index


Message-ID: <41526asstr$1048914602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: juliancoreto@operamail.com (Julian Coreto)
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: 29 Mar 2003 03:40:51 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Alan, Ch. 20
Date: Sat, 29 Mar 2003 00:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Author: Julian Coreto
Title: Alan
Part: 2
Summary: Alan sets off for Europe to solve the mystery of the death of
his fellow Seed Vessel Dr. Massimo.
Keywords: mc MF

Chapter 20
Resurrecting Jack (part 1)

As the spring semester's end approached Alan was as busy as he had
ever been.  Between preparing end of term papers, studying for final
exams, his regular meetings in midtown with Wilkins and the others,
the birth of Megan's baby (Marshall Philip Kelly ("Phil"), 7 pounds
even), and his daily readings of the complete files and notes of
Jean-Pierre Massimo, left him little time for leisure.

To make matters worse, for some unknown reason he was losing his
ability to get by with scant amounts of sleep.  He still required less
than the average person, but now he was sleeping everyday, sometime
for more than four hours at a stretch.  His other abilities were
unaffected, and if anything, becoming sharper.

The documents that Neil Swindon-Smythe had recovered were a treasure
trove of information about the history of Hyrcanus and a few of his
fellow Seed Vessels; also extremely useful were Jack's personal
journals.  Alan had learned a number of new tricks reading the diary. 
Now he could pass through doors, as if he was a ghost, and he could
also turn invisible, not only to people, but to cameras and the like. 
He was always able to make others not see him by using his mind
control powers, but this was more useful in this day and age, with
surveillance cameras ever-present; though each of these trick took
enormous mental effort, sometimes leaving him drained for hours after
his training sessions.

In the back of his mind Alan was worried.  He hadn't "heard" from Jack
Massimo in months, since the night of the kidnap.  If Jack was out
there somewhere he still had no idea where, and the silence was
troubling.  On top of all that the dreams he was having were sort of
freaking him out.  He knew that they contained clues to where Jack was
and how to restore him, but he couldn't cipher the clues in a fashion
that made any sense.  The one thing he was sure of was that he needed
to go to Europe to figure it all out, to retrace Jack's last steps on
earth.  Once the semester ended he was headed off, and he was lucky to
have Mr. Karick as a guide.  Who better to help him go back over
Jack's last days than the man who had been assigned to watch him every
minute of every day? As he thought this through he arched his back,
stretching the muscles, hearing the vertebrae click back into
alignment, and he sighed.

He was reading at his desk, the laptop open, its screen glowing in the
darkness of the room as Soren slept soundly in his bed.  He was
reviewing the text of the Scroll of Hyrcanus, his namesake, for
perhaps the hundredth time.  He was tired, his eyelids heavy.  He
persevered for another thirty minutes and then snapped the laptop
closed, unplugged it, replaced it in its steel box, and used his mind
to seal the box shut.

Crawling into his unmade bed he collapsed even before he could undress
and pull the covers over himself, but he did not sleep.  A dull
buzzing sensation fell over his restless body, and out of the corner
of his eye he began to sense the unearthly glow emanating from
Jean-Pierre Massimo's ring.  With his last ounce of strength he lifted
the hand which bore this ring and held it right in front of his face,
and the glow increased, nearly blinding him in rush of pure white
light.  The vision began.  He saw it through Jack's eyes, heard it
through Jack's ears, smelled it through Jack's nose.

Florescent lights, white walls, and the smell of antiseptic assaulted
his senses.

* * *
29 June 2002

He could feel them getting closer; more to the point, he couldn't feel
them, and that was more worrying than anything.

As he made his way through the highways and byways of his adopted
hometown he could sense the voids in his power, the null points in his
perceptive abilities.  He had just left the offices of his financial
managers in the City of London, his car just a few feet in front of
him, idling at the curbside when he saw a man across the street
watching him.  It was nothing new; people had been watching him for
the better part of a century.  But this watcher was different.  He had
no mind to him.  No mind that he could probe and read, and after
reading minds, probing the innermost thoughts of nearly all the people
he had encountered over these last decades, the reality of being in
close proximity to an impenetrable consciousness unnerved him.

He could feel them getting closer.  More to the point, he couldn't
feel them, and that was more worrying than anything.

* * *

A hospital.  

The Cancer Ward.  

A stench of death, of impending mortality, pervaded the whole of the
corridor.

"I'm very sorry, sir.  Visiting hours have ended," the nurse said,
trying to edge him to the bank of elevators.  He was undeterred.

