Destiny Pills & Space Wizards

by Jean Davis

  He gave me that same dry look of disdain that he'd used since I'd moved in two months ago. "Yeah, I know."

  "So..." A heavy emptiness built up in my stomach until I thought I might burst. "You were human too?"

  "I tried to warn you, did everything I could to get you to leave."

  My furry rump hit the floor as I sat down, tail wrapped around my legs like a comforting hug. "I thought you just didn't like me."

  "I don't. She's mine."

  Shireen sat on the couch and picked up her phone. She dialed and patted the cushion beside her.

  Hank took one look at me and trotted off. He leapt up and curled into a ball next to her, his head resting on her thigh. She stroked his head, swirling her fingers through the fur all down his back and back up again. His round eyes became contented slits. I could hear him purring from across the room.

  "Hey, James. It's Shireen. Turns out I am free tonight after all. Would you like to come over?"

  The hair on my back stood up. Oh hell no. She was not going to get away with this. I let out a yowl loud enough to make an alley tom proud and leapt into her lap, claws extended.

  The rear set sank into Hank. He hissed and flipped onto his back, attacking me with his own claws. The front set snagged in Shireen's blouse.

  She shrieked and jumped to her feet. As she tried to pry me off, the phone slipped from her hands and fell to the floor with the satisfying crack of broken glass.

  Hank went flying. Bastard probably landed on his feet, but I didn't have time to find out.

  Shireen started chanting again. My skin grew hot under my fur. I twisted, kicking at her with all my might, and managed to wrench myself free from her shirt just as the room started to shift again.

  I didn't wait to see how tall I was or what I looked like, I just ran as fast as my four legs would go. That pace slowed considerably as my legs became even shorter and my feet smaller. My nose was suddenly perched at the end of a snout that sprouted long whiskers.

  High above me, Shireen said, "I give up. He's all yours."

  Hank's paws pounded the floor. Mine skittered. This wasn't a fair fight at all.

  Then I saw it. A narrow shaft of light, a cracked corner in the rubber seal under the front door.

  Hank was close, his cat scent made my nose twitch and my heart race. I was too out of breath to squeak in terror. I ran, darting left and right. A paw slammed down beside my haunches.

  The light. I had to reach it.

  "Get him," Shireen shrieked.

  Hank's paw pinned the tip of my tail to the floor. I couldn't stop now. I was so close. I could smell the trees and grass. Freedom was right in front of me.

  I surged forward. My tail slipped free. I squeezed through the opening, ran down the step, leapt to freedom in the overgrown lawn and landed with a thump that knocked the breath out of me.

  "What's your hurry?" asked a high-pitched voice beside me.

  Between pants, I managed to say, "She was trying to kill me." I turned to see another mouse standing beside me. Three more stood close by. They were all grinning.

  "Congrats on making it out," said one of the others. They huddled around me. "No one wants to be the one who finally proved Hank worthy."

  "You good for nothing waste of fur," Shireen screamed. "I give you one job. I even give you help, but you can't stand that either, can you?" She huffed. "You're a cat, but you can't kill a single mouse? Not one? Worthless! I can't believe I ever married you."

  Her heels stomped across the floor so loud we could hear them clearly outside. "How am I supposed to keep this place in order if you keep aggravating every man I bring home? You sucked at that job too, remember? All you wanted to do was lie around and sleep all day. So I give you a job where you can do that, and you still don't contribute to this marriage. You know what? I'm done. I can't take this anymore."

  My mouth hung open. The mice all froze, gazes locked on the house.

  The door opened to reveal Hank dangling by his scruff in Shireen's hand. "John was on to something I should have done long ago." She dropped him. Her pointed shoe wound up for a stunning dropkick that sent wailing Hank flying over the yard and halfway across the street.

  He did not land on his feet.

  She stood in the doorway, watching as he limped away. Once he was out of sight, she turned her attention to the lawn. A scowl grew on her face, then vanished into pouty lips.

