Lightning Strikes Twice...

Another blast of fire bellowed down into the busy street. People
screamed, running for cover from the massive, lumbering beast, as it
relentlessly trudged on towards City Hall.
"Jesus, night of the B-movies," muttered Chris, stabbing the plus sign
on her remote control.
Click.
FBI agents, Mulder and Scully, dashed from a black Lincon sedan.
Mulder's gun was blazing, targeting some unseen quarry and, as usual,
Scully shouted for him to '?Mulder, be careful.'
Another X-Files re-run. Great, scathed Chris. She glared at the
portable TV for a few seconds before getting impatient. "For God's
sake, CBS showed this one last month. Mulder shoots the monster." With
her right hand, she made a pistol and shot the television three times;
then she blew across the tip of her smoking finger. "Blah, blah, blah,
the monster escapes, comes back, tries to get Scully because she looks
like its sister, or something like that; Mulder has another pop at it
and kills it. Ba-boom!" She shot the television again. "The end."
Click.
"Next."
The screen flickered for a few seconds before a piercing buzz cut
through the evening's serenity. It sounded like a badly tuned radio. As
she stared at the screen, fat white lines of interference ran down
through the entire picture, grotesquely misshaping the newly displayed
CNN logo.
She glanced at her watch.
9.45 PM.
So, what's Kevin up to tonight? Probably drinking himself into a
stupor somewhere downtown.
She pulled her duvet tightly up to her chin and nestled deeper into
the softness of her oversized pillows.
In truth, Chris hadn't seen Kevin, her fianc?, for over a week; not
since they'd had the dreaded children conversation again. It wasn't the
first time he'd done a runner, as he liked to put it. As usual, he'd
stormed from their apartment, car keys and suitcase in hand. She hadn't
seen or heard from him since.
Highly strung, self obsessed prick.
The whole situation reminded her of a clockwork toy: wind it up, and
off it goes. Chris would start the conversation, "Kevin, we have to
talk. You know I want children?" She knew his reaction before it
happened; always the same; never favourable. But still, she'd do it
anyway. It was a just a game she liked to play. Eventually he'd either
grow up, or leave for good.
She smirked. Right at this moment, she wasn't sure which option she
preferred; the second one definitely had its plus points.
Just then, the television picture stabilised and the static was
replaced by Denis Platel's soothing voice: CNN's anchor-man.
"?severe weather warnings right across the Eastern Seaboard. We're
expecting the tail end of Hurricane Harriet to batter Manhattan Island
later tonight. Expect storm force winds and torrential rain. CNN's
advice to all you guys downtown is, buckle up and get indoors; you're
in for one hell of a night. I'll be back with you at ten after midnight
with the latest news and weather updates. Until then, be safe, and
sleep in peace."
"Sleep in pieces you mean," said Chris, looking gingerly at her watch
again.
10.00 PM.
That's all I need; alone in this bloody apartment with a big-bastard
hurricane about to smash me to bits. Jesus, Kevin, why are you such a
prick?
An advert for Domino's Pizza cut in, idly dismissing Denis Platel's
solemn warning. Its catchy telltale jingle titillated Chris, 'Call now
for Domino's large one?' Her stomach started to rumble.
Excellent marketing technique, she thought. Selling food is easy.
These guys should try software marketing if they really want a
challenge. Chris had eaten just an hour before, but the thought of
pizza was beginning to make her salivate.
Gingerly, she reached her hand out from beneath her duvet, taking care
not to expose any more flesh than necessary. As her fingers tentatively
touched the cold plastic of the bedside phone, the storm began.
Two dazzling flashes of bright white light illuminated the apartment
block across the street. Chris jumped, momentarily stunned by the
strobe-like intensity that lit up her room. Another flash; heavy
streaks of rain lashed down from the ominously black and shrouded sky.
Darkness engulfed her again, only broken by the faint flickering from
the television.
She counted.
One, one-thousand.
Two, one-thousand.
Bang.
An earsplitting crack of thunder invaded her peaceful serenity.
Jesus Christ, thought Chris. That was bloody close.
Just then, the television picture went haywire and a heavy static
crackle replaced the congenial music from a McDonald's advert.
More lightning flashed through the window and the rain began to hammer
hard against the glass.
Nervously she pressed the mute button on the remote, and counted
again.
One, on-thou?
Bang. The thunderous roar echoed through the room, rattling the window
and vibrating on her ribcage.
Getting closer; must be nearly overhead.

