Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction)

by P. T. Dilloway

  “It’s going to be all right, chipmunk,” Mac says, to give me hope. That’s in short supply these last few hours.

  “I hope so,” I say, but even as I sit in the Rome airport, I can imagine myself getting older, until gray hairs creep up through the red dye. By the time we get back to America I might look like a grandma; I might need a cane or walker to get around. I shiver at that thought.

  “Are you cold?” Mac asks.

  “No, I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

  Mac nods. He pulls me closer, to make me more comfortable. There’s not much he or anyone else can do, not right now. Right now I need a miracle.

  Chapter 21

  Mac gives me the window seat, but I have to give it back to him. During the fifteen-hour flight I have to use the bathroom four times. After the second time I ask Mac to take the window seat so I can be closer to the aisle. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong, chipmunk?”

  “I don’t feel good,” I say. I force myself to smile. “Probably something I ate.”

  “So I guess the mile high club is out?”

  “You have a dirty mind, buster,” I say. Then I excuse myself to use the bathroom again. I barely make it in time. Unlike what I told Mac, it’s not my stomach; it’s my bladder. The older I get, the more it seems to shrink.

  When the stewardess comes by to offer water, coffee, or soda, I decline. I don’t want to drink anything that will run through me in ten minutes. Despite that, my bladder nags at me a half-hour later. I push my way past the stewardess to get to the bathroom. Except it’s occupied. I stand there, my legs crossed and my body jiggling with impatience.

  I finally knock on the door and shout, “Hurry up already!”

  A man comes out a few minutes later, but he’s too late. I’ve already dribbled in my underpants. To keep up appearances I go into the bathroom anyway. I clean up as best I can, though there’s nothing I can do with my underpants except to fetch some fresh ones from my suitcase. I decide to just toss the underwear in the trash.

  Mac must sense my distress, as he puts his arm around me when I sit down. He pulls me close, so that my head can rest on his shoulder. “It’s probably just motion sickness,” he says.

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “We can get you checked out once we’re on the ground.”

  “Sure.”

  I close my eyes, but I can still sense Mac staring at me. “Stacey, is there something you aren’t telling me?”

  “No.”

  “Stacey, don’t lie to me. Let me help.”

  “You can’t help me. Not with this.”

  “With what?” When I don’t answer, he says, “It’s more than your stomach, isn’t it?”

  I don’t want to come clean with him on an airplane full of people. But Mac is my husband; we’re supposed to share our secrets, not keep things from each other. “Look at my face,” I say. “Really look at it.”

  “Stacey—”

  I open my eyes and then take his hand. I trace one of his fingers along my crow’s feet. “I’m getting old,” I say. “I don’t know when it started to happen. Maybe even before the wedding, but it wasn’t so bad then. Now it’s getting worse.” I run his hand through my red hair. “I dyed it because it was turning gray. I didn’t want you to worry until I could talk to Dr. Palmer and straighten this out.”

  “So you lied to me. Again.”

  “I’m sorry. Like I said, I didn’t want you to worry about it. I didn’t want to ruin our honeymoon. I guess it got ruined anyway.”

  “I thought we already talked about this. I don’t want you to hide things from me. I want us to be honest with each other.”

  “I know. I panicked, OK?” Even though people might be able to see us, I move his hand down to between my legs. He tries to pull his hand back, but I keep hold. “Since we’re being so honest, I wet myself that last time I went to the bathroom. My bladder is getting tinier the older I get.”

  “Oh, Stacey—”

  “I’m sorry, Mac.” I smile at him again. “I bet you wish you’d found yourself a nice, normal girl, don’t you? Not one who changes into a man or a little Chinese girl or an old woman at the drop of a hat.”

  “I don’t love anyone else. Not the way I love you.” He kisses me to prove it. Then I settle against him and go to sleep.

  ***

  Jake waits for us at the airport. He looks worse than I do; his skin is gray and his suit hangs off him like on a scarecrow. That’s what happens when you drink most of your meals. When he gets close, his eyes narrow at me. “What’s happening with you?”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” I say. I sniff theatrically. “What’s happening with you? You start bathing in whiskey?”

