This Little Piggy

Jarvis & Smith ~ Chapter 6

500 words based on a sentence selected by Dive.   Click here for more info.

This week's sentence is from Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago:  The hotel staff were being driven frantic; the incident in No.23 was only one more nuisance added to their daily vexations.

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The hotel staff were being driven frantic; the incident in No. 23 was only one more nuisance added to their daily vexations.  It was not every day that one of the guest suites disengaged from the building and jumped to rejoin the mother ship hiding behind the moon.  The Commander must have had her reasons and they would have to deal with the local authorities and the specialists who would undoubtedly be brought in from Bureau headquarters in Washington.


Jarvis, lying on the bed in Suite 23, was being driven frantic as well, being fully consumed by the expert ministrations of the intoxicating Miss Smith.  He’d arrived at the hotel in response to a scribbled note to find her dressed only in heels, silk stockings and a lovely blue sash, which seemed oddly familiar somehow.  She stripped him, learing at him hungrily, her dimples lending an incongruous air of innocence, and teased him, dancing with an intricately carved ivory fan.  Then she’d taken a more direct approach.  As he reached the outer limits of control he and the bed began to quake, which he attributed to Miss Smith’s considerable skills.  Just as he reached the point of no return, she began to hum a haunting and familiar tune.  Jarvis lost focus and then lost consciousness.

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“Tell me again why we have to wear these ridiculous getups?” asked Richmond, fastening the off-center buttons on his white smock, carefully keeping the stethoscope draped around his neck.


“Just go with it,” said Miss Smith, her eyes briefly glowing red as she adjusted her starched white pinafore and matching nurse’s cap, “It adds to the ambience.  Besides he’ll expect an element of camp.”


Richmond sighed and rolled his eyes.  The things he did to humor the Commander these days.  Once this mission was over he’d ask to be reassigned.  She’d lost all sense of decorum and gravitas.


Jarvis opened one eye and found himself lying naked, prone and spread-eagled on a cold metal table, arms and legs restrained.  He lifted his head, blinked both eyes, trying to bring the room into focus.  From what he could see, he seemed to be in a laboratory of some sort.


“Hello Gregory,” said Miss Smith, dimples flashing.  “I believe you’ve met Mr. Richmond.”


“I don’t understand.” Jarvis said.


“We’re collecting samples and checking on the health of humans of a certain age,” Miss Smith answered.  “And you’re just what we’re looking for.”


“And now,” said Richmond, “We need to run one last test.”


As Richmond reached for the metal probe suspended from the ceiling on a gimbaled arm a flash of electricity arced between his hand and the instrument.  He pulled on a pair of heavy black rubber gloves.


“This,” he said, patting the gleaming machine with a gloved hand, “We call this the Hog in Armour.  Its snout routs around just about anywhere.  Miss Smith, how about a soothing song for our friend Gregory?”


Miss Smith began to hum that blasted song again.  Jarvis’ world went black.

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copyright (c) 2010 Lulubelle B

Meeting

Jarvis & Smith ~ Chapter 5

500 words based on a sentence selected by Dive. Click here for more info.

This week's sentence is from Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest: "Out along the dim six-o'clock street, I saw leafless trees standing, striking the sidewalk there like wooden lightning, concrete split apart where they hit, all in a fenced-in ring."

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“Hi. I’m Jarv… I’m sorry, I’m Greg and I think I may be an alcoholic.  This is my first meeting,” said Jarvis.


“Hi Greg,” the others chorused.


“I’ve always been a drinker and never had any real problems.  You know, a few beers with the guys, some wine with the ladies, a couple of drinks after work.  Once in a while, maybe a hangover in the morning.


“But lately I’ve been having these blackouts.  The first time was a few weeks ago after meeting with a client in my office.  I woke up the next morning with a huge hangover and no idea what happened.  I don’t even remember having a drink, just this really bizarre dream.


“But it keeps happening every few days and I really don’t think I’ve been drinking.  That’s the sign, right? Blackouts, loosing hours and hours at a time?  I wake up walking in different parts of the city.  No real hangover, just skewed perceptions, like my brain isn’t working right, like I’m not really sure what I’m seeing and can only relate it to other images I sort of half remember.


Behind Jarvis, Richmond quietly entered the hall and sat in the last row.


“Out along the dim six-o'clock street, I saw leafless trees standing, striking the sidewalk there like wooden lightning, concrete split apart where they hit, all in a fenced-in ring.