  Her voice turned soft. "I know some of you are still out there. I'm sorry we fought. Really, I am. He wasn't a good husband. I know that. You deserve a second chance."

  She tapped her chin, slowly surveying, seeking us out in the towering, thick blades. "I promise to return to human form the first man who comes forward to be my new husband."

  The mice-men around me eyed one another. They looked me.

  "You're the one. You defeated Hank. Go on."

  "Hell no. I'd rather eat cheese for the rest of my life."

  "We don't really eat much cheese. We mostly eat garbage."

  "Even then."

  They all nodded, their whiskers twitching with laughter. We left her standing there and set off through the grass and into the garage where we celebrated our freedom with stale chip crumbs and half a can of flat beer.

  MOTHER

  First published in Caffeinated Press Brewed Awakenings 2 2016

  Josiah opened his eyes and screamed. The woman looming over him was not his wife.

  He distinctly remembered Shelly clutching his shoulders, telling him to hang on. Her tears had splashed down onto his face. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, but the pain was too great.

  The bright lights above this woman’s blurry face hurt his eyes. He wanted to be alone so he could get his bearings, but people he didn’t know kept picking him up and talking to him in high pitched voices that hurt his ears. They fed him, bathed him and sometimes put him in a quiet dark place so he could sleep. But each time he woke, they were there.

  He wanted to ask for his wife, for their son, for his parents, even the brother he hadn’t seen in years, but nothing came out of his mouth right. All he could do was kick and wail. No one seemed to understand what he wanted. They merely held him tighter and talked more.

  The woman, younger than his wife, her face round and hair short and dark, picked him up. The motion made his head spin and his stomach lurch. His body wouldn’t cooperate when he tried to push her away so he could make a break for the door.

  The man came in, shaking his head. They talked in low voices. Their words didn’t make sense, but from the tone, it sounded like an argument.

  He’d remembered arguing with Shelly from time to time, especially in those first months after Michael had been born, their tempers short from lack of sleep. Was Shelly okay? He had to let her know he was all right, that he was awake again and could come home soon.

  Michael would be wondering where he was, too. His little shadow would be lost without him, probably driving Shelly nuts.

  He would have welcomed an argument about his absence right then if he could only speak to Shelly. But the woman rubbed his back and sang softly, lulling him to sleep. Maybe Shelly would be there when he woke.

  Days went by, possibly even weeks. It was hard to keep track. He was so tired all the time. It must have been the healing. His mother had always said sleep was the best medicine.

  He became aware one day as he was eating, that it was a breast against his mouth rather than a spoon or a feeding tube. It certainly wasn’t Shelly’s breast. This was giant and hard and spurting warm fluid into his mouth the harder he sucked. He wanted to turn away, but he was hungry and the warm fluid made him comfortable and sleepy. And soon his eyes drifted closed.

  When he woke next, the man came to get him. After a few high-pitched words, he put Josiah on the floor. The ceiling was so high. He tried to reach for it, but it was like he was lost inside a skyscraper made for giants. He examined the hand he held up over his face. It was tiny and hairless, the nails clean and trimmed. This wasn’t hi
s hand.

  He wailed. The man appeared and knelt down beside him. He picked Josiah up from the floor and carried him back past three bright lights on the ceiling, past the green-and-ivory striped wall to the pale blue room where his bed was. But it wasn’t his bed. His bed was king-sized with a navy blue comforter that he’d argued with Shelly for. The floral monstrosity she’d wanted would have given him headaches.

  Wooden slats limited his view. He kicked and screamed.

  “Quiet now.”

  The man turned on soft music. Lights twinkled on the ceiling above the bed. Josiah paused his tirade to watch the lights. The door closed.

  The lights reminded him of something. Headlights. Pain. Shelly’s tears. He wanted to go home. He squeezed his eyes shut and screamed, but neither the man or woman came. His throat hurt. Eventually, he stopped. It wasn’t helping anyway. No one seemed to care that he was scared and alone.

