The Shapeshifter Chronicles

by Peralta, Samuel

  At the next archway, I passed a baby grand piano and found the living room, dining area, and kitchen, all in the one massive room. Seamless glass paneling brought the outside inside, and the absence of color among the furnishings reflected Seattle’s despondent weather.

  The kitchen was comprised of metallic surfaces and dark marble. A freestanding spiral staircase joined the first and second floor. A balcony on the second landing afforded a view across the lower area. Upstairs, I turned down the hallway, then into the bedroom, where the sounds of a running shower met my ears.

  The bedroom was an apartment in itself with its lounging area, walk-in closet, and office area. To the left of a king-sized bed, a table contained jewelry, a book, and hand cream. Claire’s side. I got in, picked up the novel she’d been reading, and sat back against the bed.

  Heath came out seconds later, towel wrapped around his waist. He shot me a charming, gorgeous smile on the way to the closet.

  “What are your plans for this morning?” he asked, removing his towel in front of me.

  As he stretched up to take a shirt off the hanger, I couldn’t help watching his bronzed muscles flexing, the light behind him casting shadows across his trapezius and shadowing the dip in his back above his buttocks.

  He stopped dressing, and I met his eyes to find him watching me. I pretended to read.

  “Claire?” Over the book, I could see his nakedness facing me.

  “What?” I asked, flipping a page.

  The bed moved as he perched on the edge. “It’s been months since you watched me get dressed.”

  “Sorry.”

  I met his eyes, and he frowned. “When did you put on makeup? You look…you look good. Did you do that for me?”

  A lump caught in my throat. There were no words to speak, only the images of his wonderful naked body. His eyes were simmering, golden. I knew the look well.

  But then he yanked off my blanket. “You’re dressed?”

  All good feelings left me: handsome didn’t trump asshole.

  “I checked on William.” I started coughing like Claire had told me to.

  A doorbell chimed. “Be right back,” Heath said, awkwardly pulling on jeans and grabbing a shirt off the floor. He returned, doctor in tow.

  “Claire,” said the physician. “How are you?”

  “Okay.”

  He held out his hand. “I’m Doctor Belle.”

  I took it gently. Thank god, he doesn’t know Claire. “I don’t understand why you’re here.”

  “I hear you’ve been sick,” he said, glancing at Heath, who watched me closely.

  “It’s nothing, just a cold.”

  “Can I listen to your lungs?”

  I shot Heath an angry look, which made him cross his arms.

  “If you have to.”

  The doctor commenced checking my lungs, throat, and blood pressure. When all were done, he said, “You seem in good health, though you look a bit tired. Are you sleeping okay?”

  “Painter’s block. It’ll pass.”

  He pulled out a booklet and wrote on it. “Here’s a prescription for some sleeping aids. I think if you get some rest, you’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll see you out, Doctor,” Heath said, giving me a strange look.

  When they were out of the house, I tiptoed down the stairs to the second floor, and as I reached the family area there came a small voice. “Where are you going, Mom?”

  I glanced upwards to the landing. “Going to the studio for a second, I’ll be right back.”

  He frowned. “What are you getting?”

  I paused for a moment. “Tweezers.”

  “You’re walking funny.”

  “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Then we’ll have breakfast?”

  “Yes.”

  At the back door, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure the boy hadn’t followed me, then ran to the studio. I told Claire everything and she sighed with relief.

  “Good.”

  “William caught me sneaking out.”

  I handed Claire’s clothes over and she put them on. “It worked,” she said, beaming. “You did a good job.”

  “Claire!” Heath called out across the garden.

  “I better go,” she said, and ran down the pathway.

  * * *

  At 9:30 a.m., Claire came back equipped with cutlery and a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon. “How are you?” she asked.

  My stomach growled. “You mean other than hungry?”

  Claire’s drawn and pale face worried me. She hugged herself.

  “You look tired,” I said. “Did you eat?”

  “Please don’t fuss over my health, Heath does that enough.” She took out a bottle of cough syrup and gulped it back. “You did a good job this morning.”

  “Thanks.” I started eating. “You can’t keep this up forever, Claire.”

  “I know.”

  “You can’t just up and vanish.”

  “I know!” she shouted, then sucked in a breath before coughing hard. The more she coughed, the worse her lungs sounded, until blood splattered on the floor. “Shit.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. I grabbed a paint-stained rag and wiped up the liquid. When I straightened, she was crying.

  “This is so unfair.” I put my arm around her, and she leaned into it and grieved harder. I’d never felt that useful.

  “You can tell him,” Claire said finally.

  “About—?”

  “You. About me. But only when I can’t walk anymore, and not before. Okay?”

  “You have my word.”

  “It comes with one more condition.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m going to make it my dying request that he bring you in as part of the family. That he takes care of you financially and lets you be part of William’s life.”

  Her words managed to move me to tears, and even though I was scared of his reaction, of him saying no—or worse—this was Claire’s wish, and I wouldn’t disappoint her.

  * * *

  Claire grew sicker over the day, her lips becoming an even deeper blue. Eventually, she was breathing hard just from walking across the room.

