Chapter 15D

"It's the pain thing that bothers me the most, doc. I've become a pain-slut — something Mom was afraid would happen. In me, the most excruciating thing you can imagine feeling gets turned into something neither pain nor pleasure, and I find some things to be... enjoyable that other people would cringe just to think of. Does this make any sense?"

"Ah, well, you should more properly be taking this up with a psychiatrist..."

"You understand that I need to keep this a secret. The fewer people who know, the better."

"Why?" He sounded puzzled.

I thought back and realized that somehow I'd missed that part. I blushed. Embarrassed not at the situation, but at the claim I was about to make.

"The thing is... ah... what I do with this stuff. I have, like this part-time job. More of a hobby, really..."

Mom interrupted my verbal meandering. "She's a SuperHeroine," she said, flatly. I swear I could hear the capital letters when she said it. I almost expected some Wagnerian theme music to break out in the room.

"Yes. That." I finished, lamely. "I know that sounds soooo totally egomaniacal."

Dr. Bonner had almost gone back to his old self, but for some reason, now he looked shocked again. His eyes unfocussed and he looked off into a corner of the room for a bit before looking back at me.

"My daughter has a close friend that she went to school with..." he started, and then swallowed before going on with what he wanted to say. "The friend and her children were in a terrible car wreck this past weekend and my daughter went to visit her in the hospital this morning. She stopped by to tell me about it at lunch. Apparently another car passed too closely and forced them off the road and their car rolled down an embankment. They were trapped in their car and Gloria — my daughter's friend — was afraid the gas tank would explode and burn them all alive. Apparently a policeman arrived shortly after the wreck happened, but the car was all crushed and there wasn't anything he could do to get them out. Gloria told her that a couple of girls came along and stopped to help. She said the policeman put a blanket over them and then one of the girls climbed on the hood of the car and tore the roof off to free them. I assumed that she was just describing a dream she'd had under the influence of the drugs they gave her for the pain. Both her legs were broken in the wreck you see, and she's on a morphine drip to help control the pain. That kind of medication makes you pretty goofy."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. It wasn't a question and I couldn't tell what it was he wanted to know. I knew what I wanted to know though.

"Are the kids all right?"

"Yes. Shaken up. Scared to death about their mother being hurt, but they are fine. The car was a blue Plymouth minivan." That last bit was so disconnected that it had to be a test.

"No. It was green," I said. The silence that followed was so thick that it could have been cut with a chainsaw.

"As you say. It was green. And you know that because... ?"

"I'm the one who got them out of the car."

"Thank you."

"No. Don't thank me. I don't do it for gratitude. I don't do it for any kind of reward."

"Then why?"

"Because I can. It's as simple as that. I believe in doing what you can to help. I can, so I do. That's all. I don't want publicity. I certainly don't want fame. I learned very early on that the only thing I can get from doing this that is of any value to me at all is the knowledge that I did what I could. So save the thanks. I don't want to seem rude, but you don't need to thank me for doing what I must do if I'm going to be able to look at myself in the mirror. It's actually a kind of insult, see? If I didn't believe I was doing the right thing, all the thanks in the world wouldn't be enough to take the job. Understand?"

"No, I don't. But then, I don't have your unique perspective on the matter."

"As I was saying," I said to get back to the subject. "Pain is a regular part of my job. If I jump in front of a bullet..."

"You've done that?"

"Uh, yeah. It hurt. A lot. But I had to deal with it and keep going, see? I can't be standing by, going 'Ow, ow, ow' while people are being killed. I have to suck it up and keep fighting."

"So this high tolerance, even an affinity, for pain is a necessity for you?"

"I guess. Does that sound like a rationalization?"

"As I said, I don't have your perspective. And I'm not qualified to tell you you're not completely out of your tree — pardon my clinical jargon — but it does sound like you have developed a viable means of coping with a... professional hazard. I wouldn't worry too much about it. The fact that you are concerned means that you are aware of the potential for this to become a problem and that indicates to me that you still have control of the situation. If you find yourself seeking out situations where you put yourself at risk just so you can experience pain, then you will know it has become a problem and you need to do something about it."

That made me feel a lot better. I hadn't gone out looking for The Torturer hoping he would hurt me. I just had been able to turn the tables on him by being tough enough to take what he did to me and turn the other cheek with a smile on my face.

"Thanks! That helps."

He helped me down off the table and gave me some paper towels to wipe off the greasy lubricant he had applied to my pussy and my anus. I thought the darn goo was unnecessary. I would have been fine without it.

Mom helped me back into my clothes while Dr. Bonner watched with an almost wistful expression. I had been quite comfortable naked and I think he had gotten used to me being that way, too. It made me smile to think that there are some rewards for being... decorative.

When I was dressed and seated again, he gave us his opinion of my health and recommendations for making the best of it. Most of it was the same dry stuff we got in the Health segments of girl's Gym. When he got down to why I had agreed to the visit in the first place, my ears perked up.

