Outcasts

by J. S. Frankel

  “It seems to go down about ten or so feet and then stops,” he said, squatting down and playing the flashlight around the opening. “But I can’t be sure.”

  Only one way to know, so I crawled in over his protestations about contaminating an investigation. Right, like he was really interested in conducting one? “I’m thinner than you are.”

  The hole was wide enough for me to inch down, and after I’d gone more than my body’s length, my hands sank into a cold puddle of slime. “Geez, that is nasty!”

  Shaking it off, I felt around, but the hole didn’t go any further, so I backed up onto safe land once more and wiped the slime off on the grass. The chief wore a concerned expression. “What is that?” he asked.

  It was greenish-brown, mixed with dirt, but if my guess was right, it had once been a creature. “It’s the toad-thing. It must have disintegrated.”

  The look of concern changed to something more skeptical. “It disintegrated? Mitch, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

  Getting to my feet, I presented the facts as I knew them. “One, we just found a hole. Two, this slime isn’t like regular slime.”

  “As if you’d know?”

  Okay, his comment burned, but all the same, he had to listen. “Three, this is how the thing got away last night. I figure it dug the hole and then melted after that.”

  By now, Sullivan’s expression had gone from skeptical to downright dubious. “I’ll take a sample and send it to the Portland police lab, but I’m not sure they’ll be able to turn up anything.”

  He took a small plastic baggie from his pocket, scooped up some of the mess, and carefully sealed the baggie shut. After straightening up, he started back to his cruiser. “A dog could have dug that hole.”

  “Ten feet? They don’t dig down that far.”

  Sullivan uttered a small sigh as he opened the car door. “Now you’re an expert on animal husbandry. Sit tight, Mitch.” He slid behind the wheel. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He drove off, and upon my return to the house, I found Joe waiting outside. “Heard there was some trouble last night,” he said.

  “How’d you know?”

  A chuckle greeted me. “This is a small town. Everyone talks. Some pizza delivery guy shot off his mouth about a monster.”

  Right, he hadn’t told the police, just everyone else. After giving Joe the details and showing him where the attack had taken place, he shook his head. “Sullivan didn’t believe you, either?”

  “No.”

  With a sigh, Joe told me he was going to go into town and ask around for work. “Be careful, man,” I said.

  “I’ll be careful. I know what the people are thinking.” Then he spun off.

  Inside my house, I flicked on the television. Naturally, no mention on the local cable channel of what had happened, but then again, I wasn’t expecting anything. I settled back on the couch, yawned, and let my mind drift.

  It was summertime and living should have been easy, but things never were. I know what the people are thinking. Joe had said that, but the trouble was, no one ever knew what anyone was thinking, and by then, it was usually too late...

  A year ago

  Trouble had always been there. School had been put on hold due to the harassment. Kids called me the flying bat, among other things. They wondered about Callie shifting into girl-mode from guy-mode. There hadn’t been much footage of us, but when one reporter got a video of me holding hands with her when she was in girl-mode and then got a pic a few minutes later when she turned guy, well, people just had to say something in order to get a rise out of me.

  While the students were hard enough to deal with, the teachers were worse, always wearing skittish expressions during class. Apparently, they were afraid of me changing if someone pissed me off.

  And pissing me off soon became the avocation of many in the student body. “Homo and fag” and so on were the usual insults. I’d let them pass, mainly because if they succeeded in pissing me off enough, my claws would come out not to mention my face changing, and I didn’t want that at all. God, Callie had to be going through worse.

  A couple of weeks after the photos of me and Callie had gone viral, the dynamic dummies, Truk and Paul, wandered over to my locker. “You’re blocking me,” Paul said.

  A beautiful fall day, I was looking forward to finishing school and then making a run to meet Callie later on. Paul caught up with me at my locker while I was getting my books out. A few of the students were looking on, whispering, and I caught the quiet chatter.

  “He’s a freak.”

  “Is he really a bat?”

  “Government experiments, that’s what it is.”

