Time Spent (11 page)

A man and woman appeared at the door. The
blonde girl jumped up from her chair and ran to him. "DADDY!"

He picked her up and held her over him. "Who
is this girl? Do I know you?"

"Yes!" she said, giggling.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Becca!"

"Becca? You're Daddy's little princess!"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and
squeezed, still giggling.

"Okay, honey, say goodbye to your
friend."

"Do I haaaaave to?"

"Yes, we have to go." He set her down on the
floor and she ran over to Tiffany.

"Bye," Becca said.

"Can she stay one more night, mom?" Tiffany
asked.

"No, baby, Becca has to go home."

"Pleeeeeeeeease?"

"No." Tiffany's mother said firmly.

"Come on, Princess," Becca's dad said.

Becca put her arms around Tiffany and hugged
her.

"Bye," said Tiffany.

"You're my best friend," Becca said.

______________________

Becca's hands clutched at her neck, but
whatever was wrapped around it shocked her fingers when they got
too close.

"Where am I?" Tiffany said. "How did I get
here? What's going on?"

Unable to focus because of the pain, Becca
could not use her power. She sagged toward the floor, putting her
right hand out to brace herself. "I didn't do anything to you, you
fucking idiot."

"Stop that," said Zachary. "It's not good to
hurt people!" He reached out a hand toward Tiffany's head.

Tiffany whipped her other hand at him, and
another lash of electricity flailed out, striking Zachary across
the chest.

"Ahh!" He fell backwards against the table
upon which she had been, knocking it over.

When Tiffany used her other hand, the whip
around Becca's neck seemed to lose cohesiveness. She slipped out
and stood, facing Tiffany. "You stupid bitch, you're attacking the
guy who helped you."

Tiffany lashed out in her direction. Becca
attempted to dodge, but the electric lash caught her across the
legs, and she went down.

"I don't know what's going on, but I know
you don't want to piss me off, Miller."

She brought the whip down on Becca's back,
and the electric shock was enough to stun her. Becca's body hit the
floor, knocking the wind out of her.

"You
really
don't."

______________________

"Here's your receipt, thanks." Becca handed
the receipt to the customer and he stepped aside to wait for his
order.

She brushed a lock of hair away from her
face. "Can I help you?" she asked the next in line.

He was balding, maybe forty-five, wearing
glasses. His thoughts entered her mind loudly:
Damn, her tits
are perfect.
"Yeah, I want an iced coffee."

"Size?" she asked.

"Oh, large. Venti, I mean."
God, I just
want to squeeze them.

"Do you want any flavor added? Chocolate,
vanilla, caramel?" She envisioned herself pouring the hot coffee
down his pants while she made him hold them open for her.

"Oo, caramel sounds good, thanks."
She's
so damn sexy.

Becca leaned over the counter a bit. "Sure
you don't want one of our breakfast sandwiches? They're really
good." She flashed a smile.

Her eyes are incredible.
"Sure, why
not? I'll take one."

Chalk one up for her food sales. Too easy.
Becca smiled and rang up the order, then handed him his receipt.
"Thanks!"

"Thank you," he said.

Becca impatiently brushed the lock of hair
from her face again. It wasn't even really bothering her, she just
wanted to leave and it was making her irritable. She checked her
watch: four hours left on her shift. Becca sighed in frustration.
Since leaving Tyler she had struggled to live a normal life. She
had gotten a regular job, an apartment she paid for herself, even a
used car she could afford, but it hadn't been easy. All day at work
she had to listen to the thoughts from her customers and co-workers
ogling her, visualizing sex with her, freakish scenarios. Then was
the standard blonde stuff, talking down to her in particular. If
there was one thing Becca absolutely could not tolerate, it was
someone talking down to her. She had made it so far, but her
patience was wearing thinner and thinner every day.

"Can I..." Becca began, but trailed off as a
thought hit her from somewhere in the coffee shop.

Now is the time. I'll set it off here.

