Formula Version Dot One
Formula: Version Dot One
Brian Weller checked his mailbox and got what he expected: a mailbox filled with various letters and financial aid documents from numerous colleges he had applied to. The financial aid was the hardest of all -- he didn't qualify for disadvantage student aid because his family made too much money, but his family couldn't afford to completely self-fund his education due to the high cost of going to a good school. His father was a plant supervisor at a local furniture plant, and his mother was a school principal at a local middle school. His dad said that for now, he could afford up to the first $5,000 of the college costs and $250 of his book expenses, plus the promise of some secret extra pocket money when his mother wasn't looking.
Brian took his daily bundle up to his room and began the regular afternoon ritual of sifting through the mail. Sigh. Rejection letter. Rejection Letter. 'SAT scores do not meet our admission minimum standards, signed stuffy Ivy League University.' Rejection Letter. Rejection Letter. Rejection Letter. You've been accepted to our fall classes effective September 3,2001. Rejection Letter. Rejection Letter. What???!!!
Quick dig through wastebasket follows.
Brian quickly reads through it, then begins to go absolutely wild. About ten minutes later, he calms down and continues to go through the rest of their information packet. What's even nicer is that he qualifies for a full scholarship his first year, with continuing financial aid conditional on maintaining a nominal grade point average. He spends the remainder of the afternoon doing rough planning on what he needs to do to be able to get to University City, LA.
He then turns on his computer and turns on the aging Pentium 233 to go on the Internet to check his email and to check the online classifieds. He finds a message from the automated search engine that it has found a used PC that meets all of his specifications. He looks at it and reads the information therein:
"Must sell: Pentium III 733. 256 Mb RAM. 20 Gb hard disk. Windows 98. 17 inch monitor, with 8x CD burner. In excellent condition. Selling all for $600. Email at vbillsworth@hotmail.com"
Brian opened his desk drawer and searched through the contents until he pulled out his quarry: "First National Bank Savings Account passbook: Minor account holder Brian Weller." Brian quickly opened it to the first page to find his most recent account balance. He had been setting some money aside every two weeks for the past four years, splitting each paycheck among helping his family with some of his living expenses (his dad said it would teach him financial responsibility by simulating having real-world living expenses, such as 'rent' for staying in his room), and over time, it amounted to a nice chunk of change: $4321.69.
"Hey Dad! Come here for a minute. I need to borrow the use of your credit card." Brian yelled.
After a few minutes, the heavy footsteps of his father were heard coming into the room. A slightly heavyset but otherwise healthy middle aged man with graying red hair entered the room.
"What's up, son?" He inquired.
"Found me a computer to go to school with. I'd like to buy it." Brian replied.
The older man peered forward, put on his glasses and read the information.
"That's a pretty low price for a system like that. What's wrong with it?" He implied with some suspicion.
"Dad! Just because they want to sell it at a cheap price doesn't mean there's something wrong with it." Brian defended.
"Well, they gotta have some reason for wanting to dump it..." the father started..
"Dad..."
"OK OK... I meant, sell it. Are you sure that's the one you want," the older man confirmed.
"Yeah. I looked on the web, and new systems want at least five or six hundred more for a system like that," Brian replied.
"OK. Let those people know we're interested and I'll do it for you, son. It's your money," his father relented.
"Thanks, Dad." Brian responded.
"By the way, son, congratulations. I knew you'd find a school worthy of your talent. Just don't come home with any genetically engineered food, or furless cats, or stuff like that..." the older man joked.
"Dad...." Brian moaned.
"Just kidding, son. I'm very proud of you." the older man hugged the boy, gave him a noogie across the scalp and ambled off.
A few days, and a few conversations later, the two men found themselves in a very upscale neighborhood on the northside of town, the older man driving a 95 Mercedes C280.
"Pretty nice neighborhood. I guess these people can afford to dump Pentium III's at below their market value," the older man punned.
"Dad...." Brian droned.
"OK OK... you just keep an eye out for the right..." the older man instructed
"There it is. 825 Graymalkin Lane!" Brian pointed.
The older man parked the Mercedes on the side of the street. The two men walked up to a red and white Victorian style wood frame house with a covered porch, with a path of large flat stones leading up to the front porch. The area was nicely landscaped around the house, with a variety of colorful plants tastefully dressing up the surrounding property. Brian pushed the backlit button for the doorbell, and had to wait only a few minutes before an attractive, light-skinned black woman appeared at the door.
"Hi, can I help you gentlemen?" she asked politely.
"We're here about the computer for sale," Brian replied.
"Oh! OK, come right in," she offered, holding the door for Brian and his father to enter.
They stepped through a nicely decorated foyer area with a small dining table that was already set for dinner. Curiously enough, at one end of the table was a much smaller replica of the same table, complete with a small copy of the chairs, it too having a miniature plate and settings, looking very much like the conventionally sized settings at that end of the table.
In a china cabinet, Brian also saw pictures of both the young woman and what he assumed to be her husband. Oddly enough, there were no pictures of the two of them in the same photo, but since it was none of his business, he said nothing about his observation. The two men followed the woman into the next room, and then up an ornately carved and finished wooden spiral staircase. After walking past a balcony, they entered a very nicely furnished bedroom. There was again pictures of both the same young man and the woman, but again, no pictures of them together. At one corner of the room was a locked cabinet. When the young woman unlocked it, it revealed the purpose of their visit: a very well maintained midtower PC system.
"I recently ordered a newer PC system, and I really didn't need more than one at a time in the same house, and because I really wanted the space available, I wanted to sell this one quicklly,"she explained.
Brian nodded and sat in the comfortable early Victorian style cushioned chair and pushed the power button for the system. After booting to a Windows 98 desktop, he ran various programs to test its functionality. The system information revealed it had been registered to a Billy somebody, and surprisingly enough, he found a recent copy of a sophisticated biochemistry analysis program.
"Oh cool! This is interesting..." Brian commented.
"What's interesting, " the woman pressed nervously, suddenly appearing unsettled at his discovery of the program that she didn't understand.
"Oh, it's just that I'm going into a bio-chemistry program at a college I'd been accepted at. Does this program come with the system?" He asked.
"Sure, if you want it. That um, was something my brother installed. I never really understood it myself," she stammered.
Brian felt as if she were hiding something, but minding that he was a guest in the woman's home, he wasn't a police officer questioning the lady, nor was it any of his business, he wisely avoided pursuing the matter.
"Does the PC come with all the manuals and software? Discs and documentation?" Brian's father inquired.
"Oh yes, I kept everything." She replied.
"Are you the original owner? I' m just curious because you're selling it, but there's someone else's name the machine is registered to," Brian asked.
"The machine isn't stolen, if that's what you mean, " she answered defensively. "My brother gave me that system, and I just decided to get another one. I'd like to have the cabinet for my new system."
Sensing that he was getting into sensitive territory, Brian wisely avoided pursuing that topic, but couldn't figure out why the woman was so antsy and nervous. Brian continued going through some of the files, finding some very interesting notes on biomolecular mass densities, but being short on time, decided to peruse the notes later. Right now, he decided this was a system he did not want to pass up just because he was suspicious of the unusual things he detected about the woman's personal life.
"I'm satisfied. Everything's in good order here. If you're still interested in parting with it, I'd like to take it."
"Um, sure. If everything is acceptable to you, I'd like you to have it," she offered.
Brian's father opened up his billfold, paused for a moment, then flipped to the checkbook portion of it. "Can we write you a check?"
The woman appeared nervous at this point, and indicated, "Actually, I'd prefer cash. I, uh, don't mean to cast suspicion on you nice people, but barring any mixups at the bank, I'd rather not have to deal with any misunderstandings over a check that comes up NSF..."
"Oh the check is good. You don't have to worry about that. It's just that if the monitor goes out tomorrow, I'd like to be able to protect myself too..."
Sensing a Mexican standoff on the horizon over method of payment, and potentially killing the deal, Brian intervened.
"Uh, Dad. It's OK. Really. I'd really like to have this system, and there really is nothing wrong with it. And even if the screen kills tomorrow, I'd rather just pay another couple hundred dollars to get it up again, than pay twice what this woman wants for a system I'm just going to have to configure myself for more than what she's asking on top of that," Brian said.
The older man sighed, then peeled to the back portion of the wallet, pulling out six one-hundred dollar bils.
"OK, son, it's your money. My apologies ma'am. I didn't mean to imply anything unfavorable about the system," the older man offered.
"It's OK. He's your son. I'd be similarly protective in your shoes," she laughed, becoming somewhat more at ease upon receiving the money.
'Good enough for me. In the meantime, let's get my boy's new machine all packed up." the older man pressed as he put his wallet away and started helping the young woman and Brian disconnect the components from within the cabinet. Three round trips later between the house and the small Mercedes, the young woman was waving them off. Had the two men been a fly on the wall, they might have been very surprised at the exchange that followed.
"Are they gone yet?" a tiny disembodied voice from out of nowhere inquired.
The young woman smiled, and reached down between her breasts, producing a very small four-inch tall young male laying in her soft palm, dressed in a very small pair of jeans and wearing a handmade t-shirt.
"Yes, Billy, they're gone," she replied.
"I don't know why you gave those people such a hard time, Vanessa. They seemed nice enough" the tiny man responded.
"Me? I'm not the one who forgot to change their name on a computer that I was supposed to be selling. If I hadn't been quick thinking, I might have been going to jail for selling stolen property!" Vanessa defended with some elevated concern.
"OK OK, I'm sorry. I should have thought of that. I also should have remembered to get rid of that software. Damn! That means that my older version of the formula is still on there!" the young man exclaimed.
"You mean the formula for the chemical that shrank you is on that machine? We have to get it back!" Vanessa declared with alarm, nearly jarring Billy out of her palm.
"Hey take it easy! It's .. it's not that big a deal. it's not even the same formula!" Billy stammered as he tried to recover his balance.
"What do you mean? You mean that version of the formula doesn't really work," Vanessa asked hopefully.
"Oh it works alright. But it's a flawed model. He sounds like a sharp kid. I think he'll figure that out for himself eventually, then lose interest in it." Billy assured.
"Are you sure? Vanessa replied.
"Of course I'm sure, honey. After all, what could possibly happen with such a flawed version of the formula. It's not like he's going to use it on himself or anything, especially after he tests it and realizes that for himself." Billy explained.
"Well, if you say so, Billy..." Vanessa concurred, very carefully taking her tiny charge back in the house with her before someone spots her talking to her hand -- or worse, the four inch tall man inside it.
"Don't worry, Vanessa. Nobody's that stupid, right?" Billy assumed. The two men were soon on their way home with their newly purchased PC. Brian thought it odd that his father was being so quiet.
"Are you OK, Dad? You've, um, been kind of quiet," Brian probed out of concern.
The older man's face smiled briefly and said, "Ah, I'm alright, son. This is a bit of an awkward moment for me. My oldest boy is finally leaving the nest. I'm so proud of you, but it's a bit of a bittersweet moment for me, your mother, and yes, even your sister, Ellen."
"My sister is going to miss me? You've got to be kidding me. She's been bugging me for a month about how she's going to get my room," Brian replied skeptically, then gets more serious for a moment, "but let me tell you something, Dad. If she so much as breathes on my comic book collection, there's going to be trouble when I come home for the holidays!"
His dad chuckled. "Don't worry, son. I'll safeguard your comic book collection up in the attic. Your original issue of X-Men #1 will stay unmolested in its glass frame, I promise."
Brian breathed a sigh of relief, then asked, "so what did you mean, by this is a bittersweet moment? I.. I thought you'd be happy for me."
"Oh I totally am, son. We all are. But we're still your family, and well, the house will be different with you away," he explained, failing to disguise the tear forming in his eye.
"Aw, dad..." Brian gushed. At that moment, his father's cellphone buzzed in his shirt pocket.
His father held the wheel to the Mercedes with his one free hand as he used his left to pick up the phone. "Hello?"
"Daddy, Uncle Ned dropped off Brian's gift, and now I really hate him." the teenaged female on other end threatened.
The older man smiled and said, "Now, honey. Be nice to your older brother. This is his special day, and you need to be nice to him during the time he has left. I know you too have been rivals from the day you were old enough to walk, but now is not the time for that, baby."
"Is that my ratty sister, Dad?" Brian asked sarcastically. After his father turned with a disapproving expression, Brian quickly changed his tone.
"Tell her I'll miss her, Dad," Brian smiled.
"I heard that, and he's lying Daddy, I swear! He's up to something! You can't..." she started to plead desperately before the older man interrupted her.
"Now, honey, I know you must be jealous right now..." the father started.
"I'm beyond jealous, right now, Dad. He.. he's getting.. Stella. Uncle Ned's pride and joy. The car that Uncle Ned used to have us wash when we misbehaved at Aunty's house! I can't believe he's getting such a beautiful car!" the girl complained.
"Don't worry, honey. You'll be graduating too in a couple of years, and I promise that you will get a," the older man quickly searched for an alternative word as he nearly spilled the beans on the surprise he was planning to unleash on his unsuspecting son. "Er umm.. similar treatment, hon. I can't talk right now, OK? I'll talk to you when we get home."
"OK, Dad, but one more thing?" the girl pleaded.
"Yes honey?" the father inquired.
"If I wind up getting something cheesy like a savings bond or something like that, after he gets... *sniff* something like this....I'm going to be really upset!"
"Now, now honey. I wouldn't do that to my little girl. I promise you your send off will be just as memorable. I promise. Love you! Bye baby!" the father reassured as he clicked off the call.
"Dad?" Brian asked.
"Yes, son?"
"I.. I love you. And.. and I'm going to miss all of you. This is kind of scary, being on my own for the first time. I .. I won't know what to do," Brian stammered.
"Just be careful, and use your best judgement, son. And you know we will always be here for you anytime you need us," the father reassured.
As the car was pulling up, Brian saw a familiar car parked in the front lawn. At first, he was suspicious, then his eyes widened when the truth hit him. His jaw dropped completely.
"Dad why did Uncle Ned park on our.... oh. My. God. He didn't...."
