Mac pats me on the back. “It’s all right, chipmunk,” he says.
“I’m a baby,” I whimper.
“No you aren’t. You’re my wife.”
When he kisses my forehead I can barely feel it. I’ve probably had a few mini-strokes over the last couple of days. Maybe one of those will kill me before I turn to dust.
After the diaper, he helps me get the nightgown over my head. We do it one sleeve at a time so I can keep a hand on the walker for support. When the nightgown is off, I get a look at my wrinkled, saggy skin. There are a few new liver spots, more every day as I get older.
Mac installed a grip on the wall to help me climb into the tub. I do it one leg at a time and then Mac helps to ease me into the water. Like a little girl I have to let him wash me. Unlike when I was ten, I can’t even wash my lower half by myself; Mac has to scrub my dusty old vagina for me.
“Close your eyes, chipmunk,” he says when it’s time to wash my hair. Like an obedient child I do as he says. Warm water splashes over my head. Mac whistles a jaunty tune as he scrubs the baby shampoo into hair that’s gone completely white. No amount of hair dye can hide the aging anymore.
As I do every time, I cry silently to myself. To think a week ago I was in Italy, on my honeymoon; I had looked forward to a future with Mac. Now I’m a feeble old coot whose future is less than a week. The universe is unfair like that.
I sit in the tub after the water’s drained out so Mac can dry my upper half while I sit. Then I cling to the handle while he dries off my lower parts. I lean against him so he can help me out of the tub, back to my walker. I hobble a few steps to the mirror, where he blow-dries my hair. Mac’s not a very good stylist, but he manages to get something like a matronly bun.
Then comes the biggest humiliation, when he takes out a fresh Depends diaper to put on me. I get a look at myself, naked except for the diaper and cry harder. Mac lets me lean against him until I’ve sobbed myself out. “You shouldn’t do this anymore,” I say. “Just put a pillow over my face. End the nightmare for both of us.”
“I can’t do that, sweetheart. It’s in sickness and in health, remember?”
“Til death do we part,” I add. I give him a dry kiss on the cheek as if I’m kissing my grandson.
I toddle back into the bedroom. By now I’m so tired I want to go back to bed, but Mac makes me stay active, as if that will somehow help me live longer. Exercise won’t reverse the rapid deterioration of my cells. Only a fresh dose of FY-1978 might be able to do that, but Dr. Nath is still working on it. By the time she gets anything, I’ll be gone.
I have to lean on my walker as Mac helps me dress. There’s an old flower print housedress and a pink cardigan sweater borrowed from Tess that make me look even more like an old lady. It’s a far cry from the naughty schoolgirl outfit.
“OK, time to go downstairs for breakfast,” he says.
“I don’t want to go downstairs.”
“Now, chipmunk, you know you need to exercise.”
“I don’t wanna!”
“Stacey, please. You can’t give up yet. You have to fight this thing.”
“I can’t fight it. I’m dying and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.”
Still, I set out for the door. It’s an extremely slow walk down the hallway. Once I get to the edge of the stairs, Mac picks me up. I’m lighter than I ever was, so it’s easy for him to carry me along with the walker down the steps. It would be easier if he had someone to help, but he sent Darren and Mary Anne to stay with his mother so they won’t have to watch me die. Mac unfolds the walker with one hand while I cling to him with my arthritic claws. Then he sets me down to grab hold of the walker.
The last part of the journey is to get to the dining room. I sink onto a chair with a grateful sigh. I made it without a heart attack or stroke.
“You wait here and I’ll get breakfast.”
Of course since I’m like a baby now, breakfast consists of oatmeal. My teeth are pretty much gone except for a few yellow stragglers. If I were going to live more than a few days, Mac would have me get dentures. We won’t have time for that, which is just as well, one humiliation I’ll be spared.
The spoon in my hand shakes as if I’m having a seizure; these days my hands have minds of their own. I dip the spoon into the oatmeal. About a third of it lands in my mouth. The rest ends up on the bib Mac makes me wear.