She scanned the coffee shop, trying to find
the person whose thought she was hearing. Finally, she saw him: a
young man, early twenties, with long hair and beard. He was opening
his coat to reveal something strapped to his chest, and a trigger
in his hand.

Death to the capitalist pigs!

Becca vaulted the counter, seizing the man's
mind with her own. He froze in position, hand outstretched with his
thumb above the trigger. The startled customer in front of the
counter fell backwards, knocking two others off their feet. Becca
grabbed the bomber and threw him to the ground, hoping no one
noticed the man put up no resistance.

She pulled the trigger away from his hand
and held him pinned to the ground.

"Someone call 9-1-1!" a voice shouted.

Released from her control, the man shouted,
"You can't stop it! There will be a reckoning!"

"Yeah, yeah," Becca said, digging a knee
into his back.

Cell phone cameras clicked and whirred
around her.

"I saw that on TV!" Brandon said. "That was
awesome! You're a hero!"

"I'm not a hero," said Becca.

"Oh come on," Brandon said. "You saved all
those people. That's what superheroes do!"

She directed a harsh stare at him.
SSHUT
UP! I AM NOT A SUPERHEROO

Brandon looked around at the others,
exasperated. "I'm just...I'm trying to say you did good, that's
all."

"It was pretty cool," said Tyler.

"Well, now that I've impressed you two
jackasses, I can die happy."

Tyler raised his hands. "Hey, hey..."

"None of this even matters," Mia said.
"Before then, that's the important thing. The rooftop."

Becca folded her arms across her chest,
biting her lower lip. "Right. The rooftop..."

______________________

Becca could scarcely hear over the howling
of the wind around the rooftop. Sparks flew between them, soon
forming a white arc of electricity that leapt into the sky. The
point of light in the sky expanded to form a shimmering circle. A
sound rose, like the sound of cracks opening in ice, only a million
times louder.

Becca lifted her hands to cover her ears,
but when she saw them she pulled them back to stare at them: they
were child's hands. Becca began to whimper in fear.

She was a little girl again, wearing her
summer dress from the ballpark, standing on a rooftop in the middle
of a group of strangers, as a hole opened in the sky.

______________________

The electric lash struck Becca's back again
and again. She tried to stand but couldn't, tried to focus her
thoughts only to have them driven to the corners of her mind.

"Talk!" Tiffany said. "Tell me how I got
here!"

"I...don't...know!"

"Stop hurting her!"

Tiffany spun around to see Zachary climbing
to his feet.

"You again?" Tiffany's eyes widened. "How do
you keep getting up?"

Zachary shrugged. "God helps me, I
guess."

Becca couldn't resist a smile. Finally that
guy was annoying someone else.

Tiffany scowled. "I'm gonna make sure you
don't get up this time."

"I forgive you," said Zachary.

With Tiffany's back turned, Becca was able
to push herself up on her knees. She grabbed one of the tables and
hauled herself to her feet.

Tiffany reared back one fist, ready to lash
at Zachary with the electric whip.

Becca reached out with her mind. Tiffany
froze in place.

MMY TURN NOWW

______________________

"Can I help you?" Becca asked the next
customer in line.

Her big hero moment had amounted to nothing.
Reporters flocked to the scene, and she was on television non-stop
for twenty-four hours, doing interview after interview. There was
talk of her receiving some kind of medal, but nothing happened.
Then the whole thing dried up and went away, and Becca was left
taking orders for coffee again.

The chubby man in front of her perused the
menu, or pretended to, at least. His thoughts showed something
else:
Dude, she is so damn hot...

Becca's shoulders sagged. She glanced at the
next guy in line, and of course, his thoughts were the same, as
were the next, and the next, and the next. One of them was even a
woman.

"That's it," Becca said suddenly, taking off
her apron. "Mike, I'm going on break!"

A short man with a bushy mustache looked at
her disapprovingly from the door of the back office. "Kyle's
already out there."

"That's very observant of you."

"We take turns is what I mean!"

"Well I'm taking my turn." She walked out
the back door and shut it behind her, leaning up against it and
staring up at the sky.