Parked on the front lawn was the car that Brian knew from the earliest days of his childhood. His uncle's most cherished possession. A shiny black 1970 Mustang convertible, its white vinyl top down and booted. With a huge red ribbon strapped across the midsection, and a hand scrawled sign in the windshield that said, "Happy Graduation. From Uncle Ned and the family."
"Dad? Uncle... Ned.. isn't... he didn't.. did he?" Brian's mind was racing in a dozen different directions simulatanously. This was a car his father's brother obsessed over. Customizing it carefully, but adding nothing that would detract from the car's pristine, outwardly factory-looking appearance. The car gleamed like a black metal jewel, with not even a day of age showing on its showroom-clean bodywork.
"Yes, son. That is, er was, Uncle Ned's prize Mustang. Now it's all yours. A gift from everyone in the family. Especially Uncle Ned."
Brian was out of the Mercedes in two seconds. And descended on the midnight black musclecar in even less time. He sat in the white leather, fully optioned interior, jaw agape at the slowly dawning concept that Uncle Ned's most prized possession was now his own.
"You won't go very far without these boy!" a familiar, husky male voice sounded behind him, a large gentle hand teasingly dangling the metal keys to the ignition and trunk on a keyring that itself was just as immune to the passage of time as the vehicle it mated to.
Brian turned around in his seat and hugged his uncle around his thick neck. His father's older brother Nathaniel Edward Weller, known simply as Uncle Ned. A stockier man than his father, with salt and pepper hair on the sides, gratefully hugged his nephew with a congratulatory embrace. The slightly stocky fifty-four year old walked around the rear of the black beauty he had nurtured for so long, opened the passenger door, and gently guided his large aging frame carefully into the vehicle's passenger seat.
Brian turned to face his Uncle.
"Uncle, I.. I don't know what to say. I'm still shocked that.. that you're letting me have .. Stella. You always told me this.. she.. was the daughter you never had." Brian recalled.
"Well, boy, your uncle ain't getting any younger, and I have to admit, Stella has aged a lot better than her owner has. As much as I love this car, my old body can't really enjoy her the way I used to," Ned confessed wistfully.
"But why me? I always figured a young guy like me would be the last person you'd entrust with your baby. And I know you, Uncle Ned. No matter what, I know she'll always be your baby to you." Brian reasoned.
"I was saving Stella for your cousin, my oldest boy Nick. I know he was upset with me when I gave him my old beatup truck, 'cause I know he was fully expecting to get Stella. Well, I gotta confession to make, " Ned began, then with a quick amused look that belied seriousness, said, "and if you ever tell a soul I'll deny everything!"
Brian looked straight into his Uncle's eyes as he continued, nodding in agreement.
"That old pickup was a test. I figured that if he would take care of that pickup and drive it responsibly, maintain it and everything, I was going to let him have Stella for HIS graduation. Of course we both know what he did, don't we?" his uncle inquired.
Brian nodded. Nick got drunk after a game two years ago, and totalled the pickup in a rollover. Luckily, his careless cousin, a part-time seatbelt wearer, was thankfully strapped in at the time. Police later determined that Nick had wrecked the truck in an illegal street race.
"Your father and I talked about it for a while. We knew that both you and Ellen would have been responsible caretakers of Stella, but what settled it for me is that I've known for years that YOU were the one who loved Stella as much as I do. Your sister would have taken care of it, but she's no car nut like we are. She would have treated Stella as stylish transportation. I wanted Stella to be in the hands of someone I knew would love her as I did," his uncle decided.
With that, he smiled, and surrendered the keys to his grateful nephew, with several pocket cameras going off to capture the event on film.
Brian couldn't help but start sobbing. He held his uncle close and kissed the old man on the cheek. With that, the old man exited the 31-year-old vehicle, and everyone else gathered around, bringing forth a cake lit with candles and singing "He's a jolly good fellow." Brian got out of the car and enjoyed the party, which lasted well into the night.
August 20, 2001. The Freshman Dormitory to Dulane University.
Brian and his father have finished unpacking the various belongings from the U-haul truck. Somewhat exhausted, his father looks at his son with fondness, not able to disguise the difficulty he has having with cutting the last strings to his beloved son.
"You sure you're gonna be OK, son? You can always come back to the house and we'll bring you back here when your classes start," his father offered.
"I'll be alright, Dad. Besides, if I'm going to learn how to fend for myself, now's the time."
His father looked around as if trying to get away with something. He then reaches into his pocket and drops something into his son's pocket.
"Here. Don't stay locked up in your room. Go check out the outside world. Just be safe, and be responsible OK?" his father cautioned.
As Brian withdrew the bill and looked at the crisp Ben Franklin his father had smuggled into his pocket, he reached out and embraced his father.. holding him close. "OK, I think I saw some cute girls as I came in. Think I'll head over to that cafe we passed by on the way in."
The two men held each other for a minute, then the father tore himself away, smiled, and bid the boy farewell. Brian waited until he heard the diesel engine of the truck come to life, the transmission engaged, and the truck's noisy roar slowly faded off into the night. Brian waited a few minutes, then unpacked the new PC first. After hastily rigging everything up on the desk and powering it on, he spent the next couple of hours setting up the machine's configuration settings. After catching up on his email and viewing a few of the GTS sites, his stomach started to growl with a familiar complaint: Food. Now.
Brian sighed and powered off the PC, locking the door, then getting into Stella and driving to the cafe he had mentioned to his father.
Shortly after Brian arrived, a 2001 Mercedes SLK convertible (the small roadster with the folding hardtop) glided smoothly and silently into the same parking lot. Its driver was a very handsome and athletic dark haired man. Steven Markwell, comfortably squeezing his 6'8" frame into the car's compact dimensions. His companion was a caramel-colored African-American woman named Samantha Barstow. The two couldn't have been more contrasting.
Steve towered over the pretty, petite 5'2 Samantha as he emerged from the car with his attractive companion. Steve, a senior and the most popular man on campus, literally had everything. The oldest and most influential of three children, his father, an industrial billionaire, gave his oldest son Steve everything he asked for. Steve's life of privilege had the dual accomplishment of both fueling his success and inflating his ego. Class President. Led Dulane Univeristy through three undefeated football seasons in a row. Confidence in himself exceeding arrogance, his popularity was rivaled only by the fear of getting in the way of the physically attractive and intimidatingly powerful young man.
Samantha's mother was a welfare mom who struggled for years in deadend jobs before finally earning a decent lower-middle class income for her six children. Her mother took on a night job to put Samantha into the best private school her small town had to offer. Samantha grew up poor, but it taught her the value of a dollar, and learning to appreciate the wealth of a person's character. Steve made her feel uncomfortable, but she found it hard to resist the attentions of this very attractive, very rich, and very muscular young man. The pretty sophomore found his attitude bordering on intolerable, but she held her tongue in criticizing, both out of fear, and enjoying the glow of the wide favor Steve seemed to enjoy among the other students.
There were six or seven people ahead of them waiting to be served. It was 7:35 pm, and the cafe was a popular hangout among many of the students, particularly out of town freshmen like Brian who were not familiar with the surrounding city to bother traveling further from campus in search of larger dining establishments. Samantha waited patiently, while Steve crossed his arms and fidgeted impatiently, complaining every few minutes at the less than acceptable pace of the line's progress towards the front counter.
At last, Brian found himself face to face with the young blonde woman, slightly overweight but with an attractive smile and a beaming personality. But as he was about to place his order, his request was almost immediately cut off by another male voice behind him and about a foot higher than the back of his head.
"Yeah, miss, I'm going to have a double latte, one of those stale cookies in the front -- by the way, are those rolls fresh..." the taller deeper voice insisted. Further complementing the man's arrogance was a large elbow pushing Brian away from the counter almost as if he weren't there.
"Steve! What are you doing! He was here first!" Samantha protested, alarmed at her date's suddenly boorish behavior.
"Yeah, man! What's the deal? I'm not ordering much," Brian concurred, deeply offended by the larger man's belligerent behavior, but understandably not wanting to antagonize such a muscular rival.
Steve smiled with a smugness that induced nausea around him, then loudly announced to the man ahead of him in a patently bad example of false recognition, "John! How are you old buddy! Such a kidder! Heh heh heh" Steve then wrapped Brian's head in a jocular and playful looking headlock with his powerful forearms, turning to one side to stoop down and whisper in his ear, while pushing something in Brian's shirt pocket.
"Hey geek. Here's an early lesson for you. Make way for your betters. Here's a little something for your trouble -- make it easy on yourself and get lost," he whispered in Brian's ear, still holding him in his powerful forearm's near joking embrace.
As Brian reached down to feel what tall, built athlete had put into his pocket, he was hurled to one side onto the floor by the large right hand suddenly projected from the upperclassman's towering frame. His left arm was tugged urgently by Samantha, who was feeling a mix of total bewilderment, shock, and anger at her date's totally unacceptable behavior.
"My God! Steve! What are you doing? Are you insane?" She exclaimed
In the blink of an eye, the unthinkable happened. As Brian got up, just as bewildered as Samantha by the hulking jock's total lack of civility, Steve turned unexpectedly to his left. Steve's right elbow lurched toward him, colliding with Brian's nose with the force of a freight train, and knocking him onto the empty table behind him. Brian felt warm liquid erupting from his nose. He looked down in shock at his hands covered in his own blood. Racked with pain all around his back as he staggered clumsily to extract himself from the broken wooden table he landed on.
Samantha covered her mouth in unbridled horror. She fled from the brutal man she came in with, rushing to the side of the relatively shorter and skinnier freshman who was losing quite a bit of blood. Thinking quickly, she grabbed the table napkin near Brian and pushed it to his face.
"Press this to your face quickly. You're bleeding really bad. We've got to get you to a hospital!" Samantha instructed, immediately taking charge of this completely jarring and unexpected situation she had been unwittingly thrust into.
Steve's jaw dropped, his brow scowling, showing total contempt for the man he had seriously injured.
"Samantha what are you doing? For pete's sake, someone call 911! Samantha, you're embarrassing yourself by making a scene!" He bellowed.
"What? I'm making a scene? You brutally injure this man, and I'm making a scene??" Samantha exclaimed incredulously, alternately scowling at her now-former date and tending to her impromptu patient with no small amount of genuine concern. As Steve stepped toward her, Samantha's heart raced. Not with desire, but disgust and fear. She seized a butterknife laying near them, brandishing it at the giant of a man advancing toward her.
"You keep away from me, you... you monster. You.. you make me sick. I can't believe I got tied up with you," she glared, alternately tending to Brian and keeping a watchful eye on Steve, her shaking hand clutching the knife in fear for her safety and that of the young man she was tending to.
Steve advanced toward her again, when he heard a click from across the room. The owner, an overweight, sixty two year old chain-smoker, had a double-barrelled shotgun trained on him.
"That's enough, Markwell. I've seen you do some really stupid crap but this sinks to new lows. Every patron in here saw you butt your way to the head of the line and attack that young man. If I see you take another step closer, I'll put buckshot in your lily-white ass so fast you won't feel it for a week!"
Steve looked around, realizing that everyone was glaring at him, and noting that Merelda had a shotgun aimed at him, scowled in defeat, looking at Samantha and Brian with contempt before finally throwing up his hands in disgust, leaving as the crowd around him cheered at his departure.
Samantha looked at Brian, his clothes soaked in blood, his breathing getting more shallow. She asked him, "We gotta get you to a hospital. You got a name, mister?"
Brian panted weakly, feeling somewhat faint but found strength in the comforting dark glow of his impromptu nurse's deep brown eyes. "Bron...." he pronounced, intending to say Brian, but his voice muffled by his blood covered towel. Understanding the urgency of his situation, he gasped out one last bit of information, holding out his car keys.
"Black... Seventy... Mustang... ragtop.... " He muttered as he handed her the keys.
"Hope.. you can drive a stick...." he muttered, alluding to the car's factory-equipped four-speed manual transmission before passing out.
At that, restaurant patrons immediately crowded around to help lift Brian to their collective shoulders while escorting Samantha out to Stella parked outside. They gently eased Brian in the passenger seat as Stella hopped into the open interior in a manner that would have otherwise horrified Uncle Ned, but under the current circumstances, would not have disapproved. The car's 351 cubic inches roared immediately to life, as Samantha expertly guided the stickshift into reverse, and then rapidly upshifted just as knowingly to the car's emergency destination.
University City General Hospital: 12:23 am
Samantha was sitting in the waiting room, reading through a two-month old issue of Cosmopolitan in the lobby when she overheard an older man asking to see Brian Weller. She immediately got up and went to meet him.
"Mr. Weller? Are you Brian's father?" She asked with uncertainty.
"Yes, I am. Are you the young lady who brought him in?" He inquired.
"Yes, I am. The doctors told me he's in surgery, but they think he'll pull through. I am so sorry all this happened, Mr. Weller," she pleaded.
"Can you tell me what happened? The doctors weren't able to tell me much except to say that my son had been admitted to the hospital with a crushed nose and was in intensive care. I.. I can't believe this is happening. I.. I just dropped him off ... a few hours ago..." Mr. Weller broke down in tears, and Samantha reached out to embrace the sobbing middle-aged man, to comfort him. Samantha found herself losing emotional grips as well as she recounted what happened to Mr. Weller.
When she was finished, and each had dried their eyes, Mr. Weller continued.
"Who is this guy? He thinks just because he's rich he can brutally assault my boy?" Mr. Weller asked angrily.
Samantha struggled to maintain her composure. "Mr. Weller, if I had suspected or known at all that Steve Markwell was violent, I would not have gone within a mile of the man! I'm sorry, but I don't know what else to say, I swear!"
Mr. Weller softened. "I'm.. I'm sorry. I'm just scared that's all. This is my son's very first night at college, and he's fighting for his life in a strange hospital far from home. It's not your fault."
They were interrupted by another voice coming from behind them. "Anthony Weller?" A man in surgeon's scrubs inquired of the two.
"Yes? I'm Anthony Weller," the older man announced. The doctor approached and quickly shook his hand, introducing himself, then looking at Samantha with uncertainty.
"Doctor Bill Sheffield. I, um, have some information on your son's condition," still glancing back at Samantha, asking her, "are you part of the boy's family, ma'am?"
