They say your life passes before your eyes just before you die. No one ever says who “they” are, of course, and I always scoffed at it, until it happened to me.
“Either I’m in a hospital or purgatory.” I thought as a hysterical giggle tried to sneak past my lips.
Cool blue walls surrounded me. To my right sat beeping monitors and displays. My entire body ached as if I’d gone 12 rounds with Mike Tyson, or fallen more than 20 stories into the sea. I gazed down at myself as the memories flooded my mind; the fall, striking the water, the black void beneath the waves.
My . . . my body!
Author's Note: It's alluded to in the story but anything in italics indicates the words are spoken in a different language, in this case, Japanese. Also, I've kept the categories a bit vague on the front page as I think they would spoil a few surprises as the story develops. Thanks for reading! Hrist
I awoke with a start, my eyelids snapping open as a rush of breath entered my lungs. The ammonia tang of cheap cleaning products assaulted my nose and I struggled against the bile that rose in my raw throat. Several deep, painful breaths later I looked around at my surroundings.
“Either I’m in a hospital or purgatory.” I thought as a hysterical giggle tried to sneak past my lips.
Cool blue walls surrounded me. To my right sat beeping monitors and displays. My entire body ached as if I’d gone 12 rounds with Mike Tyson, or fallen more than 20 stories into the sea. I gazed down at myself as the memories flooded my mind; the fall, striking the water, the black void beneath the waves.
My . . . my body!
I swept my eyes downward, taking in the form that I now inhabited. My right arm, (my tiny pale bronze arm!), was attached to an IV. I followed the tube’s route from its needle to a fat clear bag, no doubt filled with more than just saline, considering the fact that I wasn’t screaming right now. Steady breaths pushed my chest up and down, accentuating the adolescent mounds that graced my small torso. The drugs dulled my sense of touch but I could tell that I wore nothing beneath the thin hospital gown. My arms were bound to the side of the bed with thick white leather restraints. Long, frizzy crow feather black hair, matted from salt water hung lankly about my shoulders. It was hard to tell how long the hair actually was, given that I was strapped to the bed.
“Oh lord, I’m on the suicide ward.” I thought.
My wife, Isobel, had described one to me once when she’d been pursuing her MD to become a psychiatrist. She’d actually written a paper on how the rooms in such a ward were designed to calm its occupants, even down to the paint on the walls.
“Makes sense,” I thought to myself. “No sane person jumps from a bridge . . . or thinks they’ve suddenly become a teen-aged girl.”
The thought of my wife hit me like a punch in the gut. What had happened to me? Were Izzy and Gaby okay? Sorrow and confusion enveloped me as tears filled my eyes for the first time in the years, not since . . .
My sobs roused a figure that I’d somehow failed to notice. I felt, more than saw her through my tear-streaked eyes. A sense of calm and warmth enveloped me as she pulled me into her arms, speaking softly in a language that seemed oddly familiar though I knew I’d never heard it before in my life.
“Sukiko” she murmured, followed by words I couldn’t quite make out.
I instinctively reached out to hug her back, my arms pulling frantically at the leather cuffs. Frustrated, I focused on her words, willing myself to understand.
“Sukiko, my child, Oh, my child . . . thank you, Lord, thank you.”
Japanese. She was speaking Japanese, and I understood it.
“Okasan.” I said in a soft, hoarse voice. How did I know that meant mother? This woman was this girl’s, this body’s mother. My, no, Sukiko’s mother drew back and regarded me with loving, haunted eyes. She was a petite, elegant woman in her thirties. Dark, shoulder length hair framed a thin oval face with warm brown eyes. Something told me her name was Keiko, but Sukiko always called her Okasan.
I followed her movements as she bent to retrieve a water glass with a straw sticking up from it. She was barely 5’5” tall but somehow I knew she was taller than me. She gently placed the straw to my lips and I gratefully took a drink of cool water. The liquid soothed my throat and I closed my eyes. My emotional outburst had sapped what little strength this body contained and fatigue once again rose to claim me. Just before I dropped off, I heard Sukiko’s mother calling for a doctor.
***
When I next surfaced from oblivion the room was dark. Okasa . . . Keiko lay in a recliner to my left, a blue blanket pulled up to her chin in the evening chill. Some of the monitors had deserted the right side of the room. Apparently the doctors felt Sukiko was on the mend, at least physically. Some of the soreness seemed to have left my limbs and the straps were gone from my wrists, though the IV now hung from a portable stand. I slowly sat up, which set off a number of disturbing physical sensations. The flesh on my chest obeyed the call of gravity, before bouncing to a stop like a pair of jello saucers. My lank hair fell in a cascade around my head, filling my tiny nose with the rank oily smell of unwashed hair.
“Ugh. God, I must stink.” I thought, wrinkling my nose.
As awareness of my alien flesh washed over me, I became aware of at least one familiar sensation.
