Super Born: Seduction of Being (27 page)

That was when a gasping, painful breath brought
me back to the ground. I wheezed and heaved, struggling to move
lungs that felt like stone. I rose up on my hands and thought of
nothing but getting air into my lungs. After a minute the struggle
eased, and I became aware of the alley around me, the screeching of
sirens and moans for help. I knew they would be on me soon and that
I couldn’t afford to be found. I crawled on my hands and knees
under a stairwell nearby and sat huddled under it as the rain
poured down around me, not knowing if it was the rain or my tears
that poured down my face.

Eventually I began to take deep breaths, which
reminded me how precious and wonderful it was to be alive. My arm
burned from the bullet that had grazed it, but compared to facing
death, that seemed more like having a splinter in a finger than a
real wound. I listened to the sounds of EMS and police cars
arriving in the street outside the alley and the scurry and
splashing of frantic boots for as long as I dared before staggering
along the wall of the building beside me. I slipped and fell, even
crawled a couple of times, but I was determined to be one victim of
the blast they would never find.

***

I was sitting in my boxers watching the
championship game of the women’s football Lingerie League—wondering
what could possibly be the purpose of pizza crust when the toppings
were so delicious—when the special report broke in.. “Come on, it’s
the championship, for crying out loud,” I complained to the TV. The
local newswoman, Sarah Easton, had somber news, but delivered it
with a smile.

“
We are interrupting our programming
to share breaking news of unconfirmed reports that the B.I.B. is
dead. Apparently she was killed in a massive explosion on the
city’s west side. Our city bureau supplied us with this security
camera video of the explosion. You are advised that this video
contains an extreme act of violence and may be disturbing to some
viewers.”

In the video, a beer truck was approached by a
figure in black. It was grainy but clear enough. I watched in
horror as the truck turned into a giant fireball that consumed the
black figure.

I couldn’t believe it. My jaw
dropped, my pizza dropped, and my heart stopped.
This has to be a mistake
,
I thought.

Sarah reappeared on the screen. “In addition to
the B.I.B., six people have been injured in the blast, three listed
in critical condition at local hospitals. Also, there is a
confirmed report of one other fatality whose name has yet to be
released. Police are investigating the cause of the blast, which
damaged buildings and broke windows in a three-block radius. We
will update you on this breaking story as we receive more
information. This is Sarah Easton reporting. We now return you to
your regular programming. Have a nice day.”

I refused to believe it. I stood up
and paced back and forth, wondering what to do and how to breathe
past the lump in my throat.
This can’t
be
, I thought
. It’s
a mistake
. I had to believe that, ’cause if
it was true and she was gone…I would have to face becoming a
directionless pile of mush. Step-by-step, the search for her had
absorbed more and more of my life. Now I had nothing else left.
It
had
to be a
mistake. My mind spun around wildly, frustrated. I wished I could
pick up a phone and call her.

“
Hey, you’re not dead are
you?”

“
Of course not, Logan, you stud.
It’s all a mistake
,
and I’m as hot and luscious as ever. Come on over, big
boy.”

Or something like that.

Then I remembered Sarah mentioning that these
were ‘unconfirmed reports.’ They didn’t know the B.I.B. like I did
(or at least wished I did). She was okay. Yeah, she was okay. I
knew it. I felt it.

I pounded the Internet and left my TV on. It
was going to be long night.

***

I got the call just after the blast, with all
my guys reporting the bitch was dead…trapped in a hail of bullets
and finished by a few pounds of C4 exploding on cue. Man, I wished
I had pressed the button on that detonator myself. When I saw the
video for the twentieth time it was just as enjoyable as the first.
She deserved it for messing with Carmine Camino.

I knew goodie-two-shoes wouldn’t be
able to resist a beer truck with the sounds of kids trapped inside
blasting through speakers.
Why don’t you
“B.I.B. Rescue” that, bitch! 20,000 points for me; game
over,
I thought imagining her avatar
blowing up on the B.I.B. Rescue video game.

My boys just had to wait with those new 50
caliber sniper rifles and night scopes for her to show. The
explosives were my idea; just a little insurance. But now the pain
in my ass was gone.

I was light as a feather as I sat on my sofa,
put up my feet on the coffee table, took a sip of Miner’s, and hit
the remote to replay the explosion video a couple dozen more times.
Before long they would find some pieces of her to identify and
everyone would know who ran this town.

“
Carmine!” shouted my wife, Maria.
“How many times do I have to tell you to change the garbage bag
under the sink?” When I didn’t answer she marched over to where I
sat, “Carmine!”

“
Okay, okay, I’ll do it in a
minute.”

“
Get those feet off the table! And
how many times do I have to ask you to use a coaster for your beer
bottles?” Apparently Maria hadn’t gotten the memo on who ran this
town.

***

I spent a totally sleepless night unable to
think about anything but hearing that the B.I.B. was okay. I sat at
the computer for hours pushing the refresh button on various local
news sites for any kind of update while the TV blared in the
background.

Around midnight I couldn’t take the waiting
anymore, so I stepped out into the rainy night to walk the
streets—as if I would find her somewhere out there. I just felt
like I had to do something, and moving seemed better than sitting.
The rain fell as I splashed my feet through puddles. The dark, cold
gloom outside matched my mood. Somewhere in there, I clung to the
belief that she was fine. It had taken so long for me to believe in
someone that I couldn’t accept anything else.

I lost track of how far I had
walked, but the blinking lights of familiar bars told me it was a
really long way. The rain had let up when I saw a familiar face on
the sidewalk across the street. Jones emerged from Flanagan’s with
a gorgeous woman with long, dark hair by his side. I shook my head
in wonder at his success with the ladies. How did he do it, the
horny little bastard?
What am I, the
plague?

