Touched by an Alien

barometer. Could not, literally, have done it without you.
    And now, the really long roll call. Thanks to: Phyllis, for saying “of course you can write” way back when and never taking it back; Mary, for being the best and most dedicated beta reader in the world, and Sal, for not complaining about the reams of paper used in the pursuit of this dream; Kay, for always believing in me, even those few times when I didn’t; all the girls (and guys) at Innerlooks Salon, for biweekly support and cheerleading; Dixie, for pushing for me to “write funny” for years; Pauline, for always being excited about my writing career and getting everyone around her excited about it, too; Kenne, Joe, Amy, James, Michelle, Keith, and Peggy, for always making even my most minor literary accomplishments sound like I was taking the world by storm; Willie, for speed beta reading and the English Professor eye; Mom, Dad, and Danny for being excited and supportive before they even understood that writing was going to consume my life; Jeanne, Michelle, Melba, Carol, Barbara, Cathy, and Marlene for being there when I had to scream about real life and then reminding me that writing was my real life; all the wonderful women and brave men in Desert Rose—you set a fabulous example of success and made it easy to duplicate; Danielle, Sean and Hilary, for long-distance European atta girls; Josh, partner in crime; Nick, for emotional support and soul cleansing at any time of day, from any and every part of the world; the Big Dawg Pack, for moral as well as writing support; Absolute Write Water Cooler, for education, support and motivation; Brittany, Kathie, Kathy, Norma, Ellen, Evelyn, Amy, Suzella, Jo, Carole, Mike, Christine, Akiko, John, Jill, Miranda, John, Mike, Michelle, Tom, Talene, and everyone else who helped along the way—you know who you are.
    Most importantly, love and thanks to my most demanding critics: Veronica, for being supportive, excited, helpful and understanding of her mother’s obsession; and Steve, for being the most patient, supportive and understanding husband any writer could hope for, especially after I burned out the fifth PC in a row and all you said was, “Let’s go get you a better one.”

WHAT GETS ME IS THAT IN ALL THE COMIC BOOKS and movies and even novels, whenever someone gets superpowers, there’s at least an eighty percent likelihood they’ll use said powers for good.
    It’s always some man or woman of science looking for a cure for the world’s ills who gets hit with the gamma rays, or an outcast kid who happens to have a wise oldster around to show him the right ropes as soon as the mutation hits. The few bad guys who turn superpowered always have some fatal flaw that renders them easy pickings for the good guys, who also manage to outnumber the baddies every time it matters.
    In real life, of course, it never works that way. At all.
    In real life, there are no superheroes.
    Of course, this doesn’t mean there are no superpowered beings.
    But never fear—I’m on it.
     
    Yeah, it doesn’t sound all that comforting to me, either.

CHAPTER 1
    MY FIRST SUPERBEING WAS AN ACCIDENT . Literally and figuratively.
    I was walking from the courthouse to the parking garage. Jury duty was over, I’d been released early, right after the lunch break, so I was free to go back to work and try to catch up on my missed half a day.
    The parking garage was across the street, so I had to wait for the light. As I stood there hoping I wouldn’t sunburn, I witnessed a small fender bender. One slow-moving car rear-ended another right in front of the courthouse, about fifty feet away from me.
    The drivers got out—man from the front car, woman from the rear—and he started yelling at her immediately. At first I figured he was raging because he’d been hit and the start of summer in Arizona always makes everyone here a little crazy, but I could hear him, and it dawned on me that this was his wife.
    She was apologizing, but he wasn’t having any of it, so she got mad, too. Their fight escalated into shouting in a matter of moments. This was a full-on domestic dispute, the kind the cops rightly want nothing to do with.
    The light changed, and I wondered if I should just head across the street to avoid getting involved with these two when it happened. The man’s rage went supernova, and all of a sudden he sprouted wings out of his back.
    I’m not talking little wings, either. They were huge, easily six and a half