Mandy White's Blog: Dysfictional, page 21

A Stitch in Time

~ Published in Dysfictional 3, a free Kindle download May 21-25: ~

[image error]~ If only revenge could be that simple… ~

The sound of the shower ceased. Heather’s head poked out of the bathroom, wrapped in a blue towel.

“You don’t have an outlet in here,” she said.

“Well, it ain’t the Hilton.”

Heather held up a blow dryer. “How am I supposed to use this?”

“There’s a mirror in the hall. The outlet there should reach.”

Josh heard an exasperated sigh, followed a few minutes later by the sound of the blow dryer in the hallway. He rummaged in his sewing box for the right scrap of fabric. He found a suitable piece, snipped it to the correct shape, and then threaded the needle with matching thread. He sat calmly, stitching the pieces together.

The blow dryer stopped. Heather returned to the bathroom and Josh heard the clatter of makeup items being dumped on the countertop.

“I appreciate you letting me stay here,” she called through the open door. “I didn’t want to bother with a hotel for just one night.”

Not like you couldn’t afford it, Josh thought.

“Not a problem.” He snipped the thread and started a new seam on the other side.

“I’m going to stop by the hospital on my way to the airport. I need to see her one more time before I go…you know, just in case.”

Josh said nothing.

“I really wish you’d go with me.”

Not a hope in hell, he thought.

“Josh?” Heather poked her head out of the bathroom.

“What?”

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you. And the answer is no.”

“But Josh! She’s our sister!”

“YOUR sister. Not mine.”

“She’s sick, Josh. Really sick, and they don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

“Don’t care.”

“How can you say that? How can you not care?”

“You have no idea how easy it is.”

Heather emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed and made up. She stood in front of Josh. “How can you be so cold? She is your sister, Josh! She is family.”

“Ex-sister, and she is no family of mine.” Josh stitched furiously, pulling the thread too tight and causing the fabric to pucker. He loosened the thread before continuing.

“But she needs us. She has no one else.”

“Boo-fucking-hoo. I told you I don’t care.”

Heather thrust her cell phone in front of his face. “Please, just look at this. I made a video so you can see I’m not exaggerating.”

Josh finished the seam and knotted the thread before pausing to watch the video. He supposed it would be disturbing to watch…for someone else. The woman in the video screamed and thrashed on the hospital bed.

“What’s with the restraints?”

“Apparently she tried to claw her own eyes out. According to the doctors, she came in that way. Blind and screaming about pain in her eyes.”

“Holy shit!” He let out a chuckle. “She really is fucked up.”

“You think this is funny?”

“It kind of is. Not ha-ha funny. More like poetic justice.”

“You know what I think? I think it’s guilt. She regrets what she did to us, especially to you, and can’t express it, so it’s made her sick.”

“I agree with you there. She brought this on herself.” Josh said.

“Why don’t you go and see her?”

“Now that’s funny!”

“Maybe your forgiveness is all she needs. Couldn’t you find it in your heart to try?”

“I’ll send thoughts and prayers.” His voice dripped sarcasm.

“Don’t you think she’s suffered enough?”

“Oh, no. Not even close.” He snipped the thread and reached for a spool of red to match the next piece of fabric.

“What the fuck are you even doing? Are you sewing?”

“It would appear that way.”

“What are you sewing? Are those…doll clothes?”

“Mama Antoine has been teaching me.”

“Who?”

“Mrs. Antoine is kind of like a mother to the whole block. She makes dolls. I help her out with chores and she’s been teaching me to make stuff. I’ve learned a lot from her. It’s very relaxing.”

“I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know you.”

“And that’s always been the problem, Heather!” Josh set aside his sewing project to give her his full attention. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You don’t know much of anything except for your own life. Where the fuck were you when I was thrown out of my home? The house MY father wanted to leave to ME, his only son. You knew what Dad wanted, but you didn’t stick up for me. You didn’t stand with me when I wanted to challenge the will. You knew Kristen was mentally incompetent, but you just stuck your fucking head in the sand! Where were you when she was out of control, and I needed your help?”

“I didn’t know how badly out of control she was, Josh. I wish things had gone differently.”

“A stitch in time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s an old saying: ‘A stitch in time saves nine.’ It’s about taking preventative measures. If you act when you first see a problem you can prevent something worse from happening.”

“I couldn’t possibly have known how bad it would get.”

“You didn’t WANT to know. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. In fact, you went to great lengths to make sure nobody could tell you anything. Running around the Australian outback with your husband, hiking some Bibbity-Boobity Trail. Who in their right mind goes for a walk for three fucking months?”

“The Bibbulmun Track is a huge commitment. We trained for months to prepare for that hike.”

“Your timing was impeccable. You found the perfect place to hide where nobody could reach you. A convenient excuse to not get involved. Let poor dumb Josh twist in the wind while Miss Psycho destroys everything his father worked a lifetime for.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“It’s always like that. You’re always training for some kind of marathon. You use fitness as an excuse to hide from anything you don’t want to face. You ignored what was happening, what she was doing to me. It wasn’t until she attacked you that you stepped up and did anything. But by then it was too late.”

“There are things more important than money, Josh.”

“Says the wife of a millionaire. You didn’t get pissed off until she wanted money from you. Yeah, there are things more important than money. Dad wanted me to have his fishing gear and tools. Those are the best memories I have of him, and it meant more to me than money. I would’ve gladly paid for them, but I wasn’t even allowed to do that. Instead, she has an estate sale behind my back and sells my memories to strangers for a few lousy bucks.”

“It was wrong of her to do that, I agree. But can’t we let by-gones be by-gones?”

“Maybe you can, but you have a lot less to forgive than I do. You didn’t have your life torn apart. You weren’t the target of personal attacks, of false accusations. You weren’t driven from your home into a shitty apartment without so much as a memento.”

“Isn’t that a bit dramatic?”

“How is the truth dramatic? Dad was my best friend. We did everything together. When he got sick, I took care of him. She never called or visited. Not until he was on his deathbed. Then suddenly she showed up, looking all weepy. And everybody bought her bullshit act.”

“So I can’t talk you into coming with me to the hospital, then? I have to leave if I’m going to make my flight.”

“I think my answer is pretty clear.”

Heather stomped to the spare room to collect her things, then with the slam of a door she was gone.

Josh didn’t have to explain himself. He had plenty of reasons not to care what happened to Kristen. He didn’t believe in Heaven and Hell, but if there was an afterlife, he hoped his father waited for her on the other side to make her answer for what she’d done.

* * *

The three siblings shared a mother, but the girls had a different father than Josh. When their mother was diagnosed with cancer, Josh was only twelve. Kristen was eighteen and Heather, five years her senior, was already married to a famous athlete and living in Sydney.

The day after their mother’s funeral, Kristen moved out, stating that she could not live another day in that house with HIM. She despised her stepfather, and resented Josh’s close relationship with his dad.

With both sisters gone, it was just Josh and his dad. He spent his teenage years fishing and learning to fix cars. His father was his hero, his mentor, and his best friend. Josh was well into his thirties and still living with his father when the old man’s health began to fail. With Kristen estranged and Heather in Australia, it was up to Josh to take care of his dad, which he did lovingly. His father promised to leave Josh everything: his house, his tools, his fishing gear – the things that had shaped his childhood and held beloved memories of their life together.

When the time came, Heather made the trip from Australia to say goodbye to her stepfather.

And then came the reading of the will. Josh assumed it would be a will created by his father leaving everything to him as promised; him being the only biological child. Then came the surprise: Josh’s father had never made a will. But his mother had, years earlier, when she was dying. Her husband, grief-stricken, had signed without question. After her death, that will became his and he had never bothered to update it. Their mother’s will named Kristen as executor, or “executioner”, as Josh came to call her, and ordered all assets to be sold and split equally between the three children.

At his father’s funeral, Josh faded into the background and Kristen took center stage. She played the role of bereft daughter to perfection, sobbing and hugging, soaking up sympathy like a toxic sponge. The moment the door closed behind the last guest, the tears dried and a ruthless tyrant stepped forth.

Growing up, Kristen was the embodiment of middle child syndrome: acting out to get attention, and then telling lies to get out of trouble. She was jealous of her siblings: of Heather, for having more privileges due to being older, and of Josh, for being the “spoiled baby”. Josh was the only one of the three who had a relationship with his biological father, and Kristen did little to hide her resentment.

Being appointed as executor finally gave Kristen a chance to stick it to her brother and sister. Mentally unstable, drunk with power, and bent on revenge: it was the recipe for a perfect storm. A shitstorm, that was.

