CONTENTS
Title
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
About The Author
Shapeless
By Glenn Bullion
Copyright © 2017 by Glenn Bullion
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Glenn Bullion.
Special Thanks:
Prudhvi
Fantasy Sci-Fi Mom
Ted Ludemann
Larry Payton
CHAPTER 1
1992
The alarm sprung to life at five in the morning, like it did every single day. Loud, boisterous rap music attacked Dr. Michael Oliver's senses. Music had certainly changed since Michael was a boy. He hated rap music, but it was the most effective way to guarantee he would rise from bed quickly. He reached out with his right hand, searching for the off button. The button eluded him, dancing out and away from his fingers. It was either that, or he couldn't find it. The music threatened to send him over the edge. A man spoke eloquently and graphically about his plan to have sex with his girlfriend from behind, and fantasized about the girlfriend's sister at the same time.
Desperation began to settle in, and he wondered if he'd ever find the button. He could have opened his eyes and looked, but that would have been too much effort. Ten seconds felt like ten days. Finally, he felt the familiar rise of the plastic slide button, and the music died.
The bedroom didn't quite fill with silence. There was the quiet hum of a hairdryer, and the steady running of water from the bathroom sink. Those innocent sounds pushed away the sleep amnesia, and Michael remembered what day it was. Dread and apprehension gripped his throat, making it difficult to breathe.
He opened his eyes and craned his head to peer into the master bathroom that joined the bedroom. The door was wide open, and his wife of nearly twenty years leaned over the sink, brushing her teeth. Linda Oliver had already showered and dressed, wearing the gray skirt he bought her for Christmas and a white blouse. She always looked amazing, no matter the occasion. She had a figure and youthful enthusiasm that betrayed her fifty-five years. Always laughing, smiling. Men much younger than Michael constantly flirted with Linda wherever they went. In his opinion, men much more attractive, but Linda wouldn't hear such nonsense.
He watched in silence, simply enjoying the view. It took several minutes of primping until she realized she had an audience. Linda flashed her bright smile and joined her husband in the bedroom. The smile melted his heart, and brought back the strong melody of emotions he'd been fighting for months. Doubt, terror, guilt, relief, joy.
Would he ever see her again?
He forced the question aside. Everything was in place. He'd been planning for so long, and the time had finally arrived. It was too late for second-guessing now.
Or maybe it was the perfect time for second-guessing. His beautiful wife, the life they'd built together, was it worth possibly losing?
"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," Linda asked, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. "You'd better get your ass moving if you don't want to be late to work."
He smiled. "I can't help it. Someone tired me out last night."
Linda returned the smile, and Michael could see her replaying the late-night hours in her mind. He would have given anything to simply rewind the clock.
"I had fun," she said, and kissed him tenderly on the lips. "I'm going to award you a gold star."
He continued to watch her as she floated about the bedroom. He didn't even realize he wasn't moving until she cast him a confused frown.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "Are you going to work?"
"Yes, yes," he said, snapping out of his trance. He tossed the covers aside and rose to his feet. "Work. Are you sure you don't want me to drive you to the airport?"
"No, it's okay. Carrie is already on her way, I'm sure. But you can help me load the car. Just, please, don't fight with my sister, okay?"
"Sorry, I can't help it. I hate her."
"Well, she hates you, too." Linda pouted as she approached. "I'm going to miss you so much."
Michael fought the emotion that came with such simple words.
"Me, too," he said, a lump forming in his throat. "But don't worry. We'll talk every single day, and I'll take care of everything here."
"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" she asked. "Paris is beautiful this time of year. Hell, Paris is beautiful any time of year."
"A vacation with your crazy sister and mother. Oh, if only I didn't have to work."
Linda laughed at the sarcasm. "Don't you dare throw any wild parties while I'm gone."
Despite the insanity racing through his mind, he smiled. His wife always found a way to make him smile.
"Are you okay?" Linda asked. "You seem a little…off?"
"Of course," he said, hoping his lying skills had grown over the years. "Just a lot on my mind."
A horn blared outside, and Michael knew his annoying sister-in-law had arrived. Only she would honk a horn at five in the morning in a sleepy neighborhood.
"And there she is," Linda said, glancing out the window. She took her husband by the shoulders. "Are you going to be okay?"
"Will you get going?" he said, in no way in a rush to send his wife away. "I'll be fine. Just…call me as soon as you land."
"You know I will. Help me with the luggage?"
He slipped into his robe and followed his wife down the stairs. Several bags lined the wall by the front door. If a stranger had seen the sight they would have thought Linda was moving out. He stroked his chin in thought at the challenge that lay ahead. He hoped his sister-in-law brought a moving van.