  Some people, though, just had to prove their toughness. After shutting my locker, I swung around to face Paul. “School’s almost out, and considering we’re here, how can I be blocking traffic?”

  Deep comprehension just wasn’t his thing, and his voice sounded whinier than usual. “You’re in my way, so back off.”

  A shove accompanied his statement. It didn’t hurt. Since my transformation, I’d gotten a lot stronger, although my body hadn’t changed much. Paul shoved me again, and I mentally counseled myself to keep cool, stay frosty... all those things.

  “This school is for normal kids,” he added, and this time slapped me across the face. “Not freaks like you, so bug off!”

  That did it. My wings came out, and everyone backed off in fear. When Truk started forward, so did my claws. “Back away, Truk, or you get ripped. Y’got me?”

  “Screw you.”

  Out of nowhere, a spinning blur knocked him against the lockers, and he sagged to the floor. The blur stopped. Joe stood there, a thin smile on his face, and he pointed at Paul. “He’s all yours, Mitch.”

  Yeah, he was all mine. My captive started protesting, so I retracted my claws, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and effortlessly hauled him outside into the bright sunshine. “Help, c’mon, someone help me!” he cried.

  Good luck with that. The leaves of the trees had turned gold and red, but this wasn’t going to be a sightseeing tour. Well, maybe it was, but from a different vantage point. A crowd of students followed us, some of them baying for blood. There wouldn’t be any, not unless I wanted it. “Let’s take a ride.”

  Up we went, and Paul let out a shriek. “Man, put me down!”

  At the height we’d already soared to, everyone looked like ants. Dropping him was not an option, not unless he wanted to become road pizza. “Are you sure? If I let go, I don’t know if I can catch you in time—or if I want to.”

  He then began to gibber, begging me to be nice, he wouldn’t bother me anymore, and although I knew he was lying, it wasn’t worth it. I descended slowly for maximum effect, and I landed outside the school. Principal Andrews was waiting. Paul sank to his knees and vomited. Immediately, a foul stench hit the air.

  “Kessler,” the principal said in the sternest of all voices. “You are expelled.” He turned around to call out, “Chambers, you are also leaving this institution.”

  After heaving a sigh, I silently walked inside to my locker, grabbed my books, and walked out again. Fear shone in the eyes of those students who’d stuck around. As I was leaving, Joe spun over, schoolbag in hand. “Joe, you shouldn’t have slammed Truk. I could have handled it.”

  He shrugged. “School isn’t that great for me, either. Let’s go.”

  My mother did the dutiful parent thing. She went to my school with me, protested along with Joe’s father, but our principal was adamant. “I could sue you,” Mr. Chambers had threatened. “Mrs. Kessler will do the same,” he added, tossing a glance at my mother.

  “That’s correct,” my mother put in. “Mitch isn’t to blame for this, and he—”

  “Your son flew another student over a hundred feet in the air and threatened to drop him,” the principal interrupted, staring at me. He then directed his gaze at Mr. Chambers. “As for you, your
son slammed another student into solid metal. If he’d done it any harder, I’d be calling from the hospital. The safety of every student is paramount. So go ahead and sue me.”

  Well, he’d called our bluff. At home later on, my mother gave me one warning. “You’d better keep your grades up.”

  “I will.”

  Online studying started the next day. Since Joe was smarter at math and physics, he often tutored me on the finer parts of our physical universe. In any case, we were never happier. Homework done, time to kick back. In my case, there was also Callie.

  Since our return from training, I’d been dating her two or three days a week. Saturday nights were the best. I always took off at dusk. My night vision was poor, but at least not many people would see me. She’d always waited outside her front door with her mother, both of them greeting me with a smile.

  Callie motioned to the road when I landed at her place. “Let’s take a walk.”

  She wore jeans and a simple shirt, her blonde hair framing her face just so. Off we’d go, checking out the sights of her city. More there to see and do, and when the walk was over, we’d head back to her house, and I’d always kiss her goodnight, feeling the warmth of her body against mine.

