Nemesis

“What motivates someone to take on a persona like Sentinel?” the reporter asked.

Helena smiled. “That’s a wonderful question.”

“Thank you.”

“Like much of human behavior, it’s complicated. I’m hesitant to diagnose without personal contact. With that said, there are a few broad motivations which lead to vigilantes, especially when coupled with a mask.”

“Please. I’d love to hear.”

“Frustration with institutions. Power fantasies involving an archetype. In Sentinel’s case, the archetype of the warrior. As a normal person, he can’t solve crime, fight corruption on a large scale, but as the warrior, anything is possible.”

She sat with legs crossed. When she finished the answer, she let the shoe slip from her heel, dangling it from her toes and revealing her arched foot. Light played on the patent leather. The reporter froze, transfixed. Helena snapped the heel back on her foot.

The reporter blinked and swallowed.

“I-, um. I apologize,” he said. “You said something about warriors.”

“I did. Do I need to say it again?” she said and arched an eyebrow.

His eye flicked to her shoe. Then, he closed his eyes and took a breath, gathering his concentration before returning to his notes. He scribbled, paused, then looked to Helena.

Her expression hadn’t changed. Bemused, confident. He glanced at her heel and sighed.

“Is there anything more you’d like to add?”

“Yes,” Helena said.

He waited, poised to write. She made him wait until he met her gaze.

“Please,” he said. She smiled.

“I wonder about the response,” Helena said. “The warrior is strong, forthright, but as Jung pointed out, the duality of our collective unconscious will create its counterpart. The warrior’s purity of strength and directness will create a counter response. Forthrightness gives way to secrets. Purity gives rise to temptation and seduction. One needs the other.”

“Copycats?”

“Somewhat, but more importantly, nemesis. When a psyche goes too far in one direction, its counterpart will manifest. The collective mind won’t allow the imbalance.”

“A villain to match Sentinel’s power?”

“We’ll have to see.”

The reporter opened his mouth to speak, but Helena held up a hand, silencing him.

“I think that’s enough for the interview, don’t you?”

He stopped writing and looked at the floor. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”

He looked back to her foot and shifted. He’d been on his knees since they’d begun. The ache would be ferocious, and his discomfort warred with the desire that overwhelmed his thoughts. The tension tightened by the second, and he winced at the ache.

She dangled her heel, and his expression blanked, transfixed on her shoe.

Their first session had been three months prior. Embarrassed, he’d let his guard down, admitted that what had started as a fun sexual twist had intruded on almost every part of his life. Women in the office crossing their legs had given him cold sweats; he lingered in front of display windows of high heels.

She calmed him and said she would help, thanking him for his courage. And had made sure to wear glossy heels and nylons for every session after.

She let the shoe fall to the carpet. He almost lunged but froze. She’d not given permission.

“Oops. Help me with that will you?”

He dropped his notepad and bent, lifting her heel with both hands like a relic. He slipped it on and waited.

Need radiated off him, and she made him hold it. His shoulders trembled under his suit jacket.

“Ok. You may,” Helena said.

He bent and placed a single, delicate kiss to the tip of her shoe. As he did, he shuddered, letting his mouth linger on the leather.

At length, he pulled away.

“You’re making wonderful progress,” Helena said.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’ve been journaling?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Every time a heel or foot distracts you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. We’ll review next time, and you can go through it in detail, all the pretty feet and shoes that make you feel weak, eager to please?”

“Thank you. Facing this is important. It’s the only way to get better,” he gasped.

She nodded as her words came from his mouth.

“Good. Now, finish that story, and send it to me. We want it to be the best version it can be before you publish, don’t we?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” Helena said and paused. He waited, frozen and trembling.

She flicked a finger towards the door. “We’re done. You can go.”

He made a half bow and rose, his body trembling with desire. Quiet, as though departing a church, he pulled the door open and exited, closing the door back without a sound.

Helena rose, going to the inner door and turning the lock.

Returning to her desk, she sat and retrieved a key from a necklace and inserted it into the lower right desk drawer. The lock spun. Inside, a box with a keypad lay. She pressed a key sequence, and the lock clicked. Opening the box, she lifted a cell phone from the top of a stack of folders.

A single text message waited.

“All done.”

She smiled and texted back. “6pm.”

The cursor blinked three times, then the response appeared. “6pm.”