  It wasn’t until weeks later that he found he could move on his own. This body he’d been stuck in wasn’t his, but he could control it somewhat. The man had put him on the floor again and was sitting nearby, watching the television. Josiah focused on the long wide screen, listening to the words. He concentrated hard and they slowly started to make sense. It wasn’t a program he recognized, and all the pictures were brightly colored and people wore odd clothing.

  If the man was distracted, maybe he could get away. He rolled over and pulled himself up on his arms and knees. If he blocked out the television and the man, he could concentrate on making his limbs move. Josiah rocked back and forth a few times, trying to get a feel for the way his body moved. It was sluggish, all his limbs weak and plump. Where had the muscles gone that he’d spent so many hours a week working on? Then he remembered that this wasn’t his body.

  What was before and now swirled in his head. He whimpered, the effort of keeping it all straight was too much. Some fresh air would help. He spotted the door. It was impossibly tall, but he had to get to it. Josiah rocked back and forth until his arms shook and his legs quivered beneath him. The door opened. He would have darted toward it if his legs worked properly, but instead, he fell to his stomach on the floor, having only managed to squirm a couple feet in all that time.

  The woman set her keys and purse on the table beside the door and then scooped him up. She carried him around, talking to the man. The feeling of her bare shoulder against his cheek was comforting. She smelled like sunshine. He found himself nuzzling her skin rather than thinking about the door. He couldn’t remember exactly why he had wanted to get to it.

  Her words became clearer as she jiggled him in her arms, relaxing his mind and body. He was safe here. She brought him into the bedroom where she cuddled with him, bathed him and then put him in fresh clothes. They settled into the chair in the corner of his room and rocked while his stomach filled with warmth and nourishment. Josiah settled in, letting sleep take him. He would get to the door another day.

  When the sunlight woke him, Josiah blinked and focused on the face of the woman. She smiled and pulled him from the bed. Her voice brought him joy. Her fingers were gentle as she changed his clothes and fed him. Contented, he let her carry him through the house until she handed him over to the man.

  The door closed. The man held him for a few minutes and then gently set him on the floor. The television turned on. The channels flipped by. There were so many of them. How long had he been here and where had he been before this? He couldn’t remember.

  He rolled around, looking for the door. When he finally spotted it, he got to his hands and knees. Something was outside that door that he needed. A woman and a boy, but who were they? He rolled onto his back and pondered his hand and then a foot. The foot was clean and soft. That seemed wrong. But this was his foot. Why was that wrong?

  Josiah slid a finger into his mouth. As his gums met the skin he knew for sure that this was his hand. It was part of him. This was his body. But it wasn’t, was it?

  He stared at the ceiling fan for a while, trying to sort through his memories. The fan blades spun round and round. The television droned on. Josiah found himself missing the woman who cared for him. Part of him felt guilty for that, but she’d been nothing but kind and no one else had come for him. Maybe the people he’d wanted to see so badly had forgotten about him. Had their memories gone hazy too?

  The man picked him up and pried a warm nib between his lips. It wasn’t skin. It didn’t smell right. It wasn’t the woman. He turned away, trying to escape the warm watery liquid spurting into his mouth. The man stiffened. Josiah could hear the man’s heartbeat growing faster. The nib slipped between his lips again. His stomach protested the fight. He was hungry. This was food. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he sucked at it anyway. At least for a little while, until his stomach was satisfied, then he spit it out. The man stood up and pressed Josiah to his shoulder, patting his back. A burp welled up within him and he let it lose. Someone would have chided him for that, but he couldn’t remember who.

  The man’s shoulder was hard but warm. He carried Josiah to the bed in the blue room.

  The woman came through the door, smiling. “Look who’s awake.”

  Josiah tried to reach for her. She reminded him of someone. Someone he had loved. He wanted nothing more than to hold her again, but for now, he let this woman hold him instead. Someday he would be big like the man and he would take care of this woman and make her feel warm and comfortable like she did for him.