"... even allowing for your unique physiology and your abilities, I think you are in excellent health and I have no reservations about you becoming a breast milk donor. I will send a letter to that effect to the hospital and they will let you know when you can start making deliveries. Although why someone like you would want to do this is beyond me."

"Because I can."

"As you say. And I admire your sense of purpose. I suppose superhumans need a strong sense of purpose, as well as a very rigid sense of right and wrong, to deal with the temptations of the job."

"Temptations?"

"You've never wished you could take revenge on someone for doing something petty and making you mad?"

"Of course. But anyone who really makes me mad is going to be very sorry for a very short time afterward." I smiled wickedly for the nice doctor who thought I was a superhuman. Of course there were times when all of us want to pound someone. But we don't, even if we can. It's just not right. I had wanted someone to pound for days, and I was still waiting for the Killer Robots from Space to land so I would have something to really wail on. Even now that I knew how to limit the amount of destruction I was capable of doing and I felt much more positive about using my strength, I still had an urge to really let loose.

I left Dr. Bonner's office with spring in my step and a prescription for birth control pills strong enough to keep a female moose from getting pregnant.

On the way out past the appointment clerk's desk, we overheard a news broadcast talking about a couple of teens who had gone camping in the woods east of town and had gotten separated from the group and hadn't been seen since the previous night. A search was underway for them and the reporter said that concern was growing, since nightfall was only three hours away.

The reporter ran down a list of all the dangerous creatures native to the woods and how a couple of hungry and lost teens would be easy prey to a bear, a pack of wild pigs, or a gator in one of the many swampy areas that dotted the landscape.

What he didn't say was that the two had probably separated themselves intentionally so they could spend the night cuddling up in a sleeping bag together without the benefit of chaperonage by the rest of the group. The story of a couple of scared children lost in the woods would play much better than the one of a couple of horny kids who had snuck off a good distance so the sounds of them trying to screw each other's brains out wouldn't be heard back at the main camp. At least that's what I would have been doing if I had been one of those kids.

Following the reporter's spiel was the inevitable interview with the Chief Law Enforcement Official On the Scene, in this case, good old Sheriff Bob Foster. Sheriff Foster gave the equally predicable reassurances that everything that could be done to locate the two unfortunate youths was being done — dogs, experienced local hunters, all available resources were being brought to bear on the situation. Blah, blah, blah. He was so polished that I thought Sheriff Bob had probably given this same speech several times before during his time in office.

"Not all," I mumbled to myself.

"What was that?" Mom asked.

"I said that not all 'available resources' had been brought to bear."

"Oh. That's what I thought. I suppose you want to join the search?"

"I think I might be able to help."

"OK."

"Gee, that was easy," I thought. But then, finding a couple of kids lost in the woods did sound a good deal safer than some of the things I had been into lately. She was probably relieved to hear that this job wouldn't involve me going out as bait for some sadistic nut-case.

I rang up Neeka on the mental intercom and discussed it with her. She suggested doing this job incognito, wearing hiking clothes and carrying backpacks instead of roaring in on the 'DragonCycle' in full crime-fighting regalia. I thought that was a very good plan and congratulated her on being willing to dispense with the bike this time out.

She said she didn't see how it could be useful in the forest and besides, the place was already a media-rich environment. If we showed up as The Dragon and sidekick, notice would be taken. She suggested meeting her back at the Reynolds house, and after briefing Mom on the plan, that's just what we did.

We had just pulled into the driveway, when Neeka came out carrying two backpacks and a bundle of clothes.

"I thought you would want to get moving right away," she said. "I packed the bags and got you some better clothes to wear, so unless you have to go pee or something, we're ready to go."

I had peed before leaving the doctor's office. Never missing a chance to pee was one of my favorite axioms, and I also had to use the restroom to finish wiping the grease out of my butt-crack anyway. That stuff made it all slippery and it was distracting. Having a well-lubed anus wasn't unpleasant; in fact it opened up new worlds for me. I hadn't considered my nether hole to be an erogenous zone before. In fact, if someone had suggested putting anything in it, I would have refused without thinking about it. Now, the idea of being fucked in the ass sounded vaguely attractive. At least it was something I would be willing to try sometime in the future — say — as soon as I could arrange it. Until then, I tried to take a mental inventory of the toys in my drawer to see if there was something in there that could help me make up my mind about having visitors in my back door. I seemed to remember several things that might fit, or that I might be willing to experiment with.

Neeka already had her rough-country clothes on, so I changed into mine in the back seat on the way. She had brought a pair of my jeans and what looked like one of her father's old denim shirts. The jeans were a touch fashionable to be worn in the woods, but it was probably the only thing in my closet that would be tough enough to protect my legs from briars and stuff. The shirt was laughably huge on me, baggy even across my chest. I started to tie the shirt-tails together to make it fit me better, but I decided to leave it hanging. Although I wasn't happy with looking tubby instead of voluptuous, this wasn't going to be a situation where my looks would be any help at all and Neeka had already pointed out the advantage to being incognito.