"She brought him in, probably saved his life. I'll allow her to stay and hear this, Doc," Mr. Weller permitted.
"As you wish, Mr. Weller. We were able to stabilize his injuries, which thankfully, were localized to the center of his face. We have a brace affixed to the center of his face, but most of the bones were crushed and will have to be reconstructed. Your boy will require reconstructive surgery to avoid being facially disfigured," explained Dr. Sheffield.
"Reconstructive surgery? How many operations? How much will this cost?" inquired the worried father.
"We're not sure at this time, but typically this type of surgery usually starts around the five figure range and up. I wish I could give you a specific figure, but we won't know how much damage we're dealing it until the bones set in two to three weeks. Other than the facial damage, your boy is otherwise in stable condition and will pull through this," the doctor reassured.
"When can I see him?" Mr. Weller asked Dr. Sheffield.
"He's resting now. Mr. Weller, he's had quite an experience. It would be in his best interests if you allowed him to rest. He should be regaining consciousness around early afternoon," the doctor informed them. With nothing further, he nodded to them both and departed.
Mr. Weller stood stone faced for a moment, considering what he had been told, then turned to Samantha.
"Ma'am..." he began.
"I'm sorry. Where are my manners? I'm Samantha Barstow, Mr. Weller. Athough I wish we could have met under... more positive circumstances, it.. it is a pleasure to meet you," Samantha offered as she extended her hand in friendship.
"Ms. Barstow..." Mr. Weller started again.
"Samantha. Please," the young woman insisted.
"OK... Samantha. First of all, I want to thank you. I am endlessly grateful to you for saving my son's life. It's been a long drive, and I'm going to get something to eat. You're welcome to come along," he offered.
"Actually, I really do have to be getting back to my dorm. It's nearly 1 am, and I am nearly wiped out from this very tense experience. Can I get your name and phone number so that I can contact you tomorrow?" Samantha explained.
"Believe me, I understand. I'm going to check into one of the motels out here. Here's my business card, with my cellphone number on the bottom. Can I get your information as well? I, or more appropriately, my attorney may need to contact you about what happened," Mr. Weller asked.
"You know what, I am only too happy to give you whatever you need, Mr. Weller. Mr. Markwell is an animal that belongs in a cage, if you don't mind me saying so," Samantha declared as she quickly jotted down her information, and handed to Mr. Weller the slip of paper that Steve had given her a week before, with his name and phone numbers.
Mr. Weller laughed, and the two shook hands, parting their separate ways. Just then, Samantha turned and asked one more thing of Mr. Weller.
"Um, Mr. Weller? One more thing?" She asked.
"Yes, Samantha?' Mr. Weller replied.
"Considering the circumstances, um, that I arrived at the cafe in Mr. Markwell's vehicle, I.. I drove your son to the hospital in his car. I.. I didn't bring my own vehicle," she explained.
"You seem like a very responsible and sincere young lady, Samantha Barstow. I would not have any problem with you using my son's vehicle while he recovers. It's the least I can do to show my appreciation for saving his life," Mr. Weller returned.
"Thank you, Mr. Weller. It.. It's a beautiful vehicle.. and considering that you have a lot on your mind right now, I want you to know that it's in good hands until I can return it to him," Samantha reassured.
"Not a problem, Samantha. Drive safely, and good night," Mr. Weller offered.
The two parted.
6:43 am. Steve Markwell's dormitory, Alpha Lamda Omicron Fraternity House. Master Bedroom.
Steve Markwell slept soundly in the large master bedroom of the fraternity he led. Hanging on the wall were several photos of his numerous accomplishments. In the corner was a glass trophy case, trimmed in gold metal, filled from top to bottom with numerous trophies acquired in a veritable smorgasbord of athletic sports since his days in elementary school. On the nightstand was a picture of a stunningly beautiful redhead, his girlfriend and counterpart leading the Beta Kappa Pi Sorority, Tiffany Billingsley-Croft. Next to it was a black and silver cordless telephone, which started to ring right at this moment. Steve reached for it before his eyes were fully opened, nearly dropping it before managing to catch it in his quick reacting hand.
"H-hello..." he droned sleepily.
His dull response was met with a familiar, deep gravelly sounding voice of his father, John Preston Markwell IV.
"I have to wonder sometimes if you are my really my son," the fifty-nine year old magnate started.
"Huh? Dad? Why do you say that?" Steve's eyes went wide with recognition and respect upon hearing his father's familiar voice, to whom he was intensely loyal.
"Because when I read stories like what I find plastered all over the front page, I wonder if my child was swapped for an idiot's boy!" The older man accused.
'What are you talking about, Dad?" Steve pressed, completely bewildered by his father's line of question.
"I'm talking about that boy you assaulted in that cheesy college cafe last night, you jackass!!" the older man screamed, a blood vessel bulging above his graying eyebrows, scowling in growing rage.
"What the... how did you know about that?" Steve asked, stunned as he fumbled for words, astonished at how quickly his father had learned about the previous night's confrontation.
The older man rubbed his temple in furious consternation, then grasped the newspaper in his large, but considerably more wrinkled hands, stretching the daily paper flat so he could read the headline aloud to his perplexed progreny.
"BILLIONAIRE MARKWELL BOY ASSAULTS OUT OF TOWN TEEN...." the older man read as he struggled to maintain control, feeling his blood pressure rising by the minute, continuing briefly as he read the secondary headline "Charges filed by local sheriff's office..."
"Oh @!#$!" Steve declared, jumping out of bed, and looking out his window just in time to see his fears confirmed by two late-model black and white Crown Victorias, with "University City Police Department" prominently displayed in their usual locations.
The older man, somewhat relieved that his son was finally comprehending, calmed down and continued.
That was how I reacted as well, son. Listen, first of all, don't run or try to flee..." the older man instructed.
"But Dad! They coming to the front door to take me to jail!" Steve panicked.
"Running will only make things worse, son. Listen, I'm already flying my best attorneys down there now. They'll have you out by this afternoon. You are not to run or flee or resist arrest, do I make myself clear?" The older man requested of his son.
Steve turned from right to left in frustration as he heard the door being knocked, then two of his frat mates receiving the officers. Realizing that he was caught, and reluctantly complying with his father's request that he not become a fugitive, confirmed the instructions he received.
"OK, Dad. Listen, they're here. I have to go now. Talk to you later," Steve replied.
"Don't worry, son. We'll get through this," his father reassured, then terminated the call.
The four other men in the fraternity house could only stare and gawk as they watched their group's leader and senior member's imposing frame being guided into the rear seat of one of the police cruisers, at a loss to understand what their next move was going to be.
University City General Hospital, Head Trauma Ward, Room W455, 11:06 am.
Brian Weller awoke feeling as if his head had collided with Mike Tyson's fist -- and lost the confrontation. As he slowly opened his eyes, his nose ached most of all. His vision was partly obscured in the center by the huge white bandage with two metal braces wrapped around each side of his head, holding the badly damaged nose bones in place. As his vision cleared, he learned he had company. Some very familiar, and one only slightly less so, but no less welcome: his family, and his "savior" from the night before, Samantha Barstow.
Looking to Samantha, he said, "At first, I thought I had died and gone to heaven..."
Then he looked to his sister Ellen, her eyes welled up with tears of joy seeing her sibling slowly awakening, and joked, "But since my sister is here too, it might be the other place instead...."
His sister ran over to his left side, and being mindful of his injuries, delicately placed an affectionate, sisterly kiss on his cheek, "Yeah, I love you too, bro. Flew on my broom right on over to see ya."
The entire room erupted with laughter, each of his family members offering their well wishing, each bestowing a card and token of their caring, such as flowers, candy, his father bringing a few of Brian's favorite magazines, etc. Finally, Samantha spoke up as well.
"I.. I don't really know you that well, but I'm so glad you're all right. I am so sorry about what has happened, but in a way, I owe you my gratitude as well, " Samantha offered.
"Me?" Brian gushed. "You saved my life. How.. how can I compare with that?"
Samantha continued. "I... I had no idea that Steve.. that Mr. Markwell was violent. He.. he asked me out a few weeks ago and I thought he was a nice guy. I... I was horrified when I saw what he did. If... if I hadn't seen that, I might have been drawn into a very abusive and frightening relationship. I... I thank you for that, but I'm sorry you had to get hurt so badly in the process."
"Gosh... wow. I'm no hero. Are you sure you got the right room?" Brian punned.
The room erupted with laughter for a moment, then his father spoke up.
"We... we're going to get the guy who did this son. The police have already charged him with aggravated assault. We're also taking him to court..." his father explained.
"I'm glad he won't be hurting anyone else... that he's in jail, but why are you..we... suing him, Dad?"
Samantha looked around at the concerned faces, Mr. Weller nodding to her as if giving approval to something, then explained. "The doctors said you've got some major injuries, Brian. You're going to need plastic surgery, and the amount you need is way beyond what your family can afford. It's only right. Steve did this to you, and whether he intended to or not, he ought to be the one who fixes this."
"Plastic.. surgery?" Brian fumbled the words in shock, gently feeling the edges of the huge cast on his nose, his jaw agape in shock. His first taste of college was turning into a nightmare.
Brian frowned in frustration, despairing that he might be disfigured for life after the surgery.
"When... when can I get out of here?" Brian asked.
"They're letting you out tomorrow, son. We're going to bring you back home. We never should have brought you here," his father informed him.
Brian could feel his heart breaking. His dream of leaving home, and experiencing college life for the first time, was being systematically destroyed.
He had 24 hours to try to save it. Just then, someone knocked outside the door. After a chorus of voices chimed an inviting "Come in!", the head of a clean-shaven African-American young man poked his head and asked, "Is this the room Brian Weller is in?"
At that moment, Samantha jumped up in recognition at the familiar face to invite him in. "JC! Come on in!"
Jeffrey Collins smiled on mutual recognition and open the door wide to hug Samantha, while still holding onto a vase full of yellow roses for Brian. "They wouldn't let all of us in, so the rest of our crew is outside in the lobby."
Brian smiled as he watched the tall, lanky young man put the roses next to the other flowers he received. "What do you mean, all of you? How many people are out there?"
"Not counting myself and Samantha, there's another eight friends of ours, plus about ten or twenty reporters, plus some officials, and so on.
"What?" Brian exclaimed with alarm, somewhat uncomfortable with all the attention.
"Dude, when the city's best football quarterback and the school's student class president gets sent to jail for assaulting a freshman, it's news!" JC declared.
"Well, Brian, if you want, your family and I can go run interference for you in the lobby, while you meet some new friends," his father offered.
"Yeah, Dad. That would be great! Thanks, I wouldn't be very comfortable dealing with a large crowd of people," Brian confessed.
His family lined up one at a time to give him a hug before heading outside to deal with the crowd in the lobby.
"JC, huh? Brian Weller..." Brian said as he offered his hand. Jeffrey greeted with a firm but not painful handshake.
"My real name is Jeffrey Collins, but my friends call me JC," he explained.
JC turned to Samantha and said, "I'm going to go out and let the rest of our crew know they can come in. I'll be back." And JC turned around and exited the room.
"Nice guy, Samantha. Who's he, and the people he brought with him?" Brian inquired.
Samantha pulled a chair next to Brian's bed and explained.
"All of these people are friends of mine. The women you're about to meet are from my sorority, Delta Seti Pi. JC is from the fraternity we are partnered with on DU's campus. Whether you intended to or not, you kind of stumbled onto a class war that's been going on for years at DU. On one side, you have the Alpha Lambda Omicrons, the frat Steve leads, and the Beta Kappa Pi's, the elitist sorority that the Kappas are affiliated with. Together, they officially and unofficially run the student body."
"Officially and unofficially? I don't understand, Samantha."
"Officially, the two organizations control the offices of President, the student council, and the disciplinary committee. Unofficially, they also use their positions to the maximum effect to minimize opposition and harass our organizations. Filing complaints to the disciplinary committies and student councils do little good because guess what?
"Both bodies are controlled by the same parties committing the offenses... terrific. Talk about having the fox guarding the hen house," Brian commented.
Just then, JC poked his head in, and eight other attractive young men and women came walking in, each bearing a card and either a small gift or flowers. Each deposited their contribution to Brian's overwhelming collection of get well wishes already crowded on the nightstand.
"Brian, I want you to meet what I believe are the best bunch of people on the whole campus! My homeboys..." JC paused for a moment of cheerleading hoots from the guys as there was a rapid exchange of high fives and handslaps.
"And the prettiest, sweetest.... hotties (the women all either rolled their eyes or leered sarcastically at the reference) on campus, the Delta Seti Pi's!" Following was an exchange of hugs between the guys and the gals. "I'll let each of them introduce themselves to you.."
Gentlemen that they were, the men allowed the ladies to introduce themselves first. One was an obviously biracial young woman with lighter skin than Samantha's already light caramel colored, but still apparently African American in origin who stepped forward with a bright smile, brown eyes, and dark brown hair just slightly past her ears.
"Hi, Brian, I'm Michelle. As the leader of DU's chapter of Delta Seti Pi. I want to apologize for the terrible welcome to our school you received at the hands of our school's rival fraternity. All of us here are appalled and upset with what happened to you. For what it's worth, we want to welcome you to Dulane University." When Michelle finished, she bent down and gave Brian an affectionate, but very brief kiss on the cheek, then stepped back to give the next lady, an attractive and slightly taller Latina a chance to introduce herself.
"Hello Brian. I'm Ana," she said in a thick Spanish accent. "I'm from Puerto Rico, and I just want to let you know that I feel the same way everyone else, and I hope it does not discourage you from staying here at DU." Ana bent down and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, as well as a hug. She then backed away as two Oriental young women approached the bed. One was just a few inches taller than the other. The taller one spoke first.
"Hello Brian, I am Mariko and this is Arisa. Normally, we would have allowed Arisa to make her own introductions, but she is an exchange student from Kyoto, Japan, and doesn't speak much English. My family is sponsoring her here in the US, and I have agreed to act as her interpreter until she learns enough English on her own."
Brian looked at them both and said, "Thanks. Please tell her I said welcome to America, and I hope I will get a chance to help her learn English better."