“Hell, I have to pee.” I muttered under my breath.
I slowly slid back the covers and eased my slender legs over the side of the bed. How high did they have this thing set anyway? My legs dangled a good foot from the floor as I let myself down and leaned against the bed, shaking my head to get my bearings.
“Alright, let’s do this.” I whispered, plodding towards the open bathroom door, IV stand in tow.
Flipping on the lights I noticed the switch stood disturbingly higher on the wall before rushing to the toilet. I stared at it dumbly for a few moments, dancing around like a little kid until I remembered my earlier experience with Okasan and simply relaxed and let my body go on autopilot. Soon I was seated above the toilet basin, relaxing bladder muscles that seemed similar to the one’s I used to own. A quick swipe of paper and I was standing once more. I eased over to the sink and use a bar of lavender scented soap that I found rather pleasing. It's smell seemed more acute to Sukiko's nose. Finally, swallowing my fear I let my gaze move up to look in the mirror.
The girl looking back at me resembled her mother in many ways. She was petite and thin, though her limbs carried the tone of an athlete. Sukiko’s face was very cute, with high cheek bones and her mother’s almond shaped brown eyes. Her nose was a tiny button, though her lips were dry and cracked. Her hair was long but tended towards curls rather than the stick straight hair her mother possessed. Her skin was slightly darker than her mother’s olive hue, almost bronze. She was beautiful. Why would a girl who looked like Sukiko want to kill herself?
“Suki?”
I jumped, wincing as my muscles screamed in protest at the quick movement.
“Okasan, I ahhh, I needed to umm, go.” I nodded towards the toilet.
Keiko smiled gently. “Would you like to bathe? I’m sure you’re ready to be clean.”
I nodded gratefully and Sukiko’s mother helped me undress before I slipped into the warm water of the bathtub. Keiko motioned me to lean back and I draped my long hair beneath the surface, taking care not to dislodge the IV in my arm. I found the warmth of the tub incredibly relaxing and leaned against Keiko’s hands as she began to wash my hair, humming a tune that once more seemed very familiar to me. A profound sense of déjá vu overwhelmed me as a memory rose unbidden.
Okasan was washing my hair, singing softly. I was so excited. Padre would be home in just a few hours for the first time in months. Okasan had tried to keep it a surprise but I’d peeked at my new Easter dress. I loved it so much! I couldn’t wait to show it off and see Padre’s face when he saw how pretty I looked.
My eyes snapped open and I shivered involuntarily. What was happening to me? Was I losing myself to this alien body?
“Sukiko?” Okasan asked, obviously concerned.
“I-I’m fine, Okasan. Just, a, bad dream.” I said, trying to sound reassuring.
Keiko wrinkled her nose. “Let’s get you rinsed off. You need your rest.”
Soon I was dry and dressed in another thin hospital gown. A wide yawn escaped my lips as Keiko brushed out my long hair. I tried to fight the profound fatigue as it crept into my bones. I had to figure out how this had happened to me. Was I, was my body, in a hospital room in Charlotte right now with Sukiko inside it? Had she taken over my life, or was she dead, leaving Isobel without a husband and Gaby without a father? The only way to answer any of these questions was to get off this ward and to do that I’d have to prove to a doctor and my . . . Sukiko’s, mother that I was no longer a danger to myself or others.
As I settled into bed, Keiko smiled and gave me a kiss on the forehead, gently humming another tune that tugged at my memory. I sighed and closed my eyes, somehow knowing that Okasan had used this song to help me--Sukiko--sleep when she was frightened as a little girl.
I pondered the flashes of Sukiko’s muscle and mental memory that had appeared over the past few hours. They were both comforting and concerning. I still felt like Nick. I was by no means comfortable in this petite little body, no matter how attractive it was in the mirror. It just wasn’t me. Most of all I missed Izzy and Gaby. How were my wife and little girl? Would I ever find my way back home to them?
Falling . . . 3
“Nick!” Izzy yelled sharply as a rock half the size of the car hit the pavement behind us.
More rocks of varying sizes crashed around us as I fought to escape the cascade. Screeching tires wailed in my ears as the smell of burning rubber filled my nostrils. Finally we burst clear then the car shuddered as if a giant had hit it. Metal screamed as granite smashed into Isobel’s side of the Mustang, pushing us towards the far side of the road and the steep, tree strewn cliff below. I had just enough time to grab Izzy’s hand before we plunged over the side, and into the abyss below.
Author's Note: It's alluded to in the story but anything in italics indicates the words are spoken in a different language, in this case, Japanese. Also, I've kept the categories a bit vague on the front page as I think they would spoil a few surprises as the story develops. Thanks for reading! Hrist
“Why not Bryan?” Isobel asked as we rounded the switchback and moved further up the parkway.
I shot her a look of mock alarm that dissolved into a grin.
