Thank you to all my reviewers! I am always grateful.
To K9: Too tired to sign in, eh? I've gone through that too. As for your question, you are partly right. Octavia's hometown is the fictional NYC suburb of Venice, NY. But I always name my fictional settings after the settings of Shakespeare's plays. For example, the hometown of Austin Smith, another of my original characters, is Elsinore, CA, which is named after the setting of Hamlet. Venice, Italy, the one you're thinking of, is the setting of Othello and The Merchant of Venice.
To Peteram: Ah, now there's the rub! That's presicely the question I wanted all my readers to think about! Glad you brought it up, that way you can read the rest of the story and decide for yourself.
To Moonjava: Thanks! I will.
To Crys Skywalker and LadyKayoss: It appears that the big question everyone is asking is: when is Doc Ock going to meet his clone? Be patient and keep reading!
Now, for the story! Read and review! Octavia seeks refuge with her sometime boyfriend, and before you ask, yes, he is supposed to be similar to the original's wife. Meanwhile, Jordan finds herself on the wrong side of the government...
Chapter 8: Sought Refuge With an Old Flame
"The subject has prematurely escaped."
"Are you tracking her movements?"
"Of course. She was last seen on Broadway, New York City."
"What was her reaction?"
"As expected. Anger, and surprise. She killed Dr. Morrison."
"We will have to recover her case study files on Octavia. This project cannot be terminated. Not even for the death of the scientist in charge."
"One could almost say Grace was a Faustian overreacher. She tried to play God for her own benefit, and it went horribly wrong, and that resulted in her demise."
"What?"
"You've never read Christopher Marlowe's Doctor Faustus, have you? Or Frankenstein."
"What have you learned by observing her at school?"
"She was familiar with him. Her friend was obsessed with him. But comic books—they only tell half the story."
"The friend who witnessed the capture?"
"Yes. Jordan Nicholas."
"You'll have to pay her plenty of hush money."
"Yes."
"Any notable events since her escape?"
"She killed a cabdriver by flinging his cab through the window. And she attacked Spider-man."
"She's still operating on adrenaline. She's in fight or flight mode. Let's see what she does when she calms down. And get that hush money withdrawn."
"Of course."
The tall, slender, black-haired man sometimes called Carlyle left the room.
Octavia hid the tentacles inside her coat and stepped to the front door of David Rose's apartment.
They had met when David's cousin Jordan set them up on a blind date. They were completely opposite: he was a shy poet and writer, she was an introverted science geek. However, they had chemistry. They hit it off. But he was 18, she was 13. Her mother and father had disapproved of the difference in their ages, and they were only boyfriend and girlfriend for six months.
However, she loved him dearly, and she knew he loved her as well. If anyone could accept her in this predicament besides Jordan, it was Dave.
There was a steady downpour of rain. She rang the doorbell.
David Rose opened the door. "Octavia! What are you doing here?"
"I have…to sit down," she mumbled. She stumbled into the room and flopped onto the couch.
"Here," said David. "Let me get your coat."
"No! No…don't take it off," she said, batting his hand away.
"What happened?" David asked.
"I killed the doctor…and then I killed the cabbie…and I attacked the bug…" she mumbled incoherently.
"Wait, slow down. Are you on the run from the law? Who did you kill?"
"I didn't kill them, they did…"
"They? Who are they?" David asked. "Let me get you something to eat and drink. You look famished." He went into the kitchen, grabbing a skillet, butter, bread, pepperoni, and cheese.
"Did you get that hush money?"
"Yes."
"Are you continuing the surveillance?"
"Of course. We have found her at a Brooklyn apartment belonging to a nineteen-year-old David Rose. English literature major at Empire State University. He was her significant other for around six months. Strange how a poet and a science geek can fall in love."
"The original's wife was named Rosie. And she was a poet. What a coincidence. What does the probability computer say as to what she will do next?"
"She will run. Her boyfriend will reject her. He will now see her as a freak, a half-mechanical monster, an eight-limbed Frankenstein's creature. Her deformity gives her great power—and at the same time ensures she will never be accepted by a society built on appearances."
"Where will she go to next?"
"The next name that pops up is Jordan Nicholas. Probability 75 percent she will head there next. When, is only a matter of time."
"Good. Just get there first."
Carlyle shook hands with the new scientist in charge, and walked out of the office, making sure the envelope was still in his pocket.
Jordan Nicholas opened the door. A tall, slender, black haired man stood in the doorway. He handed her a business card saying Oliver Osnick, Government Adjustments.
"What the hell do you want?" Jordan asked.
The man calling himself Osnick (and had once called himself Carlyle) reached into his coat, pulling out a check for eighty thousand dollars.
"I don't want your hush money," Jordan snapped. "Get out of here."
"I think you had better listen to me before you take any action you may regret later, Miss Nicholas," Osnick said calmly and quietly.