Carrie honked the horn one more time as Michael and Linda carried the first set of bags down the sidewalk. He scowled as he locked eyes with her. Carrie returned the gesture, matching Michael's disdain with her own. He couldn't see how his wife was related to her at all.
"We heard you the first time," he said. "No reason to wake the neighborhood."
"Well then get your ass moving. We're on a schedule here."
"Then get here earlier next time."
"Michael, are you gaining weight? It looks like that robe is starting to turn into a balloon."
Linda eyed them both. "Stop, you two."
He shook his head as he glanced into the back of the minivan.
"How am I going to get all this back here?"
"You should be used to squeezing things into tight spaces," Carrie said. "At least that's what your jeans told me."
Michael regarded his wife. "And you wonder why I'd rather work."
He helped pack the luggage, and with every motion, every careful placement of a bag onto a seat or corner, he realized Linda was nearly gone. It was all he could do to hold in tears.
The two embraced, total opposites, with his well-put-together wife hugging her barely-awake, robe-wearing husband. Carrie rolled her eyes from
behind the wheel.
He had trouble letting go.
"Remember," he said. "Call me as soon as you land."
"I will. Now, go and get ready for work."
He stood motionless on the curb as they drove away. Both women waved, with Linda leaning out the window. Her familiar beaming smile was there, and she blew a kiss as they rounded the corner. Michael's knees went weak.
If the plan was successful he'd see her in Paris in a few days.
He refused to dwell on the what if. What if the plan failed?
That wasn't an option.
Still, his stomach didn't feel the same way.
The bile rose quickly and violently. His eyes grew wide as he leaned over and vomited on the sidewalk. The terrible aftertaste lingered in his throat as he regained his composure and wiped his brow. Embarrassed, he scanned the neighborhood to see his only audience was the Johnson's Doberman Pinscher, out for his morning bowel movement.
Michael took a deep breath as he approached his house. His resolve slowly returned. He was only doing what his conscience dictated. He could no longer turn a blind eye, or peacefully lay his head on the pillow at night. Even the blissful sleep that followed making love to his wife the night before was followed by guilt and nightmares.
No more.
It was time to go to work for the last time.
*****
The forty-minute drive was uneventful. Michael wasn't sure why he thought it would be any different. Perhaps he thought the drive would mirror his mood, chaotic and kinetic. But it was the same drive he endured for the past ten years. A boring commute from Sleepytown, Ohio, to the out-of-the-way business complex near the border of Pennsylvania. He turned off the highway and drove down the narrow road, warehouses and parking lots on both sides. His palms were clammy as he gripped the steering wheel. The security booth was just ahead. Michael could see Greg shoving a donut in his mouth, followed by a long swig of coffee. He slowed the car in front of the barrier and flashed Greg his brightest smile.
"Morning, Dr. Oliver," Greg said. "How you doing?"
"I can't complain. I'm still breathing, and it's a beautiful day." Michael realized he didn't have his badge on display. His right hand trembled as he opened the glove compartment and retrieved the tiny card encased in plastic. He held it up for Greg to steal a glance, almost a rote routine after so long.
Greg waved him along. "Have a nice day, Doc."
Then he had a change of heart, curiosity flashing across his face.
"Doc?"
Michael froze, waiting patiently to be addressed. The seconds seemed to stretch, and he worried that something was wrong. Did his eyes betray his intentions? Was he sweating? Was the anxiety peeking through the walls he'd put up?
Finally, the security guard smiled.
"You got lucky last night, didn't you?"
He let out a low chuckle, finally relieved to be able to show at least a bit of honesty.
"Luck had nothing to do with it."
"You animal," Greg said, winking and waving him through.
Michael let out a breath as he approached his place of work, away from the other offices in the complex. The two-story building was home to cancer patients and doctors, all running various tests and trials, trying to find a way to beat the terrible disease. He'd spent all his twenties going to school, and even longer fighting what, at times, seemed to be a lost cause. He had dreams of one day having that breakthrough, ever since his mother died from lung cancer, without having smoked a day in her life. He had dreams of saying we finally won.
But then they came, and took over the basement of their building. They came at night and worked in utter secrecy, drawing whispers and stares from doctors and patients alike. No one knew what kind of deal the owners of the property made, but it was a big one.
Then it happened. Not even a year ago, he and several of his colleagues were invited into that basement. The promises and perks were simple. Little supervision, just send in the reports. A huge bump in pay, and the chance to work on something amazing. He remembered vividly the day the bland man in the dark suit and his own boss sat in the conference room and made the offer. Michael didn't hesitate, as his work was starting to wear him down somewhat. He used the extra money to finally buy Linda the ring he couldn't give her when they first married.
He wished he could take it all back, and wouldn't hesitate to rip the ring away from Linda's finger in the process.
