The Body Shifters (Book 1 Body Shifters Trilogy): A Novel (The Body Shifters Trilogy)

by Leslie O'Kane

  Body Shifters Trilogy

  The Body Shifters

  by

  Leslie O’Kane

  Novel One in the Trilogy

  Copyright 2013 by Leslie O’Kane

  Digital edition published in 2013 by O’Kane Ink

  Current print edition published in 2014 by O’Kane Ink

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  Dedication

  For Carol O’Kane, my amazing daughter,

  without whom this book could never have been written.

  Chapter 1

  Someone’s in the house! Ellie Montgomery thought. She’d heard a noise over the whirr of her blow dryer. Frightened, she turned off her dryer and remained seated at her vanity table, afraid to move. “Dad?”

  Silence.

  Her heightened senses remained on red alert. Shivering now, she tightened the forest-green towel around her chest. She could see the half-open bedroom door in her mirror. She was terrified that a stranger could be lurking there—standing right behind her.

  Heart pounding, she turned and looked at the doorway. There were no strange shadows, no sounds. “Mom?” she called.

  Not moving a muscle, she listened.

  She could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway below. A full minute passed.

  It must have been her imagination. She sighed in relief.

  Nobody’s here. I just have the jitters. Too much coffee while cramming for my calculus test.

  She jumped as her cellphone rang, then chuckled at herself as she put a hand on her still-pounding heart. The ringtone was four measures of a ragtime-jazz piano piece. Nothing could be less threatening, even when it was this close—next to her elbow on the vanity table. She glanced at the screen. Liz was calling her, probably to say that the snow had slowed her drive, although Liz was always chronically late. Ellie and Liz went to the same high school, but lived in different neighborhoods of Philadelphia.

  Ellie answered with a breezy “Hi,” but Liz’s “Hey, Elony” was a bad sign; Liz only used Ellie’s full name when she was discouraged. She should be well on her way by now.

  “Are you stuck in traffic?”

  “Big time. So much for my brilliant decision to take the Express Way. I’m sorry about this. We should already be at The Sink by now.”

  “No worries. I’m not even dressed yet.”

  “It feels like I’m parked in this one spot on the highway. There’s a pickup truck behind me that’s had his high beams on the whole time. I’m getting blinded by the reflection in my mirrors.”

  “I hate that,” Ellie said.

  “It gets worse: the guy next to me is blasting techno music, and it’s so loud I can feel the beat. Literally. My car is vibrating.”

  “So basically, you’re in a bad club,” Ellie said. “You can’t see anything, and you’re forced to listen to loud, crappy music.”

  Liz laughed. “At least there’s no cover charge.”

  “And you don’t have a permanent ‘X’ on the back of your hand.” The Sink, where she and Liz were going tonight, admitted 18 year-olds until midnight, but marked their hands with orange Day-Glo markers. “Plus, you have a seat.”

  “Yeah. With genuine fake-leather upholstery. And I’m inhaling car fumes instead of second-hand smoke.”

  “Hmm. Carbon monoxide versus recycled nicotine. That’s a tough call.”

  “It is. But by the time I arrive, I’ll already . . . Wait a sec. I’m picking up speed! Maybe I can get to your house in another forty, forty-five. Did you want to go on ahead and meet me? Angie and Mike are already there. We’re celebrating the fact that you got into Stanford, after all.”

  “Nah, that’s okay. I’d just as soon wait for you. Give me a call when you’ve got an ETA.”

  “Will do. In the meantime, you can make an appearance at your neighbor’s party!”

  Ellie grinned. Liz was teasing her; they’d already discussed Ellie’s lack of enthusiasm for this particular party. “It is the place to be,” she said. “Provided you aren’t between the ages of twelve and thirty.” She caught sight of her blue-gray eyes in her vanity mirror and averted her gaze. “No worries, Liz. I’ll keep myself entertained till you get here.”

