bit."
"It's fine, Len," said Renee, popping out of her room and sauntering down the hallway towards the kitchen. She was dressed in a knee-length skirt and businesslike blouse, with the new shoes Len bought for her earlier in the week. Her auburn hair was tied back and bound up professionally, with a few locks left loose and draped about her face. Those green eyes of hers were almost sparkling, and she seemed eager to start the day. "It is okay, isn't it, Kayla?"
"Sure, whatever," replied the brunette without looking up. She poked absently at the few flakes of cereal still floating in the bowl in her lap. "Not that you'd notice, since you're never here anyway."
"You can come to work with me if you want," offered Renee immediately, smiling as she gathered up a few food items and started stuffing them into a paper sack. "You know you're always welcome. At least it would get you out of here for a bit. What do you say?"
Kayla glanced over at her. Renee seemed so happy it made her sick to her stomach. "No thanks," she replied immediately. "You know how I feel about that. You're lucky you haven't been caught already, and what would happen then? Besides, I'd just be a fifth wheel anyway. I don't know a thing about police work."
"No time but the present to learn," suggested Len. "Okay, fine, maybe not the station, but do you want to take a little trip? This weekend, maybe, I could take the three of you off someplace. You wouldn't have to worry about anyone seeing you, either."
Kayla thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, sure, I guess," she agreed tentatively.
"Sounds good to me!" Mary's voice called out. She was done in the shower now, for the water had stopped running. A few moments later she emerged, wearing only a bathrobe. The shower and bathroom facilities had a cover overhead, to give the little ladies some privacy, but the rest of the place had open roofs, affording Len a perfect view of anything his guests were up to. "What do you have in mind?" Mary asked curiously, looking up at the glass ceiling despite the fact that she couldn't see Leonard out there at all.
"It's a surprise," said the giant. "Don't worry, it'll be fun. You about ready, Renee?"
"Sure, I think I have everything," she answered. "Yep, good to go."
The ceiling suddenly lifted away, and Len's face filled the sky. His massive hand reached down, carefully avoiding the furniture, until it sat cupped in the middle of the living room. Kayla reflexively shied away, for the sight of a hand like that awakened more than a few bad memories. Mary just stared at the immense limb dully, hiding her reaction. Renee, however, fearlessly climbed into the waiting palm, and swiftly vanished from sight as the tremendous arm rose and swept back behind the walls. The ceiling descended once more, leaving the two occupants alone with their illusions.
"Okay, off to work," Len's departing voice announced, along with his receding footsteps. "See you later, girls."
"Bye," called out Mary with a sigh, not bothering to wave. Kayla didn't react at all, except to set down her cereal and listen until the last sounds of Len's departure had passed. The bang of the closing door was what she was waiting for, and she turned to her roommate with a scowl.
"Okay," said Kayla in an accusing tone that made Mary's blood turn cold, "now it's time for us to have a little chat."
The day looked fairly pleasant outside the hotel window. Howard Taylor smiled, stretching, enjoying the view of the fleecy clouds drifting lazily across an otherwise clear sky. In the distance, beyond the street and over a ridge of trees, he could see a small fraction of the city.
Somewhere among those buildings, he thought, a woman was waiting for him. A tiny little woman named Kayla Robertson, to whom he'd done a terrible wrong. She was out there, and all he had to do was find her.
That wasn't going to be easy, though. He already knew that much. His friend Stephen Matthews no longer had a listing in the phone book, which of course was the first thing Howard looked for when his flight landed the night before. A quick drive to Stephen's old place, in the cheap rental car Howard procured at the airport, also turned up nothing--the home was occupied by another family who knew nothing about his friend's whereabouts.
The flight from Brazil took most of the previous day, leaving him drained and tired when he finally arrived last night. In point of fact, he was rather glad for the delay. Now that he'd slept in, he felt refreshed and ready to do what had to be done. What he'd waited so very long to do.
He had no idea how Kayla would react. Howard spent most of the flight wondering what she'd do when she saw him. He'd already decided there wasn't going to be any buildup or fanfare. He was simply going to activate the device and watch her grow back to normal. There'd be a moment of disorientation, and maybe a short period of unconsciousness, as it had been with Teresa--a delay long enough that Howard could apply a sedative, so she'd be asleep during the drive up the mountain to her mother's place. He had no intention of doing such a thing to Kayla. When she opened her eyes, a few moments after the process was complete, she'd be normal sized again, and then...
Well, then there would probably be a lot of pain. Howard chuckled softly, without smiling. He would deserve it, of course. He had no intention of fighting back or running. She'd probably spent the last year and then some thinking of all manner of intricate ways to pay him back for what he'd done. Howard had no plans to deprive her of that satisfaction.
First he had to find her, though, and first that meant he had to find Stephen.
Obviously, thought Howard, moving over to the table and sitting down next to his laptop, Stephen decided to move. Well, he did get that promotion, so maybe he just upgraded. Howard started with a quick search of the Internet, once he'd gotten through the hotel's painful login sequence for the in-room wireless service. Unfortunately, Stephen Matthews was a pretty common name. There were too many individual entries to easily check. He managed to narrow down the search to the local area, but there he came up empty. No one with that name had a registered address he could find.