The building slowly came into view, and Michael once again thought of how strange the entire project was. They didn't work in a high-security facility, or an underground bunker. Instead, their building had a front door, a phone staff, a cafeteria.
It simply wasn't how he imagined a top-secret project would be.
He circled the building and chose his parking spot very carefully, like he'd planned. Near the rear entrance, under the protective shade of the large oak tree. It was at the far edge of the oscillating security camera mounted on the corner of the building, and would be invisible for several precious seconds as it went through its motions.
Michael stepped through the entrance, doing his best to maintain his resolve. He'd spent so much time planning every action. It was time now to execute.
He'd only taken ten steps and given a friendly nod to Paul, one of the patients, when Dr. Kim Sanders stepped out of the break room. Kim was fifteen years younger than Michael, and full of energy. A bright smile, full cheeks, beautiful blue eyes, long blond hair. He knew she didn't have a problem with a dating life. The cup of coffee she held seemed to be redundant. He couldn't imagine her needing any more caffeine.
Her energy was more rampant than usual.
"Michael!" she called. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Uh, my car? Driving here?"
She raced forward and grabbed his hand. "C'mon."
He smiled and awkwardly greeted his old colleagues and patients as Kim dragged him through the halls. Some waved in return and laughed at the odd pair, frantically pushing forward. Others narrowed their eyes in disdain and curiosity. Everyone knew they now worked in the basement. Along with that came jealousy, even anger. Some patients and doctors both felt abandoned, and cast disapproving looks as they went about their day.
Kim already had her badge held up as they approached the armed guard sitting at the basement door. Michael fished in his pocket to retrieve his own. Even though there were only four guards that rotated, and they all knew the basement staff very well, the guard held up a palm and placed his other hand at the gun on his hip.
"Stop."
He checked both badges thoroughly, spending ten seconds on each. Kim tapped her foot impatiently, and Michael wondered what had her so excited.
"Okay. Go ahead."
Kim pulled him forward, nearly hurting his arm. He had to yank free to convince her he could move on his own.
"Would you calm down?" he said. "What's going on?"
"I don't…I don't even know how to explain it. You have to see."
She opened the double doors at the bottom of the basement stairwell. There was more activity than usual. Men and women in white coats were at their computers, flipping through folders, taking notes. Others talked in hushed whispers.
He hoped whatever was going on didn't alter his plans.
"Is he okay?" Michael finally asked.
"Oh, he's more than okay."
Kim's smile could have lit up the moon.
He already knew where they were going. They wound through the maze of desks and computers, tables and microscopes, to the back of the basement. The large one-way mirror separated the lab section from a fully-functional nursery, complete with changing table, play mat, toys, crib, a motorized swing. Michael always felt uneasy as he peered through the glass. Two worlds that couldn't be more different, separated by a one-way mirror.
He heard Nancy, another colleague, inside the nursery. Her voice sounded unnatural coming from the speakers wired inside the nursery.
"Now, how's our little man today
?"
She was answered by an infectious laugh and some cooing.
Michael felt the now-familiar conflicting emotions well inside him. The baby boy sat upright on his play mat, grabbing at different blocks around him. Nancy squatted nearby, smiling with exaggeration and playing with the boy. He'd only begun to sit upright on his own a few weeks ago. On the surface, he seemed like any normal baby. He cried, ate, twitched, sucked on his hands. He could fill a diaper with impressive efficiency.
But everyone that worked in the basement knew that he was far from normal.
Was the child even human?
Michael glanced at the monitor next to them. It played a loop of different scenes in the baby's life. It was there to remind them of what the baby was, what he could do, and that they were all working together to solve his mysteries.
The video was amazing. He always felt awe whenever he watched it, followed by guilt.
The beginning of the video was the very first time the baby changed his shape. Nancy was shaking a rattle in front of him, drawing a curious look. He grabbed and smiled at the noisemaking toy.
Then he became the rattle.
It almost looked like his body liquefied. The color left his skin as his tiny body shrank. His arms and legs pulled into his torso, and his head seemed to melt into his neck. His body continued to shrink, a shapeless mass of goo, until a new shape took hold. The real rattle fell to the floor, while the second rattle sat inside an empty diaper. Nancy gingerly reached out and grabbed the copied toy, even gave it a gentle shake.
It sounded exactly as a rattle should.
The clips cut from one to the next. Other babies explored the world for the first time with their hands, and loved to shove things in their mouth. Their baby seemed to enjoy changing his shape. He could change into something as small as a wooden toy block, or as large as his crib. The materials or number of them didn't seem to matter. Wood, plastic, fabric. He even changed into a bottle, complete with eight ounces of formula. But surely it couldn't have been formula.
Could it?
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