  GIVING CHASE

  First published in Caffeinated Press Brewed Awakenings 2 2016

  The man behind me gasped for breath, his feet pounding the plascrete with less gusto than a block ago. “Stop, Mr. Samuels. We just want to ask you some questions.”

  Yeah, sure they did. I wove through the sprawling space-port market, narrowly missing a lumbering Talgasian slothlord and his scantily-clad entourage. A male grunt and female shriek informed me that the officer wasn’t so lucky.

  The chants of protestors drowned out the rest of the officer’s shouts for my cooperation. At least he couldn’t fire at me with all the people around.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see him doubled over, hands braced on his thighs, and his face bright red. That one wouldn’t be bothering me for a while, and we’d left his partners behind two blocks ago.

  I slowed my pace to better blend with the masses who were clogging up the entire market. The crowd wanted freedom from a government bent on taking everything. This wasn’t my homeworld, but I was also quite in favor of freedom at the moment.

  The rendezvous point lay just ahead. I shed my bright yellow tourist shirt mid-stride, leaving me with the plain grey one I’d worn when I’d left my apartment that morning. The logo-covered shirt hadn’t helped me blend as much as I’d hoped. Too many people knew my face.

  One of those people was Dirk Scattergash. His deeply scarred cheeks spread into a wide grin. “Chase, I wondered if you’d make it.”

  “Wondered?” I snorted. “When have I not made it?” I glanced around the back corner of Dirk’s favorite cheese trader’s stall. Anyone who wasn’t busy shopping seemed to be either watching the protestors or the reporters who had just arrived.

  I ducked back behind the wall and fished the sheer bag of glowing red gems from my pants pocket. My hand shook. I clutched the bag tighter. The six-block run shouldn’t have left me this exhausted. Then again, I didn’t usually have four men to outrun. The damn city was crawling with security attempting to manage the outbreak and the protestors.

  Dirk stared at my hand. “You’re getting old.”

  “So are you, and you’re ugly to boot.”

  Dirk threw his head back and laughed. “Well then, I suppose you want your payment?”

  “If you want the bag.”

  He held out a credit chip. I held out the bag. We exchanged simultaneously as if we’d done this a hundred times before. It had probably been close to that.

  “I’ve got another job for you.”

  I checked the balance on th
e chip. “I don’t need it. This will do me for awhile.” A long while really. I’d been saving up payoffs for nine months.

  “This isn’t about what you need.”

  “Cut the cryptic crap. I gotta get off this rock. The officers are everywhere and they know me.”

  “It’s just one more job, Chase. You owe me.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Yeah, I owe you, but I don’t plan to spend the rest of my life in a prison cell.”

  “Then don’t get caught.”

  “Come on. They need to forget about me for a couple years before I work here again.”

  “I don’t have a couple years.” He dropped his hands to hover just over the lumps beneath his long open coat. I didn’t know what sort of weapons Dirk carried, and I didn’t want to find out.

  I’d been working exclusively for him since he’d rescued my unaware ass when I’d done my first job on this planet. Turned out the crime lords didn’t look fondly on freelancers. Except for Dirk. He’d negated my freelancer status by providing me with jobs and a comfortable flow of credits.

  “I’m grateful for what you’ve done for me, really, I am, but I can’t take the chance right now. Can you at least give me a couple months to get a new alias settled in?”

  “The job has to happen tonight.”

  “That’s not even enough time for research.”

  “I’ll give you what you need to know. You just get in, get the goods and deliver them like you always do. It’s what you’re good at, Chase. You’re the man for the job.”

  I’d planned on being the man enjoying a full-service hotel on a little pleasure planet somewhere, but Dirk’s hands hadn’t moved and he was looking less friendly by the second.

  “I suppose if I say no, you have something painful in mind?”

  Dirk pressed a hand to his chest. “Chase, you wound me. We’re friends.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Who gave you all those credit chips you haven’t been spending?”

  “That would be you.”