“Then we’d call a girl Bryana? C’mon Izzy, can’t we do something a little more interchangeable. We’re already waiting to find if it’s a boy or a girl. Monograms don’t magically change.”
Izzy shook her head and massaged her slight tummy with a cinnamon hand.
“Honestly, your family and these monograms, it’s like they think we’ll forget our initials or something.”
“Sweetie, they’re just kind of old-fashioned that way.” I said.
“Nick, they’re old-fashioned in a lot of ways. I’m just really happy that they’ve accepted us moving a little faster. I don’t think your Mom ever thought you’d have a child before marriage.”
The road settled into S curves and I concentrated on it, revving the engine a bit as we swept through the ribbons of road. I loved this stretch of asphalt and had driven it many times. It was a great place to put my Mustang through its paces one last time.
“Are you sure you don’t mind selling it?” Izzy asked as she gently placed her hand on my arm once we entered a straightaway.
I spared her a glance, bewitched by the image of her long dark hair whipping in the breeze of the open convertible.
“Her, honey, she’s a her. Like a ship.”
Izzy just rolled her eyes and gave me a lopsided grin.
“I love the car, but I love you and our child a lot more, honey. If we sell the car, we’ll have enough for the down payment on the house. It’s a no-brainer.”
We entered one more set of curves. The breathtaking vista of the Blue Ridge Parkway in all its fall glory dominated the view to the left of the car. This evening picnic dinner was a great way to end our visit to the farm. The sunset combined with the fall colors were the perfect setting to finally pop the question. I’d asked Izzy’s Father for his blessing last week and was very excited when he gave consented. Neither of our parents had been wild about the timing of her pregnancy at first, but they’d all come around.
I gunned the engine and dropped the Mustang into 3rd gear as we entered the final straight climb towards the overlook. Suddenly I heard a crack of thunder from the mountainside to our right. I shifted my gaze just in time to see boulders coming towards us.
“Nick!” Izzy yelled sharply as a rock half the size of the car hit the pavement behind us.
More rocks of varying sizes crashed around us as I fought to escape the cascade. Screeching tires wailed in my ears as the smell of burning rubber filled my nostrils. Finally we burst clear then the car shuddered as if a giant had hit it. Metal screamed as granite smashed into Isobel’s side of the Mustang, pushing us towards the far side of the road and the steep, tree strewn cliff below. I had just enough time to grab Izzy’s hand before we plunged over the side, and into the abyss below.
I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying to shake off the ethereal grip of the dream. Sweat soaked my body, bringing a chill to my skin as a wave of nausea washed over me. Throwing back the covers I dropped the 12 inches to the cold tiles of the hospital room floor.
“Oh God, I’m going to lose it.” I thought as I rushed to the bathroom.
Three seconds later I deposited my stomach’s meager contents into the toilet. My hands shook with the aftershock of my physical and mental turmoil as I knelt before the white porcelain. The sour tang of bile assaulted my nose as I tried to collect myself. Several shaky breaths later I flushed the toilet and rinsed my mouth, pointedly avoiding the alien reflection in the mirror. I hadn’t dreamed about the accident in years.
“Just what I need right now,” I whispered, shaking my head as I returned to the hospital bed.
Okasa–Keiko’s raised voice brought my eyes to the closed door. My, I mean Sukiko’s mother sounded upset . . . angry. It shocked and even frightened me. I’d never heard anger in her voice before and it disrupted the fragile calm that her warm presence had created over the past two days. The thick oak door soaked up the exact words but the rhythm and inflection of the language was different. Suddenly something clicked in my mind.
“Spanish . . . she’s speaking Spanish.” I thought. But why?
Another Sukiko memory surfaced. Her father, Javier Reyes, was a decorated war veteran. He’d met Keiko on a visit to Japan soon after joining the military. Later, he’d fought with the Special Forces in the Philippines after 9/11. Thoughts of Padre . . . Javier brought with them a strong sense of foreboding. The air in the room seemed suddenly cold and oppressive. I climbed beneath the covers of my hospital bed and fought to banish the cloud that suddenly seemed to hang over me. Sukiko was afraid of her father for some reason, but no memory floated to the surface to explain her fear. I decided not to delve into Sukiko’s memories, at least not yet. The thoughts and feelings that kept intruding on my mind scared me. I was afraid if I delved deeper into them I might lose Nick forever.
The door swung inwards as Keiko glided gracefully into the room. Her face was a bit flushed but she quickly covered it with a warm smile, though I could still see tension in her eyes.
“Okasan, is everything okay?” I asked, shivering in spite of my desperate attempt to control my emotions.
Keiko noticed my obvious discomfort and smiled reassuringly before wrapping my tiny body in a tight hug.
“It’s alright, Suki. Your padre,” she hesitated, as if choosing he words carefully, “He . . . he’s just having trouble finding a flight back from Mexico City, sweetheart.”
She stood and regarded me with concern.
