As Vic munched his burger, he ran through the list of list of people he needed to hit. He tried to count them on his brightly-painted fingers, but he soon found himself running out of fingers to count on. The cop would be first, of course. Then the brother of the guy he'd killed five years ago, the one whose murder had put him in jail in the first place. Then his old girlfriend. Then the mechanic who'd worked on his car a month before the murder; if that guy had done a better job, maybe he would have been able to outrun the police. He rattled through the list again, then went through it once more, relishing the thought of each and every person on the list meeting a horrific and grisly end.
He rubbed a spot of mustard from his mouth. The waitress had balked a little when Vic had ordered his meal; apparently she wasn't used to skinny teenage girls ordering two burgers and an extra helping of fries. But Vic had spent the last five years eating prison food; he wasn't going to hold back on his first opportunity to eat a real meal, with real food that didn't taste like it was made from the ground-up bodies of the guys who went through death row. The meal had cost a pretty penny, at least compared to the rather meager stack of cash he'd found in Amy's purse; but she had plastic, so Vic had treated himself to a nice big meal, courtesy of Amy's dad, or whoever it was who got to pay off her credit card.
It hadn't been difficult to find Amy's purse. While Bartlett had led his pom pom patrol downtown to the police station, Vic had ducked into the girls' locker room; he wanted to get out of Amy's slutty cheerleading uniform and into some real clothes. To his pleasure, he found that some of the lockers were decorated, and one of them had a big sticker on it that read "Amy's Stuff: Keep Out!". Too easy. After that it had been a cinch to break into the locker and gather up everything inside. He'd found Amy's purse, along with a stack of neatly folded street clothes. He'd changed out of his uniform and into the other clothes, though not before he'd taken off Amy's panties and bra and danced naked for a few minutes in front of the locker room mirror. He liked what he saw in the mirror; Amy was a skinny little bitch with bright red hair above and below, and a smattering of freckles that gave her an innocent air that Vic knew he could use to his advantage. Amy had a gorgeous rack, too, and a great ass. She was, to put it simply, smoking hot, and Vic was sure he could use Amy's good looks to lure his male victims into a dark room, where he could proceed to slit their throats.
The clothes he'd found consisted of a tank top and capri pants. They were a lot more comfortable than the cheerleading uniform had been, though they still felt girly as fuck. It was the heels that were killing him, though; it had taken several minutes of pacing around the locker room to even begin to get his balance in these stupid shoes, and he still didn't feel terribly confident in them. Vic still felt weird crossdressing, but he supposed it was something he would have to get used to. It didn't seem like he was going to be leaving Amy's body any time soon. In fact, Vic was prepared to kill anyone who tried to shove him back into his own body. Chick or not, being free beat being in prison any day.
The voice coming front the television mounted over the diner counter caught Vic's attention, and he turned and looked at the screen. A hot young newswoman was speaking from the anchor desk, and Vic tuned into her words.
"..uncomfirmed reports of people all over the city claiming to have switched bodies," the woman said. "Large crowds have converged on area hospitals and police stations, and city officials are having a hard time dealing with the rising chaos. A brief riot even broke out at the site of this year's spring festival early this afternoon, where Lacey Bergeron, a performer well known in the indie music scene, was scheduled to perform. Details on these events are few and far between at the moment, but the mayor's office is working with the police department to gather information as quickly as possibl, and this station will keep you informed as new facts come in." She paused, looking off camera and mouthing a few words; she then turned back to the camera. "Apparently one of the mayor's aides is speaking at a press conference about the events that are occuring this afternoon. We join him live in front of town hall."
The scene shifted, and now the television screen showed a man standing on the steps of a government building. Vic recognized the building; he'd had his trial there several years ago. The man on the screen cleared his throat and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, members of the press.. this afternoon we have all been hearing rumors of wild, impossible, unprecedented events occuring within the limits of our fair city, of people switching bodies with one another. Yesterday, had any of us heard such a story, we would have scoffed; such things, we all know, are flights of fantasy, not things that happen in the real world. Nevertheless, the rumors that are circulating, the chaos spreading through our streets, seem too widespread to ignore. The mayor is not prepared--"
Suddenly a voice broke out over the man's words; it sounded like the newswoman who had been onscreen a moment before, though her voice was oloed now by a thick Southern accent. "Oh my God!" she shouted. "What happened? Where am I? And why are all these cameras pointed at me?"
