A Science Fiction Story
Rick McKinney’s black van rolled slowly down Eleventh Street, coming to a stop about six blocks from his destination. It had taken almost thirteen hours of driving to get here, in San Francisco, from his home in Seattle. It was a very long drive, but it would be worth it. If everything went well, he would have a quarter of a million dollars by the weekend.
Rick climbed out of the van and started walking. Silhouetted against the setting sun was the Westinghouse Building, a fifty-story, eight-hour-a-day prison for the middleclass. The top six floors were home to the Goddard Corporation, a medical research outfit. They were developing some startling new uses for stem cells. It would be several weeks before they went to the patent office with their discoveries. Until then, everything was up for grabs. That is, if you could get inside.
He stopped a block away, out of range of the Westinghouse security cameras. He leaned against a telephone poll and waited for it to get dark. He strolled down an alley and took off all his clothes.
Rick closed his eyes and concentrated. He was suddenly very warm. Something in his skin reached out to the light in the alley. His skin absorbed the light, passing it through him. Rick faded from view until he became completely imperceptible. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a tiny, cloth bag. Holding it under his arm, he made sure it was completely covered by his skin. The bag faded into nothingness.
Rick hid his clothes in some bushes and continued on his way. He marched up to the front of the building to wave at a security camera and make a few invisible, but nevertheless obscene, hand gestures. Rick walked around to the back of the building, considering his options.
“Well,” he thought, “easiest thing is to try the window. I’m sure these all have alarms, but that’s only if you open them!” He opened the bag and removed a tiny, diamond-tipped glass cutter. Skillfully, he cut the glass from its frame, placing it gently on the ground. He pulled himself inside, and put his tools back into their hiding place under his arm.
The elevator had been shut down for the night, turned off with a key. Not wanting to climb forty-five flights of stairs, Rick got out a lock pick and switched the elevator back on.
The forty-fifth floor, Goddard Corporation headquarters. Rick walked down the hall, looking at the name plates on the office doors. Finally, he found what he was looking for: Mr. Ellison. The simple doorknob lock wasn’t even a challenge.
Mr. Ellison’s desk was immense, like a solid oak Cadillac. Rick plopped down in the chair and turned on the computer. “Let’s see,” he mumbled, “Password… Password…” He tried Mrs. Ellison’s name, her birthday, her maiden name, none of which worked. He tried “god,” and “sex.” No good. Then he saw it. There was a tiny, yellow Stick ‘Em Note on the floor. Ellison had written one word on it: Joshua.
“”No, it couldn’t be. He’s the head of R&D for a multi-billion-dollar international corporation. Could he be dumb enough to write his password on a Stick ‘Em Note?”
Amazingly, it worked. Moments later, Rick was looking at a file called “Special Projects: Stem Cell Research – Aug. 2010.” He paged through the file, rapidly memorizing everything. Unlike his invisibility, his photographic memory wasn’t that special. Anyone with enough money for a nanochip brain implant could get one. The implants didn’t actually store any information. Instead, they directed stimuli to the brain’s long-term memory. If you could remember your name, you could remember anything else.
Two hours later, Rick was back in his van, headed for home. He was far to excited to sleep.
Rick spent the next two days writing down everything from memory. He didn’t understand a word of it, but that was alright. His buyers would know what it all meant. After he finished his report, he wrapped it in a newspaper, got dressed and drove downtown. He pulled into a parking garage and headed for the usual street corner, where a chubby man named Davis was selling hotdogs and coffee.
“I’m a Buddhist,” Rick said. “Make me one with everything.”
Davis didn’t laugh. Rick always told that joke. “Hey,” he said, handing Rick his hotdog, “Are you done with that paper?”
“Sure, you want it? Here.” Rick traded his newspaper for the hotdog, and headed up the street. There was a store that sold luggage and gifts. After he delivered his reports, Rick always bought a new suitcase. The suitcases were always full of hundred dollar bills. It was a complex system, but his buyer valued his anonymity. It had been eight years, and Rick still had no idea who he was. He only knew that they were located in Redmond, Washington. That, and apparently it was cheaper for them to steal new inventions than develop any themselves.
That night, Rick stood in his garage, admiring his new purchase: a 1969 Corvette Stingray convertible, cherry red, all leather interior.
“It’s a beautiful machine,” Rick thought. “And I still have twenty-five grand left over. I wonder if I can spend it all in one night?”
Determined to try, Rick hopped in his new car and headed for Seni Grandi, a local gentleman’s club. The bartender there made amazing White Russians, and the view was, to put it mildly, very nice.