"You okay?" said a male voice from nearby:
Kyle, her co-worker, younger than Becca, curly blonde hair, hint of
a few pimples around his mouth. He held a cigarette in his left
hand.

"If by okay you mean 'sick of this shit',
I'm fantastic." On impulse, she added, "Can I bum one of
those?"

"You don't smoke, do you?"

"I may start. I need something to keep me
from hurting people."

He laughed. Becca didn't.

He gave her a cigarette and lit it for her.
Becca held it in her mouth and inhaled the smoke, then blew it out.
She thought she had managed it, but then she dissolved in a fit of
coughing.

"Oh god," she said, tossing the cigarette to
the ground and stamping it. "How do you stand that shit?"

"I don't know. It grows on you."

"Like a fungus," she said.

"Miss Miller?"

Becca looked to their right. A man had come
around the corner of the building. He was tall, looked to be in his
mid-fifties, short gray hair, mustache and beard. He wore a
collared polo shirt and dark slacks. He appeared to be in excellent
physical shape for his age, Becca could see definite muscle tone in
his arms and even under the polo.

"Rebecca Miller?" he asked.

"No one calls me Rebecca," she said. "And I
don't do autographs, sorry."

He smiled. "I'm not here for your autograph,
Miss Miller." He withdrew a badge from his pocket and opened it:
FBI. "You mind giving us a minute, buddy? I need to talk to your
friend here."

Kyle put out his cigarette against the
building. "Sure. No problem. I'll see you back inside."

Becca nodded. Kyle went back inside the
coffee shop

Becca looked back at the older man. The
first thought she picked up was loud and clear:
She reminds me
of Carol.

The corner of her lip turned down. "Okay,
what is this? I've already been questioned by everyone and their
dog."

"I'm not here to question you, Miss Miller.
My name is Hal Shepherd. You can call me Shep. I'm here to recruit
you."

Becca blinked. "What?"

"I'm here to talk to you about joining the
FBI. About coming to Quantico and training to be an agent
there."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

He laughed. "I'm not kidding you,
Rebecca."

"Don't call me that. I hate that. It's
Becca."

She has a major chip on her shoulder,
he thought.
But she's smart. She has potential.
"Rebecca's a
good name. Who were you named after, your mom?"

"...Grandmother."

"Well there you go. Don't hate on your
grandma's name." When she didn't respond, he continued. "You
spotted that bomber when no one else did. In a crowded coffee shop,
when you were taking orders. Most people don't have that kind of
vision. They don't see beyond whatever's in front of them."

Becca looked down. He was right about that
much, at least.

"Not only that, you took immediate action.
You saved everyone in that shop."

"I'm not a hero," she said.

Again with the chip. This one's got some
serious barriers up.
"I'm not asking you to be a hero. Heroes
get people killed. I'm asking you to use your skills to save lives.
You have -"

"Potential, I get it."

He chuckled. "Yes, that."
She reminds me
so much of Carol...

Becca stood up straight. "Look, 'Shep' or
whatever your name is, if this is some kind of horny old guy thing,
where you try to impress me to get in my pants, let me tell you
right now it will not work. I'm not calling you 'Daddy' or whatever
other pervy shit you've wanked off to."

He looked appalled. "Wow. Well. Something
happened to you, that much is obvious. I'm sorry."

"Who's Carol?" she asked.

"What?" He looked flummoxed.
Did I say
that out loud?

"Just tell me."

"Carol is..." he cleared his throat. "Carol
was
my daughter. She died serving in Iraq."

Becca's face flushed. "Oh."

"She was a lot like you. Smart, pretty, very
quick with a retort. Maybe not quite so hostile. But tough."

"I'm sorry..."

He nodded. "You know, some of the best
students I've ever had had a tendency to talk and act without
thinking. We can help you with that." From somewhere, he produced a
business card. "You can go back to working in this coffee shop if
you think that's your calling." He handed the card to her. "Or you
can call this number, and we can get started."

She took the card and studied it.