“Right now we need to concentrate on getting you well. There’s a doctor who’d like to speak to you . . . about what happened, if you’re up to it.”
“I don’t remember a lot, Okasan, but I will speak with the doctor. I just want to get out of here,” and back to my real body, I thought.
“I want you home too, Suki, but I want to make sure you’re okay first.”
I became increasingly nervous as my visit with the doctor approached. It was all I could do not to chew my fingernails, something I’m sure Okasan would find repulsive. What would I tell this person to get out of here? I didn’t even know for sure if Sukiko was trying to kill herself when she fell off the bridge.
“Just be honest, Sukiko.” Keiko said as she placed her hands over mine.
I looked up and met her eyes for a long moment, just as the door opened to reveal a tall willowy blonde woman in the standard issue white doctor’s coat over charcoal slacks.
“Sukiko Reyes?” she asked.
I nodded slowly. It was kind of odd to hear someone speak English after hearing only Japanese and muted Spanish
“I’m Dr. Katherine Wagner. I understand you’re probably very tired, but I’d like to talk to you about why you’re here.”
“Alright,” I replied in a soft voice with nary a hint of an accent.
Unconsciously I pulled the covers to my chin. I found gazing up at this tall woman to be almost intimidating given my newly diminutive self. Dr. Wagner must have noticed my apprehension as she pulled a straight back chair from the corner of the room and sat down on my left, not far from Okasan who held my hand reassuringly.
“Ms. Reyes, would you mind excusing us for a few minutes?” Dr. Wagner asked. “I’d like to speak to Sukiko alone.”
I quickly looked from Wagner to Okasan and shook my head fiercely, gripping Okasan’s hand. I didn’t want to be left alone. Fear gripped me and tears welled up in my eyes. The thought of being alone with this woman made me feel extremely vulnerable.
“Sukiko . . .”
“Okasan, don’t leave me alone, I don’t want to be alone. Please!”
The words tumbled out of me in rapid fire Japanese as I gripped her hands fiercely. I had not felt so helpless since the accident and the terror of my morning nightmare threatened to consume this waking moment.
Before Okasan could respond Dr. Wagner’s calm voice cut through my rising panic.
“It’s okay, Sukiko. I won’t force your mother to leave. I just want you to be completely candid with me. Leave nothing out when you answer my questions, even if you might find it embarrassing to say in front of your mother.”
I swallowed and nodded, shame flowing through me as I wiped hot tears from my cheeks. It was so hard not to cry. I felt the influence of Sukiko’s body and memories, loosening the tight hold I’d always had on my emotions. My feelings felt more raw, closer the surface.
“Now then, what do you remember about the last few days?”
Knowing that what happened in the next few minutes could determine how quickly, or even if, I ever saw my wife and child again I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax.
“I’m sorry Doctor, but I don’t remember much before I fell. It’s all jumbled. I know who I am, and who my parents are. It’s 2011 and I’m 16-years-old. I know Barack Obama is president. I’m just . . . I’m not sure how I ended up on the bridge or how I fell.”
Dr. Wagner regarded me with her pale blues eyes, her expression was open but I couldn’t tell if she believed my story. Izzy had told me that trauma victims can sometimes lose time and memories surrounding their trauma. Sometimes it’s due to oxygen loss to the brain, other times victims repress memories that they’re conscious mind isn’t ready to handle. I was counting on what I thought of as my “amnesia defense” to get me out of here. I was afraid if I went too far into Suki’s memories I might never find my way out again.
“Sukiko, in order to determine the most appropriate way to help you I need to decide whether you’re a threat to yourself or others. Why were you on that bridge?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I remember losing my balance, feeling weightless, and then falling towards the water."
My heart pounded in my chest as the images of my fall played out in my mind’s eye.
“I don’t know what brought me there, how I fell. But I distinctly remember pointing my feet to cut into the water. I know that when I hit the water, I wanted to live. I . . . I still do.”
My eyes caught sight of the golden crucifix around my . . . Sukiko’s mother’s neck.
“I’d never do anything to hurt myself, or anyone else, it’s not my right to make that decision. It, it lies in God’s hands,” I said in a small ragged voice.
Dr. Wagner continued to gently probe and prod me with sharp and insightful questions for nearly two hours. Even as she wrapped things up I couldn’t tell if she bought my amnesia or not. At length, she stood and took my hand, holding it gently but firmly as her blue eyes held my brown ones.
“I want to run a few more tests, Sukiko, but if they go well, I’m willing to release you into your mother’s custody.”
I smiled reflexively and hugged Okasan, tears once more springing into my eyes.
“However, until we figure out exactly what happened and why you fell . . . “
She paused and I could almost hear her thinking to herself, “or jumped.”
“You will be required to meet with me one hour a week.”
I nodded. “Of course Dr. Wagner, anything you say.”
I couldn’t believe I was getting out of here so quickly. With any luck, I’d soon be able to solve this mystery and be back where I belong.