When Rick walked inside, he was immediately greeted by the owner, who had a bouncer clear Rick’s favorite table. Rick sat down and ordered the first of many, many drinks. A voice announced “Now heading to the stage, Amber Green!”
Rick opened his eyes. He was in bed, and the wall was the wrong color. The bedspread had flowers on it. “Oh, god,” he thought, “Who did I sleep with this time?” Cautiously, he felt under the covers with his arm. He was alone in bed. Maybe she was taking a shower? “Let’s see… It’s not Amber’s place. It’s not Heather’s place. Where the hell am I?”
Rick sat up and looked around. Light yellow walls, bedspread with yellow flowers. Posters on the wall, some bands he didn’t recognize. In one corner was a small desk piled with books. In the other corner was an army surplus footlocker with stuffed animals on it. “Rather immature,” he thought.
Next to the bed was a nightstand. On the nightstand were a pink alarm clock, a small lamp, and… a diary. “This should shed some light on the situation,” Rick thought, smiling. He opened the diary to a random page.
“Dear Diary,
My birthday was yesterday. Mom got me those black leather boots I wanted. I love them! The heels are higher than anything I’ve ever owned. They make my legs look hot! But this morning, I was walking into drama class and I tripped and fell in front of everybody! God, I was so embarrassed, I wanted to crawl into a hole and die! At least, after I move, I’ll never have to see any of them again. I’m so excited about going to a new school! I’ll finally be in high school!”
He read it again. It still said “high school.” He closed his eyes and moaned. “Oh, god! How young is this girl? Don’t these places check ID’s anymore?”
Suddenly it occurred to Rick that, if he did do something wrong, perhaps he should leave before the girl came back. He threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. He looked around for his clothes. Nothing. He would have to find the girl and ask her.
Rick reached for the door and froze. There was a full-length mirror hanging on the door. For the first time in Rick’s life, a mirror was wrong. That wasn’t his reflection. Rick stared at the mirror, and looking back at him was a very pretty, but very young, girl.
The girl in the mirror was about five foot eight, and very thin. She had her strawberry blonde hair pulled up in a bun, probably because of the heat. She was wearing a tank top and pajama pants with smiling monkeys on them. Rick guessed she was about thirteen.
“Oh, holy hell. That’s me! This must be a dream… A bizarre, alcohol-educed dream.” Rick pinched his arm hard. A soft, feminine voice cried out in pain. Rick gasped. “Is that…” he said slowly, “is that my voice? Oh, god! What the hell happened to me?”
Rick closed his eyes and concentrated. When he opened his eyes, the girl was still there. “Whatever happened,” he thought, “it’s not just a cosmetic change. This is a different body. My invisibility is gone, and I can’t sense my memory implant. What if… Did I just dream being Rick McKinney? No. I remember being Rick, and I don’t remember being this girl. If I just dreamed it, I would know who this girl is, right?”
Rick sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the diary. He flipped through the pages, looking for some sort of answer. The girl had just turned thirteen. Her parents were divorced and she lived with her mother. She had epilepsy but, at nine, had gotten a brain implant to stop the seizures. She wanted to be an actress. The diary frequently mentioned Katie and Matt, apparently close friends. Written inside the back cover was “If found, please return to Alyson Naff.” Underneath that was an address in Everett, Washington, probably about half an hour from his home in Seattle.
“So, looks like she’s a real person,” Rick thought. “My body wasn’t transformed into this shape; my mind was dropped into another body!”
A knock on the door. “Alyson, you’re going to be late for school. Get up this instant! If you miss the bus, I’m not driving you. I have to go to work early today.”
“I’m up,” Rick said slowly, in a stranger’s voice. “I’ll get in the shower right now.” He shuffled down the hall, looking for the bathroom. Fortunately the door was open.
Rick stepped in the bathroom and undressed. His new hair fell down just past his shoulders. He looked in the mirror, suddenly feeling a rush of guilt. He was a man of thirty-two, looking at a naked girl who was barely a teenager. But the girl was him! Rick took a quick shower, trying not to look at his new body.
Rick dried himself off and walked back to Alyson’s room. He put on a pair of jeans and the least-feminine t-shirt he could find. Walking downstairs, he saw a tall, blonde woman in a black pantsuit, apparently Alyson’s mother.
“What the hell?” she said. “Alyson, get back up to your room and put on your damn uniform! Hurry up!”
