Chapter One
A microwave. It wasn't exactly the ideal companion on Christmas Eve, but it was better than nothing.
"Round and round she goes," I sang as my plate of festive leftovers lazily spun around inside the microwave. "Where she'll stop, nobody knows!"
The microwave dinged. I opened the door, cradled the scorching hot plate with a dishcloth, carried it to the kitchen island, then jabbed at the turkey leg with a fork. "Well, my fowl feathered friend, it would appear that your goose is cooked."
I sighed. Even a lame ass joke like that would have gotten at least a light chuckle out of my brother if not a mild groan.
I poked at the food. It looked delicious. The cranberries glistened, the mashed potatoes were fluffy and the gravy thick and chunky... and yet I had no appetite.
"Merry Christmas, Lois," I said softly and pushed the plate aside.
Deflated, I looked around and soaked in my surroundings. I was sitting in my brother's spacious kitchen, alone. He, his wife and their two wonderful children were currently on route to a warm destination to enjoy Christmas together on a tropical beach. I'd been invited but had politely declined.
I think I mumbled something about wanting to catch up on some light reading which was complete BS. I just... I just couldn't do it. Not now, not after yet another messy breakup. I was sapped, running on fumes and I didn't want to ruin their vacation by spending it being mopey at the swim up bar.
He then offered to let me crash at his luxurious family home and I accepted. Besides, it was a huge upgrade from my tiny apartment.
There were a few conditions.
I reached over and checked the list he'd left me. It was short: water the plants every few days and feed their beloved cat Daisy.
Wait... they had a cat?
I stood up, and searched for its bowl. When I found it, it was still full. But where was the damn thing? I swear I hadn't seen it when I arrived. It hadn't gotten out, had it?
As if timed, I heard a crash from the basement. Had I accidentally locked it down there?
I set down the list of instructions and left the kitchen.
...how to describe my brother's house.
Think of your favorite warm-hearted comedy from the 80's. Now, do you remember that ridiculously large house they all lived in? Picture that but with the holiday charm cranked up to eleven.
There were Christmas decorations everywhere. I'd stopped walking around the house barefoot because I was constantly pulling tinsel out from between my toes. And don't get me started on the wreaths. If everything wasn't so sickeningly jolly, you'd think you'd stumbled into a funeral parlor.
I walked through the lobby, past the enormous Christmas tree to the basement door, opened it and descended the stairs. The finished basement served as a movie den as well as a refuge for my brother's abandoned gym equipment.
"Here..." What was the cat's name again?
There was another loud bang from behind a closed door. What if it wasn't the cat? I thought as I crept up to it. What if a gang of raccoons had laid low till the coast was clear and were planning to ransack the place? Then what?
Well, it's too late to go grab a pair of oven mitts and a garbage bag, I thought as I opened the door and peered inside.
A shadow hung in the air like a thick fog. Steel shelves lined the walls stocked with cardboard boxes and plastic bins. One had fallen, spilling its contents across the concrete floor. The family cat lay in the center, chewing on an old plush toy.
"Caught you red handed." Smiling, I reached down and scooped her up. She purred loudly as she continued to gnaw on the plush toy.
"Keep it," I said as I scratched behind her ears. "If it'll keep you out of trouble for a few hours, it's all yours."
I was about to leave when something caught my eye. It was the colors. There was something there, the combination of the cherry red and honey lemon that resonated with me, scratching the surface of an old memory.
I set the cat down, reached into the pile of clutter and pulled out...
"No way," I whispered. "He's still got it."
There is a long list of toys from our collective childhood that are most likely now buried in a landfill. Had we kept them safe, hidden from our neat freak of a mother, we probably could have made a tidy profit selling them on the internet. Sadly, it was not to be, and I had assumed none had survived.
One apparently had and I was now holding it. It was a bit weathered; the paint was chipped, and the limbs were loose but there was no mistaking it.
"Well hello, Chuck POW'er," I said as I held up the plastic action figure. "How's your turbo action kung-fu fist? Still got its supersonic spring?"
I pulled his arm back and it snapped forward. "Well, they certainly don't make them like they used to, do they?"
I turned him over in my hand. He was exactly as I remembered him, a ridiculous amount of muscles all painted red with bright yellow undies. I think he originally came with a cloth cape, but my brother had lost it during one of his many adventures.