Mariko complied, turning to Arisa and reciting in fluent Japanese what Brian had said. Brian saw Arisa's face light up, and she responded with a rapid and near breathless stream of Japanese to Mariko for about a minute, before stopping, and turning to smile and wave at Brian.
"What did she say?" Brian asked.
"She says that she appreciates that, and will be looking forward to her lessons. She also expresses regret at the terrible way you were treated by another student," Mariko explained.
Brian smiled and watched as Mariko and Arisa stepped back to allow a young man about Brian's age and height approach the bed. He was a Caucasian male with dark hair and dark eyes, but his most noticeable feature was a pearl stud pierced through his lower lip.
"Hi, my name is Pierce. Um, no jokes OK man," he requested as he pointed to the stud fastened through his lower lip.
"No problem, Pierce," Brian said as he held out his hand. Pierce grasped in friendship, giving them thumbs up as they withdrew.
Another young man approached. This man was taller and a little older than either of them, standing about six feet tall and somewhat muscular. He smiled, gave a thumbs up and tapping Brian on shoulder.
"How you doing, man? Sorry to see that loser roughed you up, man. I'm Nicholas Anatolov, and I just wanted to let you know some of us are lot cooler than that, know what I'm sayin'? He commented.
"Yeah, I'm getting the idea, Nicholas. Thanks, man," Brian returned. Nicholas gave one more thumbs up and nodded his head.
The third young man was a few inches shorter than Brian, with short straight hair with sort of a bowl type haircut but still cleancut and attractive.
"Hey, Brian. I'm Benjamin Miles. Yeah, I'm with everything these great people are saying. I really hope that heals up OK." He bent down and whispered something in his ear.
"Don't let that bandage on your face get you down. These Delta chicks are a lot deeper than that, if you catch my meaning."
Benjamin then tapped his fist on Brian's, which Brian reciprocated, with Brian following up with "Thanks, Benjamin."
The next was a taller and somewhat huskier but still trim African American man. He was chewing gum but was still understandable as he talked while chewing.
"Yo, what's up G? I'm Taylor, and I just wanted to let you know I'm down with what all these fellas and ladies are sayin'. What that punk did was uncool, man. Hope you stick around to see what real folks are about around here."
Taylor gave him a high five and gave Brian a hip-hop style multi-step handgrasp that Brian caught on with surprising ease. He smiled with approval, and put on a pair of dark sunglasses, taking a seat in the corner of the room.
Brian finally spoke up. "I have to admit, all of you are a really great bunch of people, and honestly..." Brian's face saddened as he paused, while Mariko translated to Arisa as he spoke...
"What's up, man?" JC asked with concern.
"Well, my family wants to haul me back home. Seems they got all worried when this happened. Don't get me wrong, I love my family and all, but I came to college to be my own man..." looking at Taylor, he added, "know what I'm sayin'" as Brian immediately pointed his finger, gun-style at Taylor. Taylor smiled, nodded, and repeated the gesture back at Brian.
Samantha added, "Brian's family is concerned he might be subject to more harm if he stays here, especially if any of Steve's friends decide to take out a little payback out on him. But it seems Brian is worried they're going to nursemaid him like an invalid."
JC looked around and saw urgent faces on his frat brothers, and said to Brian, "Hold on a sec." JC suddenly extended one finger from each hand in a pointing style, spun around slowly, and said, "I smell a plan in the room. Huddle, fellas."
The five men immediately got into a football style huddle, talking in loud whispers to one another. Brian couldn't quite make out what each was saying, because some of the guys were talking at the same time, muddling his ability to discern any one conversation.
"What's going on, " Brian asked out of curiosity.
"That's what they do when they need to have a quick democratic discussion on a decision they're going to make. We do the same thing, just in a different way from the boys," Michelle explained.
"Do the other clubs do this?" Brian asked out of curiosity.
"I don't think so. Both of the others have more of a 'pack' mentality. One or two people run the whole thing, and you're either in and follow direction, or you're out, and I do mean out. The others are elitist clubs through and through. Not us. We consider everyone in our houses important, from the head person on down."
The other girls nodded in agreement and muttered words of support. The guys broke up their huddle after just a few minutes and JC spoke up.
"Dude, if you'd rather not go to Mom and Dad's Home Health Care, do we have a..." JC paused to smile to giggle slightly at what was going to be his own joke, "Preferred Provider Offering for you!" The rest of the men and women laughed at JC's joke.
"Really? Where do I sign up," Brian quipped.
JC grasped his hand and said, "Well, if you can live with just one simple rule, you're in, dude!"
"What's the simple rule?" Brian asked.
"What's the simple rule? WHat is the simple rule? You mean you don't know?" JC asked in exaggerated shock, spinning around to ask his frat brothers who forgot to tell Brian the simple rule in mock suspicion.
JC turned around again, raised his face upward and closed his eyes as if expecting something, holding one finger from each hand straight up, asking, "What's the simple rule, fellas?"
In loud unison, the guys and the ladies all shouted "NOTHING UNCOOL!"
Brian laughed at the brief show put on for his benefit.
"OK, just clarify what 'nothing uncool' means, if you would, JC." Brian inquired out of curiosity.
JC smiled and said, "Basically, anything illegal or unethical is uncool. Dealing or using illegal drugs, underage drinking, smacking women..."
Taylor contributed "Especially disrespecting ladies. That's real uncool, man."
"Thank you, Taylor," JC acknowledged, Taylor nodding as JC continued. "Basically, anything that would shut us down or bring shame on your brothers and sisters, is uncool. Everything else, hey man, go for it."
Brian thought about it for two seconds and said, "I think I'm down with that," nodding to Nicholas who gave an approving thumbs up to Brian's use of the expression. "So how do I hook up with you cool people?"
JC approached, smiled, and grasped Brian's hand, saying, "I think you just did. Brother."
Meanwhile, at Univerity City Courthouse, in Criminal Court Division A, Judge Peter Jorgens' courtroom.
The judge approaches his seat after conferring with Steven Markwell's attorneys and the Prosecutor. He sat down and addressed Steve.
"Mr. Markwell, you present us with a bit of a quandry, for which this court and your attorneys have agreed to as a solution. Should it be acceptable to you it will be implemented immediately."
"Yes, Your Honor?" Steve acknowledged.
"What this court is proposing is that most likely, your family could easily afford any bail amount, even exceeding the highest legal amount I could set for you, making you a free man within the hour. Obviously, it is in the District Attorney's office to make sure you are as accessible as possible, not an easy task considering your family could whisk you away to reside in a foreign country to attempt to evade prosecution. However, your defense attorneys have an interest in making sure you do not spend any time in jail up to your trial 90 days from now, which considering might endanger your safety a man of your background being with the general prison population, is equally understandable."
The judge paused for a moment, opened Steve's folder and then looked back at him.
"What we are proposing as our only other alternative, is to remand you to the custody of your fraternity house. Through the use of an electronic monitoriing bracelet, which you are to wear at all times, a sensor mounted on the device will register your pulse as you wear it on your ankle. Should you attempt to remove or tamper with this device, or be out of range of the receiver for a period of longer than five minutes, this will trigger a phone call which you will have sixty seconds to answer. Failure to answer the call will summon the police to your home, and you will serve the remaining time within the confines of the Parish jail," the judge declared.
"That is acceptable to me, Your Honor, however I have one question." Steve asked.
"And that is?" Judge Jorgens inquired.
"I will, need some accommodations to attend my classes at Dulane University," Steve informed the judge.
"I am aware of that, Mr. Markwell, which is why I made a phone call to your school, and they have made me aware that they offer a distance learning program via the Internet. This court can make such arrangements to allow you to continue your education while complying with the order of this court," the judge replied.
"Any further questions, Mr. Markwell?"
"No, Your Honor. This arrangement is acceptable, and I would like to take advantage of it."
"Very well then. Bond is set at one million dollars, and this court is to reconvene on December 10, 2001. Court is adjourned." Judge Jorgens declared as his hammered the gavel down once. Dulane University, Tau Epsilon Sigma Fraternity House, 7:05 pm
Brian watched as his father and his new fraternity brothers moved his furniture into the upstairs bedroom of the large woodframe house.
"Well, that's everything. You sure this is what you want, son?" His father asked.
"Yeah, Dad. This is why I came out here in the first place. These guys are cool. I think I'm going to be alright," Brian reassured.
"Well, I went out and picked you up something just in case..." the older man said as he reached into a Radio Shack bag and pulled out a small handheld PCS cellphone.
"A cellphone? Dad! You got me a cellphone?" Brian spoke enthusiastically, reaching for the device still in his father's hand.
His father drew it back for a second to make sure his son understood something. "I bought this so that you could keep in touch. Here's the deal. I'll pay for the thousand minutes a month your contract allows. Anything over that, you owe me, OK?" His father conditioned.
Brian smiled, and said, "OK, Dad. I don't imagine that will happen very often, but if I use too much time, I'll reimburse you."
His father smiled as he slowly surrendered the cellphone to Brian. "It's not that I need the money. If you want to learn adult responsibility you can start with this. It's why you said you wanted to come out here, to be your own man, right?"
Brian replied, "Yes Dad, and I really appreciate you giving these guys the benefit of the doubt and letting them keep an eye on me."
His father smiled and hugged him, "I'd still prefer to do that, but you're getting to be old enough to start fending for yourself, and ironically enough, it was your mother who told me it's time to cut the apron strings. Or at least let you have a longer leash."
Anthony Weller took the phone briefly from his son to show him something. "It took me an hour to figure out how to do this on these newer phones, but let me show you something." He used the thumbwheel control to scroll to the speed dial screen, which showed two phone numbers stored in the speed dial memory. "You press this, and then that, and it will connect you either to the house, or to my cellphone immediately. If there is anything, and I do mean anything, you need, call me, OK son?"
Brian joked by striking a head pose, holding his chin up, saying... "I want to look like Diana Ross....," his bandaged nose pointing prominently in the air like an eagle's beak.
"Very funny, son. Very funny. If there's nothing else you want to wring out of your old man, Mr. Comedian, I'm going to head back home. Stay in touch, we love you, and let us know how you're doing," his father said as he embraced his son.
"OK, Dad. I love you too." Brian said.
"Remember you're welcome to come home anytime..." his father lingered as he was in the doorway.
"I'll be fine, Dad! Now get moving...." Brian whined.
His father laughed and got into the truck again and drove away.
Brian looked around. JC was approaching.
"Hey Brian. How do you like your new digs? It's not the Casa Palace, but we like it here." JC expressed with contentment.
"It's actually quite nice. A lot better than the dorm halls," Brian commented.
"Yeah, the 'new management' decided that blue COLLAR underclassmen aren't as important to keep happy as blue BLOOD classmates, which explains why freshmen get the Jurassic Park accomodations, and the whiny rich kids get all the Presidential Suites. By the way, these are your keys, dude. Me and the fellas are going to the pool hall to shoot some billiards and maybe meet a few hotties. You're welcome to come along if you want," JC offered as he handed the housekeys to his new roommate and friend.
"I'll be alright, JC. Have fun," Brian replied.
"There's food in the fridge, we've got cable TV, and nice guy that I am, I hooked your PC up to our DSL connection. I didn't want to go invading your privacy, so I just stuck the cord into your Ethernet port, and figured you knew what to do. I left a note with the network settings to get yourself hooked up. If you need help, let me know and I can probably help you set your system for it," JC offered.
"Thanks JC. I'll see you later." Brian said.
"Try not to get addicted to the internet. There's a whole wide world of hotties out there. See ya, dude!" With that, JC closed the door and headed out.
Brian ran upstairs and powered on his PC. JC had stuck a note on his desk with the various IP settings and other network info necessary to complete his access to the Internet. Brian surfed for a few hours, downloaded a few MP3's, checked his email, and then got down to what he had been wanting to check out for two days now -- that mysterious formula residing on the hard drive to his computer.
Activating the biochem program, he started following the literary journey that the computer's former master had so diligently recorded.
Interlude. Steve Markwell's fraternity residence. 9:10 pm
A trio of police officers were fitting Steve with the electronic home-detention bracelet to his right ankle. It was a polished aluminum device, about the size of a credit card attached to a leather-wrapped band on the outside, the only indicators being three LED's on the outside: Green meant that he was safely in range of the receiver, Yellow meant he was temporarily out of range and had five minutes to come back in compliance with the monitor, and Red meant he'd better be prepared to switch to prison jumpsuits and cold sandwiches until his trial date.
The officers then hooked up a white device to his phone line resembling an answering machine. One of them approached Steve and said, "Come with me. We need to calibrate the device by having you deliberately step out of its range for a moment, Mr. Markwell.
The officer escorted Steve outside, watching for hand signals from his fellow officers as the light on the machine alternately changed colors as the two stepped closer and further away from the doorstep, reporting the indicator light status to an operator on the other end of the phone line. After about ten minutes of stepping toward and away from the fraternity house, both of them finally gave the thumbs up, signalling that the device was now properly calibrated. As the officer was leaving, he stopped to provide Steve with some last-minute, legally required information.
"Just to let you know, you are aware that you are to remain within the range of the device at all times. The lights on the receiver and your bracelet are synchronized. If at anytime the bracelet cannot communicate with the receiver and vice versa, it will light the appropriate lights. Any attempt to remove or tamper with the device will register with the receiving office, and that will revoke the home monitoring arrangement we have with you. We have adjusted the device so that it is not too tight, nor is it too loose. The device is waterproof, and can take much heat than you could, Mr. Markwell, so feel free to take a shower or bath with it. Remember, should you step out of range, you will hear warning beeps from the ankle device, and you will have five minutes to return to compliance. After that, you will get a phone call, which you must answer and provide an accounting for the interruption in the signal. Failure to answer the call after sixty seconds will bring us back here, and it's off to the Gray Bar Holiday Inn. Any questions?"
"None, officer." Steve replied.
"Then have a good evening, Mr. Markwell. We will see you in 90 days to deactivate the system for your court date. Hopefully, we will not see each other before then."
"Understood. Good night, Officer."
"Good night, Mr. Markwell."
The three officers left.
Steve stared down at his ankle in disgust at the technological nanny strapped to his ankle.