“What? Oh. Sorry…” Rick walked back upstairs and opened the closet. Sure enough, there it was. White blouse, black jacket, plaid skirt. Judging by the crest on the jacket, it probably wasn’t a Catholic school. Most likely, Alyson went to some upper-class private school in the area.
Reluctantly, he put on the uniform, grabbed Alyson’s backpack and headed back downstairs. He heard the squeak of brakes as the bus pulled up in front of the house. He hurried outside and got on.
Looking at the row of kids, Rick thought suddenly “God, I hope none of them is Alyson’s boyfriend.”
A voice from the back: “Alyson! Back here!”
“Um, Katie?”
“C’mon, Allie! Get back here!” Laughter.
Rick walked to the back of the bus, where a plump, redheaded girl was apparently saving him a seat. Katie turned to him, puzzled. “What, you don’t wear makeup anymore?”
“I overslept today. Didn’t have time.”
“Oh. Well, you’ve got plenty of time until we get there. Just don’t put on any mascara,” Katie said, giggling. “If the bus hits a pothole, you could lose an eye!”
Rick forced a laugh, and looked in Alyson’s backpack. There was a small bag with a mirror and makeup in it. He closed the backpack quickly. “I must have forgotten my makeup kit. Shoot.”
“Here,” said Katie, handing Rick her purse, “I’ve got a bunch of stuff with me.”
“Oh, great,” Rick thought. “I suppose I can put on some lipstick… That ought to shut her up.” Turning to Katie, he asked “What day is it?”
“It’s May fourth,” she said. So! It was only a few hours since he sat down at his table at Seni Grandi. Whatever had been done to him, it had only taken one night. Hopefully his body was still out there somewhere, alive.
Finally, they arrived at the school. The front of the building said “Ellison Academy.” As the kids started getting off the bus, Rick said to Katie, “I have to tie my shoe. I’ll catch up with you later.”
He waited until the driver ordered him off the bus. Stepping outside, he watched the kids stream into the school and the bus pull away. No one was around. He threw Alyson’s books on the ground and, zipping up the backpack, began the long walk back home.
Rick was glad Alyson’s mother didn’t notice his sneakers when he left the house. He would never have admitted it, but he was also glad he had worn the skirt. In the May heat, it felt good to have some ventilation between his legs.
Mrs. Naff had gone to work. Rick walked into the house and checked Alyson’s watch. If Mrs. Naff left at nine, he would probably have until at least five before she returned.
“I’ll need money and tools,” he thought. “And it looks like Mrs. Naff took the only vehicle. I’ll have to steal a car… Which reminds me, I’ll definitely need some weapons.”
Rick found some wire cutters and pliers in the garage. He went back up to Alyson’s room and cut apart some wire hangers, bending them into makeshift lock picks. He searched Mrs. Naff’s room, eventually finding a can of pepper spray and some money hidden in the closet. He emptied out Mrs. Naff’s jewelry box, on the off chance that there was a pawn shop in the area. “No way to tell how long it’ll take to get my body back. I might need a lot of money before this is over. Now, if I’m going to drive, I need to look a little older than thirteen.”
Back in Alyson’s room, Rick studied his new reflection. He decided that he should do something to enhance a certain area of his physique. Putting down the box of tissues, Rick found a tight-fitting blouse and a clip to hold back his hair. He decided to keep the skirt on until it cooled off outside. He walked in the bathroom and spent the next two hours practicing with cosmetics.
“There, finally. I guess I could pass for sixteen. Not that it’ll matter. If I get pulled over in a stolen car, my age will be the least of my worries.”
Rick jammed his tools and some extra clothes into Alyson’s backpack and headed south. Eventually he came across a grocery store. He stood in the parking lot and waited.
A sliver Mustang sped into the lot, pulling sideways across three spaces. A beefy, young man in a varsity letter jacket got out of the car and strolled toward the store.
“Hey, can you help me with something?” Rick called.
The man headed slowly towards him, twirling his key ring on his finger. Smiling, he said, “What do you need, baby?”
Rick winced. Well, if he had to be a girl, at least he had the advantage of being cute. He returned the smile and said, “I need some beer. I’ve got money, but I’m too young to buy any!”
“Oh, sure. Give me some cash and I’ll get you whatever you want.”
Rick reached into his backpack and whipped out the can of pepper spray, squirting the man in the eyes. He collapsed on the ground, screaming. Rick kicked him in the stomach and grabbed his keys, running to the car.
Rick drove south for a few blocks, and then pulled into an apartment complex. He took the license plate from a parked car and switched it with the Mustang’s, and continued south toward Seattle.
