BRAINSTORM

Chapter Thirty-one - A painted warrior.

Jack roamed his apartment, searching for something to replace his feeling of helplessness. As he passed the office, he couldn't help but think of all the progress TR had made. Despite everything that was going on, he was still interested in the research, and that made him feel like an awful person. Was he just another selfish scientist?

Thoughts nagged and grew more difficult to ignore the harder he tried. So, he stopped trying. Maneuvering his shoulders through the entrance to the office, he sat down. As long as the work had already been done, there was no reason not to use it. It would almost be wasteful. It was only an excuse, and it made him feel guilty. But wasn't there some truth in it? He pulled a notebook and pen out of a briefcase that had been lying around.

Power up. Jack commanded. The screens to his right and left popped on. He positioned himself in front of the TR tablet to see the equations. Jesus, looks like they've nearly figured it out already. He scrambled to uncap his pen and flew to an open page in his notebook, almost tearing it. Like an electrocardiogram machine, he scribbled down information at a frenetic speed.

He spent several hours copying all the important information, not taking a break except to get some water and use the bathroom. Half the time he was thrilled by what TR had figured out, and the other half he couldn't help but wonder what had been done to them to make them so brilliant.

The uncomfortable truth was that Jameson and Maxwell had been right. Whatever they had done here, however immoral, illegal, or cruel, it had worked. TR was the most successful computer in the world—except it wasn't powered by binary code and electronics. It was fueled by the sheer strength of unadulterated human genius. Jack found it incomprehensible that TR had achieved in a couple of months what he had struggled to do for years. And, it would all come to an end when he revealed CIRAS's cruelty to the world. That was the bitter reality.

Jack transcribed the most crucial information. There was too much to write down every line. Ellen would have to act when she saw the opportunity. Neither one of them knew exactly when that might be. It could be tonight, or it could be days from now. Either way, they had to be ready.

Jack thrust the notebook in a backpack and stuffed it under the bed. Then sat, his head in his hands, wondering what to do next.

The buzz of his phone startled him. Lifting his head up, he saw the message on the screen: Going to Scott's tonight.

Now it begins. Blood pounded through his temples. He thought he could hear it echo in the room. He typed his reply: Be careful.

~~~

Ellen sat at the vanity in her bathroom and applied her makeup. The heaviness of the moment intruded, and her hands moved reluctantly, as if through thick liquid.

It was difficult to get Scott to agree to see her. She always could read him well and knew he wasn't really interested in getting together. And yet, as usual, his weird attachment to her caused him to agree anyway. Though his reluctance would have consequences. She would have to allow him to demean her in bed. That never failed to turn him on when he was having trouble getting into it.

Ellen submerged her worries, dipping her brush into a sable-colored shadow. She held her eyelid taut with her index finger as she applied the hue in smooth, broad strokes. She repeated the process with the other eye, taking her time. She pulled her face back from the mirror to check the results, adding a bit more shadow to the crease of her right eye to match the other precisely.

She hadn't had sex with Scott since she had started things back up with Jack, and the thought of having to let him inside her flooded her stomach with acid. How had she managed to get herself so involved with such an unstable person? Why hadn't she seen the signs when she accepted his job offer?

Greed and insecurity were the honest answers. That, and she really hadn't seen initially how truly cruel Scott was. By the time she did, it was too late. Beating herself up wouldn't help anyone now. She concentrated on applying her eyeliner.

Putting on makeup calmed Ellen. Part of her was soothed by her ability to make herself look beautiful, even if what she had to do was ugly. She reminded herself she was doing something brave – brave and important. Something that would make her father, had he been alive, proud of her. She had a new angle from which to view herself and this evening. Her makeup became war paint, and the seductive clothing she put on would be her armor.

She was doing something tonight that she was not sure she had ever done before, standing up for what she believed in. She was surprised to find that it gave her strength that extended beyond the tenuous power of lipstick and high heels.

The ceremony complete, she spun her eyes to the full-length mirror in the corner, assessing her image with newfound disinterest. Her smooth, high bun emphasized her kohl-lined eyes and full lips. Turning her back to the mirror, she looked over her shoulder. The forest-green halter dress was high at the neck but came down low in the back. The hanging fabric just grazed the place where her back ended and her ass began. The front hem reached her knees, while the back fishtailed near her ankles, repeating the lines of its open back suggestively. She evaluated her dress like a scientist, with cool remove.

Ellen extended her wrist away from her body and looked down at it. The gold and snakeskin cuff on her right wrist matched her black snakeskin heels. The bracelet seemed like a shield. Its dramatic size emboldened her narrow. She prayed for its protection tonight.

~~~

Jack knew he should stop Ellen. Tonight she was walking willingly into the lair of a monster. What the hell had they been thinking? Had they actually convinced themselves they could bring down CIRAS on their own? It had been stupid and ill-planned. Jack felt panicked. He wanted to run to Scott's apartment and pull Ellen out of there as soon as possible. He wanted to scream at her to forget the whole thing. Jesus Christ, she could be killed!  

On top of that, Elvis had gone MIA, too. Jack hadn't seen or heard from him in days. He suspected that Elvis had pragmatically decided it was better to stay out of the way and keep his mouth shut, especially after what had happened to Jameson. Jack could describe the action as cowardly but really it was just practical.

Jack clamped his teeth together and unconsciously balled his hands into fists. Staying away—that was what he should have told Ellen to do, instead of supporting a plan that put her in real danger. Guilt made him ask himself if she was just trying to prove herself to him so he wouldn't judge her for her past.