"This is humiliating," he declared.
Dulane University, Tau Epsilon Sigma Fraternity House, 9:35 pm
Brian was still sifting through the notes on his computer, and had learned some astonishing information regarding the mysterious chemical formula. It seems that the former owner of the computer was working on a way to cure cancer by reducing the size of cancerous cells to harmless biological particles. Even more astonishing, the formula had the capacity for rebuilding damaged tissue according to the DNA stored within the cells biomatrices. Brian's pulse raced with excitement!
"Oh my gosh! This could restore my damaged face! For some reason, the guy who came up with this doesn't go into any details as to what the side effects were, and later just abandoned this formula to work on another.. Ha. He must have lost interest, or found a better way of accomplishing the task!"
"I don't believe it! This is astounding!"
Brian's fingers stumbled clumsily over the keyboard as he realized he had seized on what potentially was a way of restoring his appearance without the hugely expensive surgery, or worse, the shameful lawsuit that was sure to follow his attacker's criminal trial. His family could go broke trying to overcome the appeals that such a rich and powerful family could easily afford to stall a remedy.
Brian managed to get a printout of the formula, and looked at the ingredients. Surprisingly, all of the ingredients were commercially available except one: a component that certainly existed in the University's chem lab. At first, Brian was dismayed, noting that there was no way the lab would be open at this hour.
Wait a minute. Yes it would. He remembered from the catalog that all of the doors had electronic thumbprint passlocks, not conventional keys. And considering that students sometimes used the lab for late night experiments, it could be open to his use!
Brian ran out of the house, remembering to lock the door before he departed, then ran in the direction of the main campus.
45 minutes later, Brian detected something odd as he approached the biochemistry building. Only one light was on, and the door was partially ajar. Strange, Brian thought. He gently pushed the door open and carefully set it again so that it rested back against the door jamb, but not clicking into the lock.
Brian proceeded down the hallway, and saw that the light to one of the two labs was on, and the door was partly open. Brian peered inside, and was greeted with a shocking sight.
A beautiful young scarlet haired coed was receiving oral sex from an obviously older man. She was sitting on the lab table while he was helping himself to her sensual juices.This is interesting, Brian thought. Apparently the redhead is going to sleep her way to passing her class, Brian mused. No time to be a voyeur though. He was a man with a mission, and if done carefully, he could be in, out, and cured before anyone was the wiser.
Brian ducked down under the window to the door, only opening it just enough to let himself in. The two were too absorbed in their illicit sex to notice anything. Brian slipped in, and stooping down while walking past them to the chemical supply closet. Brian entered inside and closed the door.
A whole chemistry set surrounding him. Ripe for the taking. Brian removed a nasal sprayer from his coat pocket and emptied the liquid contents onto the floor. Brian then set about mixing small amounts of the various chemicals surrounding him according to the notes in the printout. The formula required no special equipment or treatment. Just a good shake to mix it all up. Another twenty minutes, and Brian had the chemical elixir right in his shaking hands.
"Here goes nothing. At least the notes said it wasn't harmful or poisonous. Just expose to the afflicted tissue." Brian said, inserting the nose spray nozzle into his right nostril and giving it a powerful squeeze.
For the first minute, nothing happened. Then all of sudden, Brian gasped as his head seemed to explode from the inside, the pain so great it nearly caused him to cry out and alert his unwitting hosts. He winced with his eyes tightly shut as he struggled to withstand the crushing pain going on inside his skull. He put his head between his knees, holding it there as he struggled to weather the stabbing pain seeming to come from the very center of his head.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. No pain. No pain at all! Not even the dull aching he had been feeling for two days. Brian lifted his head up, and the cast literally fell right off his nose! He felt something in his nasal passages, and using the cast as a tissue, blew his nose, ejecting four tiny screws and two tiny metal bars. Just as he removed the cast from his nostrils he felt something shocking.
His own nose. The one he was born with. In the shape it had always been. He scrambled around as quietly as possible, seeking visual confirmation for what he hoped he suspected. He found a slide for a microscope with a reflective surface on one side.
Aside from some discoloration resulting from having his skin shrouded by that cast, his nose had returned to normal! It was as if that dreadful night had never happened! Brian could barely contain his glee. Wait until his family and friends see this! It's a miracle.
Brian reached up to try to quietly open the door knob and found himself with a problem. It seems the door could only be opened from the outside. There was a gap under the door about two inches high.
"Oh crud! He thought! He'd now have to give away his location to the two people outside, putting him in a really awkward situation. But then he noticed something else. His clothes were feeling awfully loose!
Suddenly, Brian felt his shoes fall off his feet! He looked down at his feet, then at his hands! Both were much much smaller than he remembered them, and they were getting even smaller before his very eyes. In fact, everything around him, including his clothes and everything else, were getting larger and larger and larger!
An hour later, the student and chemistry professor finished their sexual session, each getting dressed in their respective clothes.
"You, will definitely get an A in my class, Miss Billingsley Croft!" Professor Whitman Atkins declared.
"Oh Professor, that was really great. By the way, there is just one more thing...." Tiffany Billingsley-Croft added.
"Yes, Miss Billingsley-Croft?" asked the professor.
Tiffany reached into her purse, withdrawing a walkie-talkie that had its talk-button crudely scotch taped shut. The stunning green-eyed redhead then smiled wickedly as she held it up for the professor to see.
"I had our little lesson taped for posterity, Professor. Should you decide to grow a conscience and renege on our arrangment, I'll send my little entertainment tape to the Board of Regents, and you won't be able to teach obedience school to mangy mongrels at the local animal shelter, let alone biology. Do I make myself clear?" Tiffany threatened as she left the walkie talkie on the table, now useless to her.
The professor's face was as white as his coat. Tiffany stooped down to pick up the purse she had left near the supply closet door, not noticing the tiny, three inch tall naked man known as Brian Weller wriggling his way into the outside pocket of the exterior of her patent leather purse.
Brian managed to smuggle himself into the exterior pocket of Tiffany's purse just in time, because right at that moment, he could feel the soft lining of the back wall push him against the front one as she reached into her purse for her car keys. Tiffany didn't seem to detect him, because she withdrew her keys and unlocked the door to the Audi TT, started the engine, and drove into the night, headed for her sorority house.
Brian's heart pounded with bewilderment and fear as he sat in the dark, cloth lined compartment. How did this happen? This wasn't in the notes! The notes didn't even mention anything like this! Can this be reversed? What if it can't? What if I'm stuck like this? Forever! His paranoia was interrupted by electronic melodic tones being played outside the bag -- Tiffany's cellphone was ringing from another pocket, opposite the one he was sitting in, expressly designed for that purpose. He felt the earthquake-like movements of the purse being jostled as she opened the flap and withdrew the handsized phone. "Hello," she answered. "Oh it's you! Happy now, Mr. Player? See what your temper has gotten you into? You just had to go off didn't you, and now you're like some animal chained to a post! Serves you right you big dope!"
She paused for a moment to hear the other person on the other line. Brian could hear her end of the conversation clearly, and it was having a growing and disturbing ring of familiarity. "And what's this I hear about you going in there with some Negro b**tch? What the hell am I -- chopped liver? I can't believe you're mentioning me in the same breath as that jungle bunny!" She paused again, then resumed her lambasting of the other caller. A chill went down Brian's spine when he realized who she was talking about, and by inference, whom he had unwittingly hitched a ride with, herself unaware of the tiny rider tagging along inside her purse. "You know what, Mr. Steve Markwell, I used to think you were something special, you know that? I thought you and I were going to rule over these petty peasants like the royalty we are! But now I see you're nothing but a seven foot barrel of testosterone who doesn't know zip about fidelity and loyalty in a relationship! It's all about you and dipping your candle isn't it? She paused again.
"Oh yeah, well Mr. Macho Man, if you think you're really all that, come on down and show me what a man you are! That is, if you can run five blocks from your house to mine, stick it to me, and be back home all in the span of five minutes before they haul your economy-sized ass away to the pokey!"
She paused one more time before finally cutting loose with one parting shot. "Well, bite me, you prick!" At that, he heard another beep, then another, as she not only disconnected the call, but also turned on her voice mail feature on her phone.
"Dirtbag. Who does he think he is anyway?" She muttered aloud. Brian shuddered with terror as he realized now for certain who he was with. The DU Campus Teen Queen of Mean herself, consort to the giant of a man who had caused him all this trouble to begin with. If she found him, he was dead meat for sure -- especially if she realized who HE was. Brian gently pushed up the flap slightly to peek out at his surroundings, then let it flop back down as he saw Tiffany's vast, soft hand reach toward the purse, thrusting the phone into it's pocket before snapping that pocket's flap shut. His heart was nearly pounding out of his chest with fear, and could feel the cold chill of pure terror running down his spine. He HAD to get out of here. If Brian thought this was terrifying, he was shocked to learn it was about to get worse. Tiffany had stopped the car, grabbed her purse, completely oblivious to the fact that her quick movements were jarring tiny Brian to and fro within one of the pockets of the purse. He was being lightly bounced around as she walked up to her front door, then she stopped to insert her key in the deadbolt lock. A click of a turn, the slight creak of the hardwood door, and both were inside the classic Victorian style woodframe two-story home without delay. Brian could hear the voices of other women, who were likely to not be much less terrifying than his current host.
"How did your um... *giggle* chemistry lesson go, Tiffany?" Tiffany smiled. "I am definitely getting an A in Chemistry 301, Amanda. The old fossil was slow and sloppy, but take it from me..." She paused to withdraw a hidden electronic voice memo device crudely taped to an FM radio tuned to the frequency of the walkie-talkie, stripping apart the tape joining the two before pressing the play button. A voice recording of the pair's encounter played to a giggling audience of two (three if you count Brian) as Tiffany continued.... "if the rest of this semester is this easy, my Bachelor's in Psychology is as good as on my wall," boasted Tiffany.
"You go, girl!" The slender blonde exclaimed as the two exchanged high-fives.
After more giggling, Tiffany finished with, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower. I have to wash the stench of Old Fogey off my body," she said as she lightly ran her fingers through her silky smooth red locks of her hair.
"Pee-ewww!" Amanda teased, holding her nose. "Yes, go wash. Go go go. You smell like Geritol!"
Brian could feel the purse being jostled again as Tiffany headed up the stairs to her door. She opened the gold-inlaid handle to the door and entered the vast bedroom to her private area of the house. She set the purse down on the nightstand, and immediately started to undress. Brian waited for a moment, and peeked out from under the flap. He couldn't see anyone around, so he lifted it up a little more. He looked around at a bedroom that looked the size of twenty football fields to him, and seeing that it was safe, climbed out of the side pocket. No sooner had he climbed out, than there was a knock at the door. Damn! He thought. He ran and hid behind a lamp that was three-stories tall to him.
"Yes?" Tiffany asked as she stepped toward the door wearing only a lace bra and matching thong, still wearing her silk hose up to her mid-thigh. Brian panted as he looked around the corner of the lampstand at her.
A voice from outside answered, the voice noticeably muffled by the mahogany wood of the door, but still somewhat coherent. "Hi, Tiff. I'd like to borrow your curling iron. Mine isn't working for some reason." Tiffany opened the door to allow a medium height woman with golden blonde hair and brown eyes into the room. Brian stepped further back as the young woman put her hand near the base of the lamp to brace herself as she bent down. Her hands were delicate and soft, the size of a Chevy Cavalier to him, and each finger armed with an immense, scarlet red fingernail, appearing immaculately manicured and with a shiny flawless polished finish. Brian was knocked off his feet, having to push himself away from the giant blonde's hand to keep from falling on it and getting discovered. Brian also shivered as he realized he was completely naked, having nothing available to have cobbled something together from his former clothes back at the chemistry lab. Brian had never felt more vulnerable or in more danger than right at this moment, when every tiny breath he took could be his last.
As the blonde withdrew the curling iron that would have certainly been as long as telephone pole to Brian, she said, "Thanks, Tiffany. I'd have had trouble sleeping if my hair wasn't just right." Tiffany smiled as she considered the blonde junior's perhaps oversensitivity about her appearance. "We all have to look our best at all times, hon. It's no problem at all," she assured as she closed the door gently behind her brief visitor. Tiffany opened her clothing bureau, withdrew some fresh lingerie from her drawers, then put on her bathrobe before gathering a towel and washcloth from the bathroom cabinet. Since she was well accustomed to bathing alone, she left the door to her private bathroom open, just in case of emergencies. Like a phone call.
Brian looked around at his surroundings. The view leading to the bathroom was to his left. To his right was a bed that was two acres in size to him, with a giant plateau on one side which were pillows. On the other side of the bed, he saw a regular telephone. Of course! If he could get to that, he could contact his fraternity instantly! But wait. If he did that, Tiffany would certainly spot a tiny man using her telephone from across the room, and that would surely be the last phone call he ever made. What a mess he was in!
Tau Epsilon Sigma Fraternity, 1:03 am
The Tau Eps fraternity house was soon filling with whoops and cheers as its tenants filed into their home. Laughs and tales of the night's activities were regaled in the foyer, plus a few mutally congratulatory hand slaps and high fives over their exploits. JC's first thought was to jog upstairs to check on their newest roommate, hoping in his mind that the boy wasn't going to develop a habit of being a permanently wired homebody. Instead, he was shocked to not find him at all in his room. Or in the bathroom.
"Hey guys! Is Brian down there?" JC called with concern from above. After a momentary scan of the lower rooms, the room started to fill with a more sobering mood: concern.
JC thought for a minute, at first he had been oblivious to the obvious fact that Brian's computer had been left on, the energy-conserving monitor fooling him only briefly into thinking it was off. JC went to the computer hoping the tech-savvy teen had left some sort of electronic note for his housemates. In a manner of speaking, he did. JC moved the mouse slightly, and the computer whined and sprang back to life, restoring the screen to the last image Brian was looking at. It was the notes from the biochemistry experiment. As JC's eyes scanned through the notes, his mind trying to filter out the biochem techno-babble, his eyes furrowed with concern as his mind started to put the pieces together.
