Chapter 7: Catching Flies

You catch more flies with honey than with lemons. That's what Charlie's mother used to tell her when other kids were being mean to her at private school. If you were nice enough to them, they couldn't think of anything to be mean to you about.

Truthfully, it never actually worked for Charlie, but she figured she might as well give it a shot with Beatrice anyways.

She woke up early the next day and crept out of her room as quietly as possible. As she walked into the kitchen, she eyed Beatrice's sleeping form, curled in a ball on the pullout couch.

She looks a lot less intimidating like this. I bet even I could take her!

Charlie turned back to the fridge, and, as quietly as possible, opened it up.

"What are you doing?"

Charlie spun around to see Beatrice eyeing her from the futon, hair more disheveled than usual, but otherwise looking very much wide awake. Had she even really been sleeping, Charlie wondered?

Geeze. Maybe I couldn't take her in a fight after all.

"Making breakfast!" Charlie said as delightfully as she could force.

"You know how to cook?" Beatrice scoffed.

"I mean, not really." Charlie admitted. "But I used to watch my chef cook a lot when I was growing up, so I think I can do it."

Charlie stopped herself short of saying: plus I think anyone could cook better than you.

"Alright then." Beatrice said, leaning back and turning on the television.

For a while, Charlie listened to the news reports on her kidnapping as she got together everything she needed for pancakes. The news anchors talked excitedly as they explained how the FBI was getting close to tracking the location of the broadcasts.

Except when they get there I'll already be gone.

Charlie thought with a grimace as she stirred the pancake batter. Every now and then, she stole a glance over at Beatrice, who nervously chewed her nails as she eyed the television screen.

I bet they are actually getting

close to finding me. She seems kind of nervous.

Charlie continued making the pancakes, watching Beatrice out of the corner of her eyes as she poured the batter.

"So what's on the agenda for today?" Charlie asked cheerfully as she flipped the pancake.

"I guess just sitting around until Linton gets here." Beatrice said, sounding slightly defeated.

Charlie froze in place. "What do you mean?"

"He knows where this place is. It won't take him long to figure out this is where I'm hiding. He'll probably be here to rescue you in a day or two."

Beatrice rolled her eyes as she said it, but instead of seeming scared or anxious, it seemed she was more just... slightly annoyed.

"You're not worried he's going to turn you in?" Charlie asked as she watched a pancake bubble.

"No. He wouldn't do that to me. He wouldn't do it even if I begged him to."

Charlie flipped the pancake into a plate and pointed her spatula accusingly at Beatrice.

"I knew it! You two were a thing!" Charlie said. "I bet this whole kidnapping thing was just a ploy for you to get his attention!"

"For the last time, stop being gross!" Beatrice said. She picked up a pillow and chucked it at Charlie, who ducked out of the way. "We have not, nor will we ever be, romantically affiliated!"

"I don't know, those pictures of his abs were pretty detailed." Charlie scoffed.

"I didn't draw those!"

"And yet you have them locked in your desk drawer by your bed." Charlie said, tapping her chin. "Curiouser curiouser."

"I have no interest in looking at or drawing men's abs."

"...Women's?" Charlie asked.

Beatrice only frowned in response.

"Now we're getting somewhere!" Charlie cheered. "Are you into masculine leaning bottoms who—"

At that, Beatrice seemed to get sick enough of her shit to change the subject.

"If you don't even take being kidnapped seriously, then that makes me very concerned with how you treat other problems in your everyday life."

"Well, I mean it would be different if someone who was scary kidnapped me." Charlie said.

"You don't think I'm 'scary'?" Beatrice scoffed.

"Nope." Charlie said. "Especially not when you don't have your black suit, spooky voice changer, and six inch stompy boots on."

"Alright, if I don't intimidate you, even a little bit, why don't you take a knife out of that block, stab me, and then run home to your penthouse apartment as a hero?"

"I—" Charlie stopped and took a step back, but Beatrice's gaze was unwavering. "I wouldn't do that."

"Then there must be something about me that intimidates you."

Charlie sat the plate of pancakes down on the table. Sure. It would be so easy now to attack the girl in her sleep. She could use any number of kitchen knives, or a heavy object to knock her out or even kill her so she could get away.

But Charlie didn't really know the full extent of Beatrice's powers. If the number she did on her computers at the other place was any clue, it meant in a real fight, Charlie wouldn't stand a chance.

But more importantly than any of that, Charlie couldn't imagine herself killing anyone. She couldn't picture herself plunging the sharp end of a blade into the soft skin of Beatrice's neck, and watching as streams of bright red blood pooled out. Just the thought made her sick.

"No." Charlie said. "It's just not who I am. I wouldn't kill you. If you started beating me, or cutting off my fingers to send to my father, then maybe my answer would change. But as of right now? It's a no."

Beatrice regarded her strangely for a moment, before making a vague nod of her head and turning back to the television. Charlie gave her just as strange of a look, before setting the plate of pancakes down in front of her.