He doesn’t eat much; he drinks a cup of coffee while he watches me try to feed myself. I’m sure this hurts him almost as much as it hurts me. He’s been so good about it, no matter how bad it’s gotten. That more than anything makes me regret we’ll never have the chance to grow old together.
Once I’ve finished making a mess out of breakfast, Mac wipes my face off and removes the bib. He helps me walk into the living room, where he allows me to lie down on the couch. He turns the TV on and flips to a rerun of The Beverly Hillbillies he figures won’t upset me like the local and national news with all its reports about Vollmer still on the loose, with notes left at the latest crime scenes to taunt the cops.
Mac squats down to look me in the eye. “I’m going to pick up a few things for you at the store,” he says. I’m sure he means more diapers and oatmeal. “I’ll leave the phone right by you. If anything happens, you dial 911, OK?”
“OK.”
He tries to kiss me on the lips, but I turn so he kisses my cheek again. He pats my white hair and then he’s gone, to leave me to nap on the couch.
***
I hear footsteps in the foyer. I don’t open my eyes, not until I hear a girl’s voice say, “Mrs. Macintosh?” The girl puts a hand on my back and gives me a little shake, maybe to see if I’m dead.
I open my eyes and see a girl of seventeen or so. She’s gorgeous, far more so than I used to be, with a cheerleader’s body and long, golden hair. She wears a schoolgirl’s outfit like I used to wear, though I think hers must be real. Her pink lips curl into a smile. “You are Stacey Macintosh?”
“That’s right, dear,” I say. I feel entitled to use Tess’s old womanly language now. “Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of Darren,” she says.
“Darren’s not here.”
“I see. We were working on a project together and—”
“Darren’s not in school. It’s summer.”
“It’s not for school,” she says. “It’s for—”
“Who are you really? What are you selling, young lady? And how did you get in here? I’ll have you know my husband will be back any minute.”
The girl’s smile widens. She bends down the way Mac did so she can look me in the eye. “In that case, Fischer, I’m going to make this quick.”
“What did you call me?”
“Isn’t it funny how we ended up? You an old Chinese cunt and me a hot little piece of ass. I hope this shit doesn’t make me look like that.”
I squint at the girl. Like with Dr. Palmer in the hospital, there’s nothing left physically to identify this person. Still, I know who it is. “Vollmer.”
“That’s right, Fischer. You’ve still got that old detective’s nose, though it’s a lot smaller now.” Vollmer pinches my nose and makes a honking noise. “I have to say I didn’t get why you would want to go around as a cunt, but I’m starting to get it. The way these guys look at me now, all I have to do is give them a wink or a smile and they’ll do anything I ask.”
“Including murder?”
“Don’t be stupid, Fischer. I’d never take any help with that. I like the hands-on approach.” With that she wraps her hands around my neck. Those hands are much daintier than before, but in my present condition it doesn’t take much to choke the life out of me. I do what little I can to fight back. All I accomplish is to fall on the floor, where I flop around like a fish out of water while Vollmer continues to strangle me.
I look in her eyes as I die. So it was Vollmer who pulled off the Lennox job. He—now she—is the one who killed Palmer’s staff and turned the doctor into a
toddler. Not to mention all the other people he/she has killed since he broke out of prison. And now there’s one more to add to the list.
The world around me fades to black. Vollmer’s smirk is the last thing I see before I slip away.
Part 3
Resurrection
Chapter 23
Once again I find myself looking down on myself. My wrinkled face has turned purple from a lack of oxygen. My body lies stiff on the carpet, no sign of breathing. I can’t smell, but I’m sure there’s a nasty mess in my diaper.
Vollmer is nowhere to be found. She probably lit out as soon as I stopped breathing. It’ll be impossible for the police to catch up with her since they think the culprit is a middle-aged man with a shaved head, not a blond teenage girl. And if she still has a stash of FY-1978, she could always change her appearance again, though God only knows what it would do to her.
