Chapter #4Possess Joanna by: Seuzz   You pass silently into Joanna's bedroom and into her bed. She is huddled into a ball, but her face is turned up, and you gently push her lips apart and slip into her mouth. Your progress is slow and careful, for you don't want to wake her before you are entirely inside.
As it happens you are still pushing yourself in when you feel the buzz of Joanna's limbs and open her eyes. Her mind is muzzy, a thing of cotton, so you ignore it as you suck down the rest of your body and turn onto your back to stare at the ceiling. You stare at it for the longest time, and thoughts—even your own—refuse to form. That's because, as you lay there, the only thing you can feel is how very strange it is to think of yourself as "being" your sister.
Well, maybe that shouldn't surprise you. When you feel an itch you reach up to scratch it, and flinch sharply when you realize you are scratching your breasts; even through her night shirt, touching them seems strange and wrong. You clench and unclench your fists, open and shut your mouth, blink your eyes—all as part of trying to get used to the idea that you have a body again. And yet the fact that it is your little sister's body hovers around your shoulders and over your chest like a guilty spirit. Like her spirit, maybe. You vaguely wonder if, in possessing her, you have somehow displaced her soul; the bed, somehow, does feel haunted.
But eventually you get tired of being slightly creeped out, and with a sigh you close your eyes and resolve to try to get some sleep. Maybe things will look and feel different in the morning.
As it happens, they do.
* * * * *
You regard Joanna's face gravely in the bathroom mirror. Her brown hair is wet and stringy from the shower, but not so unattractive for that fact. Her face is serious, with small lips that easy pull down at the corners in a near-pout, and large eyes that also turn down a little sadly at the corners. But it's still a pretty face, which is good, because it's a face you will have to wear for a little while, at least.
Fortunately, it won't be a difficult imposture to pull off. During the night you felt yourself sinking down into Joanna's subconscious mind. Thoughts that, when you first took her, were opaque and difficult to make out, had suddenly resolved themselves into crystalline purity. More than that, the whole constellation of them had "stuck" to you after you'd spent most of the night exploring them and following their links. Not only her thoughts and memories, but even her feelings and personality opened up to you. They are a second nature to you now, and you are entirely confident that you will be able to play Joanna perfectly without being detected.
You give the matter a test downstairs at breakfast after you dress. "Mom!" you whine. "David said he'd take me to the mall this morning. Where is he?"
Your mother's face is tight and unsmiling. "He's not here."
"I know he's not here! Where is he? Because if he's not home—"
"If he's not home when you're ready to go, I'll take you," she says with a firm but tired voice.
"Okay," you sigh. "Do we have any corn flakes?"
"They're in the pantry."
"What about milk?" From the way she tenses, you can tell you've pushed it just a little too far—the way Joanna often does—and smile to yourself as you yank the refrigerator door open.
* * * * *
When David—obviously—doesn't show up by ten, you charge through the living room, snorting fire and smoke, and brush away your mother's offer to take you to the mall. Instead, you hop on Joanna's bike and pedal through the neighborhood.
The morning is warm, but gives no threat of turning hot—Monday will mark the start of October, after all—and the air is refreshing against your bare arms and legs. Joanna is a healthy fifteen-year-old, just beginning to blossom, and you like the feel of her small body. It's going to be awkward in the family when it becomes apparent that her brother is not going to be returning home, but for the next day or two it should be fine, so long as you manage to stay on this side of brattiness without actually ticking off either your father or mother.
As you pedal along, you wonder what you should do. In the cold light of day, it seems extremely doubtful that there would be any way to reverse the results of yesterday's accident, which means you'd better get used to the idea of living out your life inside some other body. There are six billion of them in the world; surely there are millions that would be happy places to live, especially since your ability to get down into a host's mind means you'd be acquiring everything they've got without strain.
And yet, you can't shake the feeling that it would be best if you found out more about what happened to you. Mark Taylor, your next-door neighbor, might be able to help, of course. Never mind trying to explain it to him; you could just possess him and use his brain. Even if it baffled him, probably he knows lots of people who would know something useful. You find yourself looking at his house speculatively as, puffing and blowing, you skid to a stop in your driveway after an hour's exercise.
"Mom! I'm back!" you call into the house. In the kitchen you pour yourself some apple juice and gulp it down. "Mom!" you call again when there's been no reply.
The car was still in the driveway, which means they must still be around. "Mom! Dad! Where are you guys?" you yell in the living room. There's a grumble of floorboards above you, and a door opens.
"You don't have to scream, Joanna, we can hear you just fine," your dad roars back. "I'll be down in a minute." You plop down on the sofa with a grimace and turn on the TV. Probably they were having sex.
Your father is rather red in the face when he appears. "Your mother can't take you to the mall," he says with clipped and barely controlled anger. Then, to your immense surprise, he takes out his wallet and shoves fifty dollars at you. "I want you to bike over to a friend's house and spend the day out with them. My treat. Your mother's not feeling well, and you should get lunch and dinner out. Just be home by eight."
You gape—just the way Joanna would—then mumble a thanks and return to the garage. Sarah Pak—that's Dana's sister and Joanna's best friend—would be exactly the person to hang out with. You call her on her cell phone, but she regretfully informs you that she has a Saturday-afternoon family obligation. You scroll through some more names on Joanna's call list. Belinda Harrison? Ugh. Russ Edmonds? Wow, pay dirt. With fifty bucks and a whole day you could really get close to him, maybe get him to see how much you like him and—
No, wait, that's Joanna's instincts kicking in.
The roar of a lawnmower distracts you, and you look over to see Mark Taylor swing his push mower around and start cutting the grass.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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