"Hey guys! Come look at this!" JC summoned. The rest of the crew, still somewhat inebriated, betrayed by the low-urgency pace of their climb up the stairs, but with their faculties mostly intact, clambered into Brian's room. JC had already taken a seat as he went through the notes.
"My God! Does this stuff do what I think it's telling me?" JC asked incredulously.
"I took a year of biochem before I changed my major last year," Taylor revealed
.
JC immediately got up and gave the seat up to Taylor to allow him to better grasp what happened to their friend, but remained standing nearby to continue observing the notes.
"It seems Brian uncovered some sort of bio-molecular formula that is supposed to rebuild and restore damaged tissue. I don't think this is anything created, though. Whoever came up with this sh*t is way ahead of current thinking, miles away from anything Brian -- or anybody else is capable of."
Nicholas inquired. "Rebuild damaged tissue? Like maybe a broken nose?"
The two looked at him as they realized the strong likelihood of Nick's reasoning. Taylor flipped forward further through the notes. "That poor kid. I bet he wanted to fix his face so bad, he thought this was the ticket. He has no idea what he's getting into. There's only one place he could mix this stuff up that would be within reach on foot." "Chemistry Lab," Benjamin answered.
The men immediately ran out of the room. Pierce saw Brian's cellphone sitting next to the keyboard and grabbed it as he ran, lagging only slightly behind. As they all climbed into JC's 9-year-old Chevy Astro, Pierce was punching numbers into the keypad.
A still-sleeping Samantha Barstow clumsily groped around for the ringing phone at her bedside. Three misses later, she lifted it up, nonchalantly answering with a mild threat.
"Whoever this is, there had better be blood involved, or there WILL be blood involved --" Samantha moaned sleepily.
"Brian's missing," Pierce quickly blurted out to her.
Samantha's eyes went wide open with shock. "What? What do you mean missing??"
"We came home fifteen minutes ago and he was gone! There was this chemical formula that, believe it or not, Brian thought would fix his face. We think he went to the chemistry lab to use it on himself!" Pierce exclaimed.
"I'll meet you there!" Samantha exclaimed at the words "chemistry lab" , not even waiting to hear the rest of Pierce's conversation. Pierce got a dialtone indicating she had hung up.
Coincidentally enough, the Delta Seti sorority house being much closer to the chem lab than the Tau Eps place, Samantha got to the intersection just as JC's van was passing right by. Checking quickly to let a pickup go past first, she didn't wait for a green light to immediately pursue the slightly faded minivan.
JC was surprised to see Samantha, not realizing Pierce had called her at first. "What are you doing here, Samantha?"
"Pierce told me what was going on, and I'm glad he did," her hair still frazzled, her eyes still slightly heavy with sleep, obviously wasting no time getting out of the house. "I'm part of the reason he's got busted up to begin with."
"There's no time for Q & A, people. Let's get there and hope we're not too late!" Taylor announced urgently.
They got to the door and found it locked. "It's locked!" Benjamin exclaimed as he put his thumb on the pad and the door wouldn't release. JC tried it, and realized Ben was unaware of an extra step involved. JC pressed the release button and the door complied with a click. "Not anymore," he said with a smile as he waited for everyone else to enter. The two went down the hall and split up briefly into two groups to search both labs: Samantha, JC, and Taylor took the first lab; Pierce, Nicholas, and Benjamin took the other. Taylor, having said he had once taken biochem, was already familiar with the lab and went straight to the supply closet. He opened the door and found a shocking sight. Brian's clothes were heaped in a sloppy mess on the floor. Nearby, scattered around, was an Afrin sprayer that still had half its contents intact, along with some slightly bloody screws and a pair of tiny metal bars, next to a very familiar nose cast. with a slight amount of blood on the inside.
Samantha picked up the nose cast, a tear welling up in her eye at the momento of her new friend, and started to sob. JC embraced her sympathetically.
Taylor picked up the screws and the tiny bars and examined them closely. "These wouldn't have come out unless the formula somehow worked. The doctors screwed these into the bone fragments to hold them in place, remember? With his nose repaired, these would have lost their anchors and fallen right out."
Nicholas followed up on Taylor's observation. "That means that someone found him and took him. I think he's still alive, or we would have found a dead body in here.:
Samantha straightened up, gathering herself up emotionally. She looked down and saw the Afrin sprayer. "What's this? Brian didn't have any nasal congestion. " She smelled it, immediately repulsed by the strong pungent scent. "This is not nasal spray, people."
Taylor, who was becoming more of a biochem expert in the group than he counted on, sniffed it, then opened the top to see the turqoise liquid inside it. "Damn right it's not. I'd bet my degree that this is the formula Brian cooked up."
Samantha took it back from Taylor, announcing, "I've got a cousin who does chemical analysis. I can have her take a look at this stuff. It might provide some clues as to what happened to Brian." JC said, "Well, if he's alive, and he's definitely didn't come home to celebrate, somebody took him. Who do we know that would have the most to gain from our little buddy going missing?"
"Steve couldn't have done this. We saw the news tonight that he's under House arrest. He might be an athlete, but nobody can cover a round trip of 15 blocks in 5 minutes. Steve's a gifted athlete, but he's not that GOOD," Benjamin offered.
"Not directly. But I think he's still calling the shots, and he and his bunch would certainly have a lot to gain to see Brian disappear," Pierce said.
"Damned Alphas. They've gone too far this time!" Nicholas complained.
"Gentlemen, this calls for immediate and hard hitting retaliation. This isn't business anymore. It just got personal," JC concluded.
Back at the Beta Kappa Sorority.
After waiting for what seemed like hours of hiding behind the lamp from Tiffany, Brian was relieved to see her finally turning out the light and turn in for bed. He waited a little while longer, then cautiously came out of his hiding place. He had been watching her eat a few cookies and drink some milk, leaving her snack on the same nightstand Brian was hiding on. Brian had realized that he hadn't had dinner yet, and was ravenously hungry by now. When he could wait no longer, and he was certain that the beautiful scarlet-haired giantess had gone to sleep, he slowly crept out from behind the lamp, and onto the ceramic saucer.
The saucer was strewn with cookie crumbs, but even more fortunate, there were still two and a half cookies left. How he was going to get to the milk was another problem, but Brian's first concern was the cookies. He hungrily broke off handsized chunks of the fifteen-foot wide cookies, hungrily stuffing them in his mouth. Considering his small size, it didn't take much of the relatively larger cookie to completely sate his hunger.
Just then, Brian felt something on his back. It was a sensation that came and went every few seconds. It was when he felt his hair being gusted by a gentle but noticeably robust breeze, lightly scented that he realized what it was. His heart pounded as he very slowly and carefully turned around.
There in the dim light, he could make out the shapes. A broad, pink crescent. Twin cascades of shiny red hair. And dual green orbs staring at him intently. Forming a huge billboard sized face belonging to Tiffany Billingsley-Croft, peering down at her surprise guest intently, smiling with a mischievousness he dreaded as her unseen hand reached forward to illuminate her new, very tiny roommate. Brian's eyes were blinded for a brief instant as the nightstand was soon flooded with bright white light.
"Would you like some milk to go with your cookie, little one?" She smiled as her giant hand slowly reached for him.
Brian was too frightened to move a muscle as her giant soft hand surrounded him, her enormous tree-trunk sized fingers enclosing around him, trapping him in her hand up to his neck. He felt his body being lurched upward as he squirmed futilely within her immense palm.
She arched an eyebrow in surprise, "You're not going to drink any milk with your cookie? That's unheard of! Everyone drinks milk with cookies!"
Brian screamed as her hand glided up above the rim of the glass two-thirds the way full of still lukewarm milk only mildly cold. Her hand opened, and Brian dropped with a plop into the giant glass tower filled higher than his own height with the white liquid, sinking like a stone to bottom of the glass before propelling himself upward, his tiny legs treading milk as he choked on the calcium rich liquid. If Brian had needed to quench his cookie-induced thirst before, he certainly didn't have that urge now.
"Help me!!" He screamed as his body bobbed up and down just above the surface, struggling to stay afloat in a glass of milk.
Tiffany giggled with delight at Brian's peril, continuing to taunt and terrify him.
"Great idea! I think I'll have some of that too!" She said as her hand reached around the glass, standing up as she lifted the glass up to her curvaceous mouth.
"Nooooo!!!" Brian screamed as he felt the glass suddenly being tilted downward, trying to swim against a downward current as he looked back in terror at the enormous mouth at the bottom slowly draining the glass. With nothing to hold onto, Brian was helplessly slid down into Tiffany's hungry mouth, plopping directly down on her white-milk stained, wet, sticky, satiny tongue as it lurched and churned beneath him. He squirmed on the cushy slippery surface of her tongue as it pressed him against the roof of her mouth. Brian squirmed in terror as he watched her uvula from afar, her throat muscles snapping open like the gates of a dam to soak in the liquid nourishment -- and possibly him as well.
But at the last moment, Tiffany opened her mouth, tilting down, letting her saliva-and-milk soaked tiny guest plop back onto her palm.
"Now, let's introduce ourselves. I'm Tiffany, and although I don't know who you are, you and I are going to be getting acquainted very, very quickly," she boasted.
'What the hell's wrong with you! You.. you nearly ate me!" Brian exclaimed with rage and shock.
Tiffany's eyebrows furrowed in displeasure, and she immediately rose her hand towards her tiny charge, and without warning, flicked him across the chest. The effect was akin to getting kicked by a mule -- a mule ten feet long and with a large polished red nail at the other end. Brian screamed as the blow knocked the wind out of him, and he bowed to his knees in pain while kneeling on her vast soft palm.
"Such language, little one! I have very little patience for disrespect, as you so painfully found out. Now, unless you'd like to get knocked silly by my forefinger again, you might want to rethink how you address me," she lectured him.
Panting, and certainly not wanting to get walloped again, Brian quickly changed his tone.
"I... *pant* *gasp* *heaving heavily* my... my name is Brian ... Brian Weller...." Brian managed to stammer between breaths.
"Very well, Brian. You shall call me Tiffany, or Mistress Tiffany if you prefer. Do not call me by my last name. Only family members and teachers address me by that, and you are certainly not either one," she warned him.
Brian, still holding his chest and kneeling, nodded quickly in agreement. He fell forward momentarily as Tiffany moved again, sitting down on her bed, while trying not to jar her tiny passenger too excessively. Brian had forgotten for a moment that he was naked, but Tiffany was certainly well aware of it, as her giant fingers drew close to him again. Her forefinger extended, gently but firmly pressing Brian on his back in her hand, then pushing his tiny arm aside so that the she could view his nakedness unobstructed. Despite Brian's obvious terror, his cock stood straight up, standing at attention so firmly it was nearly painful to him. Her large nail hovered over him, and minding how fragile the tiny genitals were, Tiffany took extraordinary care exploring them.
Her thumb and forefinger very slowly and gently enclosed the stiff organ, carefully and slowly stroking it again and again. She smiled with pleasure as she watched him moan and squirm, his tiny hands flowing across the immense fingers responsible for the massage. Tiffany smiled as she watched his satisfaction, continuing to stroke slowly and steadily, until the tiny staff erupted in fluid, covering only a fraction of fingernail with his essence. She took the finger into her mouth, sucking it clean, and then looked down at her tiny smiling captive.
"More?" she asked.
"Please... oh yes...please," minding his respect, he quickly added, "Mistress Tiffany."
"Mmmmmmm, me too!" She smiled.
Suddenly without warning, her finger and thumb reached down, seizing Brian by his left calf, holding it (and him) suspended in the air above her open mouth!
"No!!" He screamed. "Don't eat me don't eat me please!" Brian pleaded as he saw the hungry mouth below, dreading with terror that he was about to become a tiny snack for this gigantic beauty.
Tiffany smiled, lowering him into her mouth and onto her tongue, then using her finger to push Brian belly-down against her tongue, pushing him back and forth against her silky tongue rapidly, his tiny cock brushing against the bumpy tastebuds of her mouth as her finger shoved him back and forth against her huge tongue. She continued this for a few minutes until she could taste more of his essence on her tongue. She then withdrew him, tucking the sopping wet mess of a man inside her bra, trapping Brian deep inside her decolletage for a few minutes. Brian could only squirm around in awe at the bottom of a vast chasm, flanked on either side by two firm fleshy hills of her considerable breasts. Brian was being jostled around as she moved, and his heart pounded with dread as he realized she was up to something. Something that was probably not in his own best interests, but for her own selfish pleasure.
When she extracted him about ten minutes later, he was horrified to see that her fingers were holding him above an immense, glass, prophylactic shaped cylinder, rounded closed at one end, open at the other. He struggled uselessly between her fingers as they lowered him toward it, then into it. Brian was terrified and tried to brace his arms against the rim, a useless rebellion since her vastly superior strength easily overcame his efforts, causing him to slide to the bottom of the glass chamber. Brian had to brace his hands against the bottom of the cylinder to keep his body from being propped by his head. Tiffany then screwed a thick stopper with a small formed hole in the center, snipping a soda straw in half before inserting it into the hole, allowing it to fit just slightly past the inside of the stopper.
Brian felt his stomach doing loops as he felt his glass prison suddenly being turned right side up. Tiffany's face, and the hand holding the flask looked even bigger due to the distortion of the glass as she began to coat the entire glass with a slippery coat of baby oil. He was knocked from one side to the other as she lowered the flask on its side, setting it between her silky thighs while she wriggled off her lacey panties. Revealed was a neatly trimmed patch of smooth fire-red pubic hairs, with a bright pink clitoris poking out prominently from the center.
"Ready Brian?" She announced. "I told you we were going to get introduced very very quickly!"
Brian screamed with terror as the glass chamber was slowly inserted into her gigantic lips, descending into the fiery fleshy core of her womanhood.
Through the dim light, Brian could see enormous fleshy shapes of her sliding muscles as they slid back and forth against the glass. He was pressing his hands and feet against the glass as she stroked herself with Brian's transparent prison, trying to keep from being knocked about against the hard see-through walls of the container. Her movements were slowly picking up speed, and Brian was having a harder time keeping up, or keeping himself in place. He screamed as the glass container was being thrust in and out faster and faster, his surroundings becoming a bouncing fleshy blur outside as her feminine juices were covering the walls with her secretions. Brian strained to hold on as Tiffany slid the glass tube in and out of her again and again before finally Brian's view of her searing hot interior was obscured by an explosion of fluid inside her, turning his view from translucent glass and flesh to translucent glass and creamy liquid.
