As Margaret walked into the nursing home, one of the nurses looked up at her. "What's your business here?" the nurse asked, looking a little judgmental towards her. She had gotten used to that, ever since she swapped with this punk rock guy. It was probably the hair that scared most people away. She had tried her best to "un-spike" it, but it was no use. For the moment, it seemed she was stuck with it.
"Susannah, it's me. Margaret."
"Margaret?" the nurse asked. Then it dawned on her. "Margaret Mitchell? Oh god. We thought we'd never see you again. I mean, the real you."
"The boy that switched with me is still here?" Margaret asked.
"He's in your room. We didn't know what to do with him, so we handcuffed him to your bed."
"Handcuffed him?"
"Yeah. After the switch, let's just say that he didn't take it too well. We had to sedate him." She paused, looking Margaret up and down. "It must have been tough for you too. To become like him, I mean."
"It is," Margaret said. Then she walked to her room.
Jack waited outside his father's hospital room, or rather his former father's hospital room. He squirmed uncomfortably in the dress he was wearing. It had been hours since he switched with that woman, yet he still couldn't get used to wearing her dress. Or the high heels, for that matter. He just wished that he could get his life back. Actually, most people wished that.
"Jack Holland?" a teenage girl asked, as she approached him.
"Yes?"
"I'm Alec Bartlett, from the police department. I'm the one you contacted in regard to the whereabouts of your father."
Jack stood up from his chair. "Did you find him?" he asked, getting hopeful.
"Yes, but I'm afraid I have bad news."
Jack sat back down. "What is it?"
"The man who your father switched with was killed shortly after the swap."
Jack couldn't believe what he was hearing. "He's ... dead?"
"I'm sorry, but yes."
Jack had a moment of silence, then he looked up at the policeman who looked like a teenage girl. "Who killed him?"
"An escaped convict named Peter Wagner."
"Have you caught him?"
"You have to realize that Wagner killed your father, thinking that he was this man Michael Johnson. Wagner is a racist son of a bitch," Bartlett said. "It was a hate crime."
"I don't care what kind of crime it was. Just tell me if you've caught him."
Bartlett sighed. "No. But we're still looking."
"Look faster," Jack said bitterly.
Bartlett then walked into hospital room. "Michael Johnson?"
The seemingly old man opened his eyes and looked straight at the cop. "Yes?"
"I'm Alec Bartlett, from the police department. I'm afraid I have some bad news about your wife."
The old man (who wasn't really old at all) sat up. "Debra? What's happened to her?"
Bartlett took a deep breath, then explained that Michael's wife had switched with a murderous racist named Peter Wagner and that this killer was responsible for the death of Michael's body. "If any of this is reversible," Bartlett said. "I'm not sure what will happen to you. You might die."
Michael just stared at Bartlett. Those were his choices? Either he stayed in this old white guy's body (well, the illusion of it anyway) or he'd die? What kind of options were those?
"Just tell me where my wife is and if she's okay," Michael said.
"We don't know where your wife is, Mr. Johnson. But believe me. We're still searching."
"Call me the moment you find her."
"I'll do one better. I'll have her call you instead. Maybe she'll even come here to see you."
"Is it really necessary for me to be here? Can't I just go home? I mean, I may look sick, but I'm not."
"As you've told me, you live outside of town, right?"
Michael nodded.
"Anyone who has switched should stay within the city limits, just until this whole thing is sorted out. This is the best place to be at the moment."
"And what if things never get sorted out?" Michael asked.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Bartlett said.
