The cap looked harmless enough. A little scuffed, the bill bent from long wear, the inside lined with the faint smell of sweat and dirt. It could’ve been any kid’s cap, the kind that ended up at the bottom of playgrounds or left behind on a bus seat.
But this was Ricky’s cap.
Six months gone, six months missing, six months of silence. And his parents? one of the richest families in the country! they had clung to every thread of hope. They’d sent out boxes of their son’s clothing to investigators with thinking the boys DNA will help somehow, with them desperate for leads. Most PIs returned the box unopened when weeks passed without a trail. David and Mike had kept theirs not beleving the boy is ok with in the fert two weeks is the only time you expect the boy to still be alive, 6 months of not hearing or seeing him then yes he is dead with they like all the other PIs they did not tell the parents that with not dealing with any of that.
But now the cap sat in David’s hand. The medallion rested against his chest, gleaming faintly under the cheap motel lamp.
“This is it,” David said. His voice had a tremor under its usual bravado.
Mike crossed his arms. “It’s a damn cap and some cheap looking medallion. Don’t look like magic to me.”
“It doesn’t have to.” David smirked, though the smirk twitched. “All it has to do is touch this.” He tapped the medallion with a knuckle, the metallic chime echoing sharp in the air. "to the cap" with waving the cap around showing how small it looks “Then I’m Ricky. Easy money.”
Mike frowned. “You’re talking about turning into a nine-year-old kid. You even hearing yourself?”
David ignored him. He looped the medallion’s chain around his neck, the cool weight settling against his chest. His hand hovered over the cap. “We’re out of options, Mike. Clients dried up. Our faces are poison around town. But this?” He raised the cap. “This is a gold mine. 1 million dollars reword to find their son Ricky alive and now he will be as well i'm going to be him”
Mike wanted to stop him. He wanted to snatch the medallion off his friend’s neck, hurl it out the window, and forget this madness. with this is a new low to his frend thinking magic exists But he didn’t move. Greed and fear tangled in his gut, rooting him to the stained motel carpet, with having a little feeling with if he is telling the truth than well they wont have to work again in there life's!
“Watch closely,” David whispered. And he pressed the cap to the medallion.
The shock hit instantly. A crackling jolt ran through David’s body, making his teeth clench and his spine bow. He gasped, dropping the cap, but it clung to the medallion like a magnet. His skin shivered... no, rippled, like water under wind.
Mike staggered back, hand flying to his mouth.
David shrank. His shoulders narrowed, his arms thinning, his height collapsing like a folding ruler. The stubble on his jaw smoothed away, his cheeks softening into the rounded fullness of youth. His crooked teeth straightened, bleaching to a perfect white. His eyes brightened, lashes thickening, the sharp lines of age dissolving into the untouched bloom of childhood.
Clothes sagged around him. Jeans pooled at his ankles. His undershirt billowed like a dress, slipping down his collarbone. His shoes clunked to the carpet, now several sizes too big.
Where David had stood, a boy blinked up at Mike — wide-eyed, fresh-faced, and impossibly alive with health.
It was Ricky.
Mike’s mouth went dry.
The boy tugged at the oversized shirt, bare legs poking out pale and thin. He lifted his hands, stared at the smallness of his fingers, turned them over as though they were artifacts dug up from the ground. Then he smiled... a sweet, unblemished child’s smile, framed by perfect teeth.
“It worked.” His voice was high, lilting, unmistakably that of a nine-year-old boy. He laughed, delighted, the sound uncanny in the dingy room. “Mike, I’m Ricky.”
Mike stumbled to the edge of the bed, sitting down hard. “Jesus Christ.”
Ricky... no, David, trapped in Ricky’s skin — giggled, twirling in the too-big shirt until he tripped over the fallen jeans and tumbled out of the too big shoes, to the floor. He sat there cross-legged, beaming. “Feels incredible. Like being… I don’t know, brand new.” He stretched his arms, admiring the smallness. “I don’t ache. I don’t sweat. It’s… clean. You don’t even know what it’s like, Mike.”
“You’re a goddamn kid.” Mike’s voice cracked.