“God, that was fun! It’s been years since I’ve stolen anything other than information. But I’ve got to get down to business. The last thing I can remember is sitting at my table in Seni Grandi. That’s my only lead, so I’ll stop there first.”
Rick drove very slowly, being extra careful to follow all traffic regulations. If he got pulled over, driving without a license in a stolen car, everything would be ruined. On his way down to Seattle, Rick stopped three times to switch license plates again, just in case. It was early in the afternoon, but Seni Grandi was already open. They had a free lunch buffet for the early comers. Rick pulled into the lot, and locked his backpack in the trunk.
The bouncer at the front door was named Tommy. “ID and three bucks cover charge, little lady.”
Rick laughed, trying to look appealing. “ID?”
“Yeah, lady, something with your picture on it.”
Rick handed Tommy a fifty, tapping the portrait on the front of the bill. “Here’s my ID. My hair’s a little longer now, but it still looks like me, doesn’t it?”
Tommy sighed and waved him in. “Whatever. I don’t give a shit.”
Inside, Rick looked around for anyone he recognized from the night before. There was a different bartender, different waitresses, a different DJ. He decided to grab some chicken wings from the buffet and think things over. There were also some grilled hotdogs, but since they were labeled “Grillo Grandi,” he decided to leave them alone. The club was practically empty, so he managed to sit at his favorite table.
The DJ switched to a new song. “Alright, everybody, wasn’t she great? Coming to the stage right now, the dancin’ and romancin’ of Amber Green!”
“Amber!” he gasped.
A man at another table laughed. “She your favorite, honey?”
“What? Um, yeah. She’s great.”
“She’s got her some great breasts, but not half as nice as yours. I like ’em small. If you’ve got more than a handful, gravity will get you, I always say. You got some nice legs there, too.”
Rick was starting to regret leaving the pepper spray in the car. “Look,” he snapped, “I’m a woman, I’m at a strip club, obviously I’m not into guys. Shut the fuck up.” The man just laughed and went back to the buffet.
The music started, and Amber Green strutted to the center of the stage. She was dressed somewhat like Rick had been earlier that day: white blouse and plaid skirt, a “naughty” schoolgirl. Unlike Rick, her blouse was unbuttoned almost down to her navel, and Rick wasn’t wearing a glow-in-the-dark bikini under his clothes.
Amber peeled off her blouse and threw it upstage. She squirmed slowly out of her skirt, tossing it behind her. Finally, her bikini top came off. Her nipples were pierced, a silver chain connecting the two rings.
She crawled downstage, smiling as half a dozen men jammed one-dollar bills into her thong. Rick shoved his way to the edge of the stage, waving two fifty dollar bills. Pressing them in Amber’s hand, he said “I need to see you after the show.” Amber was used to such requests, at least from men. She just nodded and continued her dance.
Twenty minutes later, a fully-dressed Amber walked up to Rick’s table and smiled. “Hi there, sweetie. You ready to come back to the Champaign room?”
Rick laughed. “Not today. That’s not what I wanted… I just need to ask you some questions.”
“Really? Oh, OK. What’d you need?”
“You were working last night. Did you see a tall guy, early thirties, gray suit? He had a red tie and a shaved head.”
“Oh yeah, the bald guy. I remember him.”
“He wasn’t bald,” Rick snapped. “He shaves his head because he likes how it looks!”
“Whatever,” Amber said, puzzled. “Is he your boyfriend? Because he’s a little old for you, don’t you think?”
Rick laughed, brushing back a stray strand of hair. “No, he’s my big brother. I’ve been looking for him all day, and the last time I saw him he was headed here. Did you notice anything weird last night? Did he leave suddenly? Was anyone with him?”
“Well, right when I started my show, he let out this big gasp and fell back out of his chair. He shook like he was having a seizure, so one of the bouncers dragged him off to the side where he couldn’t bang into anything. A few minutes later, he got up, said he was OK, and then he left. He was alone when he left, I think. That’s about all I know. Hope that was worth a hundred bucks to you, honey.”
“Well, I wasn’t kidnapped or drugged,” Rick thought. “Other than that, it looks like this is a dead-end. There’s one more place I can look. But before I go…” Rick looked the stripper up and down, wishing he still had the means to do what was on his mind. “Actually,” he said, “There is one more thing you can do for me. Do you have a car?”
Rick headed downtown in Amber’s mint green Buick LeSabre, which she was only too glad to trade for the Mustang. “No point in driving around in a stolen car if you don’t have to,” Rick thought. “Now, to find a pawn shop.”