Three hours later I faced my final roadblock to the outside world; Sukiko’s clothes.
Actually it wasn’t so bad. Suki’s wardrobe held at least a few practical items. Keiko had brought a pair of form fitting black silk pants that I apparently loved to lounge around in, a white tee with sapphire hued embroidery at the neck and tips of the sleeves, and black silk panties that looked sort of like Speedos. Completing the outfit were a pair of flat heeled black shoes that slipped on and off. I was particularly grateful for the shirt, which seemed to have a built in bra. After a little adjusting, my breasts, Sukiko’s breasts rather, were held and supported, taking a light strain off my back that I hadn’t really noticed until it was gone. The underwear, however, was kind of distracting. The silk felt nice, but it felt weird too. Before I put on the shirt, the swaying flesh on my chest was a near constant reminder of my new gender. Now it was the panties. They fit flat against my new anatomy, reminding of what was no longer there, and what had replaced it. My hand lingered just above my new mound for a few moments before I shook my head to clear it and pulled on the silk pants and flats. Luckily makeup was not in the bag Keiko had given to me. If I spent too much more time getting ready, who knows what conclusions Okasan might jump too. Blushing furiously I exited the bathroom and picked up the black and white check rain coat Okasan had left before gathering the rest of my meager possessions, including some tiger lilies that Padre had sent.
I smiled to Okasan as the orderly pushed the wheelchair away. She opened the doors to a sharp silver-gray Infinity sedan and we climbed inside. Glancing back at the glass encased walls I caught sight of a sign reading Marin General Hospital, just as we pulled away.
“So I’m in California,” I thought. “This just keeps getting better and better. How the hell am I supposed to get back to Charlotte.”
“What’s the matter, Suki?” Okasan asked as she caught sight of my dour face.
“I . . . I’m just sorry I’ve been such a bother, Okasan.” I replied lamely.
Keiko smiled gently and took my hand in hers.
“You’re my daughter. You will never be a burden to me.”
“And to Padre?” I asked in a quiet voice.
“Of course not, Suki, that’s nonsense, now let’s get home.”
I took a deep breath and nodded, once more wondering exactly how I would ever return to my real home.
To Be Continued . . .
They say your life passes before your eyes just before you die. No one ever says who “they” are, of course, and I always scoffed at it, until it happened to me.
I snapped into consciousness to a feeling of weightlessness. For an eternal moment I felt suspended in midair. A feather wafted on the breeze. Blue sky and fat white clouds rose above me, shafts of sunlight shot through the clouds to illuminate a steel gray expanse of water far below. Sounds assaulted my ears; screeching tires, blaring car and truck horns, crunching metal and screaming children and adults. A sense of vertigo suddenly gripped me, and then I was falling.
I tumbled out of control, careening downward, my eyes focused on an enormous red suspension bridge. I was falling from a bridge. How did I get here? My heart hammered in my chest, the blood roaring in my ears as my body righted itself turning on some internal instinct to place my feet beneath me, toes pointed towards the slate gray far below. My gaze rolled to the sea, knowing I was about to die. Why was this happening? How did I get here?
The last thing I remembered was driving off to clear my head after that stupid fight with Izzy. How was I to know what time Gaby needed to be ready for her Easter pictures if she didn’t tell me? Apparently I was supposed to be Nick the mind reader. Isobel and Gaby appeared in my mind’s eye. My beautiful wife with her cinnamon skin, dark hair and laughing eyes; our lovely 5-year-old daughter Gabrielle, dancing around her room in the pink and white flowered Easter dress. Images of my life flooded my vision; teaching Gaby to ride a horse on my parent’s farm, Izzy’s exhaustion and exultation as she held our infant daughter in her arms after hours of labor . . . her shy smile and tears as we said our vows and the wonder of discovering each other as we celebrated our union in the hills of Tuscany. The sorrow and shame of the child we lost early in our relationship, mourned but never named. The highs and heartbreaks of a young man fighting to find his place in the world, the hubris and innocence of college discussions on the nature of self, freedom and truth. Discovering the joys of sex with my girlfriend the summer after my senior year . . . the feeling of exultation and accomplishment as we won the state high school baseball championship . . . running and laughing with my brother, riding horses with my Dad, my Mom’s warm smile as I handed her a mother’s day card when I was ten, Grandma reading books to me when I was very young. Christmases and birthdays . . . all the moments great and small that make up a life.
My eyelids fluttered as gravity pulled me to my inevitable end. Only then did I notice the two small mounds that tugged gently at my chest as I gazed between them at the angry waves. What the hell? Suddenly a sense of utter wrongness washed over me. My body just felt wrong.
“Why am I . . . why am I a girl?” I thought as my feet arched of their own accord, cutting a path through the void of salty water as blackness claimed
Steve Danielson is your typical teenage overachiever; popular, athletic, and bright, if a bit shy. But an ancient legacy is about to change his life forever.