  “I’m so dizzy,” she said. “I need to pick William up from his friend’s place, not to mention cook dinner.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” I said.

  “And dinner?”

  “I’ll try. What would you make?”

  “Let’s choose something easy.”

  Claire showed me the location of William’s friend’s house, then gave me a recipe for a pasta dish, which we decided to make early. “It’s my mamma’s recipe. The smell always reminds me of her,” Claire said sadly. “Seeing her die ripped me apart. William doesn’t deserve that.”

  “Neither do you,” I said.

  “It’s almost two,” she said, looking away from me. “Put the sauce in the fridge and cook the rigatoni around five. Heath gets home at five thirty. William will want to watch a movie in the afternoon. I need to lie down.”

  As she rose from the chair, she closed her eyes. I grabbed her arm, and she gently pulled away. “I’m fine. Wake me once Heath goes into his library. He reads to wind down. We’ll swap places then.”

  “Okay.”

  Claire shuffled through the house. I grabbed the car keys, selected the GPS route, and drove to pick up William.

  At the residence, his friend’s mother waved from the front deck. William burst out of the house, and I opened the door for him.

  “Hey, Mom.” He swung up into the seat and leaned over for a hug.

  I smiled. “Hey.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, closing the door.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Mom, you’re being weird.”

  I smiled at him. “What do you mean?”

  “You look weird.”

  “I got Botox.” Better excuse than nothing.

  “What’s that?” he said.

  “Inje
ctions that freeze my face. Stops me getting old woman wrinkles.”

  “Gross. I think you’re beautiful without it.”

  I grinned at his kindness. “Thanks, Cricket.”

  “Only Dad calls me Cricket! See? Weird.” William’s eyes were wide open.

  “What do I usually call you?”

  “Sweetie.” He screwed his face up. “Why don’t you remember?”

  “I’m old. We old people forget things. Besides, Cricket is better,” I said.

  At the house, I found myself worrying for Claire. I fumbled through the keys for the front door, looking for the right one. William followed me inside and he waited in the kitchen.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said.

  “Can I watch TV?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  He sniffed. “Are we having pasta again?”

  “Yep.”

  He sighed. “Can I have hot dogs instead?”

  I shrugged. “Okay.”

  He cheered, then ran and flopped down on the couch. As I crossed the dining area, I saw Heath’s car pull up in the driveway.

  My heart started pounding. Can I really do this? I wondered as he walked through the door.

  “Smells good,” he said, and kissed me on the cheek.

  “You cut your hair,” I said, smiling.

  He looked flabbergasted. “You noticed! You never notice. You’re always too busy thinking about mountain lighting or cloud formations.”

  “It’s good.”

  “How good?” he said while slipping an arm around my waist.

  I broke free and went for the kitchen, saying, “I’ve got to check on the food—”

  He yanked on my wrist, twisted me around back to him, and kissed me. I shoved him away.

  “Okay,” he said evenly. “You don’t want me.”

  “It’s not…I’ll be right back.”

  I went to the bedroom en-suite, where I locked the door. I quickly tapped a text to Claire.

  Me: Are you okay?

  Ten minutes passed. No reply.

  “Mom,” William said from outside. “We’re watching Superman.”

  “Be right there.” I flushed the toilet, and as I exited, William stared at me from near the bed, his eyes inspecting my body.

  “You’re fatter than you were yesterday.”

  “Thanks, sweetie,” I said sarcastically.

  He frowned. “I thought you were going to call me Cricket.”

  “I’ve got a present in the studio for you. I’ll go get it. Wait here?”

  “Really? Okay!” He grinned.

  I went down the stairs. Heath was distracted by something in the fridge, so I kept to the wall and tiptoed into the back garden.

  I’m coming, Claire.

  * * *

  Claire’s body formed a C shape underneath my blanket. “Hey,” I said.

  The covers moved, and hands reached out and tossed down the blanket, revealing her patchy skin and bloodshot eyes. “What? I’m asleep.”

  “But you’re really sick.”

  “Practically terminal,” she joked. It wasn’t funny. “Oh, come on…if I can’t laugh about—”

  “Death is final,” I snapped. “How do I know you’re not having a stroke or suffocating back here? I need a break. Heath’s being really clingy.”

  “He’s always horny Saturday afternoons.”

  “What do I do?”

  She pulled the blanket up to her face. “Say no, Claire. That’s what other wives do.” The lamp on the bedside table rattled as her lungs seized. After the coughing stopped, she said, “Go back in. Have a glass of wine.”

  Yeah right. “When are we switching later?”

  “Jay, I just need a few more hours. Just a few more…yes… we’ll switch…” She turned over and went back to sleep. Her cheeks seemed a little pinker, perhaps she’d improve by tomorrow.

  “Keep your phone on,” I said.

  “Mmm…okay.”

  Claire had prioritized her needs over her family—and me—and in a way. I saw her as selfish. Fine, she didn’t want them to get hurt, but if she died abruptly, Heath would never forgive her. William would be scarred for life. I was in the middle. This simply couldn’t last.

  * * *

  William sat, legs stretched on the lounge, as I came back in. “Mom. Where’s the present?”

