Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction)

by P. T. Dilloway

  I’m grateful for the screen with the words on it, because my mind has turned to mush again. I’ve heard “Beauty and the Beast” a thousand times at least, but I can’t remember any of it as the music begins to play. While the intro plays, I take another deep breath to clear my mind.

  I have to force the first words out of my mouth. I practically read them off the screen. Shit, I think. Everyone will laugh at me. Someone will probably put it on the Internet so the whole world can make me a punch line.

  I’m about to bolt when I hear a shrill whistle. “We love you, Stacey!” Maddy shouts.

  The tension melts away. I smile as I think of all those times with Maddy in the car, when she sang this very song. Now it’s my turn to sing it for her. I turn away from the screen, to focus on her. I don’t need the screen anymore.

  I almost do what Grace suggested. Instead of some imaginary happy place, the rest of the karaoke bar falls away. It’s just me and Maddy, back in the car. I see Maddy as she was back then, the way her chubby face lit up as the music played. Those were some of the best times between us, before I slipped out of her life.

  The rest of the bar comes back in a rush as I finish. I flinch as I hear the applause, which reminds me there are other people in the room. Maddy of course leads the cheers and gives another shrill whistle. I feel my face turn warm from so much attention.

  The next song goes a little more smoothly. By the third one I get the hang of it and let myself go with the flow of the music. I even risk a look around the bar at some of the other people who’ve paid their hard-earned money to hear me sing.

  My gaze settles on Dr. Macintosh. He sits in the corner, legs crossed as if he’s in one of our sessions. All he needs is the pad of paper and a pen. I’m sure he’s taking mental notes to discuss with me later. He meets my gaze and gives me a nod. There’s a smirk on his face; he’s probably congratulating himself about my progress.

  The two kids about my age behind the doctor also smirk. It’s a different kind of smirk, though. I stumble over a line of the song as I realize they’re ogling me. One shouts, “Take it off!”

  I turn back to Dr. Macintosh. He’s still got that smirk on his face. He’s not as overt as the others, but it’s still the same. He’s not here to take notes; he’s here to make a move on me. I imagine he’ll go back after the show to butter me up with some compliments. Then he’ll lean down to kiss my lips—

  I stop singing. For a moment I just stare at the audience. “I’m sorry,” I mumble into the microphone.

  Then I run.

  ***

  Some internal guidance system directs me back to the place where my new life began—more or less. The change actually happened underwater, at the bottom of the harbor. I still remember how I watched from the outside, like one of those out-of-body experiences, as I went from Detective Steve Fischer to a young woman who would eventually be named Stacey Chance.

  I’m not at the bottom of the harbor this time. I’m on a park bench by the waterfront, outside a private marina. There are a variety of boats in the marina, some with sails and some with plain old motors. Some are the size of an RV while others are more the size of a destroyer. This is the place where Stacey was born.

  I woke up on a metal pier at the edge of the harbor. I can’t get to it right now, not unless I want to jump into the harbor and swim to it. I’m not that desperate, yet. For now I’m content to sit on the bench and hug myself in a vain attempt to warm myself. This dress isn’t suited for a chilly night.

  I don’t know how I got to this place. All I remember is I ran out of the karaoke bar. How long ago was that? From the look of the sky it’s still night, probably no later than midnight. I’ve run for a couple of hours at most. I don’t feel that winded from the effort. This body always has run well.

  When I woke up in this place the first time I ran all the way from here to my old apartment. I didn’t have anything but an oversized jacket and galoshes I stole from one of the yachts in the harbor. At least this time I have the dress and my shoes. The latter comes as a surprise. The last time I ran around the city in a panic I kicked my shoes off and cut the hell out of my feet. Maybe my subconscious remembered that. It probably helps that I’ve gotten used to women’s shoes since then.

  Something touches my shoulder. I spin around and gasp. “Hey,” Maddy says. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Well you found me.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Have to be somewhere.”

  “You mind having some company?”

  “It’s a free country.” I slide over so Maddy can sit down next to me.

  “You really had us all worried. Jake put an APB out on you.”

  “Really?”

  “Tess is totally freaked. I think she thought you’d do something, you know?”

  I stare at the water and think of how easy it would be to jump in and swim until I tire and drown. Or I could jump off a building. Find something sharp to slit my wrists. There are plenty of ways to kill yourself in this city if you want to do it bad enough. Tess has probably thought of all of them right now.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to worry her.”

  “It’ll be fine. I can call her. If you want me to.”

  “Like I said, it’s a free country.”

  “How long are you planning to stay out here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well you should probably find something a little warmer to wear before you turn blue.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I wish Grace were here. She’d know what to say. Talking with crazy people is what she does.”

  “You think I’m crazy?”

  “Would a sane person leave in the middle of her set?”

  “That doesn’t make me crazy. Just a coward.”

  “Was it stage fright? From where I was sitting you were doing really good. It was unbelievable, really.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So why’d you stop?”

  “I don’t know. I felt sick.”

  “You felt so sick you ran halfway across the city?”

  “Fresh air does me good.”