My first thought was to call out to him, but
then the voyeur in me took over and I watched. I heard Jones mumble
something like, “Oh, you’ll see. I’m sure it will worth your
while.” They began crossing the street, stepping away from me. I
was about to ask him if he had heard about the B.I.B. when the side
door of a parked white van slid open and four arms grabbed Jones’s
companion. Her eyes flashed with panic, and she reached out and
called for his help, but Jones just stood there and watched. After
a moment, he too slipped into the van before it sped off into the
night. I was stunned.

So that explained Jones’ success with the
ladies. The old bonk them on the head take them back to your cave,
caveman style. I knew that wasn’t all that was going on, but in my
concern for the B.I.B., Jones’ kinky little sex games where the
least of my worries. I let thoughts of Jones and his lady friend
flitter away like a happy little bird.

I returned home as the dawn was breaking, wet,
cold, and as anxious as when I had left. I put on a dry T-shirt and
some sweat pants and drifted over to the fridge. Even my collection
of cheap beer held no attraction for me. So I closed the door and
sat down to search the computer for updates, but there were none. I
closed my laptop and rested my arms and head down on it.

After a minute I looked up to see the image of
the B.I.B. in my bedroom hallway. She wore a long flowing white
dress that was waving in a breeze I didn’t feel. In her hand was a
Miner’s Lite bottle, which she lifted in a gesture to follow her as
she slowly moved away down the hall. I rose as if hypnotized and
followed. She smiled and said, “This way to heaven.” I was so happy
she was okay. I’d known all along. I knew it.

Just as I reached her and my arms surrounded
her, my head slipped off the laptop and bumped on the table. I was
back in the real world and I didn’t like it. I looked up at my now
B.I.B.-less hallway and said, “Crap.”

By morning, I was blurry eyed and still hanging
on to my hope. (Twelve hours or so, that’s a lot of hanging on for
me.) But they were still calling the reports unconfirmed. The mayor
held a press conference, voiced his sadness at the loss of the
B.I.B., and officially ended the Miner’s beer embargo—the only good
news.

I had spent a couple hours at the site of the
explosion abusing my press pass and connections to try to get any
information I could. The search went on, but no one I spoke with
had any proof of the B.I.B., or parts of her, having been found at
the site.

Pundits on TV reviewed the video over and over,
speculating on how anyone could have survived the blast and where
her remains might be found. Eyewitness who had survived the blast
talked about cheering her as she approached the truck, but then
losing sight of her in the blast. So I did a post on the website to
emphasize the total lack of evidence that she was injured. By late
morning a local TV station interviewed me and my hopeful position
grew legs.

By that evening, the banner on my site read
“She’s Alive!”, but her silence still weighed heavily on me. Again,
I wished I could just give her a call.

“
Babes, why aren’t you telling
everyone you’re okay?”

“
,Don’t you know anything about
women? It’s just like in the fashion magazines.
I’ve been too busy standing in an expensive gown on a
windblown beach looking sexy and contemplating the meaning of life
while I wait for you to ravish me. Why would you ask?”

“
Well, everyone thinks you’re dead.
I’ve been telling everyone you’re not, but I could use a little
help here.”

“
Anything for you, cowboy. And I do
mean
anything.”

Or something like that.

By the time I went to bed—not sleep, mind you,
just bed—I felt better, but the frustration of not knowing was
eating me alive. My mobile phone rang and somehow (bizarrely), I
thought it was her. “Hello!”

“
Tell me my friend, what have you
heard?” asked Jones.

I was disappointed and it probably showed in my
voice. “Oh…I think she’s okay. I think the report of her death is
going to remain unconfirmed.”

“
You are knowing this,
how?”

“
All they have is the video. There’s
no body—no indication of a body. Everyone else has been accounted
for. It’s all bullshit.”

“
If that is true, it would be good
news.”

“
She’ll show. I know it.”

“
That may be good enough for you,
but I am a man of science. We may need to change our plan in case
you are wrong.”

“
She’s alive! We don’t need a new
plan! Go fuck yourself!”

“
Well, thank you for that wonderful
suggestion, but you may need to prepare yourself.”

“
Prepare for what! Her kicking
everyone’s ass who doubts her? She’s fine! You’ll see.”

“
I can see this is an emotional
issue for you. I didn’t know you were so attached to this project
of ours.”

“
Yeah, I’m very attached…to the
project, I mean.”

“
Good, good. I hope you are right
about the B.I.B. Have a good night, my friend.”

“
You too, Doc…. Sorry if I got a
little carried away.”

“
Yes, yes. A very difficult day for
everyone.”

It flashed in my mind to ask him about the
woman I had seen him take away in the van, but thought better of
it. It might not have been him or if it was I had no desire to hear
him tell me tales of the High Definition Anal stimulator or imagine
him climaxing crosseyed.

***

The next morning the police held a news
conference on the steps of City Hall regarding the explosion, and I
was there front and center with my laptop in a case on my back and
my video recorder in my hand. I don’t know why, but I was feeling
good, and also highly combative. I guess a lack of sleep can do
funny things to a person.

Twenty minutes late, they rolled the reluctant
press secretary out of the building to the top of the stairs. The
pool of sharks below were waiting for his statement, his blood, and
answers.

He waved for silence while I lined him up in
the sights of my camera. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a brief
statement and then will take questions, a few
questions.”

As he pulled out some written notes,
there came a screech, then a
whoosh
of wind that blew away his papers and rearranged
his hair. When I looked up, papers were swirling all around me, and
the crowd began to murmur en masse
,
wondering what had happened. Then someone at the
back of the mob yelled, “Look!” A hundred heads turned at once to
see a tiny speck grow out of the clouds and descend like a missile
upon us. The image grew until it came screeching on by just over
our heads, the image of a woman in black.