I look down and see my hair is silver and my face a little less wrinkled, though just as purple. I wish I could drift closer to get a better look, but all I can do is float up by the ceiling and watch myself get younger.
A little younger, anyway. My hair goes from silver to dull gray and then a few spots of brown creep into it. As it does, it shortens all around; my bangs erode into a widow’s peak while in the back it’s only an inch or two long. My face still has forehead creases, crow’s feet, and laugh lines, but at least they aren’t so deep.
It’s not over yet. My eyes start to change, back to their old Caucasian shape. My nose gets longer and puffier, the end of it bulbous and red. My jaw widens to turn square with salt-and-pepper stubble along it. My jowls go slack and sag into a hint of double chin.
The rest of my body follows suit with my face. My torso turns longer and wider. The weight from my breasts heads south to form a potbelly that droops over my waist. My arms and legs turn longer and more muscular. My feet just about double in size and width. Then of course my vagina closes up and a penis pushes out between my legs again. At least this time it’s full size. I can at least die looking like a real man.
Except I’m not going to die, not yet. The next thing I know, something pulls me down, towards my old body. Part of me wants to fight it, to just let me die at last, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m drawn down closer and closer, until I can see the individual pores on my face. There’s a flash of red as I sink into my body.
Then I gasp for air. I wheeze as I struggle to breathe. The wheezing gradually turns to coughing, a terrible cough that has me roll over into a squatting position. And yet second by second air gets into my lungs. I’m coming back to life.
***
After a few minutes I sit up. Just like last time, the problem is that I’m naked. Five years ago my body shrank and my clothes disappeared in the harbor. This time like the Incredible Hulk I’ve shredded my clothes. Not even the diaper fits me anymore.
I lurch to my feet and then stagger to the stairs. I have to hold onto the walls like I’m an old lady, only now it’s because my legs are longer than I’m used to. The stairs present an even greater challenge. I have to take them one at a time, while I cling to the guardrail. Too bad Mac isn’t here to carry me, but I’m much too heavy for that anyway.
By the time I make it to the top I need to catch my breath again. I’m still weakened from the strangling and the change, plus over thirty-five years of smoking. After a couple of minutes, I scramble to my feet and then make my way into the bedroom.
Mac’s clothes won’t fit me. And I know Stacey’s clothes won’t fit either. I find Mac’s running shorts and sweatshirt. The sweatshirt doesn’t fit over my gut and the running shorts look more like briefs on me, but at least I’m somewhat covered. I slip into Mac’s sandals; my toes and heels hang out of either end. It might keep my feet from getting cut up when I leave here.
As much as I might want to, I can’t stay. Mac’s been a good sport to care for me as an old woman, but this is too much. I’m not ready to talk to him now anyway. I know what he’d say about hiding from him, but those vows only applied to Stacey Chance, not Steve Fischer.
I’m a little spryer when I go downstairs. My purse is by the lamp in the living room, where Mac left it in case I fell and couldn’t get up. I’m out of the house when I take out my phone and call up Jake’s number. “Jake, it’s me. I need to see you. Meet me at Rosie’s as soon as you can.”
On the train, I try to pry Mac’s ring off my finger. At least my big fat ring finger didn’t bend the thing out of shape. It’s just really, really tight. With a lot of effort the ring finally comes off. I discreetly drop it into my purse so I can give it back to Mac later. He can give it to another girl, one who deserves him.
Rosie still works the counter of the coffee shop. Her eyes narrow behind her glasses as I approach in my tight clothes with the purse tucked under my arm. “Just a coffee,” I say. “Black.”
“You look like someone I used to know.”
“I just got that kind of face.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
She watches me even after I sit in the booth where Jake and I used to meet for breakfast. I haven’t sat in this booth since I first became Stacey and asked Jake to meet me here. There’s new vinyl on the seat, to eliminate the groove my ass had worn into the old seat. It might take me a while to carve out a new one.