Down in the street, people were running for shelter, seeking whatever
form of sanctuary they could from the sudden onslaught.
Cars had ground to a halt in the street as the sheer intensity of the
downpour flooded their windscreens, wipers flailing vainly at the
merciless torrent.
A black car sat quietly parked beside the apartment block, sheltering
two silhouetted figures from the ensuing maelstrom.
As another thunderous explosion rocked the neighbourhood, the two
shadowed figures embraced one another, joining into a single black
shape within the refuge of the plush sedan.

Chris switched off the television. A surge of adrenalin sent a shiver
down her back as another flash lit up the room.
Awesome!
Excitement gripped her, giving her a sudden urgency to see into the
heart of the maelstrom. She pulled back her duvet and jumped out of
bed.
Wrapping her soft, towelling dressing gown around her naked body, she
dashed to the window.
Chris starred down at the panicked melee in the street below,
frantically dashing for cover in the adjoining buildings.
Those poor people, Chris thought. I'm so lucky to be up here.
She glanced up at the storm clouds, now completely covering the sky.
The thick black clumps merged and separated from one another, reminding
her of wool; different shades of black and grey, being dragged through
a gigantic loom.
Without warning, two distinct forks of electric white light streaked
from the centre of the swirling blackness. They looked like the
extended claws of some oversized prehistoric bird.
The first fork disappeared from view, arcing towards the top of the
building, leaving the second snaking tendril shooting straight down
into the waiting street.
Chris drew in sharply as the racing electric charge smashed directly
into the roof of an unsuspecting car.
Jesus, I hope there was no one in there.
At exactly that moment, the thunder came; not like the other
thunderous rumbles that followed the previous flashes. This time it
literally exploded inside her apartment.
When the sound subsided, Chris snapped her head around and surveyed
the interior of the room. Fine tendrils of electric blue electric light
danced across the bedroom walls. Fingers of blue pawed their way around
the open doorway and snaked their way across the ceiling and floor. A
faint crackling sound was accompanied by a sweet and familiar smell.
She'd smelt it before, but where?
Then it came to her.
Ozone.
She'd remembered the smell from the office: beside the big laser
printer in registry. Being curious, she'd asked one of her tech guys
what the smell was. He'd explained that ozone was generated by the
printer's high energy laser breaking down the oxygen molecules into
constituent parts; exactly the same as when electricity sparked across
an air gap: lightning.
She stared around the room, transfixed by the array of surging
tendrils that crackled over the walls and ceiling.
Slowly, they converged to the middle of the room, forming a perfect
sphere of magnificent blue light, floating six inches above the floor.
Directly above, hanging from the ceiling, the light-bulb swung slowly
from its painted, white cable.
Tentatively, she took a step forward then froze. More electricity
snaked across the ceiling and down the cable, straight into the
light-bulb.
Faintly at first, it began to glow; a blue luminescence, emanating
from the fine wire filament. Then, as if summoned, the glowing sphere
of blue plasma shot upwards at tremendous speed and smashed into the
bulb.
The room went quiet. The only sound was Chris's nervous, heavy
breathing.
She stared intensely at the swinging light. It was glowing bright
blue, casting eerie, dancing shadows all around the room.
With new found purpose, she marched across to the doorway and flicked
the light switch. Nothing happened. She switched it off, then back on.
Nothing. No illuminating white light; instead, the bulb continued to
glow, electric blue, no brighter or dimmer than before.
Strange. She tried again.
Snick, snick.
Still nothing.
She walked over to where the bulb was gently swinging back and
forward.. Tentatively, she reached up and touched it.
Strange, she thought. The glass is ice cold.
She clasped it in one hand and with her other, firmly gripped its
white, ceramic socket; and then she unscrewed it.
Holding it at arms length, she stared into the glass. It continued to
glow, offering enough blue light to illuminate the rest of her
bedroom.
Then it happened.
Faint trails of blue electricity started to pour from the base of the
bulb. As they licked across Chris's exposed wrist, she felt a mild
prickling sensation, but it wasn't uncomfortable. As she watched, the
tendrils began flowing along her arm, grabbing more and more exposed
flesh in their blue electric web.
Suddenly panicked, she tried to drop the bulb. Her fingers wouldn't
move.
Shit.
With fearful realisation, Chris discovered she was stuck; no longer in
control. Then her dressing gown fell open, revealing her naked body. To
her horror she saw her reflection in the bedroom mirror. A complex web
of blue light was now covering her entire torso, encircling her breasts
and midriff, and crackling as it grew and spread. Finally, the
searching threads extended up her neck and, as if putting the last
piece in a jigsaw, slowly closed over her face. Her eyes closed, and
she prayed.