It was burning hot in here. The straw in the center was his only link to the outside world, allowing him to breathe without suffocating, but not doing anything to cool the interior of the glass. Her immense warmth had the temperature inside the glass to near 90 degrees. Brian was panting and soaked in sweat, fully expecting to get some relief soon after she was to withdraw him from her cavern now that surely she was sexually sated.
For a few minutes, the glass remained still, enmeshed between her very warm powerful muscular walls still shuddering and throbbing around the glass. Then suddenly, the unexpected. The glass was not extracted, but inserted all the way inside!! What the??? Brian thought. Brian screamed as he pounded his fists uselessly against the glass, realizing that he was trapped within a prison within a prison -- a searing hot, sensual one composed of Tiffany's muscular, warm wet walls enclosing the flask he was still trapped within.
Tiffany only smiled as she inserted the glass prophylactic all the way inside her as if it were a tampon, then put on her panties and went to sleep. Trapped deep inside her powerful cavern with no way out, she could assure herself that he would not escape from her tonight.
Alpha Lambda Omicron Fraternity, 11:06 am.
Daniel Ratcliffe was sleeping. Or at least he was before he heard a repeated urgent knocking at the door. At first, he stayed in bed, hoping one of his roommates would deal with the nuisance.
After five minutes, he shouted, "Would somebody answer the damned door?"
Another voice answered, Martin Strathmore, grumbling defiantly, "If it's such a problem to you, Dan, you answer it!"
"Lazy prick," Daniel muttered, putting on his robe and slippers, tying the matching terry cloth belt around his waist as he shuffled down the hallway to answer the door. As he entered the foyer, somewhat bleary-eyed, he looked to his right at the monitoring console keeping electronic tabs on his roommate, Steve. The light was green, to his satisfaction. The knocking persisted.
"I'm coming!" He shouted at the impatient, but still unseen and unknown knocker.
When he peered through the security peephole, his eyes narrowed in anger and suspicion. He knew who these guys were, and he wasn't happy to see them.
"Yeah, what do you want, Collins?" Dan asked the man standing in front of about three or four other guys.
"We've come for our friend, Brian Weller," JC announced.
"Oh yeah, well things are tough all over. He's not here!" Dan retorted as he shoved the door, attempting to slam it in his nemesis' face. The door was stopped short by JC's extended foot.
Dan looked down at the foot then looked up at the man attached to it.
"Move your damned foot before I make it part of the door frame!" Dan threatened.
"Sure, just hand over our friend and we'll be gone," JC promised.
"Look, do you have a freaking problem with your hearing, man? I said we don't have him!" Dan insisted.
"What's the problem, " Steve muttered as he shuffled toward the door, the detention bracelet dutifully showing off the lit green LED registering his compliance with the home-monitor. Once he got close enough to see who was at the door, Steve became indignant as well.
"What the hell do you want, Collins?" Steve demanded.
Taylor stepped from behind JC to reinforce the reason they were here.
"Look man, we're not here to hassle y'all. We just want you to return our friend back to us. We've got a lot of reason to believe you guys abducted him last night."
"Oh please," Steve mocked. "Don't you losers realize I'm in enough trouble with the law. Why in the world would I add a federal kidnapping charge to some minor complaint that I was a little rough with some twerp in the student cafe?"
"Minor complaint? You broke the kid's nose in four places!" Nicholas exclaimed from behind his two friends, standing in the back with Pierce.
"He's a key witness in your trial, man. You'd have a much easier time getting off the hook with him out of the way, wouldn't you," accused Benjamin.
Steve laughed.
"That's absolutely absurd! My attorneys can tie this case up in appeals for years without me ever seeing the wrong side of a prison wall! I'll be a great-grandfather before their rinky-dink, small town court builds a real case against me. All I did was get a little rough with some sawed off punk! I'll be walking out of that courtroom before you can say 'acquitted!"
Benjamin and Pierce tried to burst their way past JC and Taylor, but those two plus Nicholas barely managed to restrain them.
Daniel further added, "Look, if you guys get anything besides a conspiracy theory or an X-Files script, take it to the police and get a freaking search warrant. But until you limpdicks get something in those whiny little heads besides sick fantasies, you can kiss our collective asses!"
At that, Steve slammed the door, just missing the sight of Benjamin and Pierce trying to charge it in desperation.
JC and Taylor held them back, again with Nicholas assisting them.
JC scolded them, "OK that's enough you two! Charging the Alpha house is not going to rescue Brian! We tried doing it nicely, that didn't work! Now we go to the police and see what we can get!"
The two of them, angry and defiant, respected JC, and quickly cooled their tempers, lowering their heads in defeat.
Benjamin looked at the door, then JC. "Jeff, do you really think he's in there? You know, Brian..."
Taylor said, "If they do have him, I'd think they'd be too smart to stash him here, especially if the police suspected these guys too. I don't know if they're still the ones who took him, but I definitely don't think he's in that house."
Nicholas added, "The scumbag did seem to invite a police search, though -- with a warrant that is. I don't think those bucketheads would do that if there was a chance the cops would find him under their roof."
Pierce pulled out Brian's cellphone again, dialing some numbers. Samantha picked up hers on the other end.
Pierce asked, "Hey, Sam. You left yet?"
Samantha responded, "Yeah, I left the dorm about an hour ago." Samantha was driving Brian's convertible Mustang to her cousin's research lab in hopes of learning more about the circumstances surrounding her friend's disappearance.
Holding up the Afrin bottle they found, she added, "I've got another 263 miles to go before I get to Lafayette. It'll probably take my cousin Alia a few days to finish tests on this stuff. Any luck with the blockheads?"
Pierce, "Nope, they stonewalled us. If they've got him, they're hanging tough. We're going to the police station to see if we can get some help."
Samantha piped up, "Oh by the way, I'm going to be staying at my grandmother's house while waiting for my cousin to finish testing this for me. I'll be coming back next weekend. I emailed you the number. Please, let me know if you guys find him!"
Pierce smiled as he got into the van with the rest of the guys. "You sure your interest in this isn't just platonic? You know, concern for a friend? Driving 319 miles is a little out of your way for someone who's just a 'friend.'"
Samantha smiled, "Come on, Pierce, that's taking it too far. Obviously somebody kidnapped him. He might be hurt or in danger. Surely you can't fault me for being concerned about that."
Pierce smiled at her attempt to dodge his probing, "Well, if I didn't know better, I'd almost swear you were falling for the guy...."
"Yeah, right. You're crazy. Ummm... I gotta go. I think this phone is starting to cut out," Samantha cautioned.
"OK, call me later. Stay safe!" Pierce replied.
The connection ended as Samantha put her phone into the Mustang's center console. She really hated lying to Pierce like that about the phone, but he was getting uncomfortably close to feelings she would do anything to not have to deal with.
Tiffany awoke that morning feeling refreshed and ready for a new day. As she stretched out her lithe, slender arms, she felt something wedged deep inside her, and suddenly remembered her tiny captive from just over seven hours before. She laid back, slowly inserting her fingers into her still hot, still very wet, pink fleshy folds. Her long slender fingers probed a little further until she felt the edge of piece of straw providing a limited air supply for the captive inside her. Just a little deeper, and she had grasped the edge of the glass capsule, slowly and carefully pulling it out, extracting it from inside her.
It was coated with her hot steamy juices. She could see well enough through the gooey film to view the tiny naked inhabitant inside it, slumped unconscious against the transparent wall of the glass. She got up, and left the room for a moment. She returned several minutes later with a newspaper and a bowl of water. She slowly opened the top, allowing cooler air to rush inside. She smiled as she saw Brian slowly stirring back to life, and carefully lifted the now open capsule with Brian still inside it, then tilted it downward. Brian slipped down out of the glass and into the cool water below him.
With a splash of cool water suddenly surrounding him, Brian was shocked back to consciousness as he splashed around in a pool of water. Flailing his arms for a moment in delirium, as if fighting against an unseen enemy out of shock, it took him a few seconds to realize he was no longer a trapped captive deep inside Tiffany's fiery wet fleshy depths.
Tiffany, lowered her head closer to the bowl, amused at her tiny plaything's alarmed splashing in the bowl of water.
"Welcome back to the outside world, little Brian," she smiled.
Brian panted with fear as he looked at the enormous, beautiful face staring back at him, Twin emerald globes watched every animated splash he made, her lips revealing a perfect wall of flawless white teeth.
"I'm.... I'm back outside of you?" Brian asked, his senses returning to him by the minute.
Tiffany laughed. "For the moment, yes. I must thank you for the exquisite moments of pleasure you gave me while you were in there. You are.... *giggle* certainly more potent a lover than I would have credited a man of your size."
"What... what do you want from me? Look.... you... I.. we had a good time... please let me go..." Brian stammered and pleaded.
Tiffany's eyebrow raised in surprise.
"Let you go? You must be kidding! After what we shared, together, last night? Do you think that I allow just any man who wanders into my room the pleasures I bestowed up on you, little one," she asked, musingly.
"Look, I'm sorry for that, OK? What more do you want from me," asked Brian, his heart pounding as he remembered how unpredictable she was, mindful that she was over 30 times his size, and a hundred time more powerful.
"Hmmmm, first of all, I have questions," announced Tiffany, as she glanced at her paper.
"It seems I am not the only person interested in you, Brian Weller. How tragic that you've turned up missing," she taunted.
Brian panted as he stood inside the waist-deep lukewarm water of the ceramic bowl he was inside.
"You... you said you had questions," he reminded her.
"Oh yes," Tiffany agreed, and she turned to look at him, slowly moving her face closer to the tiny man in her ceramic bowl of water.
"First of all, it's obvious that you weren't always this size. I want to know how that happened," she asked.
"Um, I, really don't know..." Brian lied. Tiffany's fist came crashing down on the edge of the bowl, ejecting Brian from the bowl to a few inches next to the enclosed fist, the water bowl capsizing and tipping over nearby.
"LIAR!!" She shouted in fury.
Brian's heart pounded in pure terror, his body acting on the only instinct it knew -- he ran.
It was effortless for Tiffany to simply land her hand in front of Brian, enclosing him within it as she held him in her grasp, lifting it up to her giant green eyes.
"DON'T. EVER. LIE. TO. ME," She enunciated one word at a time as if to drive home the meaning of her threat. Brian quivered in her hand, squirming with terror at failing to learn his lesson of submission a second time, his head bobbing up and down in terrified agreement.
Her eyebrows furrowed with intensity as she carried him back to her bed. She sat down, holding him in front of her face as she repeated her question.
"Tell me how you got to be so small...." she repeated.
Brian squirmed, fully aware that her hand could become a crushing vise that would end his existence instantly, realized his options for fabrication were very limited at the moment.
"I...I... that is.. um...." his eyes suddenly lit up, conceiving a rough plan as he realized something. If he told her the truth, she would simply dispose of him when he no longer served her purposes and continue to attempt to acquire the formula on her own. But, if he created a need, for both himself, and one other person....
"Umm.. JC... Jeffrey Collins... and I.. invented this .. this formula... it.. it regenerates.. damaged tissue, such as my formerly broken nose. I.. I tested it on myself.. without realizing the side effects.. the shrinking...." he stammered.
"And where is this formula now," she asked, her eyes aglow with fascination, and thoughts of the limitless power and wealth she could possess if she acquired it.
Brian had to invent another lie. He couldn't tell her it was on his PC at home -- it would be a simple matter to have someone break in and steal it, or worse, have her attempt the felony herself.
"JC and I.. split the formula. I... have half of it, in my head. But JC stored the other half ... on a secure server .. on the Internet. He's.. he's the only one who can retrieve the other half. Without his half, mine is useless," Brian conditioned.
Tiffany turned back to her newspaper, reading further.
"Well according to this, JC and your roommates are searching for you. I'm quite sure he would quickly agree to turn over his half if he thought he would recover you in the process," Tiffany logically deduced.
"I am also guessing that Mr. Collins has no idea of the side effect, or of your now greatly reduced state, correct?" She pressed, gently squeezing momentarily as if subtly reminding Brian of the potential peril of attempting to deceive her again.
Brian nodded.
Tiffany smiled. "Delicious," she mused.
Tiffany finally got up again, walking toward her dresser holding Brian in her closed fist, and opening the top drawer.
"Thank you for being so cooperative, Brian. And to reward you for your wise compliance, I shall prepare something for you. Something special," she hinted.
Tiffany dropped him into the top drawer, containing her lingerie. She then placed a piece of her breakfast biscuit, a thimble of water, and another very small cup, presumably for his bodily functions. She carefully closed the drawer, trapping him inside it.
The first thing she did was call the Alpha fraternity house.
"Hello," the voice on the other end answered, one that Tiffany immediately recognized.
"Good morning, Faraday. This is Tiffany. Listen, I'm on my way out, and I don't have much time, but I am calling you to let you know that I am scheduling a meeting tomorrow morning for 10 o'clock. We have a lot of business we need to discuss," Tiffany urged.
"Since when are you running the SGA [Student Government Association]?" Faraday asked with sarcasm and some annoyance.
Tiffany was certainly displeased that this underclassman was challenging her.
"Since the elected Student Council President is unable to perform his duties or venture outside his own home, dickhead, the Vice-President, that being me, dumbfuck, I am having to run things now since Mr. Markwell is about to become a convicted felon! That good enough for you, pencil-dick?" Tiffany retorted.
"OK, OK. I.. I was just asking. Sorry. Ten you said?" Faraday verified.
"Yeah, thanks Faraday. And make sure everyone, except of course, Mr. Markwell, attends. No excuses will be accepted," Tiffany ordered, not even waiting for Faraday to acknowledge before hanging up the phone.
Faraday hung up the phone, muttered the word, "Bitch..." as he scrawled the news of the mandatory meeting on a piece of paper to be posted on the refrigerator.
