Chapter 285: Time to Vanish

Does anyone here, at least those old enough, not know the look on his face and why the girl pushes him out of the way to get more food?

If they didn’t know that look, they got that his dick was hanging limply out of his fly, a bit of semen oozing from his pee hole, and a spit-shined shaft. The girl having a bit of sperm at the corner of her mouth made what happened completely clear.

The woman, who I think was the touch-adverse, possibly autistic, mute girl’s mother, told me, “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, you couldn’t even convince me otherwise. She has never smiled. Now she is radiating happiness as she shows me all those years of having to sedate her for her orthodontist appointments was worth every penny.

I ate my fill and was about to start cleaning up when Risa came to pull me outside. We were going for a walk, it seems.

“You continue to show everyone how amazing you are, Darren. The kids who invaded your bedroom last night are saying, at least those who choose to speak, that they had the best sleep they have had in a long time. The staff told me those kids do these sleepovers when overwhelmed by things like the major changes yesterday. The fact they responded to you in the guest house and then came to your bed specifically says volumes about your character. I’m sure you know way more about their distinct differences, but I do know a lot about the girl that blew the boy named Arnold,” Risa told me. “Part of the research on this house turned up a lot of details for prospective buyers based on the staff deal grandfathered into the sales agreement. She showed as being at the far end of some spectrum for Autistic people, has never spoken, and so affected by the touch of others that she must cover every inch of her body, except her face, for obvious reasons. Last night is one of the rare times in her entire life that she hasn’t worn a protective helmet when not bathing, for medical reasons, or doing something with her hair. As you know, she slept with a girl spooned up behind her and a boy in front. The boy has even more severe touch aversion than her. The butler allowed me into the room to check on you, especially to see if you needed me to pull you from under a pile of naked special-needs teenagers who were doing unspeakable things to you. He commented that he has known most of the kids in your bed since they were babies. Never has he seen that many of them cuddled up in bed to each other, wearing only the clothing they felt they required. If he hadn’t already known they each had some severe disabilities, he wouldn’t be able to tell them from any of the fifty plus of my expanded family sharing a big bed.”

After she had me slip off into some trees for a quickie, we slowly walked around the grounds without saying a word. Risa had her arm hooked through mine. Occasionally she would ask a question or comment about something seemingly random, but we had more time walking silently than talking.

When we got back to the main house, a group of maids pulled me off to the side.

“We will speak to mistress Risa, but we feel you have done so much for everyone around here this last day and a half that you should depart lest you somehow tarnish your image in everyone’s minds,” one maid said. “We won’t ask how you knew such things, but Arnold had to explain the modifications his lover wants to her head-to-toe, footie, hooded pajamas. After many false-starts, some embarrassed stutters, and good-natured cajoling, we found out about his lover wrapping herself up like a mummy to test her idea. Unfortunately, that has caused a lot of unexpected discoveries. Some of the children who cannot stand their bare skin touched, or even their fully clothed bodies, took the information Arnold provided to do some exploration of their own. Since most of those conducting their experiments do not speak, we must rely on those who do speak. The best they can explain, when properly aroused, intercourse doesn’t cause the discomfort of touches anywhere else on their bodies, provided only the minimal amount of their genitals exposed.”

A man on the staff said, “Look, Darren. As a human being, you are an unbelievable person. Being one so powerful that cares for others, people must observe how you are to believe such a thing is possible. I’ve never worked for anyone who the kitchen staff must continually kick out of their domain because you keep trying to clean the dishes. If you ever wish to drop off the face of the Earth, please come by here first. My children, nieces, nephews, and cousins require me to spend my time off at specialists and psychiatric hospitals. I began to prepare for the local institution to sedate and transfer the children who are unable to cope with the many unexpected changes in these last few days. You have the juju, Darren. No matter how high-strung or hyper-active the child, you calmed them all down with some willingly taking a nap. I know of many special-needs in-patient therapy hospitals that would give you anything you wanted minutes after seeing how you reach children who are unreachable any other way. While you already have the power and money to get anything you want, their patients are those of the elite families who wish not to have it known they have children with special needs. What they offer you is anonymity, where no one will be able to track you down for as long as you wish to remain off the radar.”