Kevin starred in dismay at the young woman sitting beside him in the
passenger seat. The cold blue envelope of electric blue light now
completely covered her body. The crackling sound reminded him of frying
bacon.
Samantha Mathew's face starred out at Kevin, expressionless. Her
black, unmoving eyes watched him from behind the veil of electric blue
light.
Kevin back into the driver's seat, as far as he could get without
actually opening the door. He grimaced as the young woman's features
started to melt, flowing into a terrible mix of red and white flesh. A
sickly sweet aroma filled the interior of the sedan. A sickness swept
over him; then he vomited.

Blackness enclosed around Christine Moran. She was floating,
weightless, like an astronaut in space.
A plethora of voices echoed through her head. She heard her father;
warm and uplifting after a day on the farm. She heard her mother's
dulcet call for supper. Her dog, Barney, barked excitedly in the
distance.
Was she dead?
Had she received a lethal electric shock?
Her eyes opened. She wasn't dead, but she definitely wasn't in her
room. Dark, blurred images danced around her, all without form, each
one soundless.

Kevin started sobbing.
"Christ, Sam, talk to me. Are you OK?"
At last, the crackling sound was starting to dissipate. Sam's body
began to appear from behind the ghostly electric shroud.
He reached out, tentatively touching her hand. The flesh felt cold,
rubbery and motionless.

Chris tried again to move her fingers. There, it happened. Movement.
Her index finger on her left moved, slightly at first, but movement
none-the-less. She concentrated and tried again. Better. Her whole hand
twitched. Afterwards, she wondered if the electricity had been
responsible, but she couldn't be certain; her engagement ring, the one
Kevin had given her, slipped from her finger, dropped down into her
lap.
It was then that she realised she was sitting. No longer upright, as
she had been moments before in her bedroom. Her eyes opened and she
looked at herself in the mirror.
Strange, she thought, this image doesn't look the same.
Something brushed her hand; fingers, searching, tenderly caressing her
flesh, dragging her from her trance.
Just then clarity arrived with a sudden jolt. She stared, shocked, by
what she saw.
It's a rear view mirror; I'm in a car!

"Sam, please tell me you're OK?" Kevin shrieked.
His eyes were still tightly closed and his face was frozen in panic.
Kevin's new trousers were now stained with fresh vomit.
Slap!
Kevin's eyes flicked open just as Chris's open palm crashed off his
jaw.
"Holy Christ, Chris, what the?"
"Pleased to see me, you disgusting little man?" Chris asked
dryly.
With her eyes half-closed in a piercing stare, she watched her
ex-fianc? squirm as he tried to think of a plausible excuse. She knew
him so well.
In one slick movement, she picked up the ring from between her legs,
put it in her pocket, and pulled open the Lincon's heavy passenger
door.
As she stepped into the night, she stole a last look in at
Kevin.
Pathetic. A pathetic, bastard, looser that doesn't deserve me.
"See ya, Kev. Don't get out, I'm fine. I'll keep the ring, by the
way." She paused for moment, as if contemplating something, then, with
sudden realisation, she leaned down and said simply, "Oh yes, I almost
forgot, you're fired."
She slammed the door shut and looked up into the night sky. The storm
was clearing. The heavy onslaught of rain was now a fine drizzle, and
it felt good. Her skin tingled, and Chris smiled.
She looked down at her clothes and recognised them immediately.
Samantha Mathew's, the secretary she'd hired for her chief editor, last
month. She laughed. Now she'd have to find a new secretary as well as a
new chief editor.
Oh well, she thought, a new start is what's needed.
Just then, the big main door of the apartment block opened and a young
woman, wearing just a dressing gown, staggered through. Her face was
streaked with tears and she looked frightened.
"Keep it," said Chris, pointing at the robe. "By the way, Sam, you're
fired." She smiled sarcastically at the young woman.
"I think I'll keep this outfit."

Samantha Mathew starred at Christine Moran, her boss. Chris looked
stunning, more radiant than Sam had ever seen her. Sam's expensive
Armani suit sat well on Chris's slim frame and her hair looked
immaculate, glistening with the fine coat of drizzle that rested on
top.

Casually, Chris stepped up to the edge of the road and stretched out
her hand.
"Taxi," she called. A yellow cab pulled up alongside.
"Where to, miss?" asked the driver.
"The Iridium Club," said Chris, climbing into the back of the cab.
"It's time?" she pondered, "?time I had some fun."