Charlie silently sat down beside her with a plate of her own, and began to eat. There wasn't any syrup, so she had to do without and go with butter instead.

She decided to bring the discussion back up.

"This seems like an apartment. Why would I have to kill you when I could just bang on the walls to get someone's attention?"

"This building is abandoned." Beatrice said. "It's on a well, and I have a generator hooked up for the electricity. Only attention you'll get from banging on walls is from the rats."

Well it was worth a shot. Charlie thought. Maybe switch back to trying to butter her up.

"Well, at least your finally talking to me. You're actually kind of fun to talk to."

Beatrice didn't reply, only kept nervously chewing at her nails with her eyes on the newscast.

Don't give up. You can get through to her. Just keep pushing.

"So how old are you?" Charlie asked.

Beatrice slowly ate of piece of her pancake. "Why does it matter?"

"I'm just curious." Charlie said.

"I'm about to be twenty one." Beatrice said.

"Where did you go to school?" Charlie asked. "I'm twenty four, so you probably didn't graduate far behind me."

"I didn't go to school." Beatrice said.

"You didn't go to high school?" Charlie grimaced.

"I didn't go to any school at all."

"What?! Isn't that, like, illegal or something?"

No wonder she was so confident about me not finding out her identity. She must have been raised completely off the grid.

"My parents didn't give a shit about the law." She said. "All they cared about was me being strong. I went to school a little bit, but I promise you still wouldn't be able to find out anything aviut me."

"And who are your parents exactly?"

Beatrice groaned and rubbed her temples. "Will you please stop talking to me? It's— I'm not good at it, okay? And I don't like doing things I'm not good at."

"Oh, uh—" Charlie was a bit taken aback by her honesty. "Yes, But, can I ask you one more thing?"

"What?"  Beatrice said with a look of resignation.

"What's in the vault? And if you still won't tell me that, can't you at least tell me why you need it so bad?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Charlie turned to Beatrice and sat her plate down. "Truth is, I don't think you're as bad as you try to make yourself out to be. I think you must have a good reason for what you're doing."

"And what good will telling you that reason do me?" Beatrice turned to face her for once, but still didn't look her in the eyes.

"Maybe I might help you." Charlie said. "If I could see things from your point of view."

Beatrice rolled her eyes. "Don't."

"Come on," Charlie pressed. "If you think Copper Knight will be here in a matter of hours, what's the harm in telling me?"

Beatrice wiggled the toes of her bare feet as she seemed to mull it over in her mind. Charlie thought it was actually pretty cute, despite the circumstances.

"Do you remember the bombing at Citizen Bank? It was about twelve or so years ago?" Beatrice asked.

Charlie felt her breath catch in her throat.

"I—uh. Yeah. I remember." She managed to choke out. It was forced, but Beatrice clearly wasn't socially aware enough to notice it.

I was there, hiding behind a desk.

"The same people that were behind that are after what's in that vault. I don't want them to get a hold of it, so I'm trying to get it first." She said.

Charlie frowned and shook her head.

"But Bill Gadget was behind that. Copper Knight took him down. It was his big call to fame." Charlie argued.

I saw it happen. I've read all the articles.

"Yes, he took Bill Gadget down, but not any of the people he was working with. There were others pulling the strings from behind the scenes."

Charlie's frown deepened further. "I've never even heard anything about him working with anyone. How could you possibly know that?"

Beatrice rolled her eyes.

"I'm a villain, duh? They told me themselves they were behind it."

"And who is this 'they'?"

"The SFA." Beatrice said with a shrug.

Supers for Anarchy

Charlie hadn't heard that name in years. In fact, she was almost sure the group was defunct.

Beatrice, surprisingly, spoke up on her own accord.

"Don't get me wrong, though. I don't want you or your father or his company to have what's in that vault either. It rightfully belongs to me, and I intend to actually keep it safe."

Charlie sighed. "And you won't tell me what exactly 'it' is?"

"It's mine."

"Okay, how about this. If you think the SFA is going to get what's in that vault, why didn't you report it to the authorities?" Charlie asked.

"You probably won't believe me, but I did. I wasn't believed. Why try to get someone else to act when you can take matters into your own hands?" Beatrice said. "Now are we done?"

Charlie heaved a sigh.

"I guess."

Charlie stood up, and walked over to the sink to wash her plate.

"You don't have to do that. I can take care of the dishes." Beatrice spoke up from the couch.

"It's fine. I need something to do." Charlie said as she started her task.

I need something to take my mind off of all of this.

Charlie felt like she was sinking into the ground, and she needed something to hold her in place. She told herself to focus on the dishes, to focus on the feeling of the cheap, watery dish soap seeping between her fingers.

She wanted to focus on anything but her feelings. Anything but the fact that, for the first time since she had been kidnapped, she actually felt afraid.