Thank You, Mr. Hookworm (The Good Vibes Series Book 1) Page 2

  “My dear, I assure you, there is nothing wrong with your brain and nothing—” Mittens’ assertion was interrupted by a knock on the door. She sat down and murmured, “Not a word about your new revelation or you will be spending the next couple years after school in therapy.”

  “Which revelation? So many today,” Sidra whispered to the cat. Louder, she called, “Come in” as the cat smirked at her.

  Sidra’s mother, Margo, entered the bedroom with a load of laundry in a basket. “Do you have any colors for the wash?”

  “Uh, no, Mom, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

  Margo indicated a pair of jeans and t-shirt slung over the desk chair. “What about this?”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Satisfied, Margo procured the clothing and backed out of the room, balancing the laundry basket as she closed the door.

  As soon as the door clicked shut, Sidra whirled on the cat, who jumped as cats do when startled. Mittens raced under the bed.

  “Oh no you don’t, you furry little friend!” Sidra stuck her head under the bed and glared at the cat, who faced her back, blinking her yellow-green eyes. “Can you talk now because I suddenly have some weird superpowers?”

  The cat blinked annoyingly slow, smirking again as she formulated a response. “No, Sidra, you suddenly have superpowers because I can talk.”

  3

  Good Vibe Two: Valette

  The early morning traffic was incredible today. Valette Vincent sat strumming her fingers on the steering wheel of her old Toyota, becoming more and more pissed off at the noise, stink, and sight of the car graveyard around her. It was worse than usual and nothing, absolutely nothing, was moving.

  “Just trying to get to work,” Val mumbled, forcing herself not to use foul language. She was on a curse diet these days, having been reprimanded then formally written up for using “language unbecoming an employee of August House.”

  “August House, my a-…my butt,” she fumed with some satisfaction at changing her word choice, even though she was alone. She hated having to work, but her recent divorce kind of forced her to seek employment. She hadn’t worked in a good ten years, so her behavior under the tyranny of management needed a tune-up.

  August House was a drug rehabilitation facility, catering to the rich and not-very-famous…or those addicts with really excellent insurance. The clientele were whiny, needy, and helpless, having been deprived of their drugs and alcohol. Some were downright bitchy, particularly when the delirium tremors wore off and they started to get a whiff of normalcy. Every evening, when Val came home to her shitty rented house, a huge comedown from her four-bedroom suburban ranch, she poured a nice glass of Zinfandel and toasted each and every one of her clients, then prepared a lonely dinner for herself.

  Prior to her now-defunct marriage, Val was a drug counselor for a local school district. She had a pretty good salary, a raise every year, health insurance, and a pension. She had a nice little apartment in the city and some disposable income. She met Ray when she was on a panel for the mayor to promote drug awareness in the community. Ray was a rising star in a public relations firm that the city had hired and had a very promising future. Six figures promising. When Ray approached Val after that first meeting with the mayor, she flashed her million-watt smile, thanking the Lord above that she had purchased a brand new red suit and matching three-and-a-half-inch heels just for today. The suit accentuated her enviable (at the time) curves and complemented her café-with-a-little-au-lait skin. The heels pushed her up to five-eight, bringing her to just under Ray’s chin. She tilted her head up at him and beamed. He beamed back, yards of perfect white teeth showing between full, sensual lips. She couldn’t take her eyes off that mouth, picturing it on her own mouth and…other places. Unconsciously, Val fanned herself at the memory. He was so hot back then. Still hot now, if she’s being honest. But she was still furious with Ray, so his ‘HQ’ - hotness quotient - had diminished a bit. Now she had a crappy job that paid very little, as the school district was cutting counselors and wouldn’t hire her back, and she had to settle for this gig at August House.

  A silly teen pop song came on the radio - a catchy one, as well as stupid.

  I love you for your hair, but you just don’t care.

  You catch me by surprise, widening my eyes.

  I think you are so beautiful, but your ‘love yous’ are so dutiful.

  I love you for your hair, and now it’s just not fair.