  “Come on, Stace. I thought we were friends.”

  “We are.”

  “Then why can’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Maybe because I don’t know myself.”

  Maddy puts her arm around my shoulder. She pulls me against her body. The warmth of her body helps to take some of the chill off. “It’s all right. I’m sure you can find somewhere else to perform.”

  “I don’t want to perform. I’m not one of those organ grinder monkeys.” I tear myself away from Maddy and get to my feet. “I don’t want to be a singer, I don’t want to run Grace’s store, and I don’t want to go back to college!”

  “Then what do you want? Huh? Just tell me and I’ll help you do it.”

  I stare at her helplessly, unable to say what I really want. I want to be her dad again. I thought being Maddy’s friend would be enough, but it’s not. I want her to run to me for advice, not to dispense it to me like my big sister. “I—”

  Before I can say anything else, I feel something prick my shoulder. At first I think I’ve been shot again, but when I look down I see it’s a tranquilizer dart, the kind used to put down escaped zoo animals. “What the—?”

  My legs turn to goo; I drop to the ground. Maddy starts to scream, but then a gloved hand clamps over her mouth. Before I pass out, I see black shapes surround us. I figure before long I’ll end up back at the bottom of the harbor, only this time I won’t wake up.

  Part 2:

  Lab Rats

  Chapter 8

  I’ve been in hospital rooms a few times. You can’t be a cop for thirty years in this city and not wind up in a hospital once or twice. In my case it was three times, if you don’t count the time Big Al pulled a bullet out of my shoulder.

  So I have enough experience to recognize the beeping and humming of hospit
al machines to monitor my vital signs with my eyes still closed. I lie suspended in that place between sleep and wakefulness; my last moments of consciousness come back slowly to me. Maddy and I were on the waterfront, by that private marina where I first woke up as a woman. We argued—until a tranquilizer dart hit me in the arm.

  I know I ought to wake up and raise some hell about the situation, but I’m still groggy from the tranquilizer dart. I wonder what they gave me? I wonder too if it will have any interaction with the FY-1978 still in my blood? Dr. Palmer has cautioned me about that a few times. I try not to even take an aspirin if I can help it in case some allergic reaction causes me to grow a third arm or something.

  I open my eyes. It’s dark in the room, but the light from the machines is enough for me to see I’m not in a hospital room. Overhead I see steel beams instead of ceiling tiles. There’s not enough light for me to see where the roof is, but it’s probably a few stories up. Where the hell am I?

  I try to sit up; I don’t get very far. Something holds me down. I turn my head to the side, enough to see straps that hold me down to a bed that’s a glorified gurney. I try to move my legs, but they’re strapped down too. At least they let me move my head around.

  I turn my head to the other side and see the machines that monitor my vitals. I have no idea if the numbers are good or not. Beside the machines are two metal stands with plastic bags that hang from them. The one that’s full is probably an IV for nutrients. The empty one could be one I already used up.

  I thrash around on the gurney, but the straps are too strong for me to break. Then again at the moment they could be made of paper and I might not be able to break them. My limbs feel like someone filled them with wet sand. I try to move around anyway, until I see part of the reason for my weariness.

  My left arm looks like that of a drug addict. The skin is paler than Kristen Stewart’s in those Twilight movies Maddy likes to watch. Someone’s taken my blood with a needle. Why someone would do that is obvious: FY-1978. Did Lennox Pharmaceuticals decide to take a few unauthorized samples from me? Or maybe I had a reaction to the tranquilizer and Dr. Palmer took some blood to analyze. This might be some secret company lab where they can keep it quiet.

  I won’t get any answers on my back. I want to scream, but I can’t. My throat is too dry. I spend another minute to work up some spit into my mouth. What finally comes out is more of a wheeze than a scream.

  But it’s enough. I hear footsteps.

  ***

  I close my eyes a second before a light comes on. I open my eyes slowly to give myself time to adjust to the light. With the light, I can see I’m not in an actual room, just an area sectioned off by some dark green curtains. The ceiling is as high as I imagined before, which means I’m probably in a converted factory or warehouse. But why?

  The curtain parts and I get my first visitor. It’s an Asian woman, dressed in a white smock that looks more appropriate for a butcher than a nurse. The woman is probably four inches shorter than I am, but ten pounds or so heavier. When she smiles, wrinkles spread out from the corners of her eyes and mouth; she’s probably in her early forties then. Her teeth are yellowed and crooked, which means she doesn’t make a lot of money at whatever she does.

  “Hello Stacey,” she says.

  “I know you?” I croak.

  “Not yet. I am Qiang, your caretaker.” She bows slightly to me. There’s a thick accent to indicate she didn’t come here very long ago from the Far East.

  “Where—?”

  She shushes me and then presses a warm hand to my forehead. “Relax,” she says. “I will not hurt you.”

  “What—?”

  She cuts me off again; this time she dribbles water into my mouth. I swish it around for a few moments, to taste for anything funny in it. It seems like regular lukewarm water. I swallow it and wait to pass out again, but I don’t.