She returned the phone and locked the desk.

Her next appointment was in fifteen minutes.

***

A line of Mercedes and BMWs fed through the valet line, red-jacketed valets darting between as they drove them to a hidden lot. Helena edged forward until her car fell under the shadow of the blue awning leading into the restaurant.

Carlo stood to one side, pressed against the trimmed hedges. Out of place, his eyes darted between the cars and expensive clothes, returning to his own jeans and leather jacket.

“Miss Webb,” the valet said, pulling the door open. “Welcome.”

He extended a gallant hand. She grasped it, and he lifted her up. She slid a tip into his vest pocket and patted it.

“You’ll take care of me?” Helena said and winked.

He smiled and blushed. She didn’t move when he brushed against her and got into the car.

Carlo’s face relaxed when he saw her, but he hesitated when she beckoned.

“Come on,” she insisted.

“I’m not going in there,” he said and glanced at his clothes.

She walked to him and took his hand. “Don’t be a baby.”

She led him to the entrance and stopped. He hesitated then pulled the door open, and she stepped in before him. The hostess looked up from the reservation list

“Hello Gina. Two for dinner, something private?” Helena asked.

The hostess frowned, checked the seating chart then beckoned for them to follow.

Helena tugged Carlo’s hand, but he’d stopped. He was looking at the bar.

Two televisions were hung at either end. Both were tuned to the news. A helicopter hovered over a gaggle of police cars with blue lights flickering. They centered on a dark, armored van. The back door was open. The camera cut to a reporter interviewing the police chief. Red-faced and shouting, he was trying to get the reporter to back up.

Carlo looked down at Helena, a sly smile on his face.

“Never knew what hit them,” he leaned over and whispered.

He wanted to keep watching but gave in when Helena tugged his hand. The hostess had stopped beside an enclosed booth of dark leather and wood. A votive candle burned in a low glass container.

“Thank you, Gina.” Helena said and slid into the booth. Carlo sat opposite.

“Something from the bar?” Gina asked.

Helena put a hand on Carlo’s. “Two champagnes at least, right?”

Carlo shrugged. “And a beer?”

Gina departed.

Carlo’s pride glowed, and he continued to look towards the bar. Helena leaned across as the closeness of the booth muffled the sound of the restaurant.

“I want to hear everything.”

Carlo leaned forward and told her everything. He’d taken three guys with him, including Jeff. The payroll had left the bank exactly on time, just as she’d told him, and they’d mapped the route, practicing on the two days prior. When it had turned down a one-way street, they’d blocked it from behind and in front.

The waiter arrived and set the two glasses down, bubbles rising through the golden liquid. He also slid a frosted mug of beer before Carlo.

“May I bring you any appetizers?” the waiter asked.

Helena continued to hold Carlo’s hand. “You trust me?”

Carlo shrugged. Helena patted his hand. “Two shrimp cocktails.”

The waiter departed.

Carlo reached for the stem of one champagne glass. Helena stopped him.

“Wait. I want to do this right.”

She reached for her purse and retrieved a small metal pillbox. There was a mixture of round and oval pills inside. She took one of each, plopping a round one in one glass, and an oval in the other.

“What’s that?”

“Sugar. It’s better this way,” she said and pushed the glass with the round pill towards Carlo. It threw a stream of white bubbles up from the bottom of the glass.

“I’m not drinking that.”

“Don’t drink it then,” Helena said and tipped her own glass. “I’ll celebrate by myself.”

Carlo shook his head and took a swig from the beer. Helena shrugged and continued to sip.

“Tell me the rest,” she said.

Carlo smiled and continued. They’d blown the rear door, and the guards just gave up. No fight, nothing.

“The sacks actually had green dollar signs on them,” Carlo laughed.

They drove one of the blocking vans two blocks, dumped it, and were gone in the getaway car. Nothing chased. It was over so fast, they never heard a siren. No Sentinel. No Cops. Easy.

Helena glanced to the champagne glass then back to Carlo. He followed her gaze, then looked back to her. He reached for the champagne but pulled his hand back.

“We can make a habit of this kind of thing,” she said.

The waiter returned and slid the two appetizers before them both.

“Try the sauce. They put a little horseradish in it,” Helena said.

“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked.

“A few minutes?” Helena asked.

The waiter departed.