She arrived at Josh’s home unannounced, suitcases and screaming children in tow. She moved into “her” house and declared everything in it to be property of the estate, even Josh’s personal belongings. She barked orders at Josh like he was a servant, then screamed and raged when he refused to obey.

Kristen made it her mission to make Josh’s life as miserable as possible. She convinced the rest of the family Josh had been stealing from his father. She had her lawyer waste countless hours poring over years worth of old bank statements. When no evidence of fraud was found, she accused him of stealing “estate assets”, which were in fact his own belongings.

Josh had no choice but to leave. He walked away from his father’s legacy and the only home he had known for 34 years, and moved into a cheap apartment. Yet again, Kristen spun it to make Josh look like the villain and she the victim. He had walked away and left her, a poor single mother, to care for that large house and property all alone. Nobody cared to hear Josh’s side of it.

Heather watched events unfold from a distance, through the rose-colored lens of Kristen’s lies. Josh begged and pleaded with her to listen to the truth before it was too late, but his pleas went unheeded. By the time Heather suspected a problem, four years had passed and she was thousands of dollars out of pocket – money she had sent Kristen for “estate expenses”. When Heather refused to send any more money and demanded to know when she would be repaid, Kristen showed her true colors. She vowed to drain the estate until not a penny was left. Heather hired a lawyer and brought Kristen’s reign of terror to an end, but by that time Kristen had already wasted most of the money. After legal fees, only a few dollars remained.

Josh didn’t care about the money. Everything that had mattered to him was gone. All he had left of his father was a collection of bittersweet memories.

But maybe Heather was right. Maybe he should pay the bitch a visit.

* * *

Josh stood in the doorway for a moment, observing.

Kristen moaned in pain and thrashed on the bed. Her face was covered with angry red scratches.

Josh entered the room. The door clicked shut behind him. Kristen turned toward the sound, her sightless eyes glassy from pain medication.

“Who’s there?”

“Hello, sister dear.”

“You!” The glaze in her eyes turned to clarity.

“Yeah. Me.”

“You did this to me.”

“Actually, you did it to yourself.”

“Fuck you!” she spat.

“Poor little Kristen. Always the victim. And look at you now. Hope it was worth it.”

Kristen responded by literally spitting at him.

“Gross. You always were a slob. You invaded my home and stole my father’s things, and didn’t even have the decency to clean up after yourself. I had to clean your nasty hairball out of the shower drain. Luckily, I had a use for it.”

“I never asked you to come here. Get the fuck out!” Her fingers groped for the nurse’s call button. Josh yanked it out of her reach.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving. Just had to see you one last time.”

“Get out! Help!”

“I’m going to need you to shut up now, Kristen.”

“Help! He – ” Kristen’s scream cut off abruptly.

“That’s better. I’m sick of hearing your voice. All it does is tell lies.”

Kristen kicked her legs and fought against the restraints. When she tried to scream, no sound came out. She gasped and panted, but remained mute.

“It’s a shame you have to be strapped down like that. I think I can help.”

Josh held an object in his hand. A doll, hand-sewn from scraps of cloth. A clump of human hair harvested from the shower drain adorned its head, embedded in a bit of wax. Pins protruded from its eyes and various other parts of its body. 

“You were always such a pain in the neck,” he said. He twisted the pin he had just inserted into the doll’s throat and shoved it deeper. “There. Now I’ve returned the favor. Now you won’t need those restraints anymore.”

Kristen’s struggles ceased and she lay limp on the bed.

“How’s it feel to be powerless? At someone else’s mercy?”

Her unseeing eyes smoldered with the blackest of hatred. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about. You may be paralyzed, but at least you aren’t numb. You can still feel everything. Everything. ”

He examined the doll thoughtfully. “I wonder what we should do next. We’re going to run out of room eventually. When that happens, a nice jab to the brain should finish you off.

I’ll leave you alone…for now. But every once in a while, when you feel a little twinge…or maybe a big one, you’ll know I’m thinking of you.

* * *

Josh stitched the final seam together and snipped the thread. He admired his handiwork. Mama Antoine was right. He was getting better the more he practiced. All it needed was a final touch.

He ran his hand over the carpet below the hallway mirror and found what he was looking for. He then proceeded to the bathroom, where the blue towel still hung on the shower curtain rod. There, he found three more long auburn hairs. Cleaning the shower drain produced several more.

He lit the candle and melted the wax while speaking an incantation in an ancient language.

Josh inserted a pin into one of the doll’s knees, then the other. He repeated the process with six more pins in the legs of the doll.

Heather didn’t deserve what Kristen had gotten. She wasn’t a bad person. Self-absorbed perhaps, but not hateful like her sister. With a few preventative measures, Heather could improve. She could learn to face her problems instead of running off to the wilderness. No more hikes. At least not for now.

Copyright © 2018 Mandy White

Take My Life

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The lone hiker plodded along the winding trail. He had begun his trek at dawn and would reach his destination before dark. The large pack on his back was light; nearly empty except for a canteen of water and a bit of jerky; the last of his food. He hoped the pack would be full for the return trip.

“I outta cuss him out, that’s what,” he said. He often spoke aloud. Out in the wilderness there was nobody to call him crazy, and it alerted wildlife of his presence. He thought of it as “thinking out loud”.

“The sonofabitch comes to visit, doesn’t even stay to fish, and then gives me the flu, to top it all off. And then he doesn’t come back for three damn months. Deserves a slap upside the head.”

Cade wasn’t angry with Andy; he was more worried than anything else. It wasn’t like him to stay away for so long. For the past eight years, Andy had visited every month without fail. He’d replenish Cade’s supplies, spend a couple of days drinking and fishing, and update him on news from the outside world. News usually consisted of a stack of old newspapers, collected from Andy’s post office box.

On his last visit, Andy hadn’t been his usual boisterous self. He’d barely touched the whiskey bottle they’d passed back and forth at the campfire. He must have been coming down with something, because sure as shit, Cade fell sick a few days later. It wasn’t a big deal; wasn’t like he had a job to go to. He took it easy for about a week and then he felt right as rain.

Andy’s long absence worried Cade, enough that he felt compelled to make the long hike to his friend’s cabin to check on him. Cade glimpsed the bright green of Andy’s Kawasaki dirt bike as the cabin came into view. The bike was Andy’s favorite mode of transportation. He only used the truck to travel into town for supplies.

Cade reached the front door of the cabin and knocked. All was silent.

“Andy? You here?

The door was unlocked. There wasn’t anyone to lock it for out there. Cade entered the cabin. Dust motes danced in the late afternoon light, and a thin film had settled on the table where Andy ate his meals. Telltale gray-green mold covered the dirty dishes in the sink. Nobody had been there for some time.

Andy didn’t stay in town for long; usually he went there and back in a day, with an occasional overnight trip. What if something had happened to him in town, or on the drive there? An accident? Or maybe he got into trouble and was arrested?

Cade left the cabin and walked toward the garage where Andy kept his truck. He expected the truck to be gone, but he had to check.

One of the large double doors was slightly ajar.

As Cade pulled the door open, he heard the buzzing of flies, and then the smell hit him.

Andy lay on the ground beside the truck, keys in hand. It looked like he had died where he had fallen. From the look of him, he had been there for a while.

* * *

Cade shoveled the last bit of dirt onto the mound and then placed a stone at Andy’s head. The grave bore no inscription. No crosses or any of that bullshit; it wasn’t Andy’s thing. The stone was a favorite of Andy’s, a crystalline geode he’d found out in the woods. Andy’s prospecting activities were more of a hobby than a livelihood. He’d found some good-sized nuggets and various gems over the years, but the geode was Andy’s best find, in his opinion. Cade pulled a bottle of whiskey from his pocket and poured some on the grave, then took a sip himself.

“Rest in peace, old buddy.”

Cade wandered back to the house and eased into Andy’s favorite chair on the porch with the bottle cradled in his lap. As the slow burn of the whiskey warmed his insides, his mind drifted back in time.

* * *

Cade would likely have died out in the wilderness, if not for Andy. He didn’t know the first thing about survival. He might have given up, marched back to civilization (assuming he made it that far) and turned himself in to serve a life sentence for a murder he didn’t commit. Giving up would have meant Lance won. Lance was the slimy bastard who had been sleeping with his wife. Lisa may have cheated, but she didn’t deserve to die. They’d worked things out and she was going to tell Lance it was over.

Cade should have known something was wrong when he came home to find a revolver on the floor just inside the front door. He recognized the gun as his and picked it up. It wasn’t until he held it in his hands that he felt the stickiness of blood on the weapon. He ran through the house, calling for Lisa. He found her in the bedroom with a bullet hole in her head. She had been violently beaten. At that moment, the police burst through the door and found him standing over the corpse holding the murder weapon.