Tiffany next went downstairs and scrawled her own note for her own roommates. It said, rather cryptically:
"SORORITY MEETING TONIGHT AT 10 PM. WEAR BED ATTIRE. PLANNING SPECIAL SURPRISE FOR MY SPECIAL SISTERS. LOVE YOU ALL, TIFFANY."
University City Police Station. 10 AM. The Tau Epsilon men stormed out of the stationhouse defiantly after hearing what they didn't want to hear.
"A week. Can you believe that? Unless we can prove that he was kidnapped and have a ransom note, they won't look for the guy for a whole week? That's nuts!" declared JC.
"I know what you mean JC, but we have to keep hoping. It's only been nine hours since we found out he's been gone," Taylor chimed in.
"I know, man. I guess I'm just letting my frustration get the best of me. Let's go get some breakfast and sort out what to do next," JC agreed sullenly.
THE DOCTOR TOUSSAINT DAVIS MEMORIAL RESEARCH CENTER, Lafayette, LA.
A 1970 black Mustang convertible slowly pulls up to the high security gate to the electrically-fenced and razor-wired facility. Resembling a maximum security prison more than a research lab, this is one of the most advanced molecular physics laboratories in the nation.
"Papers, miss," the military-looking private security guard requested.
"I have voice authorization to enter from Dr. Alia Davis, Ph.D." Samantha answered.
"One moment while I verify that, ma'am," the guard replied as he stepped into the booth to double check her authorization. A few minutes later he got off the phone and returned to the side of the car.
"You've been approved, ma'am. Dr. Davis will be waiting for you on the sixth floor of the main building, room 6401. This is your visitor pass. You must wear it at all times while on the premises," he said as he handed her an electronic badge.
Samantha politely received the badge, immediately pinning it to her left breast, and gently accelerated the classis musclecar through the gate.
Several minutes, four security checks and two pat-down searches later, Samantha was in her cousin's office. Dr. Alia Davis was 5'9, brown eyes, and golden brown skin, wearing a white lab coat, a red blouse, and a dark skirt. Her black hair was tied in a fashionable side-curl behind her head. The 31-year old probably could have been a model if she had been up for the publicity and never ending travel, neither of which appealed to her as much as the never ceasing mysteries of biochemical physics, a specialty of hers. Though the two were cousins, Alia had always taken a protective wing to Samantha, always trying to guide, advise, and help as much as she could through the special bond they shared.
"Well, it's certainly good to see you here, Sam, but it's not like you to visit me at work. Why didn't you just bring this home to me," the doctor asked her.
Samantha looked at her with seriousness, and said, "Because this is kind of an emergency, and I figured if I took it home to you, you wouldn't consider it as important."
Dr. Davis nodded and agreed. "I see. So what is this mission you're on anyway?"
Samantha withdrew the Afrin sprayer from her purse, initially eliciting laughter from her cousin.
"Wait a minute! That's the big emergency? You think you're coming down with the flu or something, and thought I had something right?" Dr. Alia Davis chuckled.
Samantha didn't laugh. "Open it. That stuff is definitely NOT nosespray!"
Dr. Davis complied, opened it, and peered inside at the mysterious turquoise fluid. "Damn right this isn't nose spray. What is it?"
Dr. Davis sniffed it and wrinkled her nose in disgust, squeezing her eyes shut at the near-nausea she experienced from smelling it a little too closely.
"I have no idea, but I know it's connected with a friend's disappearance. I don't know what it is, or what it does. My friend seems to have concocted it and tried to experiment on himself with it. All we found in a chemical supply closet was that, his clothes, and these..."
Samantha produced the pins and bars, as well as the nose cast with traces of dried blood on the inside.
"What are these?" Dr. Davis asked.
"A guy I was with broke my friend's nose in four places. That's the nose cast and pins they used to set the bones to try to fix the shattered bones in position. A friend of mine reasoned that those would not have come loose unless he had somehow restored his nose to normal, possibly with that chemical," Samantha explained.
"And you want me to analyze this stuff? Sounds pretty bizarre to me..." commented Dr. Davis.
"Alia, look, would you just trust me about this? I've got a bad feeling about his disappearance, and I'm convinced that stuff has something to do with it, but I won't know until you examine it. Please... do this for me. Please?" Samantha looked up at her cousin, her eyes watering with emerging tears.
Dr. Davis' resistance immediately broke down as she held her younger cousin to her to comfort her. Alia smiled.
"This guy must be pretty special to you, huh. A boyfriend of yours?" Alia guessed.
"No... nothing like that. It's a bit of a long story, but it's kind of my fault this happened to him," Samantha confessed.
"YOU broke his nose?" Alia pulled back in shock.
"No! I didn't. A guy I was with, did. That Steve Markwell fella I told you asked me out a few weeks ago!" Samantha exclaimed.
"Oh my God? Are you talking about that same one in the news? The same one who nearly killed that poor freshman?" Alia verified, aghast at her cousin's involvement.
Samantha nodded. "That 'poor freshman' is the same guy who took that chemical and disappeared."
Dr. Alia Davis held her fist to her chin in careful thought as she viewed the Afrin sprayer in her hands, and the collection of somewhat morbid memorabilia of the disappeared teen on her desk.
"I'll need a few days, Sam. Where can I reach you once I find out what this stuff is?" the doctor queried.
"I'm going to be over at Grandma Dufrene's house until the end of the week. Then I'm going back to school, hopefully to continue looking for this guy," Samantha explains.
"So there's nothing you find appealing about this guy at all, "Alia asked skeptically. "You come all the way out here, three hundred miles from school, for a guy you're sure you don't have any feelings for?"
Samantha rolled her eyes in frustration. "Alia, come on. There's nothing special between me and this guy, OK? He's some freshman kid that my date nearly killed Friday night. You know I don't like short guys -- this one's barely taller than I am."
Alia leered at her, "Oh yeah, that tall, crazy animal Steve Markwell was quite a catch wasn't he? One of these days, Samantha, you're going to learn to stop being so shallow by judging people by appearances!"
Samantha was nearly at her limit, her eyes still wet with tears, "Look I didn't come out here for a lecture on my social life OK? Now are you going to help me, or should I take this stuff to someone who cares!!"
Alia threw up her hands, looking heavenward for a moment, "Oh alright already! I'll do it! Lord, I'm sorry I said a word OK? I wasn't trying to get in your business, Samantha. I didn't mean to lecture you."
Samantha embraced her cousin. "Thank you, Alia. I didn't mean to yell, but people are making a bigger deal of my interest than it is. I just want to find out what that stuff is without the hassle."
Alia held Samantha in a reassuring embrace. "OK, I'm going to run this stuff through everything I can throw at it OK. Just promise me one thing, OK?.. actually, two things," she quickly amended.
Samantha looked up. "And they are?"
"One, that you accept my findings, no matter how crazy they are. You might not like my nosing into your social life, but you've been like a little sister to me ever since we were kids. I'm always going to look out for you no matter what, so you know I'm not going to lie to you."
Samantha replied, "OK, and the second one?"
Alia smiled. "Keep an open mind."
Samantha said, "Oh, all right. Some things never change..."
Alia gathered up the items and placed them in a plastic bag, marking them with her own name. "Come back and see me in a few days and I'll tell you what I found. In the meantime, tell Grandma Dufrene I said hello."
"Will do," Samantha replied.
Countless hours passed by. It was pitch dark in this drawer, but at least Tiffany had left him alone so that he could recuperate from the terrifying experience of the previous night. The walls of the drawer were far too high for him to climb, but the stacks of Tiffany's bras and panties made for a very soft floor.
Suddenly, Brian was rocked forward as the drawer was unexpectedly pulled out. It was just past 10 pm by now, and Tiffany was wearing a silk teddy as she reached down for Brian.
"Tiffany, please... don't....I beg you..." Brian pleaded.
Tiffany smiled as she picked Brian up between her finger and thumb. "It's much different tonight, Brian. You'll see...." She inserted him between her breasts and started walking. Brian was being jostled with each step, marveling with both curiosity and fear as he could tell she was leaving her bedroom and going downstairs.
Then, as Tiffany neared the living room, Brian became even more afraid as he heard other feminine voices and giggling outside. Oh God, tell me she isn't going to do what I think she's going to do.
"OK, roomies. I know you've all been waiting to see what my surprise is, and tonight, I am here to share that special mystery with you.
"Come on Tiffany! Enough suspense! Tell us what it is!" one of them said.
"I've been dying all day to find out Tiffany!" replied another.
"This is so unlike you, Tiffany! You've certainly got all of our attention!" chimed a third.
Tiffany smiled as she reached down into her breast, enclosing Brian's tiny squirming body completely inside her hand, totally hiding him from view.
No. Please, God, no. Not like this. Please. Anything but this.
Tiffany's hand withdrew, revealing the object of all the day-long speculation, as five gigantic, beautiful young females in lingerie all gazed down at him in awe and wonder, gawking at the tiny naked man set down in the center of their circle.
"Let the games begin!" announced Tiffany. Tiffany's hand withdrew, revealing the object of all the day-long speculation, as five gigantic, beautiful young females in lingerie all gazed down at him in awe and wonder, gawking at the tiny naked man set down in the center of their circle.
"Let the games begin!" announced Tiffany.
Brian looked up with awe and fear at the five titanic young women surrounding him in various forms of nightwear.
"Awww, look at him, he's so cute!!" squealed a medium-height young woman with blonde hair, brown eyes, well endowed and bore an uncanny resemblance to Britney Spears.
"You're right, Janice, and look at that darling little tushie of his," pointed a taller, tanned brunette named Tara. Tara was 5'8, brown hair and blue-green eyes, her voluptuous 36d's showing prominently through the thin silk camisette she was wearing.
"He looks just like a little naked doll," giggled Amanda, a shorter petite woman with shorter blonde hair and blue eyes, somewhat paler skin, and smaller breasts, but probably one of the most attractive nonetheless.
Tiffany stood up, towering her 5'8 frame over the relatively puny little man surrounded by her gorgeous roommates. She rolled her eyes in exasperation, "I can't believe you are all getting soft and mushy over the little guy! He's not that big a deal -- literally!"
Victoria, another blonde, with straight shoulder length hair and bright blue eyes, looking a lot like Christina Aguilera, looked up at Tiffany disdainfully and challenged, "Oh and I guess you see little three inch tall men all the time, right Tiff?" Victoria's breasts were only slightly larger than Amanda's, with a slender figure, but was the youngest and the most intelligent of the group.
Tiffany leered at Victoria and said, "Oh please, Vickie. Listen, I just thought I'd be nice and share my plaything with you all for tonight. I thought you'd have some fun with him, but since everyone's going to get all mushy and soft over the little thing, I'm going to clear out. Just make up your minds on who's going to take responsibility for him, and I'll come and collect him from that person in the morning."
The four women looked at each other, then looked at Brian. Janice finally bent forward towards him while she was sitting, smiling, asking, "How about if we let him choose? I think that would be kind of neat!" As she bent down, Brian could see her large golden breasts lowering in front of him, as if they were beckoning him to come closer.
"Whatever you girls decide is alright with me, just as long as I get him alive and undamaged back in the morning, I don't really care who gets him tonight."
Janice smiled and went back to staring at the little man, who was just six inches away from her chin. Brian could only look at all of them in awe, as if struggling with a possible decision.
"Well, little man, what's it going to be," Tara asked impatiently, obviously eager to get on with the fun.
Brian kept rotating around and around, looking at each of his gigantic and well varied playmates, clearly agonizing over the decision. Finally he spoke up.
"Gee, you ladies make it so hard for a guy to decide!" Brian confessed.
"Well, I don't really have time for this. I'll just come back for him in the morning! Try not to wear them out too much, Brian," she said tauntingly. "They have a very busy day ahead of them tomorrow.
Tiffany finally sauntered upstairs and left the room. The others looked around, and when all of them heard the door to her room click shut, the overall mood in the room changed.
"Phew! She's finally gone," Janice muttered.
"I agree. At long last, we get to have some fun," said Tara.
At this Brian retreated back in fear, visibly shaken at Tara's suggestion. Surprisingly, the other women saw this and acted quickly to calm him.
"What's wrong, little guy? We aren't going to hurt you!" Victoria reassured, very slowly placing her gentle hands on her silky thighs.
"Yeah, we're not like that mean bitch Tiffany. It's OK, really!" Amanda chimed in.
Brian's face straightened, somewhat taken aback at the contrast between Tiffany and her roommates.
"You mean.... you ladies.. and her...." Brian announced.
"Have nothing but a house and a stuffy sorority membership in common," continued Janice.
Brian brightened at this prospect, cautiously approaching Tara.
"So, you girls can get me out of here?" Brian asked hopefully.
"Out of where?" Victoria asked.
"Out of this house. I need to get back with my friends. JC and the rest of the Tau Eps," Brian explained.
"You're a Tau Ep?" Janice asked skeptically. "They must be downsizing their recruiting drive..."
The entire room erupted with laughter. Brian fell backwards from the thunderous giggling at Janice's unexpected joke, his face saddening.
"Awww... we're sorry. We didn't mean to hurt your feelings, little guy," Amanda reached her hand down sympathetically. Brian looked at it for a moment before warily climbing up into it.
Brian braced himself as her hand slowly raised upward to Amanda's giant crystal blue eyes. The others gathered around closer to see the tiny living man in Amanda's palm.
"We didn't know you were a Tau Ep..." Tara explained in a mood that sounded somewhat condescending to Brian.
Brian kneeled to get a better purchase on the soft padded surface of Amanda's palm. "I'm their newest member. What do you girls have against us?" Brian asked as he looked around at the colorful kaleidoscope of eight beautiful eyes surrounding him.
"Don't get us, wrong, little fella. It's nothing personal. It's just that they're so...." Janice explained, pausing to search for words to describe her feelings.
"Boring," Amanda offered, adjusting the "baby doll" she was wearing.
"Got nothing going on with their lives," Tara said.
"They're not serious about anything except..." Victoria added.
"Getting drunk and getting laid," said Janice.
Brian realized at that moment that he was basically dealing with bored society rich girls, who, while not evil personified like Tiffany was, didn't have more in common with them either. Brian decided to change the subj
Giantess World