Helena dipped a shrimp and took a bite. She closed her eyes, savoring it, then took a sip of her champagne.

“Perfect.”

Carlo looked uncertain but grasped one of the shrimp and took a bite, ignoring the sauce. Helena shook her head.

“Then don’t try the sauce, I suppose.”

He grabbed a second shrimp and dipped it before taking a bite. He nodded.

“That’s really good,” he said.

“Told you,” Helena said, took another bite, then sipped from her glass. “Even better with the champagne, but I don’t want you to drink it.”

They ate in silence, the murmur from the restaurant far away. Carlo devoured half of his before slowing. Helena worked slower, pairing each bite with sauce and a sip of champagne.

Carlo hesitated, looking at the champagne and the remaining appetizer. “Is it really that much better?”

Helena took a bite and nodded.

“Definitely,” she said while chewing. “But, you don’t trust me. You shouldn’t drink it.”

Carlo frowned then mirrored Helena’s sequence. Shrimp. Sauce. Bite, then took a sip of the champagne.

“I told you not to drink that,” Helena said.

“That’s right,” he said and gulped half the glass. He looked at the golden champagne. “It is pretty good though.”

The waiter returned. “Are you ready to order?”

Helena looked at Carlo. “You trust me?”

He tilted his head.

She ordered steaks for both, along with a red wine. “And another beer?”

Carlo nodded, and the waiter left.

Carlo stretched and leaned into the thick cushion of the booth. He lifted an arm and rested it on the back, relaxing and surveying the restaurant around them.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Not maybe, Carlo.”

His relaxation took on a hint of smugness. “You’re not the only one who’s smart, you know.”

Helena sat straight. “Who else?”

He pointed a thumb at himself.

Helena shook her head.

“The job today wasn’t the only one this week.”

She went stiff and pulled back from the table, her eyes hard. “I told you. No jobs but the ones I give you.”

“Yeah. Something else you told me not to do,” he said looking at the champagne glass.

He leaned forward and beckoned. Helena leaned back and raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me about it.”

Carlo blinked slowly. “I’ll tell you, but you have to admit it first.”

“Admit what?”

“That I’m smart.”

She closed her hand over his. “Look into my eyes, Carlo.”

He chuckled, his motions slowing.

Helena gestured with a fingertip, placing it just below her right eyes. “Right here. I don’t want you to hear this.”

His smile grew as his features began to go slack, mouth falling open as the drug in the champagne pumped through his system.

“All you need to do right now,” Helena said. “Don’t look into my eyes. Easier to look away, ignore the color, the calm, deep color of my eyes.”

He sighed, his eyelids drooping.

“That’s it. So smart. So strong to not look, not do anything I say. Not listen to every word.”

“Smart,” he murmured.

“Of course. Very smart. The longer you don’t look, the smarter you are. So, smart not looking.”

His eyes fluttered, trying to close.

“Don’t sleep, Carlo. No. Have to stop looking into my eyes. Have to ignore every word that swirls in your mind.”

His eyelids opened too wide and lowered, struggling against the pull.

“Don’t sleep when I say. Easy to not sleep, easy to not listen. Especially don’t want to follow every command.”

“Waiting…”

“That’s it. Just keep not looking, wanting so much not to drift away. Always ignoring and not drifting away.”

He nodded, his eyes reddening and going slack.

“Doing great. And when you don’t sleep, it’s easier to not listen, not get caught up in the rhythm of my words.”

She took a deep breath. He followed it, his shoulders rising and following.

“Don’t sleep now,” she said and snapped her fingers.

His eyes fluttered and shut.

“Now, it’s quiet. Silent. Nothing but ignoring my voice. Don’t feel safe and trusting when I speak. Want me to speak so you can ignore the words. Don’t trust everything because you’re smart. Don’t trust. Don’t follow.”

Helena glanced to the restaurant. The waiter was moving between tables, and he raised his head and glanced in her direction. He then glanced to the kitchen and moved towards it.

“Now, it feels so easy to not trust and not follow that when I snap my fingers and tell you to sleep, you won’t fall back into this quiet, receptive state. You don’t want to feel good and trusting and safe, not hearing my words and following every syllable.”

His shoulders lowered as he relaxed.

“You’re not going to wake up when I say wake. You don’t make your own decisions, and you won’t remember what you wanted to tell me. You don’t want to show me how smart you are. It’s impossible not to keep it in when you can impress me.”