Vic frowned. So it wasn't just him and the pep squad. People were switching all over town, apparently. Soon everyone in town would know what was going on, and peopel would be much less likely to accept, at face value, that Vic was Amy Taylor and not someone masquerading in her image. And if the switches went both ways... did that mean that Amy was in his own body, in prison? If so, it wouldn't be long until she started squealing. As important has his path of vengeance was to him, Vic wondered if it was safest for him to skip town for a while. He could lay low in another town, maybe another state, while things here quieted down. If he needed money, he could hit a bank or a convenience store, or maybe work in a strip joint for a few weeks, to raise some cash. Amy wasn't eighteen, but she looked old enough to pass for an adult; and besides, if he found the right strip club, they wouldn't care if Vic was legal. He even thought about doing some whoring for money, though he wasn't sure how the mechanics of sex worked in his situation, and he wasn't sure he was comfortable doing it with a dude anyway. Nevertheless, Amy's perky body certainly offered Vic opportunities he'd never dreamed of before.
First, though, Vic had to get out of town, and he doubted he had enough cash in his purse for bus fare. However, unless it had closed up shop while he'd been in prison, Vic knew exactly where he could go for some quick cash. Once he'd finished his meal, Vic slipped the rings off his fingers, the bracelets off his wrists, and the necklace off his neck. Then he dropped them into his purse and walked casually toward the counter to pay.
********
Gloria watched impatiently as the man in front of her appraised the jewelry she'd slid through the grate. She tried to look calm, but she knew that, with every moment that past, it was more likely that one of the kids back at Jane's house would notice the car was missing and report her to the police. Gloria wished she'd just been able to leave town, but in her haste she'd neglected to grab Jane's actual current purse, the one with her credit cards and cash in it, and so she found herself utterly without money. So she'd stopped off at a pawn shop she'd frequented in her life as Gloria to sell off some of the junk she'd stolen. Just enough to get her to the next town.
There was a jingle at the door behind her, and Gloria turned around nervously to see who'd come in. It was a redheaded teenage girl, dressed in capris and a tank top and wobbling to the counter in high heels that she clearly didn't know how to wear. The girl nodded at Gloria, then took a handful of jewelry from her purse.
Gloria turned back to the counter, tapping her foot impatiently. At last the pawn shop owner looked up at her and said, "I'd say I can give you probably twenty-eight bucks for this."
"Are you kidding me?" Gloria shouted, appalled. "That's gold jewelry. Some of it is diamond. It has to be worth at least a few hundred."
"Zircon and gold plating," the man said.
Gloria scowled... then she turned sweet. "Are you sure you can't give me a little more, handsome?" she said, leaning forward and licking her lips and putting on her best doe-eyed expression. "I'd be really... really grateful if you could slip me another fifty on top." She smiled. "You can put it anywhere you want, baby."
"Sorry, ma'am," the man said. "This is a business. I have to at least break even. I'm already cutting you the best deal I can."
Gloria's shoulders slumped. That had been her best game. This guy was usually a pushover; she could always talk him into a better deal if she started flirting with him. Jane's body was worthless. Was this what she had to look forward to from now on? Life as a third-class citizen?
"All right," she grumbled. "Whatever. Just give me the money." At least twenty-eight bucks would pay for gas to the state line.
As the man walked over to the safe, she looked through the jewelry in her purse. If all of it was junk like this first batch was, there was no way she could scrape enough money together to get by for long. She would have to find a job as a waitress or a maid or something... which would be hard with no wardrobe, no paperwork, no driver's license, no social security card, and no contacts. If she'd still been herself she probably could have talked one of her clients into setting her up with a nice job; but the men who had slept with Gloria wouldn't recognize Jane, and she doubted she could talk them into anything with this body.
Her eyes fell on the rock she'd found under that Jon kid's bed. She took it out, feeling againt the pleasant electrical buzz it gave out. It had to be worth a few bucks, but Gloria really, realy didn't want to have to sell it. It was so pretty...
"I wish I still looked like a twenty-year-old," she muttered. "And I wish this Jane woman had a better pair of boobs." She felt a twitch in her neck and found her head turning sharply away from the rock. She was way too tense; she really, really needed those cigarettes.
Feeling a pair of eyes on her, she turned and saw the teenager staring at her wide-eyed. "What are you staring at?" she snarled. The girl gaped at her a moment longer, then looked away.
The pawn shop owner came back, a stack of cash in his hand. "I, uh... I changed my mind, Miss. I'm giving you another hundred on top of what I promised you."