  Val let out a guffaw at the lyrics as she strummed along on the steering wheel. The air conditioning suddenly failed at that moment and Val let out a string of curses, forgetting her resolve of curbing her profanity. She hated being warm; she was always overheating these days and suspected that pre-menopause was to blame. But an odd thing was happening. Instead of blowing outward, the air vents were sucking inward. Val felt herself being pulled toward the vent; she watched as her right hand almost vaporized and disappeared into it.

  “What the f—” Val exclaimed and was drawn into the car’s ductwork.

  Something with horns growled at Val as she was lying prone on the floor of what looked like a dark, dank cave. She groaned, trying to acclimate herself to her surroundings.

  “Fireball! Use your fire-power!” someone was yelling at her. “Quick! Siran is going to attack!” Val turned her head to the left, where the voice was coming from. A kid, maybe twenty years old and dressed in some kind of superhero getup, was shouting at her.

  “Fire-power?” The weird monster was getting closer.

  “Fling it, Fireball! Hurry up!! I lost my lance and I can’t get to you. Use your fire-power!”

  “How?” she screamed. “Go away!” she shrieked at the monster, flinging her hands up defensively. Fire formed at the tips of her fingers, growing faster at an alarming rate. She shook her hands forward and the fireballs flew through the air at the creature, which burst into flames and dissipated, leaving the horns and ash behind.

  “Good job, Fireball! Take his horns and let’s get out of here!”

  Val glanced at the kid, who looked vaguely familiar, and then at herself. She was wearing a similar costume to the kid’s—a form-fitting red leotard and knee-high white boots and a white cape. What the—? Thank God I continued the Pilates, she thought randomly, although it had been several months since she had exercised. It seemed to her she looked really good in this costume and had some muscles on her arms…

  A loud honk from behind her interrupted Val’s…what? Reverie? Hallucination? Stroke? She shook her head to clear her brain and realized traffic was moving in front of her. She placed her foot down and accelerated the car. Sweat poured down her face as she replayed the frightening daydream. The air-conditioning definitely had to be fixed. She would look into that after work. Right now, she was running late. However, all thoughts of work and air left Val’s mind as she changed lanes and glanced over at the passenger seat. There sat a pair of horns.

  4

  Valette pulled into the parking lot of Autumn House, still shaken from the events of the morning and also confused as to what she was going to do with the horns that apparently came from Siran, the figment of her imagination. She decided to shove them into the trunk as she went about her workday. That would be awesome for the drunks and druggies to see, that she was carrying around products of her own hallucination. Would that increase or diminish her credibility, she wondered? It wasn’t like she felt she had a handle on their recovery as it was, since she never had been an addict. Can you imagine, she further mused, a job at which you are more effective because you were a user? The addicts wouldn’t have to lie on the application or at the interview. She didn’t have to do either of these things, as one of her former bosses was on the board of directors and plopped her right in. He was regretting that a little now, she would bet. She was not the go-getter she had been before her life changed.

  Val popped her trunk from inside the car and reached for the horns with the intention of carrying them to the rear of her Toyota Camry. As sh
e placed her hands on them, they jolted her. ZZZZZ! “Oh, ow. No way—shit!” She shook her hands and fisted them near her mouth. That hurt! What was she supposed to do? Leave the horns in the car? Suppose that Siran guy came to life and was sitting in the car when she came out? Someone might think he was a date or something. She giggled to herself as that thought crossed her mind.

  “Oh, Siran, are you horn-y today, my darling?” she said out loud as she went around to her trunk to see what materials she had to help her with those horns. She felt stupid for saying that and looked around for any coworkers that might have overheard. Fortunately, she was late and missing a team meeting at the moment, and everyone else was either at their desks or in the meeting. Awesome, she thought.