It does seem that I need to move along now that Risa has her home for her family and the new additions.

I connected the man-in-the-machine’s implant into my phone to securely check with Elena and Molly. It was prudent for them to return the U.S. with “David” so they could make their way home. Elena drove from the airport nearest her home. “David,” and Molly flew in one of the mystery silent jets to near my house, but only Molly got off the plane.

An encrypted message from Molly had an itinerary that had me check on Camden, Corwin, Skylar, and Mary, and my children, with the order for each selected to have me traveling a large amount of distance between them. Her goal was to have it clear that I had means of travel were beyond anything the other elites could purchase. How else could I travel halfway around the Earth in a quarter of the flight time of the fastest jets they could get. My visits were only long enough to check on the girls, my children, and speak with their fathers and mothers, briefly. Other than staying long enough to have a meal with the family, I headed to the next girl to arrive early in the morning their time. Camden was first, based on Molly’s assessment that it would make it less likely for people to think I might be in the U.S. when I let myself vanish.

Once my tour of the four girls completed, I had many places I would appear long enough to use my black, head of the elite families ID card to get into someplace impossible. Mr. Smith would make his appearance at three random ones to further establish he was not I, but we just looked very similar. As with the girls, I appeared at the next location faster than should be possible, but the black badge made it clear I was Darren once I pushed out the energy needed to trigger the sensors. For a final show that Mr. Smith and I were two different people, we both arrived at the same place, used our all-access ID cards to get into a high-security location, like Area 51, but higher security, where we had a meeting. The doorway we used to enter was the only way out, at least as far as the people there knew. The camera recorded us come in but couldn’t get video inside due to the highly classified materials in the back of the room. Likewise, the guards stationed outside the room couldn’t follow us. With no way to see where we went, I pushed energy into the places the man-in-the-machine, or ghost in Mr. Smith’s shell told me. Soundlessly a panel, on top of four feet of concrete, which housed the mechanism which lifted the section from the floor and tilted back to give us access to a ladder leading down into the darkness. Once we were down far enough to be safe, I pushed in a different color of energy to trigger the block to move back into place. I could hear the bank-vault sized pins sliding back into the holes in the walls surrounding the slab. Once locked, we had dim lights, at least to people not like me, come on that guided us down the ladder deep underground.

“Since the seventies, I’ve interacted with the construction crews building what they believe to be impenetrable fortresses. It is very amazing how far a minimal sum of money goes toward small design modifications. The crew drilling the forty-feet deep footers, before positioning in steel I-beams, to support the weight of the building, had no problems drilling one hole ninety feet deep. Fabricated onsite, they slid this shaft into place in two forty-foot sections. The top section already had the entire mechanisms and concrete plug in place when they inserted it. From there, it looked no different than the footers they poured in the forty-foot holes. Concrete was poured around the shaft with thin spacers around the perimeter as they did with the other footers,” Mr. Smith told me. “A computer miscalculation caused a boring machine, boring a large sewer tunnel, to go way off course. They were reinforcing the run with rebar and spraying concrete right behind the boring machine. By the time they realized their colossal mistake, the tunnel was over a mile off course. It was trivial to suggest a few modifications in exchange for arranging to have a high-ranking, and blatantly corrupt, government bureaucrat blamed for the mistake. It seemed fitting given he was getting kickbacks from each of the companies which did the geological survey for the tunnel. His wife owned those companies. Only one employee worked for the entire group of companies, and that was a kid he paid to draw out the details. The kid thought that it was for a very high-end videogame concept. While self-serving, I did save hundreds of thousands of lives. Before having the shaft installed, I did a geological survey. Should the boring crew have followed the plotted course, they would have hit a pocket of natural gas. The resulting explosion would crack open a lava tube on one side and weaken the aquafer above. According to my simulations, the lava flow rate is enough to quickly go a quarter-mile down the tunnel before the weakened bedrock under the aquafer cracked under the weight of the water. When the water hit the lava, it would cause the lava to solidify, but not quench the heat. Super-heated steam will fill the natural gas pocket and space that previously held the aquafer’s water. The pressure forces open a fissure to escape. Think Old Faithful in Yellowstone. Without the pressure pushing up to hold up the ground above it, the area quickly becomes a sinkhole. In this case, the aquafer covered an approximate area of eighty-three square miles, right under a large metropolitan area you saw in the flight here.”