It wasn’t difficult to piece together what happened. Lance hadn’t taken the breakup well. He had come to the house to “talk” to her but it had escalated into violence. She had run to the bedroom to get Cade’s gun. Signs of a struggle indicated that Lance had wrestled the gun from her before she could use it and then beaten her with it.

Cade had no proof, but he was certain Lance had waited, watching from a distance until he saw Cade’s car pull in, then he placed an “anonymous” call to 911. The timing was too perfect. The authorities didn’t agree, nor would they investigate. They had their man – the angry husband, standing over his cheating wife’s corpse holding the gun that had killed her. It was an open and shut case of domestic violence.

His lawyer advised him take a plea deal. Bargain them down to manslaughter for a lighter sentence – heat of the moment and all that. He was certain to lose a trial. Cade refused.

Being a white-collar accountant with no criminal record, he was granted bail, but it took his house and every penny he had to raise the money. The moment he was free, he fled. He knew the lawyer was right; he would lose the trial. If his only other option was to confess to a crime he didn’t commit, he’d rather take his chances on the run.

He was lost and out of gas, on a remote mountain road when Andy found him. He hadn’t thought to bring food and water; he’d just started driving. He’d been sleeping in his car for days. Now he was hungry and dehydrated, and beginning to realize the gravity of his situation. He heard the crackle of a dirt bike engine and a bright green motorcycle skidded to a stop in front of his car. The rider was about ten years older than Cade, with a long gray beard and stringy hair.

Andy’s cabin wasn’t far from where Cade had broken down. Andy fed him, offered him a couch to sleep on and listened to his story over a bottle of whiskey. Cade figured he was done for; Andy would call the police and he would have to take what was coming.

But to his surprise, Andy had a different perspective.

“First thing in the morning, we need to get rid of your car. We’ll put some gas in it, and then you’ll follow me.”

Cade did as he was told. He followed Andy’s bike out of the wilderness, past a few towns, and then they traveled many miles down a winding road alongside a canyon. The fuel gauge of Cade’s BMW was nearing empty when Andy finally stopped.

“This should do it. Aim ‘er over there.” He pointed at the edge of the cliff.

Following Andy’s instructions, Cade put the car in gear and rammed the accelerator with a long stick. The car lurched forward and plunged into the river below.

“Now, with any luck they’ll find that and think you’re dead.”

Andy took him to the shack in the wilderness, taught him to survive, and brought him supplies every month.

* * *

“Promise me,” Andy said.

“What’re ya even… no, I’m, that’s not gonna happen. You shaddup.” Cade slurred.

It was late, they’d been fishing all day, and the whiskey flowed freely.

“Lissen! I’m telling you something important!” Andy leaned over to grab another log for the campfire and nearly lost his balance.

“You’re talkin’ crazy. Nothing’s gonna happen to you, ok?”

“But it might. Anything could happen to anyone, anytime.” Andy said. “Listen to me. I’m not a young man. My heart isn’t in great shape. Supposed to take pills and go to doctor ‘pointments, but I’m not gonna do that. Shit happens. If I die out here, it’s ok. I’m where I want to be. All I’m saying is, if something did happen to me, you could take it all. Take my wallet. The picture on my driver’s license looks just like you, now that you got the hair and the beard. You could be me. You wouldn’t have to hide out here anymore.”

“I can’t go back to my old life.”

“You wouldn’t have to. Take my life. Live in my cabin. Nobody is looking for you anymore. They found your car years ago. They think you’re dead. I got no family, no friends except for you. Nobody would even notice the difference. I would go to my grave happy, knowing I could give you one last gift.”

“I’ll probably kick off before you. You’re too damn stubborn to die,” Cade said.

“All you need to know is where to look. I keep everything under my mattress. It’s all there, everything you need. My pension is deposited every month and you can withdraw it at the gas station without even setting foot in a bank. My signature is easy, just a scrawl if you ever need to use it.”

That was three years ago. No mention was made of the conversation the next day, or ever again. Cade assumed Andy was just talking drunk.

* * *

Cade removed the folded piece of paper from his pocket and read the letter again. He’d found it when he went to Andy’s bedroom closet to get a bottle of whiskey for the burial. On a whim, he’d checked under the mattress and there it was, as promised: Andy’s wallet and all of his personal documents. Banking, pension, account numbers and passwords. There was also an envelope with a single letter printed on the front: C.

Inside was stack of cash and a letter:

C,

I know you don’t think I remember that conversation from a few years back, but I meant every word of it.

When I got back from our last visit, I got real sick. Hope I didn’t give it to you. It’s gotten worse. I’m trying to hang on, but I think I might need to make a run to the hospital, and I don’t know what’s going to happen.

Hopefully it will all work out and I’ll see you soon, but just in case I don’t make it back, you know what to do.

Do it. Let me live on.

Stick my shiny rock somewhere nice and have a drink on me.

Andy

Copyright © 2020 Mandy White

Photo by Eneida Nieves from Pexels

Free Quarantine Reads: Phase 2

[image error](Photo by  freestocks.org  from  Pexels )

As many of us make the transition from lockdown to a tentative step toward the new normal, staying at home is going to remain a major part of life for a lot of us. Here’s a bunch of free reading material to pass the time over the next couple of weeks: All of these books are free anytime for Amazon Prime members, but they will be free for everyone on the dates specified.
Stay safe, wash your hands, and feel free to share the links with your friends:

Phobia: Free May 13-17 – A novel:
A prisoner in her own home; afraid to leave, but too terrified to stay…
Driven to a reclusive lifestyle by her many phobias, Dana’s only sanctuary is her home.
When the objects of her fears begin to invade her safe haven, the only place to escape is outside, where unspeakable horrors lie in wait.
US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PR98CLI
Canada: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B00PR98CLI

The Feeder: Free May 15-19 – A novel:
A tale of brutal vigilante justice. A grief-stricken killer slaughters those responsible for the decline and eventual murder of a beloved twin sister.
US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BTJYY4Y
Canada: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B00BTJYY4Y

Just One Kiss: Free May 17-21 – A short story:
The day her brother tore his own head off and didn’t die was the day Johanna first suspected that all was not right with the world.
A teenage waitress and her sister find their world turned upside down when men start behaving strangely, trying to woo every woman they see, spouting lines from old romantic movies. But it isn’t all love and romance; the men have been infected by an alien virus that makes them tear off their own heads and implant alien eggs into women. All it takes is a single kiss…
US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084TMBZNF
Canada: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B084TMBZNF

The Dark Side of the World: Free May 19-23 – A short story:
Humans evacuate a dying Earth to start over on a distant planet. When familiar social patterns emerge, it becomes clear that they have learned nothing.
US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084V23P57
Canada: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B084V23P57

Dysfictional 3: Free May 21-25 – My latest collection of short stories:
– A fugitive finds himself in a deadly predicament
– Reality show producers push the envelope to please their superiors
– A group of test subjects take an unexpected journey
– A rogue scientist takes genetic modification to the next level
– People who eat Tide Pods turn into detergent-craving zombies
and more…
US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KK85SQ7
Canada: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B07KK85SQ7

A Feast Not So Fancy

They say that if you die alone, your pets will eventually begin to eat you. But what if you aren’t dead yet?
Arnold is a loner who one day wakes to find he is paralyzed. Confined to his bed helpless and alone, he has no family or friends to miss him… nobody to suspect he might be in trouble. All he has are his seven cats, and they are getting hungrier by the day…

This grisly little cat-astrophe is free on Amazon from now until May 10: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0099RQTGY

[image error]https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0099RQTGY

Social Distance

[image error]A fictional story about young love in a post-pandemic world…

Gabrielle dressed meticulously. Each piece went on in a specific order: After the undergarments came the stockings, then two petticoats, the first with wide hoops sewn into the fabric, and the second made from a light, flowing fabric, slipped over top of the first. Her blouse buttoned high, up to her chin, and the sleeves fit snugly from wrist to elbow to accommodate the long gloves she would slip on over top after lacing her calf-length boots. A skirt of royal blue silk finished the ensemble, paired with a matching bodice laced over the blouse. She pinned her hair in an elegant yet casual updo and topped it with a wide-brimmed bonnet.

She slipped down the staircase quietly, hoping to avoid unnecessary questions from her mother. She didn’t want to have to explain where she was going. Her mother would not approve of her meeting a boy unsupervised, but today was special. Today was her sixteenth birthday and Noah had a gift for her.

“Is that you, Gabrielle?” her mother called from the kitchen.

