Richard Dickinson looked out the window of his limousine. It was even worse than he imagined. There seemed to be no end to the chaos that this phenomenon had caused. When he became mayor, he never thought that anything like this would happen. No one did.
After about ten minutes of driving, the car stopped and the passenger door across from him opened. A man leaned in. "Sir, we found your wife."
He braced himself. What would she look like? If there was no cure for what was happening to his town, his wife could be stuck in this Russian woman's body probably for the rest of her life. Truth be told, he married Lyndsay because of her looks, and even though she looked more aged now, she still had that fundamental beauty that made him want to marry her in the first place.
But that woman was gone, now possessed by the mind of that Natasha woman.
His heart sank as he watched the woman, who now possessed his wife's mind, get into the limo. She looked like the stereotypical Russian woman. A large stocky body, dressed in an unflattering peasant dress. Richard almost mistook her for a man, except that she obviously had breasts.
"Richard," she said. "Why are you looking at me like that? I know this outfit is dreadful-looking, but I can always change into something else later." Her voice was not his wife's voice, but she was speaking in clear perfect English.
"You haven't seen your reflection?" he asked.
"No," she said. "Why?" A look of worry crossed her worn mannish face.
The door opened again and a man poked his head in. "Sir, we've received a report of a riot at the John Wilson Penitentiary. If this phenomenon is happening in the prison ..."
"Then we may have escaped prisoners and we wouldn't even know it," Richard finished the guy's sentence, realizing that the situation had gone from bad to worse.