After an hour of driving, Rick found a place called “1.d4” where he could pawn the jewelry he had stolen from Mrs. Naff. The owner, a zaftig woman named Queen, gave him three hundred dollars and a pair of binoculars.
Rick got back in his car and headed for his house. “From what Amber told me, it sounds like there’s someone using my body. After the switch, this person got up and said they were OK, so it must have been someone who knew what was happening. That means it wasn’t Alyson in my body. There must be a third body out there somewhere, with Alyson’s mind in it. She must be scared…”
Driving past the University of Seattle, images of Rick’s college days flashed through his head: using his invisibility to steal exams, standing unseen in the girl’s locker room, a very special girl named Summer. He wondered how Summer would react if she could see him now. Maybe she would laugh and offer to baby-sit. Rick turned on the radio, desperate to get his mind off of his current situation.
Rick turned onto Broadway, and pulled over. “Wait a minute,” he thought. “What am I doing, exactly? Let’s say there is someone at my house, using my body. What the hell am I going to do about it? All I know is, whoever’s in there knows what’s going on. If anyone is there at the house, I should stake out the place, try to get more information. They probably know what I- I mean, what Alyson looks like. Even if they don’t know what car I’m driving, I still should do something to disguise myself.”
There was a grocery store nearby on East James Street. Rick bought some scissors and hair dye and locked himself in the restroom. He hacked away at his hair until he was left with a chin-length bob. The dye turned his hair jet black. “Sorry, Alyson,” Rick thought. “If we ever get back in our own bodies, I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”
Rick parked across the street from his house and got out the binoculars from the pawn shop. The blinds were all closed, just as he had left them the previous night. “Well,” Rick thought, “I suppose the car’s in the garage. I guess this is the stakeout.”
Several hours later, an orange SUV pulled into the driveway. A tall, white-haired man got out and opened the back. Reaching inside, he dragged a large sign to the front of the yard. “For Sale.”
“The hell it is!” Rick growled. He jumped out of the car and bounded across the street. “Hey!” he yelled. “Who put this house up for sale?”
“The owner’s a man named McKinney,” said the man. “Are your parents looking for a house? It’s not ready to be shown yet, but if you come back in a couple days…”
“Tell you what,” Rick sighed, “I’ll give you fifty bucks to show it to me right now.”
“Kid, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Rick was stunned. The house was empty. His furniture, clothes, computer, everything gone. Even his collection of rare beer bottles, over thirty thousand, had disappeared.
“Did you want to see the garage?” the realtor asked.
“Might as well,” Rick sighed. As he expected, his van and new car were gone. There was large cardboard box on the floor. “What’s that?” Rick asked.
“Oh, just some pots and pans and other things the owner didn’t want anymore. He was busy loading the moving van, and he asked me to throw it out for him. You can take it, if you want.”
“Wait a minute,” Rick gasped. “You were here when… Did he say where he was going?”
“No. Even if he had, that’s hardly the kind of information I’d share. Gossip like that could cost me my license! That is, unless you have, say, three grand in that backpack of yours.”
Rick tried to bargain with the realtor, but the man wouldn’t listen. Dejected, he dragged the box to his car and sat on the hood, trying not to cry.
“Not a clue here, either,” Rick moaned. “Just some junk that the `new me’ didn’t want. What good is– Hold on! ‘Things the owner didn’t want…’”
Rick ran across the street, stopping the realtor just as he was getting back in his car. “I need to look at that box one more time!”
Rick checked one more time. Pots and pans, computer parts, old medication… It wasn’t there. “He took the media key!” Rick thought. Turning to the realtor, he said “Where’s the nearest portal?”
Rick drove back to the grocery store and stepped into the portal. It was shaped much like an old-fashioned telephone booth. Due to sanitation concerns, the public telephones had been replaced with speakerphones and no-touch screens. Rick poked a finger into the screen’s laser grid and punched in Internet Services. Crossing his fingers, he though “I just pray the new me really does have the key.”
Years ago, most media production companies had switched to completely electronic distribution. The majority of this distribution was handled by a company called WMS.
Any time new movies or books or music was created, an electronic copy was uploaded to a network of satellites called Worldwide Media Storage. If you bought a movie from WMS, you were actually purchasing a license to view the file. Your licenses were stored in an inch-long metal cylinder called a media key, which could be plugged in to any stereo or television, giving you instant access to everything, anywhere in the world.