  The water loosens up my throat enough that I can ask, “Where am I?”

  “You are safe.”

  “Where?”

  “That I cannot say.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “What about Maddy? Can you tell me where she is?”

  “Your friend? She is being cared for.”

  I think of all those little pinpricks in my arm. Are they “caring” for Maddy in the same way? “What do you want with her?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Goddamnit, if you hurt her—” I try to break through the straps, but I’m still too weak. Qiang pushes me back down and pins me by the shoulders.

  “Do not move. You will hurt yourself.”

  “You mean you’ll hurt me.”

  “I have no wish to hurt you. I am here to care for you.”

  “If you want to care for me, how about letting me go home?”

  “I cannot do that.”

  “Then give me a phone so I can call my uncle.”

  “That is not possible.”

  “Why not? You got him in here too?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Lot of help you are.”

  Qiang squints behind her glasses at my monitors. “You must relax, please.”

  “How can I relax when I don’t know where I am or what you’re doing to me?”

  Her hand moves to stroke my hair. She smiles at me again. “Do not worry, you are in no danger. Neither is your friend.”

  “Prove it. Let me see Maddy.”

  “You will, in time. When you are strong enough. For now, rest. Relax.”

  “I don’t want to, you—” I don’t see the needle, but I feel it prick my neck. A few moments later, I’m asleep again.

  ***

  The next time I wake up, the room is dark again. My throat is moist enough that I can call out for Maddy. If there aren’t real rooms in this building then maybe she’ll be able to hear me. My voice still isn’t very strong; I can’t even hear an echo of my attempted shout. My singing career might be over before it ever began.

  I start to laugh at this thought. The hoarse laughter hurts my tender throat, but I can’t stop myself. I laugh until tears come to my eyes. I can’t do anything to wipe them away, not with my hands tied down. This only prompts me to laugh harder at my ridiculous situation.

  The first thing to do in a situation like this is to evaluate my surroundings. It’s too bad my “caretaker” couldn’t have left a scalpel or some other sharp implement where I could grab it. From what I can tell I have on a standard hospital gown, so there aren’t any pockets where I might find something useful. My head can’t move enough and the straps are much too strong for me to bite my way through.

  With that established, I wiggle my hands to see if there’s any slack to my bonds. They stay as tight as before around my wrists. I try my legs with similar results. I try to think of something else. My hands can move enough to feel the sides of the gurney. I poke around to search for a piece of metal that might break off for use as a shiv. I can’t find anything weak enough for me to break off, not in my current condition. For the moment I’m trapped about as well as anyone can be.

  I’ve got to do something. I can’t just lie here while they do God only knows what to my daughter. I start to thrash against the straps again; I hope I can get one of those surges of adrenaline they talk about in the news that lets a mother lift a car off of her baby. All that happens for me is I tire myself out after a couple of minutes. Tired and defeated, there’s nothing left to do but scream, “You monsters! Let her go!”

  My little tirade finally gets some attention. It’s not Qiang who answers. A man’s voice hisses, “Don’t worry, Mr. Fischer. We have no intention of harming your daughter, so long as you’re a good girl and cooperate.”

  It’s too dark for me to see who’s said this. I turn my head as much as possible, but I still don’t see anyone. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I say. “My name is Stacey—”

  The light comes on and my whimper swallows the rest of my sentence. When I’v
e blinked most of the green and purple blobs away, I see the man who’s spoken beside the gurney. Like Qiang he’s Asian, only he wears a black suit and horned-rim glasses. He’s got one of those Bluetooth things on his left ear; is that so he can keep in touch with Qiang and any hired muscle he’s got here?

  He bends over the gurney to look into my eyes. I try not to flinch at this. I have to be strong, try to intimidate him. That won’t be easy since he holds all of the cards right now. “Your daughter looks so much like you. It’s uncanny.”

  “She’s not my daughter. She’s my friend. I don’t know who this Mr. Fischer is, but he’s got nothing to do with us.”

  The man steps back. He smiles beneath his mustache. “There’s no need to lie, Mr. Fischer. I know all about FY-1978. I know more about it than you do. Perhaps even more than your friend Dr. Palmer.”

  “Did you take her too?”

  “No need. We already have her work.”

  “How?”

  “We have our sources.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Oh, how impolite of me to forget that. My name is Dr. Huang Ling.”

  “Ling? Are you—?”

  “Yes, he was my father.” Ling’s eyes narrow behind his glasses. “He was the one you murdered the first time we tried to obtain the FY-1978 formula.”

  “I didn’t kill him. That was Artie Luther and his goons.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I know everything. You were the one who convinced my father to balk at Mr. Luther’s offer. If not for your interference, he would have bought the formula and left without incident.”

  I laugh at this. “You really think that? Lex was never going to let your father walk out of there alive. Soon as he had the money, he would have had those guys in the Mercedes mow your father down. You can count on that.”

  I wait for Ling to slap me or maybe wring my neck, but he doesn’t. He only nods slightly. “There’s no way to know for certain, is there? I will still hold you responsible for his death, as I am bound to do by family honor.”