“I’m opportunity,” David corrected, his child’s face glowing with a confidence that chilled Mike. “Don’t you see? This isn’t just about fooling them. I can live this role. I can be Ricky. No one’s gonna question it, not when I walk in with this face, this voice, who believes in magic?”
Mike’s stomach twisted. The boy on the carpet grinned up at him with David’s ambition burning in his eyes. That was the worst part, the adult calculation behind the childlike mask.
David climbed to his feet, the shirt slipping off one shoulder, hanging like a dress. He kicked free of his underwear, leaving the heap of fabric on the floor. He stood barefoot, nine years old and radiant. “So what do you think, partner? Millionaire parents hand us a fat reward, i run away back here, we disappear, and I pop back into myself, with pockets full of cash. Easy.”
Mike rubbed his temples. “You sound insane, there going through you with your not a kid inside, and not a great actor what i remember?.”
“I'm not?” David tilted his head, adopting a wounded pout. “Please, mister, I just wanna go home…” His voice cracked perfectly into a sob. He rubbed his eyes with his fists, looking every bit the lost child. “They kept me in the dark, in a hole, I was so scared…” He peeked between his fingers, a mischievous glint breaking through. Then he straightened and spoke in his normal tone: “Tell me that won’t sell.”
Mike’s skin crawled.
David practiced again, dropping into the role like a second skin. One moment he was whining about being hungry, the next laughing too loudly, then suddenly whispering like a scared boy hiding from monsters. His performance was seamless, uncanny.
And the worst part? he look natural to him.
Mike shifted on the bed he was sitting on, uneasy. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
David laughed, a child’s laughter spilling bright and carefree across the room. “Why shouldn’t I? Look at me. I’ve never been healthier. Stronger? Maybe not. But look at this face.” He darted to the mirror above the dresser, climbing onto the chair to see his reflection. He pressed his hands to his cheeks, pulling them into exaggerated expressions — fear, joy, surprise. Each was perfect. Each was a boys, what could easily be a boy called Ricky.
Mike couldn’t look away.
The medallion glinted faintly against David’s chest, still looped around his too-thin neck.
“Half a day,” David murmured to himself, tapping the medallion. “That’s the rule. Can’t change again till then. Which means… I’m stuck like this for now, and not going to go back an till we got that money in well yours for now then are hands.” He grinned. “Better get used to me, partner.”
Mike swallowed hard.
The rest of the evening stretched long. David raided the motel vending machine, delighted by the taste of cheap candy. He sprawled on the bed, legs kicking, humming tunelessly. He bounced on the mattress until Mike barked at him to stop, then collapsed into giggles.
But every so often, between the playacting, his eyes sharpened. He’d practice lines, test his tears in the mirror, rehearse the limp he’d use to fake an escape from captivity. He was meticulous. Calculating.
And terrifying.
By midnight.
Mike lay awake on his bed, staring at the ceiling while David, or Ricky, or whatever he was now, curled up in the other bed his Davids bed his bed, breathing softly in sleep. The oversized shirt draped around his small frame, hair falling into his eyes. Innocent. Vulnerable.
And yet Mike couldn’t shake the thought: the thing in that bed wasn’t a boy.
It id David.
By dawn (7am) up and alert, David was ready. He begged Mike to find a thrift store so they could buy smaller clothes with well not thrilled to go out in just a big dress like shirt on his small body. He needed jeans, sneakers, maybe a backpack. Something to make the story believable.
Mike agreed, though unease gnawed at him with every step. They bought what they needed, and when David emerged from the store’s grimy bathroom dressed as Ricky — fitted jeans, a striped T-shirt, sneakers that had no Velcro, Mike nearly staggered back.
It wasn’t just convincing.
It was absolute.
David smiled, teeth gleaming. “Told you, with you where thinking i would not be able to do any of this” he chirped in Ricky’s bright little voice. He spun, the second hand sneakers flashing with the small amount of power what is left in them saying. “I’m perfect.”
Mike sighed thinking then there doing this and it could work, so he went with it buying the cloths the Ricky had on standing with him looking in the mirror making a face, with knowing this is going to be some crazy days.