Osnick carried a briefcase with him. He pulled out a folder with the names Nicholas and Breedlove written on the tab. Jordan's eyes widened. Breedlove was her mother's maiden name. And no one likes to see a government folder with the names of your family on it. There is something unnerving and Orwellian about the idea that your government has been keeping tabs on you.
Osnick talked for around an hour, occasionally showing Jordan papers from the folder.
"We are in a national security situation, pertaining to a top-secret scientific experiment," said Osnick. "You must realize that, young lady. We don't enjoy doing this, but the simple fact is that you must be made to see reason. The matter of Octavia Jones is a matter which you know very little about."
"I know you shot and kidnapped an unarmed high school student, who is my best friend. She may be missing or even dead by now. I never thought that Orwell's ideas about Big Brother were right."
Osnick smiled coldly, as if talking to someone tragically ignorant of how hard the government works to protect its charges. "My job is not to debate that fact but to convince you not to talk about it. You don't know what you saw or what it means. Young lady, this needn't be so painful. The check is tax-free. It will easily pay your way through college, with money to spare. Buy yourself some designer jeans besides." He looked at the girl—yet another dumb blonde, he thought. "And a good deal of unpleasantness will be avoid—get my drift?"
Jordan looked at him coldly as Osnick showed her the papers.
A cousin on her father's side, Alfred Manders, had a nice little pot garden in his backyard in Nevada. One of her aunts, Miranda Breedlove-Molina, was up to her eyebrows in debt and shaky business ventures; one touch of the government's finger would send her financial house of cards tumbling and make her bankrupt, unable to support her four kids. Jordan's Uncle Drew, on her father's side, was in the Earth Liberation Front in college and was suspected of being involved in a plot to firebomb a McDonald's. Drew had told his brother, Jordan's dad, that once he got wind of what was going on, he'd quit the group, horrified. But a copy of the file forwarded to his boss would most likely lose him his job.
Osnick saved the best for last. Jordan's aunt Marina had married a Muslim, Abdul Mohammed Rahim, who had made very large donations to very questionable Islamic charities. One tip from the government would send him and most likely Aunt Marina as well, straight to Guantanamo for financing terrorism. Muslims were not loved in America since September 11th.
Osnick shut up. He sat back in the chair with the briefcase on his lap, smiling like he was a good student who has just given a winning class presentation.
What do I do? Jordan wondered, frowning. If I stand up to this sanctimonious pecker-head and tell him to go get bent, what will happen? Do I send Cousin Fred, Uncle Drew, Aunt Marina, and Uncle Abdul postcards saying that they're in jail because my best friend was kidnapped by government agents? What do I do?
But Jordan's confusion was soon replaced by anger. She thought there were laws against this kind of thing. These laws were mostly found in an obscure little document called the United States Constitution. They shot and kidnapped her best friend, and now they were trying to pay her off to keep quiet about something that had Orwellian Big Brother written all over it. Octavia wouldn't want her to keep quiet about whatever horrible fate they'd subjected her to.
Jordan smiled and reached for the check. "I'll take that."
Osnick smiled and handed her the check. "Good girl. I knew you were an intelligent, reasonable girl."
But to Osnick's utter bewilderment, Jordan tore the check in two.
"Now stick this where the sun don't shine, and get the hell out of my family's house."
"Did you give her the hush money?"
"Yes. Then she tore the check up and told me to…well, 'stick it where the sun don't shine' as she put it."
"She rejected the hush money?" the scientist in charge asked. There was a trace of anger in the director's voice. "This will complicate things."
"Most definitely."
"Where is the clone?"
"Still at the Rose apartment. The computer's assessment still holds true. She will run."
"When?"
"Even the computer cannot say."
David brought out the sandwiches and a small bowl of pizza sauce. "Pepperoni and grilled cheese sandwiches…and some pizza sauce to dip them in," he said. "You used to love these when we were dating."
Octavia took her sandwich and ate numbly.
"Now, who are 'they'?Who killed those people?" David asked.
"Please…don't put me through this."
"I won't be mad. I won't do anything. I'll always love you," David said. "I promise. No matter what you did."
"They put these horrible things on me…" Octavia mumbled.
"What?"
Octavia unbuttoned her coat and took it off, revealing four huge, metal, snakelike tentacles attached to her back. They reared up, curving up and over the girl.
"Don't be scared…"
But David was. He let out a scream.
"Oh my gawd, what are those things? Are those tentacles? Have I been dating a monster!"
"No, you haven't been dating a monster! I'm still the same Octavia Jones!" She grabbed at David's shirt with a tentacle, but David jerked away. "Get those things off me, you little freak!"
"But David, you said you'd always love me, you promised!"
"Get out of my house!" David yelled. "I'm not having tentacled maniacs in my apartment, I'm not putting myself in danger because of you!"
Octavia found herself running out of the apartment.
Was this what it was like being Doctor Octopus? To be hated and feared because of your appearance?
Underneath her sunglasses, she was crying. Underneath her trench coat, her heart was breaking
She was alone again.
"The clone has run."
