A/N: The story returns.
The Missionary
I get lost and think
Lose myself to dreams
The world moves anyway
The world will have it's say
Lord, I'm wondering if what you're telling me
Is I've got work to do
Yes, I've got work to do
I wish I could hold
I wish I could touch
But a fool just wants and wants and wants and wants
It's all what you do when no one is there
It's all what you do when no one cares
— Jimmy Eat World, Integrity Blues
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Believers
Ellie chewed her bite of chocolate chip cookie without answering, trying to understand the motives of the scantily dressed woman across the kitchen table from her.
The woman was an X-rated Chernobyl — she radiated sex. It rolled off her in waves, and Ellie imagined a chorus of incel Geiger counters going off, that weird clicking sound, like so many zippers lowering at once.
The radiation did not affect Ellie herself — but she could all too easily imagine its effect on a man: red-hot lava, seething, molten, combusting every male it contacted.
Pure combustion. Or make that impure combustion.
Ellie dreaded Devon coming home. The thought of him exposed to Carina made her angry.
Carina finished her cookie and licked her lips and her fingers, one by one, her tongue moving balletically, then she broke the silence.
"That was delicious, Ellie. I don't eat sweets, but I'm glad I made an exception."
Ellie nodded her head externally but shook it internally.
Something about the woman was off.
Maybe she was Sarah's friend — maybe. But Ellie had a hard time imagining it. Sarah seemed principled, and rule-governed, even if Ellie did not understand Sarah's principles or rules, or why Sarah seemed to need so many, like a game of Japanese Go. (Chuck had once tried to teach Ellie to play, years ago.)
Carina seemed wholly unprincipled, unruly — wild and wholly unpredictable.
And Carina was armored in complete self-satisfaction, a self-satisfaction that was alien to Sarah.
Sarah was sometimes aloof, almost always coolly competent — but she was not self-satisfied. If anything, Sarah struggled with episodic self-loathing; it was visible now and then in her eyes, especially when she looked at Chuck (believing she was looking unobserved): a verdict on herself as unworthy.
Ellie had not seen the look as often lately but it was still occasionally there.
Carina passing such a verdict on herself was unimaginable.
The two women seemed alike only in both resembling models.
"So, you wanted to know about Sarah and Chuck?" Ellie asked, hoping that by pretending to play along, she could find out more about Carina.
Carina nodded, her eyes shrewd. She reached down to one ankle, picking a piece of lint from her stockings. "I'm curious. If you know Sarah, you know how she is with words. Mincing, practically stoic. Statues are more garrulous. She won't share any if she can help it. Marcus Aurelius under a blonde wig.
"It requires a massive upheaval to get anything out of her, like Mount St. Helens, and that rarely happens."
Carina paused, gauging Ellie's reaction. "She keeps her heart the way a Marine keeps his bed, military style, tight, corners tucked. I'm about the only person who can muss her emotions."
Carina tossed her head a bit, smiling, her eyes changing focus. She seemed to be entertaining a memory that she was unwilling to share.
Ellie knew someone else who could muss Sarah's emotions but she did not share the thought. But she was grudgingly impressed with Carina. Her mind was evidently as sharp as her body was curved. Ellie was going to have to be at the top of her game.
"Yes, she's tight-lipped, I grant that. But I don't think she's as…tucked away…as you suggest. At least, she hasn't been here."
Ellie recalled the scene at her Halloween party, Sarah as Mrs. Fantastic, Chuck as Mr. Fantastic, the two of them dancing close, but obviously not as close as either really wanted. Despite that, Sarah's face glowed as she danced, although Sarah was, like a lighthouse, unaware of her glow.
Ellie did not understand what was keeping two people who gravitated to each other so inexorably apart.
Carina straightened in her chair. "Really? Why do you think that is? Could it be Chuck?"
The question struck Ellie as too pointed and so she answered vaguely. "Chuck? I don't know for sure. A lot of it is that she feels at home here, a part of something. I've started thinking of her as a sister."