Rats!

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Are you going out?”

“Um…yes, just going for a walk.”

“All right. Be careful.”

“Of course. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

Gabrielle escaped through the front door and waved at her mother through the kitchen window.

When she reached the park, she spotted the bright blue of Noah’s cap. He was waiting for her in the gazebo, as planned. It was one of Gabrielle’s favorite places; private, with a lovely view of the pond and gardens.

Noah sat on the bench. His companion, a small mixed-breed dog, sat at his feet.

“I’m glad you made it. Have a seat.” Noah gestured to the empty bench opposite his. “I can’t stay long. I told my mom I was just walking Roscoe.”

Gabrielle sat, adjusting her hoops to fit the bench.

She had known Noah most of her life, but this was only the third time they had met in person outside of school. It was a bold move, frowned upon by the adults, who preferred teenagers only interacted from a distance.

“Happy birthday,” Noah said. “I made something for you. Can I give it to you now?”

“Yes! Please!” Gabrielle beamed with delight.

Noah placed a small pink box on the end of her bench and then retreated back to his seat.

“Go ahead,” he said, “I hope you like it.”

Gabrielle untied the ribbon slowly to savor the experience. She seldom got gifts from anyone outside her immediate family. Inside the box was a pendant on a silver chain – a tiny pink blossom suspended in a clear resin dewdrop.

Gabrielle gasped. “I love it!”

“It’s Verbena. I love the way you can suspend things in resin and they stay perfect and protected forever. My grandmother taught me. She used to make these and sell them at markets, in the Before Time. She said she was good friends with your grandmother back in those days. She tells me stories of the crazy things they used to do.”

Gabrielle paused a moment to imagine her grandmother as a young woman. She could definitely see her doing crazy things. She made a mental note to ask Nana Bella about the old days.

“I want to put it on, but I don’t have a mirror. Can you help me?”

Noah hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure it’s perfectly safe.”

Gabrielle reached into her handbag and removed a small bottle, which she used to spritz the pendant and then her hands. She stood and turned around so that Noah could reach the back of her neck. He fumbled with the clasp but managed to fasten it after a few tries. She had never been so close to a boy before, and she suspected from his shaking hands that he shared her anxiety. He was close enough that she could smell his mysterious, intoxicating scent. Her body tingled with electricity. She imagined herself turning around at that moment and kissing him, but she could never do that. It was forbidden. Even now, they were taking a risk. If someone happened to see him this close to her, they could be in trouble. The danger of being caught and punished made it all the more thrilling.

Gabrielle caressed the smooth teardrop-shaped pendant with her gloved fingers. She couldn’t wait to touch it with her bare hands.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“So are you,” Noah whispered.

His hands lingered at the nape of her neck, and then brushed her shoulders briefly before he hurriedly stepped back. The touch of his gloves sent shivers down her spine.

“This is the best gift ever. Thank you so much,” Gabrielle said. Her heart hammered in her chest. She ducked her head to hide her flushed face behind the brim of her bonnet. The more self-conscious she felt, the more her cheeks burned.

“I-I should go,” he stammered. “My mother has dinner ready.”

“Yes, me too. I’ll talk to you tonight,” she said.

Gabrielle watched Noah leave, Roscoe trotting by his side.

She sat for a moment, eyes closed, hands clasped over the teardrop pendant, her mind swirling with impossible fantasies. After some time had passed, she set out for home, a spring in her step.

“Well hi there, Smiley!” A voice said. “What’s got you so cheerful?”

Her grandmother sat on a blanket on the front lawn, in the shade of the big oak tree. Her bare toes sported purple nail polish to match her hair. She was the picture of comfort, in black yoga pants and a baggy t-shirt.

She patted the blanket. “Have a seat, sweetie. Tell me about your day.” 

Gabrielle gathered up her hoop skirt and plopped down on the blanket.

Nana Bella reached into a small cooler and grabbed a can of Coors. She held the can toward Gabrielle. “Beer?”

Gabrielle hesitated. “My mom might give me shit.”

“Fuck it. It’s your birthday. Sweet sixteen, baby! She’ll get over it. I got your back.”

“Thanks Nana. I love you.” Gabrielle opened the can of beer and took a sip. Her mother wouldn’t get too mad if she only had one.

Nana Bella cracked a beer for herself and then looked at her expectantly.

“Can you keep a secret, Nana Bella?”

“Can I? Oh, hell yeah. You have no idea, girl.”

“I just came from seeing a boy.”

“Did you now? Well, that is juicy.” Nana Bella grinned and cracked a fresh beer.

“He’s a friend from school. He gave me this.” Gabrielle held up the pendant for her grandmother to see.

“Noah? He’s a nice boy. His grandmother is an old friend of mine, you know.”

“How did you know?”

“I’d recognize Angela’s handiwork anywhere.”

“Yes, Noah told me. She’s been teaching him. He made this one.”

“It’s lovely. Make sure you sanitize it or your mom will have a cow.”

“Already did.”

“Noah told me you and Angela did some crazy things when you were young. I’d love to hear some stories.”

Nana Bella laughed. “I bet you would. Oh, yeah, I’ve got some great stories for you. Things were different back then, in the Before. We were free. Angie and I used to go to concerts. We loved music. We saw so many awesome bands together.”

“Is that who ‘Rob Zombie’ is?” Gabrielle said, pointing at the image on Nana Bella’s shirt.

“Hells yes! I saw Rob Zombie live three times. But there were so many more. There were massive music festivals that lasted for days. Angie and I would camp out and spend the whole weekend partying. There was this wicked thing called a mosh pit, where people would cram together like sardines, dancing and shoving, sometimes even punching each other for fun. We’d climb onto the stage and dive into the mosh pit. People would catch you and pass you to the edge. It was like surfing on a sea of hands.”

“They were touching? Without gloves? Didn’t anyone get sick?”

“Yes, but only from too much booze.” Nana Bella laughed and waggled her can of beer. “There were no bad viruses back then. Well, I mean, yeah, there were… there were things that could make you sick or even kill you, but it took a little more than getting breathed on, if you catch my drift. And you could stay pretty safe as long as you had a condom.”

Gabrielle thought for a moment, and then her eyes widened. “You mean sex? With strangers?”

“Not always. We got to know each other first, but when you do the nasty with someone, there’s a certain level of familiarity that develops pretty fast. But also, we could meet people and hang out together and get to know each other.” Nana Bella sighed. “That’s the thing I probably miss most. The companionship of strangers. All the new friends out there waiting to be met. That was how I met your grandfather.”

“I wish I could touch Noah. Today I even imagined kissing him. But of course that’s impossible.”

“Not as impossible as you think. You two could get together one day, when you’re older.”

“It’s not fair. Why do we have to wait until we’re 18 to date? I’m old enough now. We wouldn’t do anything bad, we just want to spend time together. And even then, there’s so much paperwork – application to date, health checks, quarantine certificates. What if we did all of that and then decided we didn’t like each other?”

“Then you’d have to start over. Apply and quarantine to date someone else. I know, that’s a lot to go through just to be with someone, but it’s worth it, if you find someone special.”

“I mean, I’d do it for Noah. I hope he’d want to too. But why can’t we just spend time together to see if we even want to date?” Gabrielle finished her beer. A comforting warmth had spread through her belly, lowering her inhibitions and loosening her lips.

“Preachin’ to the choir, sis!” Nana Bella said. “Back in the old days we could test-drive the car before we bought it, so to speak. Date someone one week, someone else another. Live together for a while, maybe not. Whatever we did, it was our choice. Things got a little nutty after the Great Pandemic.”

“But that was so many years ago! Aren’t we safe now? Nobody has been sick since, well, ever, that I can remember. Why do we have all these stupid rules?” Gabrielle reached into her grandmother’s cooler and helped herself to another beer. “What was it like? I mean, I studied it in school, but what was it like to be there?”

“The pandemic? Well, it was a crazy time. It was scary, for a lot of us. The whole world was locked down for weeks to control the spread. The economy crashed. I’m sure you learned about all of that in school. But the lockdown was working. We were getting the spread of the virus under control and the death toll started to slow. And then suddenly there was a bunch of asshats who didn’t want to do it anymore. They were tired of quarantine. They decided the virus was fake, just because they hadn’t caught it. They were sick of being told what to do, and they took to the streets in crowds, protesting the restrictions, screaming about their rights and freedoms. Like a bunch of damn toddlers having a temper tantrum. You know what happened after that.”

“The Death Wave?”

Nana Bella nodded. “You know it. It’s in all the history books. The second wave was the bad one. More death than the Black Plague. Two-thirds of the world’s population, gone. And most of those deaths were preventable, if only people had just listened to what they were told and stayed the fuck home.”