"A terrible way to die," he said, evenly, his eyes a million miles
away.  Emile had died in a place like this, the twenty-year old memory
still afresh in his brain.

He had been lecturing, in the States.  He hadn't even know she was
ill.  All of their phone conversations and letters, and she hadn't
even broached the subject.  Brave was she as she faced the final
journey, braver than he would have been in her place.  Had he known
the solution would have been child's play.

His flight landed and he had made immediately for the hospital.  The
doctor, a model of Swiss efficiency, had laid the facts before him. 
"One week, Dr. Massimo, perhaps less.  I am sorry, there is nothing we
can do for her now.  We will see that she is as comfortable as can be,
and let nature take its course."

It was too late for him to do anything about it.  Damn it all to hell!
 If he had only been here in Geneva a month ago he would have been
able to reverse its progression.  But now--now it was even out of his
hands.

"Yes, sir, a terrible way to die," the nurse repeated, shaking him
back to the present.  "But, you'll still have to leave.  Visiting
hours have ended."

He reached out with a mind probe, relieved that his powers were not
failing him in his old age, and took control of the woman beside him.

He scanned her brain for information.  He was looking for a patient,
one in a situation he could use to his advantage.

He closed the door to Mr. Dickinson's room and sat on the bed next to
the dying man, laying hands on him like a shaman, a faith healer of
old.  He concentrated, using all his will, all his strength.

 From the private bathroom off to the side he heard the bathtub
overflow and went in there to turn off the taps.  Water helped.  Water
made it easier.  He eased himself into the tub, fully clothed, and
submerged beneath the surface of the water.  Through the hazy,
shimmering surface of the water he stared at the tiled ceiling for a
few seconds, and then closed his eyes and concentrated.  A few seconds
later he broke the through the surface, his lungs taking in great
draughts of air.  Dripping wet he made his way back into the room.  As
he passed the mirror he was only slightly startled by his new
appearance which was now identical to the dying man laying in the bed.

Dickinson opened his eyes and they almost popped out of his head at
the sight of Massimo.  He thought he was having an out of body
experience, like when in the movies a person dies and a shadow of them
emerges and walks around the room.  His double (Massimo) walked up to
him and covered Dickinson's eyes, and he was asleep again.  Massimo
concentrated again, and in almost an instant Dickinson's appearance
was transformed to match that of Jean-Pierre Massimo. Water helped.

* * *

The suitcase was the last of his things left in the dorm room.  All
the rest of his stuff was packed in his dad's car. He was leaving for
London in three days, with a security team headed by Mr. Karick, and
he figured it was better to pack his bag before he moved back home.

As he was taking a long last look around his room his mom popped in
and came over right next to him.  "So, sweetie, are you ready?" she
asked, reaching up and ruffling his hair.

"Yeah, mom, let's go," Alan replied kissing her on the cheek.

"It's a shame you're only going to be home a few days before you leave
for your job in Europe," she sighed.


"I'll be back in a month or so, so there'll still be two months that
I'll be home," he said back, putting his arm around her shoulder. 
With his free hand he grasped the handle of the suitcase and they went
out together.

That evening his family and the Van Devanters, plus Brian Lacy
(Pauline's boyfriend) went out for dinner at an Italian place a few
towns over from where they all lived.  Pauline looked very happy with
herself, both over her impending matriculation at Harvard (coupled
with Brian headed for MIT), and generally with her lot in life.  She
would be spending the summer again working at the local day camp, this
summer as the head of girl's half; Kate was going to be working again
with runaways, this year taking groups of them on Outward Bound
expeditions sponsored by her family's foundation.

After dinner Alan and Kate begged off further family activity and went
for a drive.  The made their way aimlessly around the town for awhile
and then stopped for coffees.  Kate found them seats while Alan was at
the counter.  There was a long line, so it took more than a few
minutes for him to join her.

"Miss me?" he asked, a goofy smile across his face as he settled in
next to her on the couch in the Starbucks.

"A little."

"Really?  I was joking."

Her face took on a furtive look and she glanced away for a moment
before replying.  "I'm going to miss you.  When I'm away.  When you're
away."  She turned her head again, not want to see him as she asked
her next question.  "Are you, you know, going to miss me?  This
summer?"

He thought about it for a moment.  Despite their rocky start and past
history he knew that he was developing feelings for her, had been, in
fact, for quite some time.  He knew Kate loved him, and it wasn't due
to any changes he had made to her.  He knew form as far back as senior
year, prom night to be exact, when she had sobbed and broken down and
blurted out her growing feelings.