Rick punched in the address for Worldwide Media Storage, selecting “locate lost or stolen media key.” Rick entered his password, watching as a globe appeared, zooming in on the United States, California, Los Angeles, and finally a house in Santa Monica.
“I found you,” Rick growled. “I found you, you son of a bitch.” Rick said it again, but with his new voice, he just couldn’t get it to sound intimidating.
Rick drove for hours, finally stopping at a hotel in Medford, Oregon. It was about two in the morning, and he was exhausted. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered about Alyson’s mother, and if she was worried about her missing daughter.
“Wake up, Alyson,” said Mom. “Happy birthday!”
Alyson opened her eyes. Mom was bringing her breakfast in bed! This was going to be a great birthday, after all. “Thanks, Mom!” she said. On the tray, next to the eggs and soy sausage, was a blue envelope. Alyson ripped it open. “It’s a card from Matt!” she thought. “I can’t believe he remembered my birthday. If he comes to my party tonight, I should ask him up to my room. He’d make a great first…”
Rick opened his eyes, closing them again to shut out the morning light. “Did I read about that in her diary?” he thought. “Or did I remember it? Did that really happen? No, no. It’s just a dream. Get some breakfast; that’ll get your mind off of this shit.”
It was about three in the afternoon when Rick saw the house. It was so close to the ocean that there was a seagull resting on the roof.
“I’d love to live here,” Rick thought. “Actually, I guess I do live here…” He parked across the street and got out his binoculars. Looking through the windows, he could make out his leather couch and television and a few new pieces of furniture. “So, what am I going to do? There’s a stranger living in my skin, and my skin can turn invisible. How can I fight that? Well, whatever I do, I should wait until nightfall.”
Rick spent a few hours at the local mall, and then drove to a store called Veronica’s Magic Supplies. The sun set, and he returned to the stranger’s house. Rick slipped into a pair of jeans and a black sweater. He shouldered his backpack and crept into the stranger’s back yard.
Rick dropped to his hands and knees and crawled up to the windows. There were lights on, but no one was around. “The stranger must be upstairs,” he thought. “Time to get to work.”
Silently, he picked the lock on the back door and stepped inside. The house smelled of new paint. There were boxes stacked along the walls and a new couch in the corner. Rick ripped open a box marked “Garage.”
Rick walked to the front of the house and tiptoed up the stairs. He heard the sound of a shower running. Rick stood behind the door and waited.
The door opened, and tall, familiar-looking man stepped out, wrapping a towel around himself. Suddenly, he was covered in motor oil.
“What the hell?” he yelled. “Oh, its you! Oh, shit.” The stranger dropped the towel and disappeared, leaving a puddle of oil hanging in the air. The puddle lurched forward, and something banged against the wall by Rick’s head. Rick jumped to the side, laughing.
“It’s hard to fight someone when you can’t see where your fist is going,” Rick said. “I know; it took me years of practice.” The puddle turned and ran down the stairs. Rick hurled his backpack at the stranger’s oil-covered head, knocking him down the steps. Rick ran down, leaping on top of the invisible man.
Rick punched the stranger in what he guessed was the chin. The man grabbed Rick’s waist and rolled, tossing him to the floor. An invisible fist slammed into the side of Rick’s head.
Rick reached under his sweater and pulled out the can of pepper spray. He waited for the stranger to get to his feet. “Thanks,” Rick said grimly, “I couldn’t tell where your head was.” Rick held his breath and fired at the oil. The stranger screamed, falling to the ground. His concentration broken, the man returned to view. Rick rose unsteadily to his feet.
Rick pulled two pairs of handcuffs from his backpack, quickly locking the stranger’s hands behind his back. “Did you know Veronica’s Magic Supplies is having a sale? All handcuffs, half off. You should really check it out.”
Rick doused the stranger again, emptying the can of pepper spray. He pulled the man to a sitting position and, with the second pair of handcuffs, locked him to the staircase railing.
“A few months ago,” Rick said slowly, “I had to put some new shingles on the roof. I could afford to hire someone to do it, sure, but I enjoy working around the house. Now, where was that box marked `tools?’”
Rick searched through the boxes until he found his nail gun. “You just kept all kinds of useful things, didn’t you?” He said. “Now, obviously, I’m not going to kill you. We both know that. But if it means getting my body back, I think I can deal with a few nails in the legs. How about you?”
The man laughed. “You don’t have the balls. I mean, not anymore.”
“Now that’s just cruel! Look, if you don’t want to be permanently attached to the stairs, you’d better start talking. Who are you, why did you do this to me, and when can I get back in my own skin?”