"Oh," Gloria said, surprised. "Oh, wow. Thank you."
"No problem" the man said, winking at her and sliding the money through the grate. "Any time, doll. Just come back soon, y'hear?"
"Uh, sure," Gloria said. Wow... maybe Jane's body wasn't as bad as she thought. She just hoped she had this kind of luck at the next pawn shop she stopped at. Taking her money and putting it in her purse, Gloria turned to tell the teenager that she guessed it was her turn next... but the girl had disappeared. Weird.
Outside the shop, she heard a soft, feminine voice call out. "Hi, there."
Gloria turned and saw the teenage girl she'd seen in the shop leaning against the outer wall of the pawn shop and staring up at her with dreamy eyes. Her hand was on her tank top, pulling it up and showing off a bit of her smooth, toned belly. The girl was clearly trying to look seductive, but she wasn't quite pulling it off; the girl was clearly an amateur. Maybe she could offer the girl a few tips...
"Have you ever felt what it's like to be with a woman?" the girl purred. Gloria had, of course; most girls in the business had done it with a chick at least once or twice. It was nice, she had to admit.
The girl stood away from teh wall and sauntered up to Gloria, swinging her hips in an almost comically exaggerated manner. "Women are soft. We're warm. We're gentle. We're sensual. And we know our way around a woman's body in a way that no man can." She licked her lips. "I can show you, if you'd like." The girl wrapped her arms around Gloria's waist, leaned in, and kissed her deeply on the lips. Gloria's heart fluttered; suddenly she had a feeling that this girl had a few things she could teach Gloria rather than vice versa.
The girl slipped her fingers between Gloria's and began walking toward the alley around the side of the pawn shop. Gloria followed, ready to try anything this girl wanted to do with her.
*****
Vic pulled the knife he'd lifted from the diner out of the woman's throat. Taking a few napkins he'd swiped from his purse, he cleaned the blood off the blade and off his hands and tossed teh dirty napkins into the dumpster. Then he knelt down and began pawing his way through the woman's overstuffed purse. Inside, he found a ton of jewlry and other junk, probably stolen. At last, though, he found what he was really looking for: the stone the woman had been holding.
He wouldn't have believed his eyes, had he not already witnessed so much crazy, impossible stuff that day. The woman had held this stone, and she'd said that she'd wished she was younger and had a better pair of breasts. And then, bam! Just like that, instead of looking like she was a forty-year-old woman who was dressed like like a teenager, she looked half that age, and her tits had practically doubled in size. Her clothes were infinitely more flattering at that point. Vic had never believed in magic or aliens or ghosts or fairies or any of that crap, but he didn't have any more logical explanation for why everyone in the world thought he was a teenage girl, why the mirror showed a chick who looked as little like Vic as anyone possibly could instead of the tired, skinny, worn-out, middle aged man Vic had seen staring back from him every day in prison. So Vic was feeling pretty darn open-minded at the moment, and he had no doubt that he'd witnessed this rock, the rock he held in his hand, grant that woman's wish like a genie in a fucking bottle.
Holding it in his hands, he looked at it for a moment, then said, "I wish I had a hundred bucks in my pocket." Reaching into the tiny pockets of his pants, he pulled out a crisp new hundrd dollar bill, folded neatly in quarters. "I wish I was wearing a dress," he said. And poof, suddenly he was wearing a pink sundress rather than the capri pants and tank top. "I wish I was wearing all that jewelry I took off." And, just like magic, all the jewelry that had been in his purse was back on his hands and wrists and neck. Standing, he said, "I wish I knew how to walk in this fucking shoes." And, strolling down the alley, he found himself walking in the high-heeled shoes like he'd been wearing high heels his entire life.
"Amazing," he whispered, staring in awe at the stone and realizing what kind of power he had in his hands. Had the bitch he'd just killed been aware what she had in her possession? Probably not; she hadn't seemed all that bright. And if she'd really wanted to, she could have used the stone to wish for money instead of selling off all her jewels. She was probably just a small-time thief who'd picked this thing up on her last job.
Vic looked down at the woman's lifeless body, which stared up at him almost imploringly. "I wish this body would diappear," Vic said. And with that, the woman's body vanished, along with the blood that had begun to pool on the floor. He remembered the napkins and wished they would disappear, too. And with that, there wasn't any evidence whatsoever that someone had been murdered in this alley only moments before.