  Moments of self-doubt crept in. Callie sensed it when I left her home after a long kiss-up on her porch. I’d pulled back, and she brushed her hair behind her. “Are you worried I’ll turn guy again?”

  Don’t lie to her! “Yeah, a little,” I admitted. This gender-switching thing really got me confused at times, and I’d even started to doubt myself. While I was into Callie big time, all the same, I couldn’t see myself kissing a dude.

  She nodded and clasped her hands in front of her. “I am, too, but when we’re together, I want to stay this way. Not just for you, but for me, too.”

  A moment later she ran inside, and I flew home. During the journey back, part of me kept wondering if something was wrong, but the other part said that hormones couldn’t be fought. Or maybe it was pheromones. I didn’t know and didn’t care.

  At first, my mother had freaked out when I told her about Callie. “You’re dating a boy?”

  “Callie’s not a boy, mom. She’s a shifter.”

  A look of confusion painted her face. “A shifter? You mean he changes to an animal or something like that?”

  “Actually, to a girl.” It was hard to explain, so I kept things simple. Due to the fact that I was ostensibly working for the government, I couldn’t give her many details, but telling her about who I was dating was okay.

  To her credit, she understood—or said she did, but the plaintive tone to her voice indicated that she didn’t approve of my decision. “Mitch, you’re my son, and I love you, but aren’t there any girls from this area you’re interested in?”

  Considering I’d been booted out of school and stayed at home much of the time, chances to talk to the local girls came in two varieties—zero and negative integers, if such a thing was possible. “Mom, look at me. The girls weren’t interested in me before I changed. It’s a given they aren’t now. Callie is.”

  In the end, she agreed to arrange a dinner get-together at my house. Over pasta and salad, Callie and I sat together, held hands, and listened to my mother ask questions about gender switching. Callie’s face got progressively tighter, her lips thinned to a straight line, but she said nothing.

  I didn’t, though. “Mom, what’s the problem? Callie and I want to date. Is that so hard to understand?”

  My mother put down her fork and looked at my girlfriend. “You’re a lovely girl, but...” Her face twisted. “Are you always a girl?”

  “Almost always,” Callie answered, face now a mask. She’d probably been asked that a million times already. She then stood up, her knee hitting the table and rattling the dishes. “Excuse me, please. I need some fresh air.”

  She walked out, and my mother sat there, not eating, while I ran after Callie. “Hey, wait,” I called.

  Callie stopped and turned around. “Mitch, I tried. You know I did.”

  Gently putting my arms around her waist, I pulled her to me. “I know. My mother needs some time to adjust.”

  A rueful laugh came my way. “Yeah, that’s what everyone says. That’s what the teachers at my old school said. We parted ways.”

  “Parted ways?” I asked.

  “I stopped going.”

  That sort of summed it all up. I turned her face toward me for a kiss. “I wish you’d do that all the time,” she said once our lips parted. “It’s like, every time you go, I lose a bit of me, you know?”

  Her comment got me right in the feels. The way she said it, voice husky and almost pleading, it made me miss her all the more. “Callie, I live only about an hour away. We text each other. I can fly to your place anytime, if you want.”

  Callie’s voice was wistful. “Yeah, but I wish we could, you know—” She twisted a lock of her hair. “Make it more permanent.”

  It would have been nice, but when I moved in for another kiss, she transformed into Cal, and I pulled up short. The feel of stubble grazed my lips. “Crap,” he said. “I hate it when this happens!”

  A second later, Callie-now-Cal ran around the corner of my house. I hung back to give her some privacy. She returned a few minutes later, back in girl-mode and nodded at me before running over to her mother’s car. Her mother had already started the engine. They drove off and so much for a first family meeting. Soon after, my mother and I argued for an hour about me dating someone who couldn’t keep their gender straight.