  Damn. “I couldn’t find it. I’ll look later.”

  William slumped down onto the couch and glued his attention back to the television.

  “Dad said I couldn’t have hot dogs for dinner,” he said, not looking at me.

  “Dad’s been stressed from work. Let’s do what he says, okay?”

  William sighed. “Everyone is always stressed.”

  My thoughts drifted to Heath in his study, alone, worrying about Claire’s health and unfamiliar behavior. He must have felt so powerless. We had that in common.

  At around 6:15 p.m., the movie finished and I served dinner. As Claire suggested, I’d opened up some champagne and poured a glass for myself. I offered some to Heath, but he shook his head and said, “Champagne is for celebrating.”

  Killjoy.

  Chewing the thick pasta under Heath’s brooding gaze made eating a chore. After my second glass of champagne, I met his eyes. “What? Stop staring at me,” I said.

  He looked back down at his plate in silence. Great, make me feel like the bad guy. Is this what he does to Claire?

  William pushed his bowl across the table. “I’m full.”

  “Okay,” I said, forcing another forkful of pasta into my mouth.

  “You’ll eat it all,” Heath barked at William.

  “But I’m really full, Dad.”

  “Did you give him snacks all afternoon?” Heath inquired in that way that didn’t need responding to. I did anyway.

  “No.” I smiled at William. “It’s okay, I’m not that hungry either.”

  “Fine!” Heath put down his fork and stood. “Everyone can just do what they want. I’ll be in the study.”

  He stormed off past me, and I turned to watch him close the door behind him.

  “Are you okay, Mom?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You can go. If you get hungry later, let me know.”

  William wandered back into the living room and put the television on. I poured another glass of champagne.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket.

  Claire: I’m really sorry about this, my cough is so bad. Can you sleep there tonight?

  Me: No!

  Claire: What’s wrong?

  Me: Your husband’s an ass.

  “Who’s Claire?” Heath asked from behind me.

  I scraped my knuckles on the underside of the table as I yanked the phone back.

  Heath snatched my phone out of my hands before I could lock it.

  “Give it back,” I said, reaching out to take it back and failing. Afraid William would hear us over the television, I lowered my voice. “What’s your problem?”

  He didn’t look at my phone, just stared at me in confusion. “Are you having an affair?”

  I glanced at William again then back at Heath. “You think I’m having an affair with a woman?”

  “No, but maybe you’re telling your friend Claire about it.”

  “Wow, you’re a mastermind. You’re right, I’m talking to Claire, a woman with the same name as me who’s encouraging me to cheat on you.” I rolled my eyes at him.

  His face darkened. “Then what are you hiding? Who is Claire?”

  “A friend.”

  He sniffed derisively. “At least I don’t lie to your face.”

  “No, you’d much rather snoop over my shoulder. Next you’ll be breaking into my email.”

  My backtalk left him in shock. “Where’s the kind person I married? You’re so angry now, and bitter.” He shook his head. “I can’t remember the time I felt your passion for me, it’s like you’re empty in there.” Heath tapped his chest. Then he handed me back my phone. Slowly, he stood up from the ch
air. “Nice phone. Is it new?” He stalked off.

  I texted Claire.

  Me: William is upset. Heath is picking fights.

  Claire: William likes hugs. Don’t worry about Heath, he’s my problem.

  Me: I’m coming out.

  Again, I went through the house and out into the garden. The dragging day’s light made the garden pathway barely visible.

  Claire seemed better as I entered the room where she was reading. “They’re a handful,” she said to me. There were crumpled tissues stained with blood on the duvet.

  “You’re still looking thin,” I said.

  “I’m getting an oxygen unit tomorrow. Bad lungs, remember?”

  “Tomorrow is Sunday.”

  “I’ve already got something worked out.”

  “We look too different. William said I look fatter,” I said. “I should lose some weight.”

  Claire touched my hand. “Thank you. I know this is all very hard on you, but Heath needs you. I did some research…I think we should tell him you, we, have depression. The medication can change a person’s personality. He’ll believe that.”

  “You won’t stay there tonight?”

  She shook her head sadly. “I’ve only stopped coughing. I’m so tired I don’t know if I can even walk.”

  Claire was in deep denial about the state of her family, and for a moment I considered breaking our pact. Her illness had progressed, but I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I made sure she was warm, then went back to the house.

  * * *

  After tucking William in and saying good night, he asked for his dad.

  I made my way downstairs and knocked on the library door. When no one answered, I entered to find Heath staring at me over the pages of a worn book.

  “It’s your turn to say good night to him.”

  Heath snapped his book closed, rose stiffly, and walked past me. I may as well have been invisible.

  While he was saying good night to William, I put myself to bed and read a magazine. After an hour or so, I was sleepy. I switched off the bedside lamp and drifted off.

  I awoke to darkness. Where was I? My momentary confusion wasn’t helped by the dark figure moving about the room.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Just me,” Heath said. The blankets were tugged left. I was in bed with Claire’s husband, and my heart was racing, and not in a good way. Things got worse when he cuddled up against me.