 “My mother was born during the pandemic, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, she was. She was conceived during the first wave. My boyfriend Tyler and I had just moved in together, and we both worked at the same grocery store. Life didn’t change much for us during the lockdown. When everyone else got to work from home or take time off with free money from the government, Tyler and I were working overtime. People were such rude assholes, shoving, ignoring social distancing guidelines and swearing at us when they weren’t allowed to buy stupid amounts of toilet paper and other stuff. I took more abuse in those days than I ever have in my life. When Tyler and I did have days off together, that time was precious. I doubt we would have gone out, even if we could have. We were so much in love. I wonder if we’d still be together today.”

“I wish I’d met him,” Gabrielle said.

“Me too, honey. You would have loved your grandfather. He was a lot of fun. Great sense of humor. I’ve always loved a man with a sense of humor. Even in the thick of the pandemic, with fear and death all around us, he still managed to crack a joke. Even after he got sick…”

Nana Bella’s eyes grew glassy and she stared off into the distance for a few moments, then she cleared her throat.

“When Tyler got sick, I should have stayed home because I’d been exposed, but according to our boss, Tyler hadn’t been tested yet, so he wasn’t a confirmed case of COVID. For all we knew it was just a flu. The boss said that if Tyler wasn’t going to come to work, he had to find someone to cover his shifts or he was fired. I covered his shifts as well as my own. I was at work when he texted to tell me that he had called 911 because he couldn’t breathe. I texted back that I loved him and would call him as soon as I got off work. He never answered his phone because he was on a ventilator. He was gone the next day and I never got to say goodbye.”

“I’m so sorry, Nana.”

Nana Bella squeezed Gabrielle’s hand. “It’s ok, sweetie. It was a long time ago, but I still miss him. A few weeks later, I found out that I was pregnant. That was right around the time the second wave hit. I got sick and spent three weeks at home, alone and scared, but I recovered. I’m immune, supposedly, and so is your mother. She may have passed that immunity on to you. We don’t know for sure, because they aren’t testing for it anymore.”

“If most people are immune now, then why do we have to be so careful?”

“Honey, that pandemic took a toll on humanity. More so than just the death. Psychologically, they’re still damaged, even all these years later. There is always that underlying fear. We had just finished recovering and rebuilding from COVID-19, when COVID-25 came along and scared the shit out of everyone all over again. The 25 didn’t amount to much; it wasn’t as infectious and only killed a few, but it reminded everyone that viruses mutate, and new ones can appear at any time. So this new type of paranoia sort of took over. Nobody wanted to shut the economy down again, especially not the ones who had the most to lose – you know, the rich folks, the governments… The social distancing and sanitizing that was necessary during the pandemic became common precautions, and now it’s just a way of life. It became the new style. The layers of clothing you dress in are treated with anti-viral chemicals, which is easier than scrubbing and showering every time you touch anything. Is it overkill? Probably, yeah. But you never know. If we’d been doing all of that when COVID-19 came along, a lot of people might have lived. Your grandfather might have lived, who knows?”

“I wish I could dress like you, Nana. You look so comfortable. But my mom would probably have a fit. Plus, everyone would laugh at me. All the girls my age are wearing hoops. Fashion sucks.”

“Well, when you turn 18, you can choose how to dress in public. But keep in mind, I don’t give a shit if anyone laughs at me or gives me the evil eye. I’ve already survived the worst pandemic in history. I’m hard to kill. You, my dear, have your whole life ahead of you. If living that life means taking some extra precautions, isn’t it worth it?”

“Maybe. I guess it’s better than dying. But I still wish I could be with Noah. Nothing dirty, just like, hold his hand and maybe kiss, you know, like in those old movies you showed me.”

“Be patient, my dear. All good things take time.”

Gabrielle’s mother called from the house. “Mom? Is Gabrielle with you?”

“Yeah!” Gabrielle called.

“Dinner’s almost ready. Time to wash up.”

“Ok!”

“Thanks, Nana,” Gabrielle said. “Don’t tell Mom about the beer, ok?”

Nana Bella winked. “Our little secret.”

Gabrielle ran upstairs to her room and found a message waiting on her laptop. It was from Noah.

“I know it’s a little soon, but will you date me? I have paperwork ready to sign.”

Gabrielle typed a quick response before rushing off to wash her hands.

“YES!”

Copyright © 2020 Mandy White

Out! Damn Spot

[image error]A mysterious spot on the ceiling of a jail cell: Is it imagination, or a doorway to elsewhere?
Published in Dysfictional 2, 2014.

The spot has grown larger. At least I think it has. Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me. Maybe it’s my mind playing tricks on my eyes. I just don’t know anymore.

It’s been nearly three weeks since I first noticed the spot. I was lying in bed before lights out, glaring at the ceiling as I have done every night since I arrived here.

My first thought was that the brownish-yellow spot looked like a water stain from a leaky roof but of course that’s impossible in this place. Day after day, night after night the strange blotch on the ceiling has mesmerized me, commanding my attention day and night, even after the lights are out. I sense its presence even in pitch darkness; it emits some sort of invisible energy, like a thick phosphorescent glow that I sense to the very core of my being instead of merely seeing it with my eyes.

What the hell is it?

After the first week it began to grow, the edges rippling and undulating like a puddle of water lapping at the cold gray ceiling. It seemed to feed on my anger; I noticed that the fouler my mood, the faster the spot grew.

I was able to reach it by standing on my bed. The spot was warm to the touch and my fingertips detected a slight buzzing sensation. Was it a burn mark? Perhaps it was an electrical wire shorting out in the ceiling. Faulty wiring wasn’t uncommon in old buildings such as this one.

Sometime toward the end of the second week the spot had enlarged to the edge of the room and begun to spread down the wall. I began to get the feeling it was coming for me, to swallow me into wherever it came from.

I tried telling the guards about it but they just laughed and told me to shut up. They didn’t see any spot. They denied my request to be moved to a different cell, calling me crazy before resuming their never-ending poker game. I had no neighbors to confide in. The whole block was… well, dead. Except for me – the sole occupant of death row at that particular time.

The more I stared at the ever-expanding blemish on the ceiling and wall of my cell, the angrier I became. I was angry at my situation, at the people responsible for putting me there but most of all I was angry at the spot itself. How dare it invade my private space? What did it want?

One morning after I finished my breakfast I lost my temper and threw my coffee cup at it. I expected the plastic mug to rebound and rattle to the floor but instead it just disappeared. I swear it did, as God is my witness. It vanished without a sound as if swallowed by quicksand.

I caught a lot of shit for that one. The guards didn’t believe my explanation even though they tossed my cell twice and didn’t find the missing mug. They are still convinced I have it hidden somewhere.

Standing on my bunk, I reached up to touch the spot where the cup disappeared. To my surprise, the ceiling was no longer solid. My fingers slid right through the concrete as though it were soft butter. My whole hand disappeared past the wrist. I groped around but found nothing but an empty void on the other side.

Today, the spot is large enough to accommodate my entire body and I now know what I must do. I am going to follow that cup to wherever it went. I have no future here. I’ve just been served my last meal. Tomorrow is execution day, or E-Day, as I have come to know it.

I’m leaving, but not on a jet plane. Don’t know where I’m going but I won’t be back again. I ain’t sticking around to be put to death for a crime I didn’t commit. Ok, I admit I DID kill a man but it was justified. He had it coming for fucking my wife. I served justice in an unjust world and this is the thanks I get for it.

The spot ripples like water in a breeze, calling to me. It’s my way out of here, I’m sure of it. I don’t know if I will find the regular world on the other side but if I do you can bet I’ll finish what I started. After all, it takes two to tango. That S.O.B. couldn’t have slept with my wife if she wasn’t willing. She won’t get away with it if I can help it.

“I’m coming for you, Rosalee! You hear me? I’m coming for you!”

* * *

She sat with her head down and a wadded tissue clutched in a shaking hand. She dabbed at her eyes from time to time; not out of grief for the man who had just died from lethal injection but for the other who had died at his hands. Her ex-husband was an evil man and she was glad he was dead. Rosalee had attended the execution to see for herself that without a doubt he was gone forever. Maybe now the nightmares would stop.

Kevin hadn’t handled the divorce well. When she remarried, he lost his mind.

She would never forget the day she returned home from a shopping trip to see a barrier of yellow police tape surrounding her home and the ominous sight of a coroner’s van parked at the curb. When they wheeled out a gurney carrying a black plastic body bag she collapsed, wailing in anguish.