  Two nights later at the movie theater, Callie wore her gender-neutral wardrobe. Lights down, I moved into the usual arm-around-her-shoulder routine and heard people whispering and some giggling going on. Callie had turned guy. He got up and hastily pushed his way past the shocked patrons and out into the lobby.

  Following my date out, I saw him run into the ladies’ room, heard the screams, and two seconds later, the person I knew as Callie emerged, rage and shame in her voice. “Take me home, please.”

  “We just got here, and—”

  “Now, Mitch, I want to go home now!”

  She was on the edge of tears, so we hastily exited the theater, and I flew her back. Once we’d landed outside her door, I put her down and said, “Sorry about before.”

  A choked-out answer greeted me. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You’re my girlfriend and—”

  “Am I,” she cut in, her voice angry and confused. The hurt leaped from each word. “Am I? I’m your girlfriend, at least when I stay a girl. It doesn’t last as long as I want. I know when it’s going to happen. I keep track of it, but I can’t control it. I...”

  A sob cut off her next words. “I don’t know who I am, anymore. I can’t go shopping for the right clothes. I can’t go to the mall. If I use the toilet, is it the men’s room or the women’s room?”

  She continued to cry. Hesitantly, I put my arms around her. Her body shuddered and then grew still. “It’s not like I turn girl all the way. I mean, sometimes I still have my male junk, and sometimes I don’t. So I’m not transgender, and I’m not intersex... I’m both and neither.”

  In a sudden move, Callie jerked away and opened the door, her face a picture of misery. “I guess you can call me it, can’t you?”

  Her plea, so naked and lost, sent a shaft of pain through me. I’d known this person for only a short time we’d been together, and I cared for her, but now? Now, I didn’t know, and I hated myself for it. It wasn’t homophobia or anything, but all the same, I hated myself for not being more decisive.

  “Do you need me, Mitch?”

  There it was, the ultimatum. And I said what I thought was right. “I do.”

  “Even if I’m a guy at times?” Her tone bordered on hopelessness. “What’s going to happen if we—you know—and I change...”

  Her voice died away. So much for being dec
isive. The words wouldn’t come out of me, for I wasn’t sure about what to say.

  After a minute—which might as well have been an eternity—she made the decision for me. “You’d better go home,” she’d said, not bothering to look up. “It’s best I stay out of your life.”

  She ran past her mother who’d been waiting on the couch in their living room. Nary one word was said, and Callie quickly climbed the steps. The sound of a door slamming shut startled me. Mrs. Winston’s face was a study in motherly angst, and she asked quietly, “Did the change happen again?”

  What could I say? “Yes, ma’am, it did. She, um, she couldn’t handle it.”

  Feeling aimless, I started to walk out, but Mrs. Winston’s hand on my shoulder stopped me. She steered me over to the couch, and I sat, wishing things could be different. Wrapped in my own failure to make things right, I didn’t hear what she’d been saying, and a tap on my shoulder jarred me into reality. “Uh, what is it, ma’am?”

  “Mitch, are you thinking of something?”

  Mrs. Winston’s gentle question interrupted my thoughts. Don’t act like an asshat! Tell her. “Ma’am, it’s just that I like Callie, as, uh, as she is. You know what I mean?”

  Mrs. Winston didn’t respond at first. She sat next to me, fingers interlocked and tapping out a rhythm. Finally, she stopped tapping and unlaced her hands. “Mitch, we always knew Callie was different. Even before she joined the group, I knew about her powers. I didn’t say anything until Mr. Lucas showed up.”

  “And?”

  She drew in a deep breath. “And he told us Cal—that’s what I called her back then—had a gift. People could be helped. Most of the time, she was Cal, but at night, mainly, she transformed into her girl self.”

  “Um, she’s very confused.” Dumbass thing to say, but nothing else came to mind.

  Mrs. Winston gave me a nod of understanding. “Transgender children often are. I’ve learned that much. She was always wondering who she was, even when she was very little. She always came home from school and told me, Mom, I’m not a boy, I’m a girl, and of course, back then, I didn’t think much of it.