  “Woohoo! My speedometer just hit twenty-five!”

  “See you soon. Can’t wait!”

  Ellie hung up and sighed as she studied her reflection. She wished she looked more like Liz—tall and thin—instead of short and pudgy, more cute than pretty. Maybe a darker shade of bronzer would help accentuate her cheekbones.

  An instant later, she decided that she had better things to think about. It was almost Christmas. In another hour or so she’d be with her two closest friends (along with Angie’s clingy boyfriend) to celebrate her early admissions to her dream school. Six months from now, she’d graduate and get her diploma. She’d be out on her own at last. She’d be free!

  Ellie put on her jeans and a black cable-knit sweater. Her long auburn hair was still a little damp. She grabbed her blow dryer, but froze when she heard a thud downstairs. This time, she was dead certain someone was in the house. Was that the back door?

  She glanced at the window. The motion detectors for the back yard had turned on. Had someone walked across their patio?

  Her parents had just been telling her about two recent burglaries in the area. She’d dismissed their concern. Their home was nice, but hardly a mansion. Tonight would be a prime time to hit the houses in the immediate area, though. So many homes were deserted in favor of the annual bash four blocks away.

  Dad probably just bailed on Mom and came back home, Ellie thought.

  Then again—he’d driven to the party. Why would he have used the back door? Or walked across the patio deck?

  Yet another noise resounded from below. Ellie grabbed her cellphone, trying to steady her hands to dial 911.

  “Ellie?” her dad called up the stairs. “I’m home.”

  Thank God, Ellie thought. It must have been the front door after all. “Too much fun for one night?” she called out, almost giddy with relief.

  “Something like that. I just dropped your mom off and doubled back.”

  Mom’s not going to like that. If he’d seen how excited her mom had been when she was showing Ellie her new dress for tonight, he’d have realized how important this party was to her.

  She set down her dryer. I’m going to have to help Mom out. “Hey, Dad?” she called, heading for the bedroom door. “I’m rethinking going to the party.”

  “At the Silvermans?” Her father was standing at the base of the stairs, looking up at her.

  “Yeah. It’d be fun for me to at least make an appearance tonight. Will you come with me so I don’t have to go by myself?”

  “Sure. If you really want to go. That’d make Cassandra happy . . . though she’s fine either way. You know how your mom loves big parties. But isn’t Liz going to arrive any minute?”

  Ellie grabbed the handrail and started to descend the stairs. “No, she’s going to be an hour—”

  A floorboard creaked. Her father turned to look.

  Her father’s head jerked as a gunshot spl
it the air. He was propelled backward. Blood exploded behind him as he dropped to the floor, lifeless.

  Ellie heard herself scream, yet felt paralyzed with shock and fear.

  This can’t be happening! It makes no sense!

  A man wearing all-black clothing and a black ski mask rounded the base of the stairs. He took aim at her.

  Ellie turned and tried to scramble away. A second gunshot resounded. A bullet ripped through her back and chest.

  Her pain was at once unfathomable and irrelevant. She got her hands out in front of her as she dropped to the floor. Her blood pooled all around her. She had to get up. She was just a couple of strides away from her bedroom door.

  The gunman was climbing the staircase after her. She could hear his footsteps resounding, could feel the minute vibrations in the palms of her hands, pressed against the floorboards.

  She couldn’t rise, couldn’t get to her feet. She was going to die without a struggle.

  Her cheeks were wet with tears. She whimpered and shrieked. She felt like a terrified little girl and just wanted to be cradled in her mother’s lap.

  She didn’t want to die. She needed to get up, to get away from this monster, to call 911. This couldn’t be happening. Nobody had any reason to kill her or her dad. They had no enemies. She was so weak, so tired.

  Something was being shoved against the base of her skull. The barrel of the gun, maybe. Yet it felt like a dozen sharp pins digging into the nape of her neck at once.

  She stared helplessly at the killer’s shoes as she lost consciousness.