He continued to search for a while, but other than a note indicating foreclosure on a home owned by a Stephen Matthews about four months ago, there was nothing. Howard sighed. Did Stef move out of the city? Why would he do that, knowing Howard would someday come looking for him? Unless he left some way for his friend to find him, of course...
Howard searched for a while longer, looking at Facebook and similar sites, but again came up empty. He sat there in confusion, staring at the screen, more than a little puzzled. He could envision a scenario where Stephen left town, especially if the police continued to press their investigation. In fact, that was probably what happened. He must've moved to avoid the heat. Maybe he even transferred within the company, to somewhere National City Bank had an office outside the reach of that troublesome Detective Leonard Oliver.
Even after all this time, Howard remembered the name. Leonard Oliver had been instrumental in tracking him down, and chasing him out of the country. If not for that man's diligent investigation, Howard might've figured out the problem months ago, in his own home, and restored Kayla already. Instead, he had to leave her with Stephen and hope for the best.
He shook his head, for that no longer mattered. What'd done is done. Still, he had concerns. There was a small chance, however slight, that Stephen hadn't done as he asked and taken care of Kayla. He might instead have mistreated her, or maybe even abandoned her somewhere. Perhaps it wasn't even on purpose--maybe it was an accident. That could be the reason Stephen moved away, simply to avoid having to face his friend and tell him that painful truth.
Howard shuddered and tried to put that out of his mind. He didn't like the fact that he'd been forced to leave Kayla, even though he felt fairly sure he could trust Stephen to do the right thing. Stef was known to break a few rules now and then, and tended a bit towards laziness, but there was nothing to suggest he would've willingly abused a helpless woman. Even if there'd been an accident, he wasn't the sort to hide from his friend, either.
With some effort, Howard pushed all those bad scenarios away. He could prepare himself for such things one way or another, but he didn't have to dwell on them. He was, after all, a fairly thorough sort. All this would take was a little digging, and he'd figure out where Stephen ran off to.
He continued down another track, searching through National City's website looking for a personnel roster. Eventually, he found one, but there was no Stephen Matthews listed, not at the local branch or any other he could link to. So, did that mean Stephen was no longer at the bank, too? What happened to him? Did he get arrested? Killed in some freak accident? What?
Howard searched in frustration for a while, but got nowhere. The Internet just wasn't helping, apparently. He was going to have to try something a little more hands on. He had to go out and talk to people, until he found someone who could tell him where Stephen Matthews went.
Thirty minutes later, after showering and getting dressed, Howard emerged from the hotel room and headed towards his waiting rental. He was still thinking about who he could interview that wouldn't recognize him immediately and call the cops. He was so intent on this he didn't immediately see the well-dressed man leaning against a black sedan a few empty parking spaces away. Only when he stopped and reached for his keys did Howard realize he was being watched.
For an instant, he went pale when he saw the man standing there, observing through dark sunglasses, arms crossed in a patient stance. The watcher was very tall, with darkly tanned skin, short gray hair cut in a simple flattop, dressed impeccably in a crisp tailored suit. He looked as if he'd been waiting there for some time, which he had. With a simple, casual motion, while Howard stood there paralyzed, the man reached up and removed his Aviators and smiled, a single golden tooth glinting in the morning sunlight.
"Hello, Howard," he said in a rough, gravelly voice. "It's been a long time."
There were any number of people Howard might've expected to see, not the least among them being that pesky Detective Oliver, but the man he saw was probably last on his list. "Jerome?" he asked shakily, hardly able to believe the sight before him. "Mr. Koranski? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Waiting for your slow ass," chuckled the much taller man, putting his sunglasses away in a padded case, the motion careful and deliberate. He pushed himself away from his sedan in a casual sweep and stood at attention, legs spread slightly apart, looking, despite his fifty-plus years and age-worn face, like a man who could easily cross the fifteen feet between them in a second and crush Howard like a bug, if only he so chose.
"I thought you'd never get out of the shower," intoned the intimidating man named Jerome Koranski. "At least I had time to finish my breakfast, though, so it wasn't a total loss."
Howard could only stammer weakly the first words that came into his mind. "You--you've been waiting for me? Watching me?"
"Yep. Not for long, though. I only got here about fifteen minutes ago. You were showering, so I decided to let you finish getting ready. I didn't want to give you a heart attack, so I didn't wait in your room."
"Thanks, I guess." Howard shifted uneasily. The last time he saw his old boss was when he worked in the lab, long before he left government service to take up a career in the banking industry. Back then, Mr. Koranski was in charge of a top secret project designed to condense matter down to a more compact and portable size. The goal at the time was to compact simple materials, such as base elements and easily manufactured compounds--nobody ever imagined living matter would survive the process. Nobody but Howard, anyway.