Well, that is a bit convoluted logic. The government caught the criminal with his hands in the cookie jars, and the man-in-the-machine gets an escape tunnel.

Mr. Smith resumed explaining, “As the pollical machine worked to cover their ass, I leaked the full details of the seriousness of what would happen if they continued. Other than the company that drilled my tunnel, no one knew the project even started. Politicians got to hang the corrupt bureaucrat out to dry, seize his misbegotten gains to cover the costs of the tunnel screw-up, and make sure they publicly scrapped the tunnel project. Somehow, one of my construction crews, hired exclusively for their discretion cleaning up matters like this, won the contract to make it all go away. The fifty-nine million dollars boring machine came with the deal to clean up their errant tunnel. My boring machine saw many decades of used before I found it cheaper to acquire a new one, with much better tech and material, than repair the one I had. We have around twelve miles to hike out of here. I planned a transit system, but other places of interest didn’t materialize along the tunnel, so it didn’t make sense to keep maintaining a transport system that would very rarely see use.”

At the other end of the tunnel, I found that we exited into a section of the subway they no longer used. An out-of-service automated train was waiting for us. I don’t know how long we traveled, only that we bypassed all the stations. At the other end of our ride, we went off into a maintenance area. Somehow everyone happened to be attending a lunch, paid for by their employer, at a three-star restaurant. A master key unlocked an old door. At the end of the hallway, there was a small golf cart like machine attached to a narrow set of railroad tracks. We took that cart to the end of the line.

Much like how we arrived at the subway, we exited into the area where they stored the out of use underground airport trains. We got into the one, and it took us down the side tracks and in the wrong direction until we stopped at the terminal where Mr. Smith told me to go to gate C18. I had a seat in coach under the name Robert Paul Gibson. I cleared through security fifteen minutes ago, at least as far as the airport was concerned. When I got off the train, a woman handed me a backpack and a carryon suitcase.

“Everything you require is in the backpack. Have a nice flight, Mr. Gibson,” she said before stepping onto the train.

While sitting at the gate, I heard my name called out in the local language, Chinese, Spanish, French, German, Russia, and finally English. At the counter, the woman was doing her best to speak to me in English. I saved her the trouble and talked to her in the local language, which surprised her.

“Please forgive my disrespect,” she said. “Your destination is the United States, and you appear American.”

I smiled and said, “Your guess was correct. I am American, but I happen to learn languages very quickly. I hope that being American isn’t getting me bumped off the flight, or, worse, moved down to storage.”

“Mr. Gibson, you are quite funny,” she giggled like a schoolgirl. “No, sir, I called you up to the counter because I see you are under the legal age to fly unaccompanied according to our airline guidelines. At least that is the official reason.”

She asked me to step off to the side away from the seating area and then said, “You look able to defend yourself quite well, but the airline had an issue last year regarding the annual school trip of middle and high school children flying to the United States. No one will confirm it, but I hear a lot of rumors and gossip. From what I’ve pieced together, an informal group of pedophiles and dirty old bastards found the flight details for the trip last year and booked all remaining seats. You don’t need me to explain why the airline paid out millions of Euros to settle with the children’s families. I’m sorry, but I must move you up to the business class section with all the other under legal age passengers not traveling with their families. I wish we had the time for me to educate you, Mr. Gibson. I shouldn’t tell you and don’t know why I am, but my panties got soaked the instant you walked to the desk. I’m a lesbian. All males, except for you, make me want to vomit when they touch me, even accidentally.”