  Chapter 2

  Someone was talking. A woman. She was also stroking Ellie’s arm. What’s she doing in my bedroom? Why won’t she leave me alone? I just want to sleep.

  The air smelled weird. A cord was lying across her face. She couldn’t swallow. Her mouth and throat felt completely dry, as if filled with shards of glass. She tried to pull her arm away from the woman, but could barely move. It was like being at the bottom of a well, with hundreds of pounds of water pressing in on her.

  She tried to open her eyes and barely managed even that feat. Did she have Vaseline in her eyes? She caught a pattern of light and dark in the slit of vision. Feeling so slow. Sluggish. Slugged.

  “Alexis?”

  Not my name. Go away.

  “Alexis! Wake up!” Now the woman was patting the back of Ellie’s hand.

  She opened her eyes. A woman was hovering over her. Staring at her. In a halo of blinding light. A nurse? Hospital. My God! The shooting! Daddy! I was shot!

  In a flash, the full scene of her last memory returned to her. Even so, her mind and body were in molasses. I must be drugged.

  “Steve! Alexis is awake!”

  The hovering woman was indeed a nurse. Ellie was in a hospital bed. She brought a hand to her parched throat. She was wired to various monitors. She could smell the plastic tubing from the oxygen that was blowing into her nasal passages.

  “Steve?” the nurse called over her shoulder. “Page Dr. Vander.”

  Ellie could see the nurse’s face clearly now. She had dark eyes and hair, a prominent nose and chin. An enormous smile.

  I must have been out of it for quite a while. Probably not expected to live. My father! Mom’s going to need me. My poor mom!

  “Alexis. Alexis, it’s okay.” The nurse had a wonderfully soothing voice. Hypnotic, as if she was reading a bedtime story.

  My father’s dead. I was shot. I need my mom!

  “You were in a car accident. You’re in a hospital in Albany.”

  Albany?

  “It’s December twenty-eighth. You’ve been in a coma for just over a month.”

  They had her confused with another patient. How could they not know who she was? “No,” Ellie managed in a strangled whisper. A man entered the room, wearing blue scrubs. She struggled to get enough breath to add: “Not Alexis.”

  “Did she just say she’s not Alexis?” the man asked. He appeared to be in his thirties. Hawk nose. Weak chin.

  “She’s disoriented,” the nurse said to him. “It’s no wonder, after what she’s been through.”

  Ellie struggled to push herself up on her elbows. Stabbing pain shot through her every muscle, through every cell in her body.

  The man moved beside Ellie and operated the bed controls that raised the head of her bed. “My name is Steve. I’m one of your nurses.” He beamed at her. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to meet you. You’ve given us all quite a scare.”

  “Mom?” she mouthed. She clutched at her throat. Her jawline felt strange—less fleshy.

  “We can’t give you water just yet. I can give you a few ice chips, though. Just let them melt in your mouth.”

  “Susan?” Steve said to the female nurse. “Can you call her parents? They left for lunch about twenty minutes ago.”

  Steve spooned a couple of ice chips into her mouth.

  “Ms. Bixby?” the female nurse was saying in the background. “This is Susan at Albany Community Hospital. Alexis is awake.” She paused. “I know. It is a miracle.”

  How can everyone keep making this mistake? Keep calling me by someone else’s name?

  The drops of water from the ice chips were helping to soothe her throat. Steve chattered at her. So did the female nurse. Ellie had to struggle to stay even halfway awake. She kept nodding off. Each time she awakened, the pain in her throat prevented her from speaking. Steve continued to patiently spoon ice into her mouth, one or two chips at a time.

  Ellie gradually became fully awake and tried to take the spoon herself. Annoyed at the pinching of a clip fastened to her index finger, she looked down.

  What had happened to her hands? These weren’t her hands! Her fingers looked longer, and her nails were a different shape! The mole on her right wrist was gone!