He was going away, perhaps for a month, perhaps longer, and he knew
within himself that he was going to miss Kate, miss her company, in
bed and out of it.  The past year and a half or so had seen a
startling transformation in her, and though some of it had been at his
instigation, much of it had come from inside her.  He unlocked her in
a way, and by that freedom she was able to grasp at the things that
made her unhappy, to grab them at the root and pull herself out of her
destructive patterns, destructive patterns she subconsciously knew
would have, if not gone checked by Alan, turned inward on herself to a
higher degree.  Alan understood perfectly the role he played in her
transformation, but it did nothing to stanch the feelings they shared
for each other.

"Yes, Katie, I'll miss you."

She put her hands on him and leaned in and kissed him.

* * *

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," he said cryptically.

A few minutes later he stopped the car and parked.

"What are we doing here?  How are we getting in?"

He thought quickly and made up a story. "I still have the master key
from when I was in charge of the newspaper."  When the had reached the
double steel doors he made her turn her back, ostensibly to keep a
look out.  He jingled his own keys a bit while he used his mind to
unlock the doors.

"This is really weird, being back in high school, and all," she
commented as they moved through the dark and silent halls.  He had her
"keep lookout" again as he forced open the door to the newspaper
office, and within seconds of stopping at the previously locked door
they were within.

She pressed up against him, on her tiptoes, trying to place her lips
against his, but she found herself unexpectedly rebuffed.  "What's the
matter?" she asked, a quizzical expression across her pretty face.

"Can we talk first?"

"Uh oh, that doesn't sound good," she said quietly.

"No, it's nothing like that, I swear," he replied, guiding them to the
ratty old couch which was pushed against the back wall of the room. 
They sat and turned towards each other.  He took her hands in his.

"This is where it all began," he said distractedly, his eyes roaming
the room, frequently stopping at the desk where he first took her. 
Kate shivered at the memory of it and he squeezed her hands tighter. 
"I just wanted to say, to tell you," he began, losing his thread. 
There was silence for an uncomfortable interval. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry. 
For, uh, doing that to you.  That day."

She leaned into him, her head resting on his chest, her ear pressed
against his shirt.  She could hear his heartbeat throbbing.  She
blinked a few times, successfully stemming an impending flow of tears.
 "It's OK," she mumbled loud enough for him to hear,  "Really, it's
OK."

"No!  It's not OK.  When I think back on what I did then I feel, well,
bad about it."

"No.  Stop.  You're trying to tell me something, and you're using this
whole mea culpa thing to avoid it," she told him as she sat up
straight and looked him right in the eye.  "Spill."

"Do you remember prom night?  In your room, afterwards?  What you told
me?"

"Y-yes," she stammered through trembling lips, her eyes moistening.

"I-I-I think I feel the same way."

"You, you, you l-love me?" she asked as the waterworks opened up.  He
nodded.

"I think so."

"Good enough for me," she giggled through her tears, kissing him
passionately.

"But that doesn't change the fact," he began, interrupting her kiss,
"That I was wrong when we, uh, did it that first day."

She put her hands on his cheeks, drawing his gaze to hers; she was
expecting this scene for awhile, and had a speech ready.  "I don't
care about that.  You've never heard me complain."  She paused,
thinking back on that day.  Her pussy began to ooze at the memory.  "I
didn't like you.  I never did--before that day, I mean.  You were a
nice enough guy, but I thought you were a wimp.  I was with Chad then,
and my na�ve little self thought he was, to use the phrase, all that
and a bag of chips.  I was," she choked up a little here, "a very,
very, very unhappy person, only I didn't know it then.  Looking back
on that period in my life, before, uh, THAT day," she shuddered for a
second before continuing, "I was a bitch, especially to you, and I
hated myself.  What you did to me that day, I mean, what WE did that
day, well, there's no other way to put it--you rocked my world.  I
mean, of course sexually.  You know that, right?  That was the best I
had ever had, but like a factor of a thousand," she giggled.  "But I
was, uh, rocked, in like other ways too.  Wimpy Alan Marshall (sorry),
so powerful, so, so so--I don't know what.