The waiter was moving towards the table, a tray held above his shoulder.

“Don’t wake now Carlo,” Helena said and snapped her fingers.

Carlo squinted then opened his eyes. The waiter appeared beside the table. Helena smiled. Carlo blinked and exhaled.

The waiter slid the plates before them and placed their glasses.

“Anything I can get you?”

“Nothing now. Thank you,” Helena said.

The waiter departed.

“How long are you going to keep me in suspense?” Helena asked. “You’re not going to tell me are you?”

She lifted her fork and knife and began to cut into the food.

Carlo blinked, his eyes searching. Then, his face became sly.

“We knocked off a bank,” he said.

Helena stopped chewing. Carlo nodded.

“The First National on Tuesday?” Helena asked.

He nodded and started cutting his steak. “One of the guys is friends with a security guard. First of the month. Lots of cash.”

Helena forced herself to chew. “Tell me about it.”

“Not much to tell,” he laughed and mimed pointing a gun. “Give me all your money. Go into the vault, fill the bags, and walk out.”

“What about the alarms?”

He shook his head. “In and out too fast for it to matter.”

“Dye packs?”

“We checked after.”

“They have the ones that only show up in ultraviolet now.”

He shook his head. “No dye packs.”

Helena controlled her breathing.

“How’d your friend know about the security guard?” Helena asked.

Carlo laughed. “That was the best part. The guard came to us.”

“Came to you?”

“He owed a little money, and Jimmy knew the guy from juvie. So, gave him enough to cover the debt.”

Helena set down her utensils and laid her napkin on the table. “Need to go to the ladies room.”

“Sure,” Carlo said.

She rose and went to the bathroom. Empty, she leaned on the sink and looked into her own eyes. In the kitchen through the wall, a crash of dishes fell to the ground, and she jumped.

Loose ends everywhere. Money that was tainted, a security guard that the cops could break in ten minutes. Chaos, Impulse. It would go on forever, and now, she was connected to it.

Turning on the water, she ran her hands beneath it, matching her breathing with the motion. When she’d counted to ten, she turned off the water and dried her hands.

Carlo had almost finished the steak when she sat down. Helena smiled.

“You remember how I told you not to take jobs that weren’t mine?”

He nodded. “I do, but you don’t tell me what to do.”

“You’re right, Carlo. You don’t do what I say,” she said and shook her head. “You have my 20% at least?”

Carlo’s face turned smug. “I knew you’d ask about that.”

“We’re partners.”

“On some jobs,” he said.

“Then I should find other people,” she said. “For some jobs.”

His face turned hard. “No, we’re joined at the hip from now on.”

“Then put that 20% on my hip.”

He reached into his jacket, his hand searching. Helena held her breath.

When his hand emerged, he set a piece of paper on the table and slid it across. “All there, including the bank and today.”

“Thank you.”

“Like you said, we’re just getting started.”

Helena smiled. “Carlo.”

He tilted his head.

“Don’t sleep now,” Helena said and snapped her fingers.

His eyes fluttered and closed. His fork tumbled from his hand and clattered on his plate.

“Down, Carlo. Easy.”

His shoulder drooped as his features went slack.

“A good day. Good week. Bank, payroll. Beginning of something great. Came here to treat yourself. Forget everything and treat yourself. You’re learning and forgetting and treating yourself. Easy to forget and learn. Easy to treat and learn and forget. You remember my smile and how we flirted. I thought you were handsome, and you treated me and forgot my name. Frustrating to forget my name, but you remember and forget because you need to go and forget. Waking and going and forgetting when you wake up,” Helena said then snapped her fingers. “Don’t wake now.”

Carlo snapped awake.

“That was wonderful,” Helena said. “Thank you.”

Carlo glanced at his watch. “Anytime, but I-“

He looked at Helena and began to speak then shook his head. “Sorry, need to go?”

Helena nodded. “That’s right. I understand.”

He slid out of the booth and walked towards the exit, glancing over his shoulder when he reached the door.

Helena exhaled and lifted the note. It had an address and a four digit number. She frowned, lifted it, and touched the edge to the candle burning on the table. It caught and charred to black. The locker with the money was gone. She dropped the blackened remnant into the pool of wax before rising.