Chuck POW'er had been a staple during my childhood, back when cartoons served only one purpose: to sell toys. I still remember how the Chuck POW'er phenomenon swept through our school, his toothy grin slapped onto backpacks, lunchboxes and just about every other product you could think of. Hell, there was even a cereal! I'd never tried it but could still vividly remember the commercials, and hot damn, did those puffs of golden wheat and brightly colored marshmallows look delicious!
There was an entire lore built around him, including his allies, enemies, and an array of combat vehicles, all carefully posed in the holiday catalogs.
There was only one problem...
Chuck POW'er and the extended POW'er man universe were boys toys. No girls allowed.
It had annoyed me to no end, and I'd specifically asked Santa for one. Whether the letter was lost, or ignored, I'll never know. I mean... it's a long way to the north pole, a lot can happen along the way.
I still remember that Christmas morning. I woke up before the sun rose, rushed down the stairs, clawed through the mountain of presents for mine, and feverishly tore through the wrapping paper, only to discover a Susie needs your constant attention doll while my brother not only got a full battalion of Chuck POW'er's closest allies, but he also got his arch nemesis Doctor Torment and his remote volcano command base.
"So stupid," I whispered, the pain of the memory still lingering.
I set the Chuck POW'er doll down and picked up the cat. "That's enough time spent wandering down memory lane. How does some leftover turkey sound?"
The cat meowed approvingly. I carried her and her new toy upstairs and prepared her a small plate of turkey. She devoured it, flopped down on the kitchen floor and licked her paws clean.
"Will that tide you over for a while? Cause I plan to sleep in, ideally till the new year."
The cat ignored me as I turned off the lights. "Merry Christmas, furrball," I said and walked out of the kitchen. I crossed the lobby, past the giant Christmas tree and headed up the winding staircase.
...a winding staircase.
They even had a winding staircase decorated for the season. The pleasant pine needle scent was a nice departure from the smell of microwaved fish soaked into the concrete of the stairwell I climbed whenever my apartment's ancient elevator broke down.
I prepared for bed, grabbed hold of a big fluffy pillow, sunk below the bed's thick blankets and drifted off to sleep, my only wish, that this nightmare of a holiday would soon be over. As I sank into a deep sleep, I dreamed.
Chapter two
In the vanity's pale fluorescent light my makeup was flawless. I'd done it myself, having discovered that no one on the remote volcanic island had any clue how to apply mascara. Seriously, were there no henchwomen amongst them?
My hair was done up in an elaborate bun, held together with a jeweled tiara. I wore a sparkling diamond necklace around my neck. My shoulders were bare, the top of my long, elegant snow white wedding gown just barely holding up my ample breasts. It was a bit on the slutty side, but I was after all... a bad girl.
I reached down and tugged the gown up. The cups kept slipping, my girls eager to escape. Would I make it through the ceremony without popping out? Perhaps.
There was a knock at the door.
"Your elegance?" a voice whimpered through the door.
"What is it?" I growled.
The henchman gently opened the door, peered inside, and spoke, his voice trembling. "The preparations have all been made. We're ready when you are..."
I grabbed a plastic hairbrush from the vanity and hurled it over my shoulder. It hit the door with a loud bang. "I'll be ready when I say so," I hissed.
"Sorry, your excellence, my apologies your..."
I reached for a small oval mirror. He slunk away and closed the door.
Fools, I thought. The lot of them. All fools!
My temper has a short fuse. It's not the first time I've berated a henchman and I doubt it will be the last. I blame it on the volcanic island. From the sky it's a glittering gem, exotic and exciting. But on the beach, after you've cut through the thick thorny under bush, you discover it's infested with mosquitoes, and stinks like a rotten egg.
Weeks stuck on it had eroded my last nerve. I was about ready to strap myself to the lairs' secret hidden rocket if it meant I could escape this wretched place.
...after the wedding.
I stood up, crossed the room and opened the door. "Still here?"
The henchman cowered on his knees.
"Yes, your excellence. In case I could be of assistance."
...your excellence. They'd been calling me that ever since I'd arrived. I hadn't bothered to correct them.
"Well, don't just stand there," I barked. "Lead the way."
"Yes, your excellence, of course, your excellence," he said, stood up and scurried off down the hallway. I followed him, holding up my wedding gown's long train.