"I was a girl on the cusp of womanhood, and I was making a bad
transition, and you pulled me back from the brink.  By, ah, dominating
me like that, you made me a little girl for just a bit longer, and I
was able to, to, I don't know, self-reflect, something, something.  I
mean to say that by being your slave, your submissive I was finally
able to focus on Kate the person, not Kate the popular, Kate the
status seeker.  You took away a small part, OK, a large part of my
identity when you made me a slave to your lusts.

"But looking back on me at that time I really didn't have an identity
to speak of.  I had an identity as the hunky quarterback's boyfriend. 
I had an identity as the girl who was invited to every cool party. I
had an identity through the fancy labels in my clothes, the cool car I
got when I turned seventeen, the big house my parents lived in.  Those
things were of me, but the weren't me me.  You know what I'm talking
about?"

He nodded, waiting for her to continue; even someone who wasn't a
telepath could tell she wasn't quite done.  She began to gently rub
his cheeks as she went on.

"And you!  You were alright.  Not too cool, not too nerdy.  A regular
guy.  You seemed happy about who you were, and in a way I was jealous
of that.  And I hated you for that. And then, and then, that day in
this room.  OH MY GOD!"

They both broke down in hysterical fits of laughter.

"I mean, I know you weren't, uh, that you didn't do that for MY
benefit!  You DID get a nice, uh, ride," she said with a twinkle in
her eye.

He chuckled

"Where in the hell did that come from.  Why did I follow you then?"
she sighed.  "Oh well, the mysteries of the universe, I guess.  But,
and this is a big, humungous, gigantic, enormous, vast, BUT, I'm
really really really really really really really really glad it
happened.  So quit yer grousing, and stop beating yourself up already,
OK?"

She kissed him, hard.

"OK," he said pulling back for a second, a wry grin creeping across
his features.

"Why are you smiling?" she asked, turning a little red-faced.

"I'm happy," he said, evenly.

"Happy?"

"Happy to know you.  Happy to have you.  Happy you have me.  Pick
one."

She devoured him again, her tongue wildly exploring his mouth, her
hands rapidly exploring his body, touching all of her favorite parts. 
She was hungry for him, and was impatient in her clothing.  She pulled
away from him and peeled off her shirt, and practically tore off her
bra, then guided his hands to her quivering chest, sighing deeply as
he began to touch her all over her exposed skin, as he was not content
to confine himself to her generous breasts, but tickled her flanks and
caressed the smooth skin of her stomach and back.

When she thought she could take no more she stopped his hands by
grasping him at the wrists and pulled away so there was a foot of
space between them on the sofa.  Hurriedly she shimmied out of her
pants as she watch him disrobe.  The room was hot and humid, the air
conditioning system in the building switched off until the morning,
and she could see the fine sheen of sweat covering his well-built
form.  She was perspiring slightly herself as she jumped on top of
him, her pantied-covered pussy rubbing hard into his exposed shaft.

"Kate?"

"Hmm?" she answer languidly, concentrating on the feeling of his
hardness sliding up and down her crotch, enjoying the feeling of it
spreading the stickiness under the thin cotton fabric.  "W-what?"

"I hate to sound crude, but, why are you still wearing your panties?"

She giggled lazily.  "You know why."  A slight gasp escaped as the
head of his dick rubbed right against her clit.

"Am I missing something?"

"Silly Alan, I left them on so you could take them off.  I <pant> like
it when you <pant> take them off.  Take off my panties, you silly boy,
now <pant>."

Slowly he eased them down as far as he could in their position, and
Kate wiggled them off the rest of the way.  Now his erection rested
skin to skin against her dripping gash, and she began to hump up
against it, saturating the surface of his cockflesh with her plentiful
girl juices.  She put her palms down on her shoulders and hoisted
herself up a bit, looking deeply into his eyes.  He knew what she
wanted and took hold of his slippery manhood, lining the tip of it
against her gushing cleft.  Slowly she sank down on him, devouring his
manhood with her body.  As she came to rest fully impaled she loosed a
quiet moan and rested her head on his shoulder, content not to move. 
She could feel his hands on her back and flanks lightly rubbing her
skin, and she shivered in arousal.

After a few minutes of just being held Kate reared back and started to
slowly bounce and twirl back and forth on his shaft, and he helped her
out by holding her at her hips and leisurely lifted and dropped her
down on his dick.  Her moans became louder as she began to jerk her
hips down, smashing her crotch into his, but neither of them said a
word, they just stared into each other's faces. Hard as it was to see
in the dim light of the empty office Alan could still make out the
passion painted across her delicate features.  Kate let out a fast
yelp, and hugged him tight as her wet channel spasmed around him, and
he came with her.  They held one another a while longer.