Now for the big ones. The important ones. The wishes Vic had risked having someone spot him killing this woman, the ones he had risked his freedom, to have granted. He took a deep breath and spoke the first one. "I wish that no one would ever doubt that I was Amy Taylor." He looked at his body, at the dress and heels he was wearing, half-expecting something to visibly happen to mark that his wish had been granted, but nothing happened. So he made the second wish. "I wish that no one would ever suspect me of committing a crime, even if they witness me committing it. Even if they have ironclad evidence that I did it."
And that was that. Vic's fate was sealed. He was going to be Amy Taylor for the rest of his life. That kind of sucked. But if his wishes had indeed been granted, it meant that he would never have to return to his cell, that he would never have to resume his sentence, that he would never be executed for what he had done five years ago. And it meant that he could pursue his vengeance without any fear of getting caught. For a man like Vic, life as a woman was a small price to pay for a lifetime of immunity from the law.
Picking up both his own purse and the purse the woman from the pawn shop had been carrying, he left the alley and began walking down the street. A few people looked at his dual purses strangely, but no one seemed suspicious; it seemed it didn't even cross anyone's mind that one of these purses might be stolen.
A short distance down the road, Vic saw a cop in uniform approaching him on foot along the sidewalk. As the two men neared each other, Vic shouted and waved to get the cop's attention. "Officer, officer!"
The officer stopped and smiled at him. "What do you need, Miss?" It was certainly better treatment than Vic was used to from cops. Vic kept his feelings toward the police in check; he had to test this out, had to know his wishes had worked.
"Officer," Vic said, "I'm not really the girl I look like. My name is Vic Rudolph, and I'm an escaped felon. Five years ago I was arrested for murder and sentenced to execution. I know this is pretty hard to believe, Sir, but think about it; people all over town are saying they've switched bodies. You must have heard about it, if not over the radio then from someone you've talked to. I swear, it's the truth; I'm Vic Rudoplh, I'm an escaped murderer, and I need to be locked up before I killed again. Oh," he said, lifting the heavy purse he'd lifted from the woman he'd killed a few minutes ago, "and I killed a woman and stole her purse."
The officer looked at Vic for a moment, a little started; then he laughed. "That's a good one, Miss." He shook his head. "You're right; people are switching places all over town. It's madness; I've never seen anything like it. Everyone on the force is on duty, and the mayor has us patrolling the streets to see watch for trouble. But you're definitely no murderer," he said, smiling. "You should probably head home, Miss. Things are pretty wild out here. I'm not sure it's safe to be walking the streets alone, especially not a young woman like yourself."
Vic smiled, more than satisfied. "Thank you, officer," he said. He wasn't done with this test, though. Looking around to make sure a few people were watching--and a couple were--Vic reached back and slugged the officer directly on the jaw as hard as he possibly could. The officer fell to the ground; once he'd hit the sidewalk, Vic kicked the officer a couple of times and tried to stab him with the heel of his shoe, though apparently the heels weren't sharp enough to do any damage. At last, as one final, very satisfying tough, he spat on the officer's unconscious body.
"Oh my God," a woman cried, running up to Vic. "Did you see that?" she asked him. "This officer suddenly fell over! I think he's fainted." She looked down at him. "He has blood on his face... did you see something hit him?"
"Nope," Vic said. "Say, I have some blood on my hand... do you have any napkins?"
"Sure," she said. She took a napkin from her purse and handed it to Vic. Then she knelt down to get a closer look at the cop.
Vic began walking again, smiling to himself. Suddenly everything was falling into place.
********
Amy huddled in the corner of the cell, burying her face in her jumpsuit and crying. In the hall outside her cell, she heard shouting, and farther off in the distance, she'd been hearing a commotion of voices that had been growing louder with every passing minute. She was terrified. She didn't know what was happening to her; this was a nightmare. No, it was worse than a nightmare, because, however impossible her circumstances seemed to her, she knew that they were very, very real.
She'd tried to tell the guards that she wasn't the man they all thouht she was, that she was Amy Taylor, that she was a girl in high school, that she hadn't done anything wrong, but no one seemed to believe her. And, thanks to the power of the wishing stone, no one ever would. There was already one Amy Taylor in the world, and for the rest of that Amy's life, everyone would believe that she was the real Amy, no matter what happened. And with one Amy in the world, it was quite literally impossible for anyone in the world to believe that the young woman in the orange jumpsuit in the deepest ward of the state prison was the real Amy Taylor, that she was anything but the monster who had killed a man in cold blood five years before and had never shown any remorse.