A voice from behind him. “You’d better put that down, honey. You might hurt yourself.” Rick turned and reluctantly dropped the nail gun. A large, balding man in a trench coat was pointing a gun at his head. “That’s a nice girl. Now,” he said, pointing to the stranger in Rick’s body, “Unlock Tyler.”
Rick opened the handcuffs and Tyler pushed him away. The bald man took off his coat and threw it to Tyler. Tyler grunted his thanks and said, “Hey, I guess I should call Frankie and ask what we should do about the girl.”
Twenty minutes later, Rick and Tyler were sitting in an office building downtown. The bald man, who was apparently named Vincent, had locked Rick in the handcuffs and taken the three of them to a rundown office complex where, apparently, Frankie was to meet them.
Tyler jabbed Rick on the shoulder. “Hey, why do you shave your head? Are you bald? Because I don’t want to be stuck with a damn bald head…”
“Then give me my body back, asshole!” Rick snapped.
The door opened and a small woman in a red pantsuit stepped in. “Hello, Miss Naff. I am Franchesca Powers. You can call me Frankie. I suppose you’re wondering what’s going on.”
Rick’s face flushed with anger. “You’re damn right, I want to know! And my name is Rick McKinney, you bitch!”
“Don’t be so sure,” said Frankie. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning. I work for a large corporation that, among other things, develops technology for the military. We also developed various types of nanochip brain implants. Like the memory implant in your head.”
Tyler laughed. “You mean my head, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. A few years ago, one of our offices reported a robbery. They were working on a way to turn garbage into crude oil. Unfortunately, the data disks containing their research were stolen. I personally studied the security tapes, and do you know what I found?”
“Let me guess,” Rick growled. “The front door opened itself, and the disks floated away.”
“Correct! Go to the head of the class. I wasn’t sure what to think. But then, we started to hear rumors of similar robberies all over the country. Valuable information was being stolen by someone the cameras couldn’t see. We had an invisible thief on our hands.”
Vincent fondled his gun, leering at Rick. “I’d like to get my hands on our thief’s tight, little ass…”
“Don’t interrupt!” Frankie snapped. “Years went by, with no new information. And then it happened. We found a very interesting security tape from one of our offices in Seattle. A man stood outside the building, took off all his clothes, and disappeared. The Westinghouse Building reported a break-in the next morning. We had found our invisible thief! We took the picture of you from the tape and compared it with all the thirty-something felons in Washington. Apparently you have three hundred outstanding parking tickets…”
Rick slid a finger down the back of his jeans, fishing for the spare handcuff key.
“Once we knew who you were,” Frankie continued, “We checked our files, and, it turned out, you have one of our nanochip memory implants. Tyler, you’re the neurosurgeon. Why don’t you explain this part?”
Tyler got up and yawned. “It’s really very simple,” he said. “We sell twenty-seven different types of brain implant. They have different functions, with one thing in common: they digitize brainwaves. The brain implants give us a kind of backdoor into the human mind. Once we found out who you were, we put a detective on your tail. He found out about that dump, Seni Grandi. Our computer technicians waited outside for you to arrive. When you did, they used your memory implant to scan your brain. The entire contents of your mind were converted into digital form and then loaded into Alyson Naff’s body.”
“Why Alyson?” Rick demanded. “What did she do to you?”
“Nothing!” Frankie laughed. “She was harmless; that’s the point. We wanted to put your mind in a body that couldn’t possibly be a threat to us. Alyson was just the nearest little girl with a brain implant. But you shouldn’t worry about her. She’s just fine.”
Very slowly, Rick twisted his hands, working the handcuff key into the lock. “Why go through all this trouble? Why didn’t you just kill me?”
“You’ve stolen so much information,” Frankie said. “Billions of dollars of research and diagrams are sitting there in your head. If you ever want to be a man again, you’ll come work for us and tell us everything you know.”
“Sure,” Rick said. “Give me back my body, and you can have everything. I’ll steal anything else you want.”
Tyler chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m afraid we can’t do that. Your invisibility is very valuable to the military. As soon as we figure out how it works, Uncle Sam will pay billions for the secret. That is, if he doesn’t want the Chinese to get it first. However, if you give us the information, you can have your pick from a list of bodies.”
“Right,” Rick thought. “As if I trust any of these lunatics. I could spend months writing reports on stolen technology and get nothing. Why would they bother finding me a male body when they can just leave me like this? They’re never going to change me back.”