She laid enough cash for the bill and a generous tip then walked out. Outside, the late afternoon had become blue twilight. On the street, the cars had become shadows of approaching headlights and receding, red taillights.

The valet caught her eye and grabbed her keys, darting for the parking lot.

Carlo had walked away from the restaurant along the street. The foot traffic had thinned, and his leather jacket glistened in the gloom of twilight. He stopped once and looked back then continued walking, shaking his head.

Helena tapped her purse against her thigh, praying the valet would hurry.

A whistling sound tickled her ears and began to grow. The valets standing at the station by the awning stepped from beneath it to look skyward. One pointed.

Helena stepped out and followed their gaze.

A shadow moved above the streetlights, a flying platform with four rings at its corners. It dipped low, and the windows of the restaurant rattled as it flashed just above the roof. As it streaked away, the wash of its passing flattened Helena’s clothes against her body. A figure in dark blue, trimmed with silver, rode the platform like a surfer riding air.

“Sentinel,” one of the valets said.

Helena looked for her car. The valet had stopped before the entrance, his eyes skyward.

Sentinel swooped along the sidewalk, and as he did, a searchlight flashed on. It zeroed on Carlo, and the platform made a large banking turn as it passed over his head, the searchlight locking on him.

Carlo turned and ran. He streaked towards the restaurant. The platform levelled, and the four fans tilted forward. Accelerating hard, it closed the distance and was over Carlo’s head. The whistling hum vibrated the air.

Diving for the parking lot, Carlo darted between cars. The platform trailed just behind. Carlo broke into an open space of empty parking spots about twenty yards from the entrance. He turned back. Sentinel was just behind, the platform diving for the ground. His sprint became crazed, hurtling himself towards the entrance. Helena realized she was in his path.

The platform settled on the ground, and Sentinel was off, the fan whistle fading. Ten yards behind, Sentinel’s speed ate the distance. Transfixed, Helena couldn’t move, and Carlo saw her, his eyes desperate. The desperation flickered to recognition, the faint glimmer of someone remembered from a crowd.

“No, no,” she whispered.

She tried to step away, but he reached and closed his arms around her. He twisted her like a ragdoll, putting her between himself and the charging Sentinel. His arm cinched across her chest. Metal clicked, and a blade slid against her throat. Sentinel took a step. The blade scraped Helena’s neck. Warm blood swelled.

Helena drew a shuddering breath.

Sentinel stopped, his body coiled, shoulders high, arms tense. She’d seen pictures, sleek and dark. In person, he was enormous. Over six feet, muscled like a football player, his eyes were ice blue behind the mask. He looked past Helena to Carlo.

His left hand flicked. A shape flew and whistled past Helena’s ear, followed by an echoing thud. Carlo’s arm went slack, and Helena twirled away, falling to all fours. A small disc spun on the ground like a coin.

She looked back. Carlo had staggered but blinked and held the knife out before him. Without a hostage, he tried to back away but was stopped by the hedges in front of the restaurant. He tried to slide to his right. Sentinel blocked the path, his hands held out in a martial arts stance.

Carlo lunged, and the knife clanged against Sentinel’s wrists, striking a guard. The blade twisted. Sentinel’s opposite hand flashed and chopped. The knife flew.

A heavy fist dropped Carlo to the ground, and before he recovered, shackles had closed over his wrists. Sentinel lifted him by the scruff of his neck like a kitten.

Helena rose to her feet. Sentinel paused and met her eyes.

“You’re safe, ma’am,” Sentinel said.

“Thank you,” Helena said and touched his shoulder.

He stiffened, his eyes going over her body before shoving Carlo before him. He retrieved the disc and looked to Helena before moving towards the platform. He secured Carlo to it then stopped onboard. It whistled and rose into the air.

The crowd moved in unison to watch the platform turn into a shadow and retreat into the darkness. When the sound had dissipated, they looked at each other.

“Guy is huge,” one of the valets said.

Gina, the hostess, stood beside Helena. “He talked to you.”

Helena nodded, her hand going to the scratch Carlo’s knife had made in her throat.

The valet still stood beside her car. She gave him a tip and got in, her hands trembling on the wheel.

He’d saved her, worked to protect her, verified her safety. He would do it again. She’d use that, and soon, she’d hear that voice, quiet and helpless, obeying every command.