By the time I crawled into the jeans, sleeveless shirt and sturdy half-boots she had brought, I had only managed to flash or moon two cars and an 18-wheeler. The cars hadn't paid much attention, but the 18-wheeler stayed close until I had the shirt buttoned up and had blown the driver a kiss.

After changing, I inventoried the packs she had brought. Mine held the first-aid kit, a couple of bottles of water, half a dozen of the energy bars, my special suit and shoes, as well as the fully-loaded fanny-pack.

Neeka's was something of a surprise. She had her own crime-fighter outfit, a camp blanket, water, a pair of nunchuks, and a big damn handgun.

As soon as I saw it she said, "I know. You don't like guns. But I'm not sure how well my Kung Fu will do against a black bear and anyway, ever since the other day, I've been feeling that I need some more personal clout when we're out on a job. Call me chickenshit if you like, but I feel better knowing I have the .357 along. Those are hard-cast lead bullets in there. They should be good against anything we run into in the woods, from feral pigs to felony perps."

"Where did you get this?"

"Dad got it for when he was away on business trips. He wanted to feel that Mom and I wouldn't be sitting home defenseless. He made us both go to the pistol range and practice with it until we could both put all six rounds in the target at 25 feet. Mom always hated the thing. Even though she got pretty good with it, I doubt she would ever do anything more than point it at someone if the house were really broken into. She had no problem with me taking it with me. And I have no problem having it along."

"Not from me," I said, holding up my hands. She made sense. Hand to hand combat was one thing, hand to tooth or claw would be something else. And being prepared for anything sounded like an excellent plan. Still, I sat the pack with the gun on the other side of the seat from me and made sure the business end wasn't pointed in my direction.

Finding out that my partner/sidekick/lover was armed and dangerous was something of a shock. Still, even though I didn't want or need a gun, I had to admit that I was a minority of one. All my professional colleagues carried them and had no problem with the idea. Gail Adams had even tried to talk shop with me on the subject. I had to admit that I could see situations where it would be better to stand off and blast away rather than close with someone, or something, that presented a clear danger. I decided that I should practice some with the throwing-stars as a way to give myself the same capability.

When we reached the camping area, it was swarming with local media types who were busy interviewing anyone who would stand still long enough. Access to the command post was blocked by a deputy who barely glanced at my badge before waving us through. Apparently his job was only to keep the media far enough away for some real work to get done.

When Mom pulled her very out of place luxury sedan in between a couple of battered pickup trucks, Neeka and I piled out of the car, shouldered our packs, and went looking for the Sheriff. He wasn't hard to find. He was in a knot of people standing by a rescue squad truck with a map taped to the side of it. Neeka and I joined the fringe of the group and listened to him run down the areas that had been searched and where he wanted the next sweep to go. Someone in a plaid shirt and leather vest asked if we would keep going after dark.

"No. That would just get more people lost out here. We sure don't need that. Do you want to be the one the TV people put on the 11 o'clock news as 'lost while searching'? I didn't think so. Listen folks, we're going to do this by the numbers until we have something more than a lost-kids situation. We're going to run this sweep until a half-hour before sundown and then everyone will head back in and report, so we know we haven't lost anyone. Is that clear?"

There was a general round of regretful nodding at the wisdom of not running search teams after dark, and everyone headed out for their assigned spots. After they were gone, only Neeka and I, the Sheriff, Lt. Grogan, and a State Police officer whose rank I didn't recognize were still left. The Sheriff smiled when he saw me and we joined the smaller circle.

"Hi, Sam. Good to see you again."

"Sheriff. Lieutenant. I thought we'd see if you could use a hand out here. I hope you don't mind."

"Noooo! Happy to have you anytime you care to join in. I don't know how we can make use of your, ah, special skills today, but you are certainly welcome."

The State guy in the smokey-bear hat looked down at me and said, "Bob, I didn't know you'd run so low on manpower that you'd resorted to calling out the Girl Scouts, although this one looks more like a Brownie to me. Heh, heh!"

My friendly smile got thin and stretched as it widened to the point of showing my clenched back-teeth. The State Police officer kept chuckling at his little joke and looking down at me, but Neeka, the Sheriff and Grogan each took a half-step back to give them a head start in removing themselves from a scene of potential carnage.

"Ah, Phil..." Sheriff Foster started, but checked himself when I wagged a finger in his direction.

Before Mr. Smokey-Hat could get the other foot in his mouth, I put out a hand and said, "Sam Kramer. Pleased to meet you."

He stuck out his hand in return and I took the best grip on it I could. He was a tall, rangy guy and his hands were much bigger than mine, but I got a hold on three of his fingers and squeezed.

He gave a grunt as I tightened my grip and said, "Gee, Bob. Chubby here has a grip on her."

That did it. I cranked down on his fingers hard enough to feel the bones bend and he dropped to his knees with his eyes crossed. I let go as soon as he got down to my level and he rocked back on his heels and fetched up against the side of the truck, holding his sore hand with the other as he checked for broken bones.