Changeover

I have boobs.

I didn't used to have boobs.

This is not my bed. It smells like sex in here.

"Aaah!" I gotta get out of this bed!

I am lying in the bed next to me. That is, my own body is next to… me.

What is going on…?

Whoa. I'm a chick. No franks and beans down there.

But I'm also that man in the bed. Is this a dream?

I'm not moving. I mean, the real me, over there.

"Hey!" I don't want to touch him.

He's cold.

"No!" There's no pulse at his neck. Nothing. The arm is stiff. No pulse at the wrist.

"Oh, shit." That sounds so weird in someone else's voice. "I gotta call 911."

No, I can't call. I don't know who I am, or where I am. How am I going to explain this? I'll sound nuts.

What's under the covers? Damn! We're both naked.

Oh… My body must have been excited about it when it died.

Ew. I never saw myself from that angle. No wonder.

Get a grip! What do I do?

911! That's still the best answer. Maybe I'm not all the way dead yet.

It's a guy on the line. "911 dispatch. What is your emergency."

"I-I" My tongue feels thick. No! My teeth are different, that's it. "T-there's a dead man in my bed. But maybe he's not dead! I mean, he looks dead, but he can't be dead! He has to not be dead!"

"Is he breathing? Ma'am?"

"Huh?" Ma'am? Oh, right. "No, I don't think so."

"We're dispatching units. I show you at the Darling Rest motel on Lexington Avenue, room 13. Is that right?"

I'm in a motel? I guess it looks like a motel room. "Uh, maybe. I don't know where I am. I've never been here before."

"Ma'am? Are you ok?"

"I… I don't know. No, I guess. I-I don't feel like myself."

Understatement of the year!

"Ma'am? Are you injured? What is your name?"

"Bill—" I better not tell him that. "I don't know."

"Ma'am? You can't remember your own name? Is Bill the name of the man on the bed?"

"Yes. That's my—his name. Bill Ratherford. He's 42 years old. He has a wife and 2 kids and lives in Evanston."

"Ma'am, is Bill your husband?"

"I don't think so. Where's a mirror?"

Doh! I bet that sounded stupid. Where the hell is a mirror, anyway?

"Whoa." I am not my wife.

I'm hot. Skinny, big tits, blond… long legs.

I'm getting turned on looking at myself. What the hell? That's just wrong, somehow.

"No! I'm not married to him! I've never seen me before! I mean, I mean… I don't know what I mean! Just get here!"

Slamming down that phone felt good.

"Purse!" Chicks always have purses. There will be an ID in it. I'll know who she was. Is?

There's no purse. There's no clothes. How did I—she—get here? Was she naked when she walked in? Why can't I remember any of this? And if I'm dead, what happened to the woman I'm inside? Is she in my dead body, or do we share? This is too fucking weird.

"Hello? Woman inside me?"

Maybe if I slap my old body. "Are you in there? Lady?"

Man, do I feel stupid asking that. Ew. I touched a dead body… but it’s my body.

It's MY body!

I tried shaking it. "C'mon! Let me back in there! That's my life, goddamn you!"

We must have died having sex. Do we need to have sex to switch back?

EW! EW! EW! That's not happening!

"Police! Open up!"

I think the door's breaking.

***

Ow. Those zip-tie things hurt your wrists.

"Get off of me. It's hard to breathe." This dude is heavy. This crap carpeting isn't much cushion. I think he has his knee in my back.

He's got swat gear on. Shit! His shotgun is pointed at the back of my head. I can see that much.

"Hello, Lila," he says through the visor of his helmet. "We meet at last."

I hope the truth works. "My name is Bill. I don't know what's going on. This morning, I was the guy who's on the bed. Now, I'm inside this body. I don't know who this person is or how I got inside her."

He's laughing at me!

"Oh, sure you are." That patronizing tone can't be good. "Let me guess, Lila finally sucked in one that was too strong for her, and now you're trapped in her body."

"Yes!" Huh? "What?"

He paused. "Hell, maybe you are. But you won't be for long. Pretty soon, she'll start taking back over. You'll lose yourself, and everything you are. Everything you know and everything you've done will be erased. It'll just be her."

"What the fuck are you saying, I'm gonna die?"

"You're already dead, buddy. She's feasting on your soul."

"Mister, I'm Bill Ratherford. My wife is Claire. We've been married for fourteen years. My kids are Bobby and Kelly. I'm a good guy. I write children's stories, for Pete's sake. I love my wife. I don't sleep around!"

Why did he grunt?

"No wonder. They always have trouble with creative types. You just bought yourself an extra minute or two, Bill."

"Could you get off, then? You're heavy."

Why did he sigh?

"Sorry, Bill. When she takes over, she's going to try to kill me, and I need backup to get here. Vampires aren't like people think. There's no bloodsucking, there's no stakes through the heart to kill 'em. Just a dead guy with his pants down with some hot body, losing all he's got. We usually call it a heart attack. Leading cause of death in America."

This asshole is crazy! How do I get out of this?

Wait.

My toes are moving. I'm not doing that.

I want out of here. I want to see my wife.

What's her name, again?

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