  The trunk contained some of the kids’ old toys (shows you how old my car is, she thought), a blanket, a beach umbrella, the donut spare tire, and a pair of Trevon’s mittens, circa three years ago. Would the mittens of a, what, six-year-old fit on her hands and insulate her against those horns? She tugged them on and found that they were the stretchy kind found in Target that covered her palm but did not touch her wrist. Fine, she wasn’t playing in the snow or anything. Just moving some horns. She grabbed the blanket too and crept over to the passenger-side door of the Camry. She opened the door and threw the blanket over the horns, seized them with her gloved hands, and ran back to the trunk. Val could swear they were vibrating mutedly under the blanket. “Gotcha, ya sombits,” she crowed triumphantly as she tossed them into the trunk, slammed it shut, and walked to the driver’s side door. She stretched over the front seat, yanked her pocketbook and lunch bag out of the back seat, and slung them over her shoulder, brushing her hands together to symbolize a job well done. She forgot she was wearing the gloves, although how she did not notice that small detail was beyond her when she received some stares at the meeting that she attended that morning, arriving later than anyone.

  After the meeting, Val’s boss scheduled her for an “informal” meeting with him and the director of Autumn House. The subject matter was not revealed to Val, but she had a feeling it was not good. She was not told to bring any particular files, so it was probably not about a patient, but an ambush meeting for which she could not possibly be prepared. Ugh. She cleared the thought of possible unpleasantness out of her mind and went to face her first patient of the day. Client, client, she reminded herself. They called them clients to make sure they didn’t know they were sick. A rose is a rose is a rose, she thought as she entered the reception area to her office. She nodded to the receptionist, Frieda, a stern-looking but pleasant woman, and noted that her patient (client!!!) was waiting for her. I bet she wouldn’t mind my mittens, Val thought as she passed. Although she was used to all kinds of fashions, this one was quite unique. The client was a twenty-something white woman, copiously tattooed and completely bald. I wonder how drunk ya gotta be for all that, Val reflected fleetingly before smiling at the woman and motioning with her head to follow. The woman brushed by Val and entered the office. Rude? Or no boundaries? It could be either or both, as many clients had issues with touching and were kind of nasty as the drugs left their system, Val observed. Val entered the office as the woman seated herself on the comfortable couch.

  Val cleared her throat. “Hello, um, Bella. How are you today and what brings you to Autumn House?” She actually knew the answer to both questions—she was a heroin addict, as detailed in her file; not so freakin’ great, as detailed by her frowning face.

  As if reading her mind, Bella responded by pushing up her sleeve and exposing some tattooed arm sleeves. Between some ivy vines on the inside of her arms were needle track scars, some fresher than others.

  “Hmmm,” Val stated after peering at the marks. “How long since you last used?”

  “Eternity or maybe a week,” Bella answered morosely. “It’s all the same. They finally decided I was fit to see you today. How was your commute in, Fireball?”

  “F-f-fireball?” Val stuttered. “How do you know about—”

  “Who do you think arranged your audition this morning?” Bella sneered at Val. “Do you think you ended up in the so-called underworld because you chose to? That fire came out your fingers randomly? That you slew Siran on your own? That was a simulation, honey! The real thing is going to be MUCH. MORE. CHALLENGING!” Bella punctuated the last three words by standing up and grabbing Val by the shoulders and giving her a shake with each utterance. Val, shocked by the information, stood limply, head lolling on her shoulders. Bella wasn’t through yet, however.

  “And who do you think was the one your husband left you for?” she asked viciously. “Where do you think he went after he left your dumb ass?”

  Val shook her head to clear it. “Wh-what did you say? Are you kidding? You and Ray…?”

  “Every-which-way Ray! Yes! I broke up your empty little marriage, made sure he got custody by having you declared unfit, forced you to get this job, and arranged to get on your patient list so that we would meet at this moment! And it was so easy! You are such a compliant little pat of butter. Why you were chosen is beyond my comprehension.”

  Val stared at the nutjob in front of her, wide-eyed. The words were starting to make sense to her, even though their meaning was seemingly impossible. “Are you saying you slept with my husband, got him to leave me, made me somehow lose my kids, and forced me to Have. To. Work!?” With each of the last three words, Val smacked Bella on the head with her file. Bella belted Val, who was a head shorter than her, across her head, knocking her into the couch. Val landed sitting but sprang up as soon as she could and grabbed Bella around the waist, pushing with her whole body so that Bella was backed over the top of Val’s desk with Val on top of her.