Carina leaned back; she seemed to realize that she asked her last question too eagerly.
"Sarah — at home? I've known her for a while, and I'd never call her my sister. We used to work together, but I've never known anyone who was less of a homebody, less sisterly, than Sarah, not even me. She's always been on the move. A gathering-no-moss rolling stone. She's homeless, but, you know, not in a panhandling way."
Ellie pursed her lips, slow to respond. "People change, though, don't they?"
Carina's brow furrowed. "In stories, sure; but in real life? No. Not often, and not much."
"You've never changed?" Ellie asked with mostly innocent skepticism.
Carina frowned and took too long to answer for her answer to be as glib as she seemed to aim for it to be: "No, I'm the same, unchanging, yesterday, today, and always."
Ellie took a sip of her coffee, making no effort to hide her intense scrutiny of Carina from above the cup.
Carina was smart, and a skilled manipulator, but Ellie realized she had a home-field advantage. Carina was not at home in a home. Any home. The kitchen, the table, the cookies — Carina was out of her element. That was why she was picking at lint; mistiming her remarks. If she was ever at home in a home, it could be only in a bedroom, and even there, only on the bed.
Ellie spoke slowly, again deliberately testing Carina's patience. "Well, it certainly sounds like Sarah has changed. The woman you described is not the woman who is my neighbor."
Carina shrugged concessively but impatiently. "You've spent more time around her lately than I have, so you'd know. — Do you think she likes her job?"
"Yeah," Ellie said, nodding, "I do. She and Chuck got off to an awkward start — but that's Sarah's story, I'll leave it to her to tell — they seem to be working it out. As far as I can tell, Appocalypse is doing well. They often work for hours on end."
They heard the front door open. Carina turned at the sound. Ellie stood.
"Ellie, I'm home," Devon stated loudly from the other room, still out of sight. Ellie pointed to the cookies. "Have another. My boyfriend. I'll be right back."
Ellie left the kitchen. Devon was by the door, hanging up his jacket and his shoulder bag. "Hey, babe." He grinned as he spoke more softly. "Smells awesome here."
Ellie put her finger to her lips. "We have company," she whispered as she neared Devon. "Her name is Carina. She was waiting for Sarah. An old friend — or something."
Devon gave Ellie a questioning look. "Or something?" He picked up on her inflection.
"There's something about her I'm not sure I like. Wait till you see how she's dressed."
"All black, green face, pointy hat?" Devon asked, winking. "Striped socks?"
"No, but she gives me zebra-hose vibes, like a house might land on her, and anyone near her, at any minute. She is wearing stockings, but they aren't striped."
Devon nodded. "Hey, if she bothers you, that's enough for me."
"Well, come on." Ellie sighed, then stopped, putting a cautionary hand on Devon's chest. "And if your eyes bulge out of your head even a millimeter, you're sleeping on the couch tonight. And you can forget that green lace lingerie we bought the other day that you're waiting for me to wear.."
Devon's features showed fear and worry as Ellie led him into the kitchen.
Carina had repositioned herself at the table; she had turned her chair more toward the kitchen door and crossed her stockinged legs, managing to display them in the golden sunlight coming through the small kitchen window.
Ellie gritted her teeth at the repositioning, the sunny spotlight, and turned to see Devon manage a non-committal smile and no other reaction to Carina's pose or her outfit.
Good boy!
"Well, hello," Carina purred, "my, my, you're the boyfriend? This place is chock full of sweets." Carina uncrossed her legs.
Sarah did not make eye contact with Chuck as they talked to Casey.
She could not believe Carina had upset her enough, made her jealous enough, to say what she had said to Chuck. Jealous enough to admit Sarah saved him for herself. And then — of course — Casey stormed in before Chuck could respond, speak. Sarah had wanted to hear what he had to say; she felt like she was holding her breath in anticipation.