  “Shut up,” he snaps. Mac shows up with our bags. Jake shakes his hand, though it’s a very brief transaction. “My car’s in the parking lot. Come on.”

  “Hold on a minute,” I say. I rifle through my bag to find some fresh panties and then dash into the nearest bathroom. I make it without an accident this time. Then I put on three layers of panties in case anything else happens.

  “What was that about?” Jake asks.

  “Nothing important,” I say. I squeeze against Mac for support as we head out.

  The Fairlane doesn’t have a lot of trunk room, but there’s enough for our bags. “How was the honeymoon?” Jake asks as I buckle into the front seat.

  “Most of it was wonderful.”

  Jake waits long enough for Mac to shut the door before he floors the accelerator. “Now you going to tell me what’s going on with you?”

  “I’m getting old,” I say. “It won’t be long before I’m as old as you are, though I won’t look so bad.”

  “That’s just great,” Jake says. “Palmer’s out of commission and you’re turning into a senior citizen. Plus that fuck Vollmer is still on the loose.”

  “You think he was behind the hit at Lennox?”

  “It’s not his m.o.”

  “How many more has he got?”

  “He’s up to a dozen.” Jake lights up a cigarette and takes a long drag on it. “He’s been a busy boy.”

  “You’re not any closer to getting him?”

  “He keeps changing things up, hitting different parts of the city at different times. He’s not sticking with any racial group either. He’s an equal opportunity killer.”

  “So there’s no pattern?”

  “Not that we can figure out. The Feds have horned in on the case now. The media’s having a field day with it, just like before.” Jake takes another drag on the cigarette. “In a way it’s good they’re so worried about Vollmer; it let the Lennox thing slip under the radar.”

  “Any witnesses to the Lennox heist? Videotape?”

  “No witnesses left alive. The security cameras were disabled. No prints or DNA that we can find yet either. It’s like a fucking ghost hit the place.”

  “Just great,” I say with a sigh. Things are rapidly spiraling from bad to worse to worst.

  We pull up to St. Vincent’s, the hospital where Maddy and I frequently went for tests after we became little girls. Dr. Palmer used to work here, as did Mac. This is where they met and became best friends. That explains why Mac looks green around the gills.

  Jake leads us into the hospital and punches the button for the third floor. “She’s not in intensive care?” I ask.

  “No,” he says.

  The door opens and I see the familiar pastel wallpaper with borders of cartoon animals that designates the pediatrics wing. “What are we doing here?” Mac asks. “I thought we were going to see Clarita?”

  “You’ll see her in a minute,” Jake says.

  Jake leads us to a private room. There’s a uniformed cop on duty. Jake shows his badge to the officer. “They’re with me,” he says. The officer nods and sits back down on his chair to serve out the rest of his shift.

  There are two beds, but only one of them is occupied. It’s not Dr. Palmer, though. In the bed is a toddler, tw
o or three years old, with a mop of platinum curls and a pale face covered with freckles. Her eyes are closed, but she seems to be breathing on her own. “What are we doing here?” I ask. “Where is she?”

  “That is her,” Jake says.

  ***

  Mac is the first one to react. He hurries over to the bedside, to squint at the little girl. It won’t do any good; there won’t be anything of Dr. Palmer left there, not if I’m right. “FY-1978,” I say.

  “Someone gave her a shot of it. Maybe by accident or maybe on purpose. That’s probably why she’s still alive and not like the others.”

  “They thought it had killed her,” I say.

  “Yeah. She might wish it had if she ever wakes up.”

  I don’t say anything to that. I can only think of how I felt when I woke up as a chubby Chinese toddler. It’ll be just like that for Dr. Palmer, only worse if she stays like this. “Was she like this when they found her?”

  “No, she was younger. Maybe a year old.”