“In the noontime glare of Times Square I saw a mosaic of vehicles, trucks, cabs, cars, all interlocking like Legos, forming a pattern I was meant to decipher but just couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried.


“In the eight am rush I saw crowds of workers standing frozen at intersections, like those Chinese terracotta warriors, waiting for the general’s command to attack, but here they were just waiting for the walk signal to cross the street.  When the light changed, they charged down the block and then froze again at the next cross-street, again waiting for the light change to animate them and restore them to motion.


“Today I found myself a block from here, standing on the sidewalk holding a flyer from a pub in England, the Hog in Armour.  ‘Located in Saint Gregory’s Back Alley’ it says.  I’ve never been to England.  I don’t know what it means.


“They say the first step is admitting you have a problem, so I’m here.  I need help.  Thanks.”


“Would anyone else like to share?” the leader asked.


As the meeting ended, Jarvis debated lingering for coffee with the others at the back of the hall.  Since the group was supposed to be anonymous, he hesitated to strike up a conversation.


Richmond approached him, small smile on his face, hand offered in greeting.


“I’m Timothy,” said Richmond.  “I heard you’re a first-timer.  I can be your temporary sponsor if you like, until you find someone permanent.”


“Jarv… um, Greg” said Jarvis, taking the other’s hand, then snatching his back as he was zapped by a small shock.


“Sorry,” said Richmond.  “Static electricity.”

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copyright(c) 2010, Lulubelle B

Probing Questions

Jarvis & Smith ~ Chapter 4

500 words based on a sentence selected by Dive.   Click here for more info.

This week's sentence is from Louisa May Alcott's Little Women:  "A pair of silk stockings, that pretty carved fan, and a lovely blue sash."
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Miss Smith waited in a booth at the back of the diner, gazing out the window and idly playing with the carved ivory fan she’d picked up at a second-hand store, its pierced floral pattern really quite attractive.  She was, as always, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit and blouse, makeup and hair fresh and immaculate.   An untouched cup of black coffee cooled at her elbow.  She checked the time on the neon clock over the swinging door to the kitchen.  He was late, as usual.  He’d say it was due to an abundance of caution.  She knew it was just sloppiness.


“Miss Smith,” he greeted her, standing tableside.  Damn, he smelled good.


“Mr. Richmond,” she sighed as he slid onto the facing seat.  Their irises briefly glowed red in recognition as they made eye contact.


“Been shopping?” he asked, noticing the fan.  He reached for the menu resting at the edge of the table, but did not open it.


“Supplies,” she said, picking up the fan and putting it into her tote bag.  “A pair of silk stockings, that pretty fan, and a lovely blue sash.”  She drew the cup of coffee toward her.


A waiter approached to top off her coffee and take their order.  Miss Smith waved him away.


“How was your evening?” Mr. Richmond asked, trying to sound casual.


“More pleasant than I’d anticipated,” Miss Smith said, a small smile playing across her face, revealing the slightest hint of her dimples.  “Jarvis is fully prepped. I set him up with two triggers.  Either the song or the catch phase will induce a trance, making him fully receptive to our instructions.  And I planted a visual in his subconscious and in his office just to keep him off-balance.”


Mr. Richmond nodded approvingly.  “So he’s a likely subject?”


“Seems to be.  He’s clever, intuitive and highly resilient.  The tests will tell us more,” Miss Smith replied, reaching into her bag and passing Mr. Richmond a small padded envelope.  “And he’s got some special skills I particularly enjoyed.”


Mr. Richmond ignored her last comment, knowing she was just trying to bait him.  Their history was personal. This was business.


“Samples?” he asked as the small package disappeared inside his jacket.


“Hair and skin.  Saliva.  Seminal fluid.  All there.”


“And the other?” Mr. Richmond continued.


“Not on a first date, Timothy.”  Miss Smith batted her eyes coquettishly.  “What sort of girl do you think I am?”


“Really Roz?” said Mr. Richmond, raising an eyebrow.  A small spark flashed between their hands, resting millimeters apart on the faded formica.  “Technically, you’re not any sort of girl at all.”


“There’ll be other opportunities,” she said.  “We’ll take him aboard the ship.  He’ll be expecting the full experience.  The strobing lights, the cold metal table, the biting restraints, the looming, menacing probe.”  She smiled broadly.


“Why wait?  You had full access last night,” he insisted.  “You just had to flip him over.”


“That would've been unprofessional,” said Rosamond, dimpling.  She beckoned the waiter.

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copyright (c) 2010 Lulubelle B