Rosalee knew Kevin was the one responsible for Troy’s death and he gave the police no resistance when they arrested him. In court, he said nothing in his own defense despite his court-appointed lawyer’s insistence that an insanity plea would be in his best interest. Kevin’s silence was almost as good as a confession.

Now, the monster that had made her life a living hell and destroyed her second chance at happiness was dead. Rosalee knew she should be feeling relief as she stood on shaking knees but she was still rattled from witnessing the last moments of her ex-husband’s life. The nightmares were still fresh in her mind – the much-too-real vision of a hand emerging from the ceiling of her bedroom, reaching, groping as if searching for her. And then there was the plastic cup that had inexplicably appeared on her bedroom floor one morning. Who had put it there?

As she waited for the guard to escort her back to the prison’s front entrance, Kevin’s voice still echoed in her head. Those last words he shouted just before losing consciousness from the injection:

“I’m coming for you, Rosalee! You hear me? I’m coming for you!”

Copyright © 2014 Mandy White

The Fall of Man

This is kind of my take on a “Freaky Friday” scenario… except in this story, she has the technology to swap at will. Oh, the possibilities!? To be published in a future book, possibly Dysfictional 4.

[image error]

When it all began, nobody could possibly have known that a porn star would change the world forever.

They didn’t want the technology to fall into the wrong hands. The wrong hands, of course, being mostly of the male persuasion. It was a stroke of luck that the scientist who made the discovery happened to be a woman. The scientist in question was one Dr. Beatrice Seadie, or Bea, as she preferred to be called.

Bea began her career with the most altruistic of motives. Like many scientists, she sought to change the world for the better, but she had little vision of what that would entail. Fresh out of university and employed by a government-controlled research firm, she obediently followed instructions and shared findings with her superiors.

Until one day, she stumbled upon something outstanding while working on an unrelated project. She chose that day to distance herself from her employer. The government wanted to develop teleportation, which was frightening enough when one considered the possible uses for the technology.

But that was nothing.

Teleportation was small potatoes compared to what Bea found. And she would not let it fall into the hands of the powerful men who controlled the world.

The teleporter was for the most part, a failure. Bea managed to disassemble simple inanimate objects at a molecular level and then reassemble them in an alternate location. But it only worked with solid objects with a basic chemical composition: minerals, metals, and the like. Anything with moving parts, or synthetics such as plastic, failed to teleport.

The first trials with live subjects yielded unusual results. The test subject, a mouse, did not teleport. At first, it seemed unchanged by the process. After a few days of observation, it became clear that the mouse was dying. It would not eat or drink. It sat in its cage, unmoving. The lights were on, so to speak, but nobody was home. The mouse died of dehydration eight days later.

Bea didn’t yet know what she had discovered, but she did know that she no longer wanted to work for her current employer.

* * *

Inspired by the mouse, Bea took her work in a different direction in the privacy of her basement laboratory. She strove to accomplish what medical science and hypnosis had tried and failed to. Her work focused on the elimination of unwanted components of the subject’s personality: addictions, phobias, compulsions. If the attempt at teleportation had removed whatever consciousness resided in a little mouse brain, what if the process could be refined to only remove select parts? She continued her work, one painstaking step at a time, and five years later, she was ready for human trials.

Volunteers were easy to find; there was always someone in need of a few dollars. Certainly some might have condemned the ethics of her use of homeless addicts for experimentation, but from a scientific standpoint, it was a necessary evil. The first attempts failed. The subjects ended up like the mouse. Just a blank slate. Although they never used drugs again, which could be considered a success.

The solution came to her following a heavy rainstorm. She took a break from the lab to relieve frustration with some mundane yard work. The sidewalk near her front porch drained poorly, always leaving a puddle at the base of the stairs. She swept the water furiously to keep it from leaking into the foundation, but it kept running back down into the low spot and re-forming the puddle. No matter how many times she swept it away, some ran back. The water needed someplace else to drain, and the empty spot needed to be filled.

Drain and fill.

Holy shit! That was it!

The next trial involved two subjects. One a heroin addict, and one a smoker, both of whom desired to kick their habits. After the trial, both subjects still had their minds intact. The addict no longer craved heroin. The non-addict, sadly, was in for a nasty bout of detox. The silver lining was, he no longer craved cigarettes. And of course, each was in the other’s body.

Bea had discovered a way to transport a person’s mind into another body. Everything that made the individual who they were – the soul, as it were – could be removed from one body and placed into another body of their (or Bea’s) choice.

The next step was to find out if the process was reversible, and what, if any, side-effects there were. After numerous trials, it appeared reversal did indeed work, and none of the subjects suffered any ill effects.

However, Bea made some interesting observations in her continuing work with addicts. She kept contact with the subjects to see how they adjusted to their new lives. In more than eighty percent of all addict swaps, the addicts relapsed to their habits. Their physically addicted bodies healed under the care of their new owners; relapse rate for the bodies was nearly zero. The only exceptions were in two cases in which the new owner of the addict’s body had a past history of drug abuse. But, the minds of the addicts, free from addiction in new bodies, appeared unsatisfied with sober life and began using again, some almost immediately. The only ones who remained sober were those truly committed to freeing themselves from addiction. It reinforced what Bea had always suspected; that addiction ran much deeper than mere physical dependency. She wished she could share her findings with someone who was in the business of studying addiction, but of course that was impossible to do without revealing her secret.

She decided to shelve her work with addicts and proceed in a different direction. A pair of willing participants, it seemed, was the key to success. She had the proverbial billion-dollar idea. The question was, what to do with it? The possibilities were limitless. She considered selling it to the highest bidder, but shuddered at the thought of who would be bidding on it. No, it was best to keep the technology safe from the many evil people who had access to large sums of money; to keep it a well-guarded secret. But how to use it? And with whom could she share it?

A close friend provided the answer. Andy was a childhood friend, whom Bea trusted implicitly. Andy, whose full name was Andrea, also happened to be transgender. Andy had opted to live her life in the body she was born in, in spite of how wrong it felt. Her career as a schoolteacher would suffer and her deeply religious parents would disown her if she were to live as a male. Andy was miserable living a lie, but put on a brave face for the sake of everyone else. Bea’s heart ached for her friend, but it was Andy’s decision to make. Andy was the first person Bea told of her discovery. Her friend was skeptical at first, but after watching the videos from previous trials and observing some swaps first-hand, Andy was convinced. The body-swap with a male was Andy’s idea.

“Are you crazy?” Bea said.

“You have faith that it works?” Andy said.

“Absolutely,” Bea said. “I know that it works, with no adverse effects, based on my trials and what you yourself have seen. But do you have any idea what you’re asking? Do you understand what it would involve? Your family, your career. All of those things belong to this body, to Andrea. If you switch into someone else’s body, all those things become hers – his. And whatever life he had, will become yours.”

“It just so happens, I have the perfect candidate,” Andy said.

As it turned out, Andy had a cousin who had the same problem. Ralph desired to be a woman, and was one of the few people who knew Andy’s secret. It was a bonus that they shared the same genetics, the same family, and even the same profession. Ralph was also a teacher. Andy approached Ralph with the proposal and of course Ralph was skeptical, until shown irrefutable proof that what they were offering was the real deal. After that, he was all in.

Andy and Ralph were the first of many success stories. No one in their family was the wiser, and they were nearby to coach each other on the finer details of their lives.

With Andy and Ralph’s assistance, Bea found more transgender candidates wanting to swap bodies and lives. They did their best to match each male and female pair according to common interests, careers, and location, but for some it was enough to have the body they wanted. Starting a new life in a new place appealed to them.

Bea had to admit, it felt good to help people in a way no one else could. But it wasn’t what she had intended. Certainly there would be plenty of people interested in swapping for different reasons: a whiter skin; a better financial situation, but finding a willing partner to swap wasn’t likely, since wealthy white folks didn’t tend to want to trade their lives.

She couldn’t help but feel that her work was meant for something else. Something bigger.

* * *

The young woman seated across from her oozed sex appeal in spite of, or perhaps because of, her conservative attire. She might have been a librarian, or perhaps a teacher, if said teacher’s specialty was punishing naughty men. As it turned out, Bea’s first impression of the woman wasn’t far from the mark.

“How did you hear about me and my alleged work?” Bea asked. “And I say alleged, because I am not confirming that said work even exists. It sounds preposterous, if you ask me.”

The woman tucked a stray wisp of blonde hair back into her messy bun and peered at Bea over the rims of her glasses. Her ample bust strained against the buttons of her blouse.