  I nod and think of the shot Dr. Palmer gave me. She said it turned me all the way back to a baby. Then I started to get older. If it’s like that shot, Dr. Palmer might end up a little girl of eleven or so. “Jesus Christ,” I whisper.

  “This is unbelievable,” Mac says. He collapses onto a chair and takes a few deep breaths. “Why would someone do that to her?”

  “She might have got in the way. They would need her to open the vault, but she might have resisted. Or she might have tried to stop them from leaving and they did it then. It’s hard to say.”

  “This is the same stuff she gave you?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Good lord,” he whispers. “When she wakes up, is she going to remember who she is?”

  “She should. I always did.”

  “What if she doesn’t become an adult again? What then?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll have to find her a good home,” I say.

  “I’m sure Tess will take her in. We’ve got a vacancy since Madison moved back in with Grace.” Jake pats at his pockets, until he remembers he left the cigarettes in the car and can’t light one here anyway. “It’s like a fucking transient motel anymore.”

  “Did they leave anything in the lab?”

  “Nothing we can use.”

  “What about her office?”

  “Ransacked. Computers were destroyed too.”

  “Her apartment?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Shit,” I say. I think not just about Dr. Palmer, but also myself. If I don’t get another dose of FY-1978 soon, I’ll turn into an old crone and then probably a pile of dust. “They got her whole staff?”

  “Everyone.”

  I stare at the cute little toddler in the bed for a minute. At least Dr. Palmer didn’t end up like her former boss Dr. Nath—“Wait a minute,” I say. “I think there might still be someone to help us.”

  We leave Mac at the hospital in case Dr. Palmer wakes up. Besides, I don’t need him to get any more involved in this than he already is. The less he knows about all the sleazy dealings that have gone on thanks to FY-1978 the better.

  It’s not too hard to track down Dr. Kalya Nath. She lives in an apartment not far from the waterfront, the kind of place that once was a factory but then was converted into lofts for the hipster crowd. I let Jake bang on the door since he’s the one with the badge.

  It’s not Dr. Nath who answers the door. A black girl about the same age as Nath peeks through a crack in the door, the chain still on. “What you want?” she asks.

  Jake holds out his badge. “Dr. Nath,” he says. “Where is she?”

  “Sleeping.”

  “Then get her up.”

  “Why? What she done?”

  “Nothing. And unless you want hauled in for obstruction of justice, get her out of bed.”

  “Fuck you, pig.”

  I shove Jake aside. Time for the good cop, so to speak. “I’m sorry about him. He’s not getting a lot of sleep these days. My name is Stacey Chance—”

  “Chance? You the little bitch who got her fired?”

  “Well—”

  “You two best get out of here right now.”

  “Or what, you’ll call the cops?” Jake asks with a sneer.

  “I’ll call my boyfriend to bust both your heads open.”

  “You threatening a police officer?”

  “What’s going on?” I hear Dr. Nath ask from behind her roommate.

  “That little bitch who got you fired is here with some pig.”

  “Kalya, it’s me,” I say. “I need to talk to you. Can we come in?”

  There’s a long pause before she says, “Sure. Let them in.”

  “But—”

  “Just do it.”

  The roommate grumbles something under her breath as she slams the door closed. I hear the chain rattle as she takes it off the door. Then the door opens. Dr. Nath stares at me. The light isn’t great out in the hallway, but good enough for her to see my face. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Can we go inside?”

  Her loft is a little better furnished than Dr. Palmer’s apartment. I suspect a lot of the furniture belongs to the roommate. Dr. Nath strikes me as the workaholic type like her aunt. She leads us over to a red couch while she takes an armchair. A door slams down the hallway as the roommate goes into her bedroom. Maybe she’ll call that boyfriend to bust our heads open.

  Dr. Nath leans forward in her chair to look at me. She brushes aside my bangs to get a better look at the creases on my forehead. “Jesus,” she says. “You look as old as my mom.”

  “I’m getting older,” I say. “It won’t be long until I’m old enough to be your grandma.”