Howard shivered. He was so young and naïve back then. He thought maybe he could create something significant, something that would really put his mark on the world. He didn't even really contemplate the military applications, or what might really be done with his invention. Even after the accident that destroyed the lab and ended the project, he continued to tinker around until he finally made the breakthrough that produced the collapser. In all that time, he'd never seen or heard from Jerome Koranski, or anyone of the other survivors from the old team. Not once. Seeing him here now...well, already Howard had a very bad taste forming in his mouth.
"Anyway," went on Jerome, "I know you're probably wondering why I'm here."
"Yes, that's true," replied Howard worriedly. He wondered for an instant if, should he try to do so, whether or not he'd be able to get into his car before Koranski's huge hands wrapped around his neck. His former boss was much older now, and probably not nearly as fast as Howard remembered, but then, Howard was a lot older, too. Plus, he was never that swift in the first place. Jerome might've been pushing sixty, but his body looked half that age.
"Facial recognition software," Koranski began, "has gotten pretty sophisticated over the years, you know. You didn't even try to disguise yourself, either, which made it pretty damned easy to spot you. We keep an eye out these days for 'persons of interest,' which are usually terrorists. You're a special case, though. A very special case."
Howard shuddered. How much did Jerome know? He wanted to find out, but was afraid to ask. All he could do was stand there, trembling and wondering where this conversation was going.
"Let me get right to the point, then," said Koranski, taking a more direct tack. "Do you remember when we closed down the project after the explosion? Of course you do. Nobody would forget anything like that."
"Yes, I remember."
"Well, as you've probably guessed by now, we didn't really shut it down." Jerome shifted in place, suddenly looking far less threatening. His body language seemed almost apologetic now, and he saw the doubt in his former co-worker's eyes. "No, Howard, it's true. A few of us kept the flame alive. After I got promoted, I managed to even shunt a few dollars their way through my contacts at the Pentagon. Only when I finally retired from my cover job did I get personally involved again. That's when we started expanding the project, and I started to look for people I knew from the old days. People like you."
"But it's been so long," protested Howard, grabbing onto the slim hope that maybe his old boss didn't know anything about the collapser. "How could I possibly remember any of that stuff now?"
Koranski smiled and gave a derisive snort. "Don't try to put one over on me, Howard! You were always a terrible liar. I heard the stories coming out of this place, about the way you pointed something at that cop's car and turned it into something straight out of Hot Wheels. Everyone in the media thought it was some kind of stunt, but I make it a policy to investigate things like that, and when I heard your name attached to the reports, that pretty much settled it. Of course, by then you were long gone, so I had to wait a while. I knew eventually you'd come back, though. I'm a very patient man."
"Yes, I remember." Howard put out a hand to steady himself. He felt like he was going to be sick. What was Koranski going to do next? Was there a team of government agents lurking around the corner of the hotel, ready to jump out and subdue him? What would they do with the collapser, which even now was tucked into its padded leather satchel at his side, by all appearances nothing more than a camera held by a curious tourist?
"Well, now that we have the history lesson out of the way," Koranski went on, "here's the deal. We're still a small company, Howard, if you'll forgive the pun. We still need people like you, people with practical experience and intuitive minds. We already have a machine capable of miniaturizing anything we want, but it's half the size of a building, and even so it's only part of the equation. You've clearly done us all one better, entirely on your own. We need you, Howard. We need you on our team."
Howard stared at Jerome for a few long moments, mouth hanging slightly open. When he finally spoke, it was in complete befuddlement. "Let me see if I understand this," he said slowly and deliberately. "Are you...are you actually offering me a job?"
"Yes, Howard, that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm offering you both a job and an opportunity. Miniaturization technology is coming, whether you help us or not. Sooner or later, we'll lick the problems we're having with the restoration process. Then it's on to practical applications. It's going to revolutionize everything. Transportation, electronics, space travel, medicine, all of it. You could be a part of that, Howard. You could join us and share what you've discovered, and we'll pay you well for it. Salary, benefits, all that good stuff. Oh, and one other thing you'll be needing--amnesty."
"Amnesty...?"
"That's right. I know about the arrest warrant, and I can take care of that, too. You could have a clean slate, Howard. A fresh start."
"I...I don't know what to say." That was an understatement, thought Howard. He felt overwhelmed, dizzy, and light-headed, as if he might just float off into the clear morning sky.
"You don't have to answer now." Koranski turned away, moving around his car to the front door. Opening it, he hesitated a moment longer. "I know I just threw your whole world upside down. You came here for a reason, whatever that may be, so I'll leave you to pursue it. In the meantime, just think about what I said. I'm not going to follow you or tap your phone or have you followed. In fact, I'm going straight back to the airport and heading back to my comfortable little office, so you can do whatever you need to do here. When you've got an answer for me, just call. I'll be waiting."
"But...I don't know your number," stammered Howard weakly.
"It's on my card," said Koranski, slipping into his sedan. Before Howard could interrupt, the door slammed, the engine started, and the big black vehicle drove away. As near as he could tell, his old boss never even looked back.
Howard looked around. What card...? Then he saw it, sitting on the dashboard, inside his rental, which was, of course, still locked.
He sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. His mind was spinning in a thousand directions at once. He couldn't think, much less walk or drive. It was a long time before he moved from that spot.
A very long time, indeed.