Still, Sarah did not wholly deplore the interruption. Casey had not just stormed in — he came with revelations: he and Carina had been together; he had feelings, real feelings, for Carina; and Carina did not want their relationship known. These revelations evened the score a bit. Carina might want to know something about Sarah and Chuck — but they knew something about her.
Sarah had suggested a plan to Casey and he had liked it. Grinning, rubbing his hands together, he left to put Sarah's plan into motion.
Now, it was just Sarah and Chuck in the office, and she finally made eye contact with him. Mr. Fantastic.
"Can you do it, Chuck," she finally gathered the courage to ask, "can you give me your trust even though I don't deserve it, even though I deserve the opposite?"
Chuck looked at her, holding her eyes. "Who did you think was coming in when Casey came in?"
"What?" It took Sarah a minute. "I don't know; I didn't know who it was. It could have been anyone."
"But you protected me; I mean, you put yourself between me and the door."
Sarah nodded, her face grave. "I'll always protect you, Chuck."
He looked at her again and the moment stretched out, longer and longer, before he finally replied. "And I'm willing to try to trust you. I believe, Sarah; help my unbelief."
He stepped toward her.
She stepped toward him, eyebrows rising. "Was that scripture too?"
She reached out her hand, and Chuck took it. He nodded.
"You and Casey make quite a pair of altar boys," she said.
Holding her hand, Chuck leaned forward and kissed Sarah's lips. It was the barest brush, his lips feathering hers, and it lasted so briefly that she was not sure it happened.
But it did. It did. She smiled at him and he smiled crookedly back. "Well, if we're going to help Casey, we need to get rolling."
She squeezed his hand and then let go of it reluctantly. She wanted so much more but she would take what she had been given. Well begun is half done. The words came unbidden to her mind and she laughed silently. It was hard to imagine a situation, theirs, to which those words were less applicable. She and Chuck had begun in total disaster. Ill begun is undone?
She had put a gun to his head but he had just put his lips to hers.
Cosmic tumblers tumbling in the opposite direction. I will believe for both of us.
Chuck glanced back at her when he reached the Appocalypse door, still smiling, and she dropped her fingers from her lips, gave herself a shake, and followed him.
Ellie stepped between Devon and Carina's Tiktok stockings show. She grabbed a couple of cookies from the plate and turned, handing them to him.
"Here you go, Devon. I made these for you. There's coffee. Oh, and this is Sarah's friend," Ellie tried to insert audible doubt into her words, "her name is Carina. I found her outside Sarah's door."
Devon took a bite of one of the cookies and nodded to Carina, then walked to the cupboard and took out a coffee cup. He poured himself some. By the time he turned around, Ellie had seated herself again.
He sipped his coffee trying to figure out what Ellie expected, and how to keep his eyes from straying to Carina's legs. The kitchen was fraught — and it seemed more bedroom-like than Devon could ever remember. Carina carried her territory with her.
"Hi, Carina." Devon's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Hi. Good to meet you. So, you know Sarah?" He desperately kept his eyes on Carina's.
Carina nodded. "Yes, Ellie was just telling me about Sarah's new job, and about Sarah and Chuck."
"Sarah and Chuck?" he laughed, repeating Carina's words. But he saw Ellie make a face at him, another caution. "Um, right. They work together, as you know. They seem to get along. The company's doing well."
Ellie's face relaxed; evidently, he had kept from putting his foot in his mouth. Devon congratulated himself.
Carina recrossed her legs, rubbing one along the other so that the sound of the stocking fabric was audible. She watched Devon to see his reaction. Ellie did too.
He managed to hold Carina's eyes and avoid looking at her legs, despite the hiss of the stockings.
Devon was saved by the bell — the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" he quickly volunteered, already on the way, relieved when he got out of the heat of the kitchen.