Flames danced merrily on the hearth, casting a warm amber glow that filtered through the room, chasing furtive shadows about the chamber's vaulted ceiling. Seemingly hewn from a single towering block of weather beaten granite, much of the stone's base had been removed to make way for the enormous hearth, fully six feet in diameter. This was surrounded by circular sheets of inch thick glass connected with thin links of solid bronze. The fireplace was like the room that contained it; large and eclectic. Flat panel monitors streaming the latest news in dozens of languages vied for wall space with rich tapestries, beautiful paintings and fragments of parchment dating back thousands of years. Here and there finely wrought links of chain armor were mounted beside blades, axes and hammers of all shapes and sizes, many carved with intricate runes that seemed to catch and hold the firelight occasionally before winking out. A whisper of wind stoked embers as smoke wafted lazily up the granite flue as if reluctant to leave the presence of the three woman warming themselves on the marble bench that surrounded the hearth.
The women reflected their environment. The youngest was clad in the skintight leather of an avid motorcyclist. Her shock of coal black hair, shot through with violet highlights fell about her face in a severe bob. Ice blue eyes twinkled as the tiny pixie of a girl grinned at her companions, propping her heavy motorcycle boots up on the glass and steel coffee table with a satisfying “thunk” as she leaned further back towards the welcoming warmth of the hearth. This earned her a scowl of reproof from the eldest of the trio.
"Sister, I'll have you know this table is worth twice that chugging banshee on two wheels that you insist on polluting my peace and quiet with.”
The silver-haired matriarch's green eyes glared at her youngest sibling as she smoothed the hem of her long burgundy gown. Tall and willowy, Urd's attractive face was etched with many lifetimes of joy and sorrow.
Skuld grinned, flexing her boot-clad feet.
“It's called a Valkyrie, not a Banshee. Besides, maybe if you took the rune stone out of your ass and lived a
little, you wouldn't be so concerned about my current steed.”
“Sisters please, now is not the time for this pointless bickering,” the middle sibling pleaded in a reasonable
tone.
Taller than the pixie, but lacking the regal stature of her elder sister, Verthande's voluptuous form was clad in a rich sky blue. Her pale skin contrasted well with rich reddish-blonde hair and warm topaz eyes.Thande gestured towards the far wall where three looms stood beneath a tapestry that was beginning to take shape.
“The strands haven't been this tangled in an age. We must find a way through this knot. The golden thread
grows thin. You both know as well as I that now is not her time to be cut.”
The eldest rose and regarded the sister's handiwork. Forest green orbs surveyed a tableau of dark skies, flame and clashing weapons.
“Ours is not to intervene directly sister,” she said thoughtfully, smiling slightly at the frown which formed on Thande's face. “But perhaps there is a way to bolster this strand against the approaching storm.”
Skuld rose, moving her tiny form to stand beside her older sister.
“An infusion of new blood perhaps? This strand,” her slim fingers grasped a golden-brown thread from her loom, “is a descendent of the same line, though the strands must be woven to ensure her legacy is passed on.”
Verthande smiled gently and nodded to her sisters as she took her place at the middle loom.
“Then let us begin and see where the weaving will take us.”
Moments later the rhythmic sound of looms filled the air, joining the past with the present towards a very uncertain future.
* * *
1. The Lock of Golden Hair
It began with a dream. Steve's eyelids fluttered rapidly, his brown orbs reflected waves of shimmering gold. An oppressive heat licked at his limbs bringing another disturbing fact to mind . . . he was naked . . .
“What the . . . ?” he murmured, “Where am I?”
Sitting up, the 17-year-old blinked, bringing a blasted furnace of a world into focus. He sat within the remains of a field of grain.
“Wheat,” his mind registered even as a wall of orange and red pressed ever closer to him. “I'm in the middle of a wildfire.”
Jumping to his feet, the athletic young man turned in a rapid circle looking for some way out of the firestorm. Frantically he scanned the field before his eyes were drawn to a path of wheat that seemed to defy the onslaught, even as the hungry flames sought to consume it. Crouching to the earth to avoid the haze of smoke overhead, Steve filled his lungs with as much air as he could, then burst from the clearing just as a gout of orange seemed to leap towards him. Not daring to look back, he felt the heat pursue his footsteps. Grain stalks hissed and popped as the flames seemed to move with a malevolent will, bearing down on his retreat.
“Renn!” Steven heard a strong female voice shout even as he felt the skin on his neck, back, thighs and shins begin to blister and smelled the foul odor of burning flesh. Still he ran, fighting a blind panic and his lungs burning ache for air. Steven heard laughter above the roar as arcs of fire leapt out scalding his body. Pain shot through his adrenaline filled form for a timeless moment before being replaced by a cool wave of relief as an odd weight tugged gently upon his head and the world dissolved into a curtain of spun gold.