  “No kidding. Why don’t you tell me what happened after you left Lennox?”

  So I tell her about the first signs I noticed before the wedding. I go on about how the wrinkles deepened and gray hairs multiplied. I have to look down at my feet as I describe my bladder problems on the plane. “Did you hear about what happened to Dr. Palmer’s lab?” I say to conclude my tale.

  “I heard the rest of the staff was killed and she’s in a coma.”

  “Not exactly a coma. Someone dosed her with FY-1978 too.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Very serious,” Jake says. He takes out his notebook and flips it to a page. “So where were you last night after midnight?”

  “Here. I helped Rosa with her homework for a while and then we went to bed.”

  “Not much of an alibi.”

  “You think I robbed the place? And killed a bunch of people?”

  “You might not have killed anyone. You did know about the security at Lennox. You were recently fired from there. Not unusual for a disgruntled employee to want payback.”

  “So I’m a suspect?”

  “No, you aren’t,” I say. “There wouldn’t be any need for you to rob the place. Not when you could sell the formula to a competitor for millions.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m sure you have a copy of the formula. In your head if nowhere else. I mean, it is your aunt’s recipe, right?”

  Nath nods to confirm my suspicions. “I smuggled a flash drive out of there before they fired me. It’s got the formula on it—my version of it anyway.”

  “The one that’s turning Stacey into an old lady?”

  “Yeah, that one,” Dr. Nath says. “You going to arrest me for that?”

  “No,” I say for Jake. “But I need your help. How long would it take you to make another batch so you could inject me again?”

  “With no lab facilities, it’s impossible.”

  “Don’t you have another job yet?”

  “Sure, but I don’t have access to what I need there.”

  “Then go back to Lennox. Tell them you have a copy of the formula.”

  “There’s a good idea. They’ll bust me for industrial espionage.”

  She has a good point. It’s not like she ca
n just waltz into Dr. Lennox’s office and tell him she has a copy of the FY-1978 formula that she modified without supervision. Still, I need her to make another batch for me, before I turn into a pile of dust. “Maybe you don’t have to tell them that. Maybe you could tell them your aunt left a copy of the formula with you.”

  “I’m not sure they’d like that much better.”

  “Kalya, please. Look at me. I’m dying. You’re the only one who can help me.”

  “Look what happened when she did try to help you,” Jake says.

  “She was trying to help me. I was going to be stuck as a little kid again.”

  “Some help.”

  “With Palmer gone and her lab trashed, there’s no one else who can do anything,” I say. “Please, Kalya?”

  She stares at me for a moment and then nods. “All right.”

  Chapter 22

  Becoming an old woman is like becoming a baby again. When I wake up, I can’t get out of bed, not on my own. My withered legs have become too feeble to support me without a walker. I try to cling to the walker while I drag myself out of bed, but my top half isn’t much stronger than my bottom half.

  I lean on the walker with my legs still in bed when Mac finds me. “Ready to get up?” he asks. I’m pretty sure he says this much louder than usual, though it’s hard to tell for sure with how bad my hearing has gotten.

  “I can do it,” I insist. He comes forward to help me anyway. I swat at him, not that it does any good. “I can do it!”

  He doesn’t listen to me; he slides my legs out of bed for me. He holds onto the walker too so it doesn’t tip over as I get into an upright position. I breathe hard, as if I’ve walked a mile. While I gather myself, the blurry room comes into focus as Mac puts my trifocals on me. The background is still fuzzy, which probably means in a few days I’ll be blind—if I’m still alive at all.

  I make my way to the bathroom one step at a time; I pause between steps to gather my strength. It’s a tedious process that’s not worth the effort. Pretty soon I’ll be confined to bed and have to piss into a bedpan. A bedpan wouldn’t make much difference since I’m already doing a lot of business into my adult diapers.

  While Mac starts the water for my bath, he helps me get the diaper off. All I do is manage to stay upright while he takes it off. There’s a mixture of number one and number two in there. As I always do, I start to cry when I see the mess I’ve made.