Devon opened the door to find the complex manager, John Casey, standing there. "Hey, I was looking for a woman, a friend of Sarah Walker's. Sarah called and asked me to make sure she was able to wait inside her apartment." He held up a huge keychain; the grin he wore had a feral glee, but Devon ignored that. "So, here I am," Casey went on, giving the keys a shake.
"She's here," Devon said, stepping aside and gesturing for Casey to enter. "Ellie made cookies, and we have coffee. Join us in the kitchen." Devon was grateful for another male to enter the room; Carina's Easy Bake Oven wouldn't only be aimed at him
Casey entered the kitchen just ahead of Devon. '
"Hi, Ellie," Casey said jovially. Devon saw a hint of a frown show on Carina's face as she stared at Casey. "Who's your friend?"
"Hi, John," Ellie said, her tone happy. "This is Carina Miller."
Devon watched as Casey held out his hand. Carina looked at it for a few seconds and then shook it but seemed reluctant.
"Miller? Miller? That name sounds familiar. You look familiar. Have we met? I can hardly imagine meeting you and forgetting, I admit."
Devon did not know Casey well, but he knew him well enough to know that he was unusually talkative, strangely…gallant. He was normally a man of few words and punctuating grunts. Carina's eyes flashed something while Casey shook her hand, something she meant only Casey to see — and Devon had the immediate conviction that they did know each other. But, if so, why the show?
Ellie had stood and gone to the cupboard. She took down a coffee cup and filled it. As she did, she spoke. "Take my seat, John. I'll get you some coffee. Help yourself to a cookie."
Devon watched as Casey shot Carina a smirking grin and grabbed himself a handful of cookies. "Don't mind if I do, Ellie. Don't mind at all. Nice of you. So, Carina was it? What brings you to town?"
Sarah drove as Chuck sat beside her. "So, you think Graham is worried that you're no longer…loyal to the CIA?"
Sarah frowned. "Not so much loyal to the CIA. More loyal to him. Of course, he thinks those are the same thing, but they're not." Sarah was quiet for a moment, driving. "Maybe there was a time when I confused them too, a time when I was loyal, more loyal, to Graham than to the Company."
She paused again, and they stopped at a light, and she faced him. "He recruited me. He found out about me somehow, and he wanted me as an agent. He oversaw my training, even visited the Farm, and debriefed me himself on my earliest missions. Flattering — for a junior agent. I was eager to please him."
"Teacher's pet?" Chuck asked with a small smile.
Sarah nodded but did not smile. "Sort of that. As a kid, I never had, you know, a mentor, a special teacher. Graham was the first non-parent who thought me worth anything."
Chuck got a faraway look in his eyes. "I was lucky that way. Until Stanford kicked me out, I had lots of mentors — my dad, first, until he left, but then a succession of teachers. They all told me I was special. One, a freshman Latin teacher, when I complained to her about not making the grades I thought I should make, she told me to take a breath, that geniuses were often at sixes and sevens with themselves. Crazy being called a genius, and I'm not one, but that comment got me through some rough times, and some serious self-doubt in high school. — Oh, there's the place."
Sarah turned into the parking lot and they went inside the store.
Later, they came out each carrying a bag. Chuck looked at Sarah; he could still feel the blush on his face. "Is this a good idea?"
Sarah's smile was slow and deadly. "She deserves it. It's nothing she's not done to others."
Chuck gave Sarah a look half-curious, half-frightened. "Um, okay."
Sarah popped the trunk and put her bag in first. Chuck put his in and shut the trunk. They got in the car and left the parking lot. Chuck looked around nervously as they joined traffic, then sat back in relief. Sarah flipped on the lights.
Across the street, in a parking lot opposite the one Chuck and Sarah had just left, a man put down his binoculars and started his car.
The man was Mattress Bob.
He pulled into traffic several cars behind them, pulling a Captain's hat low on his head.
A/N: This arc got choppy here in the middle. Sorry about that. I had book events to do for my novel, Big Swamp, and stuff, and then I had the idea for A Comet Appears. Things should smooth out now.