  Why didn’t she have a gunshot wound in her chest? Had she only dreamt that she’d been shot?

  She touched her head. Someone had cut off all her hair. It felt really short—just over an inch or so long. Could she have been in a car accident, after all? Could a head injury have caused her to hallucinate that she and her father had been shot? She unfastened the clip on her finger.

  “Leave that on,” Steve said. “We need to keep an eye on your blood’s oxygen level.”

  She ignored him and touched the back of her neck at the base of her skull. She could feel the slight bumps there where her skin had been nicked. The bumps were in a perfect circle. The man in the ski mask had shoved something into her flesh. All those little pin points, jabbing into her. Maybe he’d injected her with a drug that distorted her perceptions. Terrified, she looked into Steve’s eyes.

  “You’re safe here, Alexis.” He put his hand on her shoulder.

  He’s still calling me “Alexis.” Something’s horribly wrong!

  Ellie kicked off the sheet that was covering her. She was clad in a cotton hospital gown with tiny blue flowers; she had white ankle socks on her feet. Her body was long and lean—her breasts were small, her waistline tiny, her hips slim. This was a fashion-model’s body, for a teen magazine. This wasn’t at all what her body looked like. Ten days of bedridden starvation could not have done this to her.

  How could drugs or a head injury warp her perceptions like this? She should be able to recognize herself!

  “What’s happening to me?!” Ellie said. Her voice sounded strange.

  “You’ve been in a car accident,” Steve said. “It’s perfectly normal that you don’t remember anything. You’ve had a bad concussion.”

  “No,” Ellie said. She was panicking. She couldn’t catch her breath. The room was whirling.

  “Just close your eyes,” Steve said, his voice gentle. “Concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths.”

  A middle-aged couple rushed into the room. The woman had the hollow-eyed look of someone who hadn’t slept in days, yet she wore the expression of a child on Christmas morning. She looked at Ellie and burst into tears of joy. The man—who towered over his petite wife�
��took a gulp of air as if reluctant to cry himself.

  “Alexis! Oh, Brian! Our Alexis is awake!”

  Ellie tried to squirm away. “I’m not your daughter. I’m Elony Montgomery.”

  A thirty-something-year-old man in a doctor’s jacket strode into the room. “Well, Alexis. Nice of you to join us.”

  “Why does everyone keep calling me that?! I’m Ellie! I’m Ellie!”

  Alexis’s mother gaped at her, glanced over at both nurses, then back at Ellie. “No, honey, you’re Alexis Bixby. You’ve had a concussion, and that’s got you confused. You remember us, don’t you?” She touched her chest and grabbed the man’s arm. “Mom and Dad?”

  Ellie shook her head. I have to get away from these people! I have to go see Mom!

  Dr. Vander shined a penlight into one of Ellie’s eyes, then the other, and instructed her to watch his finger as he moved it from one side of her vision to the next, and then back. Ellie obeyed, but was still panic-stricken. He shut off the light, then returned it to the pocket of his white coat.

  “Dr. Vander,” Alexis’s father said. “What the hell is going on? Why does our daughter think she’s someone else?”

  “She’s disoriented,” he pronounced. “Her brain’s been traumatized. This type of thing goes with the territory.”

  Ellie, too, turned to plead with the doctor. “I am somebody else. These aren’t my parents. My mother’s name is Cassandra Montgomery. My father—” she broke off, unable to say out loud that her father was dead. “I’m eighteen-years old, a senior at Willow Grove in Philadelphia. A man in a ski mask broke into our house and shot my father, then me. That happened one week before Christmas. Then I woke up here. I remember everything clearly.”

  He gave her a maddeningly smug smile. “Everything’s going to be okay. How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Three.” She wanted to hold up her middle finger and ask him the same question, but that didn’t seem fair to Alexis’s parents; Alexis was probably nicer and more patient than she was. Ellie yanked off the oxygen tube.