As I sip my coffee, I try to think. The best thing to do right now is hide out with Jake and Tess until I can decide what to do next. I check my phone in case Jake has left a message. I check the time too. Where the hell is he?
I get two refills while I wait. Rosie checks me out from time to time as she tries to decide if I’m Steve Fischer. I think about going over there to explain things, but she wouldn’t believe me. Jake is the only one who will. Mac might too since he does know about my past, but I can’t have that conversation with him yet.
Two hours after I called, I see Jake come through the door. He scans the counter first and then turns to look my way. Jake would never run to me like in a romantic movie, but he does hustle over at a brisk walk. He slides into the booth and then asks in a low voice, “Steve?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“How the hell did that happen?”
I shrug. Don’t ask me how this FY-1978 shit works. That was Dr. Palmer’s area. Now I guess it’d be up to Dr. Nath to explain it. “Vollmer got me,” I say. “Walked right into the house and strangled me on the couch. Then I changed back to this.”
“Jesus Christ.” Jake shakes his head. “But it is really you? You remember everything?”
“Yeah, I remember everything. All that time I was Stacey, living in your house. Speaking of which—”
“Of course you can stay with us. It’s going to be hell trying to explain it to Tess, though.”
Jake looks over his shoulder. Rosie stares at us again. “She know anything?”
“She suspects, but she doesn’t know,” I say. “Look, can we get out of here? I feel really conspicuous right now.”
“Sure, but are you sure you don’t want to go back to your husband’s place?”
“He’s not my husband. He was Stacey’s husband. I can’t deal with that shit right now. I need to get some goddamned sleep first.”
Jake pays for my coffee and leaves a good tip. Maybe that will keep Rosie from bothering us. It doesn’t. “He a friend of yours?” she asks Jake.
“Yeah, we’re old friends,” Jake says.
“He looks a lot like Steve.”
“I guess he does.”
“Who’s Steve?” I ask.
“Someone I used to work with,” Jake says. “He’s been dead for a while.”
“That’s too bad.”
A customer comes in, which saves us from any more playacting. We slip out to the Fairlane; I drop gratefully onto the passenger’s seat. Once we’re both buckled in, Jake lights a cigarette. “Give me one of those, won’t you?” I say.
He hands me the lit cigarette. I take a puff off it and sigh. Just like riding a bike.
Chapter 24
On the way back to Jake’s house, I give him the details about what happened to me. “Vollmer pulled off that robbery at Lennox?” he asks.
“Apparently. Stole the FY-1978 and used it on himself too. That’s why you haven’t gotten any closer to him. You’re still looking for a man and he’s a teenage girl.”
“Christ,” Jake says. “How the hell am I supposed to explain that to the captain?”
“Don’t. Just say you need to find her for questioning in connection to the robbery.”
“Sure and I’m going to put an APB out on a teenage blond girl with blue eyes and pale skin. There’s only about a half-million girls in this city who answer to that.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get any fingerprints while she was strangling me.”
“Did she have any distinguishing features? A mole or tattoo or something we could use?”
“Not that I can remember. But again I was a little busy at the time.”
“How did she get into your house anyway? Didn’t Dr. Dreamboat lock the door?”
“I’m sure he did, but you know Vollmer can break a lock. Even as a girl it’s not that hard.”
“You know, it’s possible your husband is going to report a break-in and kidnapping.”
“Mac isn’t going to say anything. What’s he supposed to tell the cops: someone kidnapped his eighty-year-old wife who used to be a twenty-three-year-old girl? He might come to you, but he’s not going to dial 911.”
“And what am I supposed to tell him?”
“Go over and dust for prints and stuff. Tell him you’ll look into it. Just buy me some goddamned time to figure this out, all right?”
“Sure.” Under his breath, he grumbles, “I’m starting to miss Stacey already.”
So am I.
We get to Jake’s house about a half-hour later. Tess is there to greet us at the door. Her face goes slack as she sees me. “Steven? Is that you?”
Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction) Page 77