“Really? You’re going to give me that song and dance? Fair enough. I have friends in plenty of, shall we say, ‘underground’ circles. That, and of course there are the rumors circulating around the internet. You know, it’s only a matter of time before the wrong people find out about this.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Of course not. Just a word of caution. I happen to know of some very powerful men who could do a lot of damage with your ‘alleged’ technology. I am here to hopefully help you prevent that from happening.”

“Go on. I’m listening.”

“My name is Leslie Ann Goolio. You might know me by my professional name, Brandi Buxton.”

Bea paused to think a moment. She had heard that name before, but where? And then it dawned on her. “You’re THE Brandi Buxton? From…”

“Correct. I am Brandi Buxton, star of more than six hundred adult films.”

Bea wasn’t a connoisseur of pornography, but one didn’t have to be to know who Brandi was. She had made headlines back in the nineties, when she celebrated her eighteenth birthday. That in itself wasn’t scandalous, but the fact that she was already a well-established name in adult entertainment with four years worth of films to her credit. She had starred in her first pornographic film at age fourteen.

Brandi explained to Bea that she had saved a large portion of her porn money to spend on education. She had attended night school while making movies during the day. She had a law degree and a Masters in economics. But she wanted credentials from a prestigious university like Harvard, and there was no way, no matter how smart or wealthy she was, that she could get into an ivy league school with her background. She wanted to swap into the body of a man who already had those credentials. She already had the knowledge, just not the credibility. And she had the ideal candidate: J. Bartholomew Sutton II, the son of a Supreme Court Justice by the same name. With a Harvard law degree and all the right connections, the younger Sutton was on the fast track to a career in law, government, or maybe even the presidency. But Bart had no interest in politics or any of the other high society snobbery that was his life. He was interested in fashion and art, and sex with men. He dreamed of being a woman, but the closest he could come to that dream was cross-dressing in private and role-playing with prostitutes. A mutual friend introduced him to Brandi. When she offered to swap her body with him, he salivated at the idea. The prospect of being an adult film star excited him, and he was willing to pay any price for the opportunity. Bart set up a research foundation in Bea’s name and padded it with a generous donation to further her work, and then joyously stepped into Brandi’s life in Los Angeles. Brandi began a new life in Boston as Bart. For Brandi, sexuality had always been fluid: a by-product of the adult film industry, or perhaps what had attracted her to porn to begin with. She was comfortable in any skin, be it female or male. She adapted easily to her new role, and with the help of Bart’s father, landed a job in a prestigious law firm.

* * *

Bea expected to see great things from Brandi, but didn’t expect to see her in person again quite so soon. A couple of years after the swap, Brandi, aka Bart, arrived at Bea’s house, accompanied by a stunning young woman.

“So nice to see you again, Bart.” Bea smiled at Bart’s guest and led the pair into her office. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything? Coffee?” Bart and the woman shook their heads.

“I’m afraid this isn’t a social call,” Bart said. He nodded toward his companion. “My friend here is in some trouble, and I think your ‘special service’ might be the best solution.”

“Go on.”

“This is Michelle. She is…was… engaged to a friend of mine – of his, I mean. Old school pals since childhood, attended Harvard together.”

“Was?”

Tears trickled down Michelle’s cheeks. “Tommy was my soul mate. He was my everything. And now he’s…he’s…” her voice hitched. “I don’t know what we’re doing here, Bart. What’s the point? Nothing will bring Tommy back.”

Bart placed a reassuring hand on the woman’s arm. “No, but maybe there’s a chance to save your life, and get some justice for Tommy.”

“From what I gather, this Tommy fellow is dead,” Bea said. “I’m so sorry for your loss. How can I help?”

“I was a resident at Mass General when I met Tommy,” Michelle began, “He came into the ER one night during my shift with a broken ankle. A drunken stunt gone wrong. He tried to leap down an entire flight of stairs on a dare from his buddies. His friends dumped him off at the ER entrance and fled to avoid a DUI. I kept him company for a while since he was alone, and offered to call his family to pick him up. He begged me not to call his parents. He said his father was very ill – stage 4 cancer – and he didn’t want his mother to see him in that condition. She was already overwhelmed, and her health was fragile. He was an adult, so I didn’t push the issue. I offered to give him a ride after my shift. I took him for coffee, then let him sleep it off on my couch. I know, I know… it was a risk bringing home a strange guy, not to mention professionally unethical, but we just hit it off. I wanted to meet the sober version of him to see if he was still just as sweet as the drunk version. Turned out he was even sweeter, and I fell hard.

We’d been dating for nearly two years before he finally introduced me to his family. I was a bit bothered but hey, I got it. With his father’s death and all…you know. Anyway, he invited me to dinner at their house, and I swore he enjoyed the way his brother and sister’s jaws dropped at the sight of me. But they were all very nice and polite, and his mother especially went out of her way to make me feel welcome.

A few months ago he popped the question, and of course I said yes. Tommy announced our engagement at one of his family’s high-society parties. Everyone congratulated us. His mother gushed about ‘another doctor in the family’.

It was late, after the party. Everyone had gone to bed, or so I thought. Tommy was snoring away with a few drinks under his belt. I couldn’t sleep, so I went down to the kitchen to find some chamomile tea. It was there that I ran into Tommy’s brother Kenneth. He invited me to join him for a drink in the parlor. Said he wanted to talk to me. All I really wanted was to go to bed, but I also wanted to make a good impression on Tommy’s family. I wanted them to like me. I was so stupid to think a bunch of rich white assholes would ever accept me into their family.” Michelle paused, her face in her hands. She sniffled and wiped her eyes before continuing.

“I made the cup of tea and then went into the other room, where Kenneth waited. He had already poured two glasses of brandy. I didn’t want the drink, but didn’t want to be rude, so I took it and drank it. He poured another one before I could refuse. He told me how much he loved his brother, how he would do anything for him. He wanted Tommy to be happy, but he also needed to look out for him, to make sure he didn’t screw up his life. I didn’t like the direction the conversation was going, but I tried to be polite.

And then he said, ‘How much?’

I felt confused. I didn’t understand the question. I said, ‘Pardon me?’

He said, ‘How much will it take for you to walk away?’ He pulled a checkbook out of his jacket. ‘Name your price. What will it take for my family to be rid of you? To save us the embarrassment of a wedding that would never happen if my father was still alive. Our father never would have let Tommy marry a nigger!’

I needed to leave. All I could think of was getting away from that horrible man, getting back to Tommy, but when I stood up, my knees buckled and my head swam, and that was when I realized I had been drugged. I slumped back onto the couch and fought to keep my eyes open.

Kenneth stood over me. His face was twisted with the kind of hate that told me everything I needed to know about the man.

He climbed on top of me and put his hands around my throat. I tried to scream, but he squeezed it off and I felt myself losing consciousness. He forced himself between my legs and pulled up my nightgown. I fought him, but my arms felt limp and weak. And then I heard a click and felt the cold steel of a gun barrel pressed against my cheek.

He said, ‘At least I’m gonna find out what my brother sees in you. Only thing you’re good for.’

He raped me.

When he climaxed, I took advantage of those few seconds of vulnerability and mustered all the strength I had, and snatched the gun out of his hand. I figured I if I was going to die I might as well go down fighting. At that moment someone tackled him and pulled him off of me. The gun went off.

The next thing I heard was a scream. Their sister Meredith had heard the gunshot and come running. She started screaming at me, ‘What have you done? What have you done?’

I thought, ‘Oh my god, I shot Kenneth!’

And then she turned to Kenneth, who stood in front of us, very much alive, and she said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll back you up. I saw it all. The fucking whore shot Tommy in front of both of us! That ghetto-rat is gonna fry, we’ll make sure of it.’ And then I couldn’t believe my ears when that little teenage bitch said, ‘It’s better this way anyways. Now we only have to split the money two ways when the old bat croaks.’

I was so confused. I hadn’t shot anyone. Kenneth was fine. What the hell was she talking about? I needed Tommy. He would be able to clear things up. I felt weak and wobbly, but tried to stand to go upstairs to wake up Tommy, and that was when I saw the body on the floor.

It was him. My Tommy was lying there in a pool of blood and that was when I realized the gun was still in my hand. He had woken and come looking for me and seen what his brother was doing. He died trying to save me.”

Michelle sobbed into her hands and Bart embraced her. Bea placed a box of tissues nearby and waited for her to continue.

“The rest was mostly a blur. Someone must have called the police, because I woke up on a cold hard cot in a jail cell. I don’t know how long I slept. I just remember crying and crying, drifting in and out for days. I couldn’t eat. Eventually I managed to drink some water, but nobody came to check on me. No doctor came to check on my physical or mental state. No rape kit was done, even though I knew what the proper procedure should have been. I mean, I’m a physician, and I’ve done countless examinations of assault victims. But I was in no state of mind to ask for help, and none was offered. I didn’t care about anything. All I knew was that Tommy was dead and I had no reason to live.