  At that point, Frieda opened the door to Val’s office, presumably alerted by the grunting, screaming, and furniture banging. She said, “Oh!” and ran back to her desk, plucking up the phone receiver.

  Minutes later, security arrived.

  5

  “So why are you just starting to talk now? I have had you for three years. You’ve seen me naked, for God’s sake! What’s up with that, Mittens?”

  “Yeah, the big boss wants you to work out a bit. We can supply the muscles to bulk up those stick arms and chicken legs, but you have to build the endurance.”

  “You supply the—” Wait, now, who is the big boss? But before Sidra could formulate the question, Mittens continued with her issues.

  “Oh, and about this Mittens moniker, I prefer the name Saturn.”

  “How do I explain this to my family?”

  “You can call me Mittens in front of them and Saturn when we’re alone.”

  “No, Saturn, I meant how do I explain the talking cat, superhero, sudden muscles bulging thing?”

  Mittens waved her paw. “Ehhhh. That should not be an issue. I certainly shall not be speaking with you in front of others, they are used to you speaking to ‘the cat,’ the muscles are only present while you are battling, which, for the moment, will only be confined to the underworld, and you are certainly no superhero. That has to be earned. Who knows if you will be successful?”

  “What is this all? An audition? My cat is going to prove me worthy? I chose you, remember?”

  “You chose Mittens, not me, which was not a serendipitous occurrence, and yes, you are being tested.”

  “Why me?” Sidra actually had a million questions swirling around in her head, but this one seemed to be a good place to start.

  “We look for recruits that fit a certain profile, if you will, plus we recruit when there is a need.”

  “Great. So I definitely fit the profile of expendable loser, but what is the need?”

  Mittens (she was definitely not going to call the cat Saturn) smiled slightly and informed her blithely, “We have reason to believe that the world is going to end.”

  Sidra absorbed this information for a moment, then asked, “Who is ‘we’?”

  “We are an international organization that works with many nations,
planets, and galaxies. Our role is to identify weaknesses in the planet’s infrastructure where underworld elements might escape, beat down said elements, and plug up their escape routes.”

  “Kind of like a road repair crew?” Sidra was picturing a pothole crew beating down evil creatures with baseball bats and then fixing the holes with tar and asphalt or whatever they used.

  “Sort of,” Mittens replied.

  “How do you know what is going on in the world? You’re an indoor cat!”

  “Good heavens, child! What a stupid question!”

  “Ms. Jenkins said there are no stupid questions,” Sidra said, referring to a past teacher, the last teacher she loved.

  “Ms. Jenkins has an online degree in stupidity.”

  Sidra glared at the cat. Then her face relaxed and turned a little pink. “Why was Smith in the cave with me?”

  “He was selected as your trainer due to your affinity for him.”

  “So he belongs to this group?”

  “Of course. How would we be able to recruit members without popstars to entice them?” Mittens chuckled and rolled on her back, exposing her white-and-gray-striped belly. As a reflex, Sidra reached over to rub it, then pulled her hand back.

  “Awk-ward!” they said in unison. Sidra smiled at her talking kitty.

  “Any more questions?” Mittens asked with a yawn. “I am getting awfully tired. And you have school tomorrow.”

  Sidra was astonished to see the time on her phone. It was already ten-thirty. “Not right now, I guess. This is all enough to guarantee I stay awake for the next few nights.”

  She was wrong; Sidra slept pretty deeply that night but dreamed a strange dream.

  That she dreamed that night was not so surprising, but the subject matter of the dream seemed almost as though it was placed in her consciousness. Sidra remembered the dream vividly upon waking, Mittens sitting at the end of her bed, alternately washing her paw and doing that weird smirking thing she took to perfecting ever since she revealed her verbal aptitude to Sidra the previous night. Evil little bitch, Sidra thought. She was starting not to like her little cat as much as she had, though she felt that their roles were changing and, as a result, she respected the cat a bit more than she had when Mittens was a mere pet.