* * *
Steve gasped and shook himself awake. He shivered and bolted upright, the scent of burning flesh still filling his nostrils.
“God, what a nightmare,” he whispered as he took several ragged breaths.
Shafts of pale light from the full moon illuminated his bedroom as he tried to shake off the lingering images of flames and blackened earth. His eyes cast about, trying to ground himself in the familiar reality of his room. Against the far wall stood a large bookshelf full of volumes on the history and mythology of the Greeks, Romans and Norse. These sat beside sci-fi and fantasy paperbacks by William Gibson and Glen Cooke. The books fought for space with photographs from sports teams and organizations that Steven belonged to, along with academic, athletic and citizenship awards. The prominently displayed trophies both pleased and slightly embarrassed him. He was proud of what he had accomplished, but Liz and Henry Danielson's insistence on what he saw as a mini-shrine to their youngest son made him feel kind of self-conscious. Steve grinned a bit ruefully to himself. His parents had done the same for his two older brothers, Brent and Jacob, so he shouldn't be surprised.
“Besides, not like I have to worry about any girlfriends seeing it.” he thought to himself.
Popularity wasn't Steve's problem. Most girls found his dark, curly shoulder length hair, hazel eyes and ready smile attractive. He was also smart and a starting athlete at his medium-sized rural high school. The young man's romantic roadblock was utterly self-imposed. He'd just never felt confident enough to ask many girls out on dates. Often he'd pine for a beautiful classmate's attention, only to end up in the good friend category.
“Shy guys just don't get a lot of dates.” his friend Lisa had said as the pair talked at the willowy blonde's house earlier that night.. “You have to be willing to make the first move.”
Steven sighed bitterly and looked at the angry red of the alarm clock. 3 AM glared accusingly at him from the bedside table.
”Two hours, feels like I've been asleep two days.” the 17-year-old whispered.
He winced as he pushed back the covers. Why did his arms and legs hurt so much? Steve swung over the side of the bed and rose to his full 6' height. Blinking bleary eyes he walked slowly over to a large chest of drawers and the tall oak framed mirror that sat on top of it. Switching on a lamp, he glanced into the silvered glass at his reflection. As his eyes focused, Steve had to wonder if he wasn't still dreaming. His hair was . . . odd. Perched in the middle of his formerly dark brown curly mane was a single lock of bright golden hair.
“What the hell was going on?” he thought. “Hair color doesn't just change overnight. Was this someone's idea of a joke?”
Reaching up a lightly tanned, muscled arm, Steve touched the offending lock with his fingers, pulling the hair down in front of his eyes. It was very soft,yet thick and strong. Unbelievably it seemed to be his own hair. The spun gold began at the root, directly in the center of his hairline. Leaning forward, Steve let the curl go and looked further back. Impossibly the golden strands didn't stop with one lock as he had first thought. Instead they flowed like a sunlit stream through the middle of his otherwise dark brown hair before falling over the back of his head to hit just above his shoulders where the rest of his hair ended. A quick tug at the strands simply produced sharp pain.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed, before biting his lip and glancing at his closed door. “Just what I need, for Mom and Dad to see me like this.” he thought.
After several seconds of silence, the young man turned back to the mirror, trying to make some sense of what he was seeing and feeling.
“Okay, I'm awake, and I've apparently sprouted golden locks overnight. Geez, golden locks . . . Goldilocks, I can hear the guys now. I'll never live this down.” he muttered.
Steve's fingers returned to his hair, comparing the gold with the brown on his head. The blond hair seemed a bit thicker, yet silkier than his brown curls. As he continued his investigation a dull ache in his limbs caused him to look sharply at his upper arms. From his shoulders to his elbows, his tan was gone. In its place the skin was a deep crimson that was tender to the touch and devoid of any hair. Fear gripped Steve's gut as he looked over his shoulder at the back of his legs. The same hairless, red, nearly blistered skin met his eyes. Suddenly he recalled the dream, his desperate race to safety, the flames that lapped his arms and legs. What was going on? How could a dream have impact on the real world? It was insane, but the evidence was just as tangible as hardwood floor beneath his feet. Panic rose in his throat as blackness began to creep around the edges of his vision.
“Calm down, dammit. This is just some crazy coincidence. Think it out.” he told himself. “Lisa. I can get Lisa to help me fix this hair mess. She'll know how to get rid of this, this skunk stripe.”
Steve turned back to his alarm and set it for 6 AM. His parent's usually slept in until seven on Saturday's. It was one of the few luxuries the Danielson's allowed themselves on their thousand acre ranch. That should give him enough time to quickly shower and get over to Lisa's and try to get things back to normal. As he settled back into bed, he just hoped no more dreams would come.
* * *
As the teenager slid gingerly out of consciousness, Urd, Verthande and Skuld ceased their timeless weaving.
“It's begun.” the eldest said as she examined the sister's handiwork.