* * *

"Have we changed?"

"Hmm?  What are you talking about, sweetie?" Alan asked.

It was twenty minutes later, and he was driving her home through the
town's dark and deserted streets.

Alan was paying more attention to flicking his hi-beams on and off
that Kate in the seat next to him.

"What are we?  You know, boyfriend and girlfriend? Lovers?  Master and
slave?"

"Weeeeelllll," he began, drawing out his words exaggeratedly, "I
cannot assume to speak for you, but in my mind you're my girlfriend. 
OK?"

She sniffled and wiped a tiny tear from the corner of her eye.  "OK,"
she whispered.  She paused a few seconds.  "But what about, you know,
the other girls?"

"Yours or mine?" he shot back with a wicked grin.  

She laughed.  "I think I just walked right into that one.  OK, then
it's settled."

"What's that."

"You are my boyfriend, I am your girlfriend, but both of us can have
girls."

He laughed.

* * *

Alan had never been to Europe before; his family vacations had usually
been inside the continental U.S. and Hawaii, with occasional forays to
Mexico, and once to the West Indies.

It was a shame really that he wouldn't get a chance to play tourist;
his business in Europe was business.  They were in Geneva, their
second stop.  London had proven fruitless; visits to the hotel where
Massimo had been killed hadn't turned up anything, and his office at
Oxford had similarly yielded nothing of importance.

Claude Massimo met the trio (Alan, Karick and Swindon-Smythe) in his
office. After an exchange of pleasantries they got down to business.

"Please, please, sit down.  You are Alan Marshall, yes?  I didn't know
you were coming, but I've been expecting you nonetheless.  Please,
sit.  Do not be puzzled.  It's rather simple, you see."  Dr. Massimo
leaned over and twirled the combination lock on the safe concealed in
the credenza behind his desk and quickly righted himself holding a
small metal box, about four inches by eight, as deep as it was wide.

"When our mutual acquaintance, Mr. Wilkins from New York, flew over
last year to help me settle my father's estate, well, that was the
first I ever heard of you, Mr. Marshall.  I take it you and my father
were close?"

"We, uh, had a special bond."

"I don't mean to be indelicate, but, ah, how shall I state this? Ah,
by, uh `special bond,' ah, does that make us half brothers?  I'm sorry
to ask, but knowing my father as I did I am well aware that there are
unacknowledged half siblings of mine peppered across the globe, and,
uh," he petered off in half embarrassment.

"No, Doctor, nothing like that, but for various reasons I would rather
not elaborate upon I cannot comment further."

"Oh.  Fine fine.  And uh, is Mr. Sutherland, Carl Sutherland joining
us?  I'm somewhat curious about him."

"No," Alan stated plainly, not wanting his host to know he and
Sutherland were one and the (almost) same.

"My father was a very wealthy man, and he left me a large amount of
money, and more to charities and institutions and such.  I begrudge
this Sutherland person nothing, but I found it very strange that such
a large portion of my father's estate was given to a man I had never
met, never even heard about before his passing.  I was just curious."

Alan looked the man over, inside and out, and decided he was just
nervous.  He was more interested in the box, hoping Alan would open it
in his presence.

"Do you know what it is?" Claude Massimo asked.  "I tried opening it,"
he admitted with a furtive look on his face, "But it seems to me to be
one solid piece of metal."

"Just a little project your father and I were collaborating on."

Later, back at the hotel Alan opened the box. Neil was right by him,
Karick watched the door.

"What is it?" Dr. Swindon-Smythe asked, his voice ripe with
anticipation.

"Empty.  Just a piece of paper, parchment, I think.  Blank," Alan
answered, showing him.  The box was steel, lined with green felt,
peeling at the edges.

"Let me have a see," Neil said, taking the parchment and examining it.
 "Old, maybe centuries old.  Perhaps," he began, drifting off into
thought, "Perhaps it is like the box itself. Could you, ah, do that
magic bit you do, like opening the box, like.  You know, unlock the
message on the paper like you unlocked the box?"

"Good idea!" Alan said excitedly, but to no avail.  The paper remained
blank even after Alan concentrated over it.

"It might be chemical," Karick said, coming in from the suite's other
room.  "I know a man, documents expert--we used to work together ages
ago.  He might be able to help."  He unpocketed his cell phone and
began to make calls.  A few hours later they were on an evening train
to Paris.

Next Chapter: Resurrecting Jack (part 2)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+