Finally, Rick’s hands were free. He jumped from his chair, tossing smoke pellets into the center of the room. In an instant, everything went gray. The smoke detector blared, and the overhead sprinklers turned on.
“Handcuffs weren’t the only thing on sale at Veronica’s Magic Supplies,” Rick muttered. He picked up his chair and hurled it through the smoke. He heard Vincent yell, his gun clattering to the floor. Rick dove towards the sound.
When the smoke cleared, Vincent was still on the ground, looking for his gun. He never saw Rick pull the trigger. A door banged open. Rick turned just in time to see Frankie run out. Two shots, both missing her head by inches.
Tyler’s clothes lay in a wet pile on the floor. “Where are you, Tyler?” Rick yelled. “I don’t want to do this, but I will. Look, give me my body back, and I’ll give you all the information you want. I’ll even let you experiment on me to find out how the invisibility works. Why shouldn’t the government have invisible solders? I’m just as patriotic as the next guy…”
In one corner of the room, the water from the ceiling didn’t seem to be making it to the floor. The droplets almost formed a shape. Rick aimed and fired. Blood poured from midair. Tyler moaned and fell to the floor, slowly fading into view.
“Oh, god,” Rick cried. “You made me do it, Tyler. You made me do it. I’ve killed both of us!” Rick stood over what used to be his body and wept.
Hours later, Rick was back in his car, driving through northern California. “I told Frankie that I was Rick, and she said `don’t be so sure.’ And then, later, she said that Alyson was still alive. Did she mean… Did she mean me?”
Rick drove until he was exhausted. He pulled into a rest stop and went to sleep.
Matt was cute. In fact, he was gorgeous. He was on the track team, and it showed. Alyson walked up behind him and whispered in his ear. “My mom’s still out getting pizza. Want to come up to my room?”
Alyson laid down on her bed, looking up at Matt’s shirtless chest. Slowly, Matt climbed on to the bed. He leaned down, licking his lips…
Rick woke up with a start. Someone was honking their horn. “That wasn’t in her diary,” he thought, suddenly afraid. “Alyson knows her mother reads her diary, so she never writes about things like that. Wait! How the hell did I know that?”
Rick turned on the car and got back on the road, trying desperately to stop these thoughts. After a few hours, he passed the sign marking the Oregon state line.
“Why am I remembering things?” he thought. “I shouldn’t know anything about Alyson that wasn’t in that damn diary. I’m Rick McKinney, damn it! I mean, I’m in Alyson’s body, but my brain is Rick. No, not my brain. My memory implant was left in Tyler’s head. Frankie’s goons used the brain implant to scan my mind and load it into Alyson’s head. My body and brain are dead. All that’s left of Richard McKinney is the data that was forced into this girl’s brain.” Suddenly nauseous. “Is that all I am? Is that all anybody is?”
Hours later, Rick arrived in the outskirts of Everett, Washington. In the rear view mirror, he could see the bruises from his fight with Tyler turning purple. He decided to abandon Amber’s car and walk the rest of the way.
Rick rang the doorbell. The door opened, and Mrs. Naff grabbed him in a tight hug. “Oh, Alyson!” she cried. “Alyson! I was so scared! Where have you been? What happened?”
Rick found himself crying. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I got off the bus, and instead of going to school, I decided to hitchhike to the mall. I just wanted to shop and get my hair done… On the way back home, this man picked me up. He said he would take me, but instead he drove me upstate, to the woods. He tried to attack me, but I ran away. I got lost in the woods for like a day, and I was too scared to hitchhike, so I walked back. I’m so sorry…”
“It’s not your fault, honey. It’s not… Whatever happened to you, don’t blame yourself. You must be so tired. Why don’t you take a shower and go to bed?”
Rick stood under the stream of warm water, trying not to look at his body. “I have the memories and personality of a thirty-year-old man. Does that make me Rick? If it does, what happens if I start remembering Alyson’s life? Maybe Alyson and Rick weren’t `switched’ at all. Maybe their minds were just reprogrammed. Maybe, back at that office, it was Alyson who killed Rick.”
Rick climbed out of the shower and grabbed a towel. He wrapped it around his waist, pulled it off, and wrapped it higher, around his chest. He walked across the hall and put on some pajamas. A few minutes later, Mrs. Naff knocked on the door and came inside.
“Alyson, if you’re hungry, there’s some pasta and veggies in the refrigerator.” Rick could tell she had been crying. Her smile was forced. “By the way, I like what you’ve done with your hair.”
“Thanks… Mom.”