Finally after, I don’t know how many days, they told me my lawyer was there to see me. Which was odd, because I didn’t have a lawyer. I hadn’t thought to ask for one. They led me into the little room and to my surprise, there was Tommy’s best friend Bart sitting at the table. He had heard about what happened and had volunteered to defend me. I don’t know why. Bart should hate me like everyone else does. But he didn’t believe them. He wanted to hear my side of it. It’s weird, because we haven’t known each other very long, but I’ve always felt like I could tell Bart anything. He was different from all of Tommy’s friends. Different from Tommy, even.”

Michelle cast a tearful glance in Bart’s direction. Bart reached over and squeezed her arm, encouraging her to continue.

“Bart paid my bail and got me out that day. I have been charged with second-degree murder. I pled not guilty, but there’s a good chance I will lose the trial, even with Bart as my lawyer. Kenneth and Meredith are going to testify. They’ve told everyone that they witnessed me shooting Tommy in cold blood because he caught me cheating with Kenneth. They’re making me out to be some kind of gold digger. Kenneth has told the press that he won’t rest until I’m rotting behind bars. It’s pretty much guaranteed I’ll be going to jail. Even if I don’t, my career is over. My life is over.”

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Bea said. “What are you going to do?”

“Oh, that part is simple. I’m going to kill myself.”

“That may not be necessary,” Bart said. “Will you excuse us for a moment, Michelle? I need to have a word with Bea in private.”

Bea retrieved a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and handed it to Michelle. “We won’t be long. Promise me, there will be no suicide until we return.” Bea winked at her. Michelle nodded and gave her a tearful smile.

The two left the office and sat at the kitchen table.

“I know what you’re going to ask, Bart,” Bea said. “And while I agree with you that this woman has every reason to want to escape her life, where are we going to find a volunteer to take her place? Nobody is going to want to enter a body that is headed for jail. It wouldn’t be fair to do that to someone.”

“I think the most fitting candidate would be the rapist himself.”

“Bart, are you insane? We’ve never done an involuntary before. We don’t even know what could happen!”

“There’s one way to find out. The one who matters is voluntary. Do we really care what happens to the other subject? He’ll never be punished for what he did. How many other women is he going to victimize? You know as well as I do that guys like this don’t just do it once. How many has he already hurt? She is suicidal, Bea. I have no doubt that she is going to off herself. Even if by some miracle she wins the trial, and trust me, she won’t. She is a woman of color up against filthy rich white liars. The truth isn’t going to mean shit at that trial. Bea, this is huge! This is what your work can do! You have the ability to save an innocent life, and punish the one who destroyed it.”

“But you’re talking about kidnapping!”

Bart waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll take care of everything. I have a few people who owe me some favors. All you need to do is work your magic when I get him here. In the meantime, is it all right if Michelle stays with you? It’s been a constant battle hiding her from the press, and given that I’m her attorney who is about to drop her as a client, I’m not exactly incognito.”

“Of course, she’s more than welcome. I have plenty of room here. As long as she promises no suicide on the premises.”

* * *

As promised, Bart produced Kenneth in the dark of night, bound and blindfolded in the back of a panel van. After the swap, a drugged and very confused Kenneth awoke in a public park. When the situation became clear, hysteria ensued, and he (now she) was arrested and placed in a psychiatric facility for her own protection. Michelle had apparently had a psychotic break, they said. Why else would she be ranting about being a man trapped in a woman’s body and claiming to be the brother of her alleged victim?

Bart contacted his law firm to let them know he would no longer be representing Ms Collins, and that he was revoking the bail he had posted for her because she had violated the terms of her recognizance.

The date of the trial arrived. On Bart’s instruction, Michelle had liquidated all of her assets before the swap and donated the funds to Bea’s research foundation. She wouldn’t need the money, since Kenneth had plenty. The body Kenneth entered had not a penny to its name. The public defender assigned to the case tried to push for an insanity plea, but the defendant refused and continued to maintain her innocence.

The jury’s decision was unanimous: Guilty. In Michelle’s body, Kenneth was sentenced to fifteen years in prison. Had he been a wealthy white man, he might have gotten off with time served and probation, but as a penniless black woman, he received no mercy from the court. As an added surprise, it turned out Michelle was pregnant by her rapist. Kenneth got to experience the miracle of childbirth firsthand from behind bars. The baby boy, to whom Kenneth was now both mother and father, was placed into foster care to await adoption.

Michelle visited the prison once. It was surreal, seeing herself behind the glass partition, dressed in orange. Although, she had never seen herself behave the way the woman on the other side of the glass did: ranting, screaming obscenities, beating on the glass until the guards came and removed her. They didn’t even have a chance to pick up the phone and talk before the visit was over.

Michelle had one small piece of unfinished business. She enlisted the help of Bart and Bea once more. Another generous donation to Bea; another unwilling subject delivered in the dark of night.

* * *

Vernon Plotz was admitted to hospital vomiting blood and complaining of severe abdominal pain. Being homeless, he hadn’t consulted a doctor even though he had been in pain for several years. He used heroin to dull the pain, but eventually even the heroin didn’t help. Doctors found a tumor the size of a football growing inside his abdomen and the cancer had spread throughout his body. It was untreatable. The doctor discharged him with three months to live and a prescription for morphine, but didn’t suggest he quit heroin. Outside the hospital, a finely dressed young man caught up with him and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. He agreed to swap bodies with the man in exchange for ten thousand dollars. Clearly the man was insane, but ten grand would keep Vern nice and high until either the dope or the cancer killed him off.

What a surprise it was when Vern found himself inside the other guy’s body, just like he’d promised! What a sucker! That rich dumbass had just traded a Porsche for an Edsel! Well, no backsies, he was taking the cash and running.

The first thing Vern did was call his dealer and buy himself a monster-sized party to celebrate his new body and his new lease on life. The second thing he did was overdose.

Kenneth’s tragic death rocked the high-society world. Who would ever have suspected he had a drug problem? It must have been too much for him: his father’s death, his brother’s murder, the trial… Poor, brave Kenneth, they said. He had battled those demons all alone.

* * *

“Medical school? But Meredith, you’ve always hated school!”

Meredith kissed her mother on the cheek. “Let’s just say, I’ve turned over a new leaf. I’ve been such a spoiled brat, now I want to do something meaningful with my life. I want to do something that would have made Daddy and my brothers proud.”

“I swear I don’t even know you anymore, Meredith. It’s like you’ve grown up overnight.” Meredith’s mother dabbed at her eyes. “But they would all be so proud of you, my dear. God rest their souls. I guess I’ll have another doctor in the family after all.”

* * *

A year after Kenneth’s unfortunate death, Bart and Meredith married, uniting two of the most prominent families in Boston. They located Kenneth and Michelle’s son and adopted him. Later that year, Bart ran for Governor of Massachusetts and won. Three years later, he ran for president.

Did Michelle know Bart’s secret? Bea never asked, but as far as she knew Michelle was unaware that her husband had once been the infamous Brandi Buxton. Did it even matter? They were happy: a handsome power couple using their resources to change the world for the better.

And so it came to pass that a porn star became the first female president of the United States, unbeknownst to the citizens who had voted for (and against) her.

By the time Bart became president, most of Congress and the Senate had been replaced with women: the poor; the intelligent but downtrodden; the minorities, disguised as wealthy white men. Over time, the left and right ran out of reasons to argue. Issues that had once sparked furious debate became civil discussions that ended in compromise. Meetings with heads of state went smoothly; when problems arose, one might say that those individuals soon changed their way of thinking.

Women with unwanted pregnancies who were unable to face either choice were offered a third option. Thus, a number of men known for their outspoken conservative views were blessed with the opportunity to experience the joys of pregnancy and childbirth.

Bea embarked on a new mission to preserve brilliant minds trapped in failing bodies, beginning with an aging Supreme Court Justice the world wasn’t ready to lose yet. Bea found a healthy body for her in a suicidal young woman, broken by emotional trauma. The girl donated her body to the worthy cause and slipped away peacefully in place of the elder woman.

Bea found new hope for her technology. Perhaps the future Stephen Hawkings of the world could be saved and great minds could live on indefinitely.

On the surface it appeared nothing had changed. Men still ran the world. But as the old saying goes, behind every great man is a great woman.

Copyright © 2019 Mandy White

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March into Spring with some Dysfunctional Fiction

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