Skuld pulled her leather jacket back on and zipped it tightly as she prepared to leave the house.
“We've done our duty, now it's up to him.” She grinned wickedly at Urd. “Care to join me for a ride? If he fails it could be your last chance.”
The matriarch laughed, a silvery peel of mirth that belied her stolid exterior.
“Why not?” she smirked. “Just let me see someone about a certain rune stone first.”
Thande smiled gently as her sisters left the longhouse and she heard the roar of Skuld's Valkyrie split the night. Turning back to the tapestry she gently caressed the woven figure of Steve Daneilson.
“Gods-speed on your quest young one. You carry the hopes of many with you.”
Lisa's eyes widened and a small grin broke across her face as she took in Steve's lightening and lengthened mane.
“What happened? Lose a fight with a bottle of peroxide?”
“Ha-Ha,” Steve retorted, frowning darkly. “Can we please not talk about this on your front porch?”
The incessant blaring of his alarm dragged Steve from a short fitful sleep. He couldn't remember any further dreams, but if anything he felt more tired than he had earlier. Yawning, he pushed back the covers on his bed and sat up. Immediately a soft golden curl obeyed the will of gravity, settling before the weary 17-year-old's eyes and tickling his nose. Wrinkling his eyes, Steve blew a puff of air from his lips to dislodge the offending lock, only to have it rise up and then return, clearly ignoring his feeble efforts. Blinking rapidly the events of just a few hours came into sharp focus. Steve jumped from bed, wincing slightly at the pain that shot through his limbs as he scrambled to get to the mirror on top of his dresser.
“Oh God, it's longer. How can it even be there, much less be longer?” he whispered in dismay.
The skunk stripe of golden hair that nestled within his dark brown curly locks was indeed longer, as was the rest of Steve's hair.
“It's like I have a mop on my head, a poorly bleached mop.” he groaned as he turned to look over his shoulder.
His mane now reached nearly to his shoulder blades in back, while it covered his ears on the sides and fought to obscure his vision in front. Steve fought the urge to tuck some of his curls behind his ears as his Mom tended to, just to have them out of the way.
“There's no doubt something weird is going on.” he though as he broke out in a chill of fear. “I've got to get over to Lisa's and see what she can do with this.”
For half a moment, Steve considered cutting the worst of the curls off himself, but images of last year's horrible spirit week Mohawk stayed his hand. Better to let Lisa handle this. She'd saved what little was left of his pride by making the Mohawk Incident presentable in time for the dance last year.
His course charted, Steve quickly raided his closet. He'd kill for a shower, but he had chores to do and he didn't feel comfortable trying to dry his odd new mane. The 17-year-old was soon decked out in a pair of work-faded Levis, a white Boise State Broncos t-shirt. Finally he pulled out a royal blue hooded sweatshirt with Valley Vikings Football in chunky block letters on the front. Steve smiled as he admired the hoodie. He'd won it by vote of his teammates for showing the most heart on the field. Now he began to wonder if one of the hits he'd taken trying to catch a pass had somehow caused this mess. Shaking off such doubts he pulled the sweatshirt over his head, struggling a bit as he pulled the neck of the shirt over his irritatingly voluminous hair.
“The sooner I get rid of this stuff the better.”Steve muttered, rolling his eyes and quietly opening his bedroom door.
He slowly made his way over the creeky oak hardwoods towards the utility room of the rambling ranch style house. Built in the early 1900's by his great-great-great grandparents, Lars and Sigrid Danielson, the house and the 2,000 acres of rich land that surrounded had provided for Danielson's for nearly a century. Fortunately all of the bedrooms were on this end of the house, so if he could make it past his parent's door, he'd be home free. Taking a deep breath, he crept down the hall past their bedroom. He sighed in relief at the barely audible snoring he heard.
“Good, Dad's sawing logs.” he thought.
Passing the door he moved through the formal dining room and exited into a large kitchen that served up meals to his family and the small number of hands who worked on the ranch. Grinning at his good luck, Steve opened the 'fridge and pulled an apple the color of new grass from the crisper. He had a very special lady to share this with and she hated to be kept waiting. Pulling on a pair of sturdy leather work boots and lacing them up, Steve pulled open the back door of the house and walked the hundred yards towards a set of large barns and stables. As he neared the front gate that led to the stable and pasture that surrounded it, a low neigh and the gentle clop-clop of hooves heralded the arrival of his first love. Steve grinned widely, the weirdness of the last few hours slipping away, as he pulled the green apple from the pocket of his sweatshirt and cut it into thirds with his pocket knife just as Ginger reached the gate. The tall sorrel mare reached eagerly over the gate, sniffing for the apples slices in Steve's hand.
“Hey girl,” the young man smiled brightly as Ginger lowered her long nose, blowing air from her nostrils into the boy's face in the traditional equine greeting.
Moving his hands behind his back, Steve eyed his horse playfully as he shifted a couple of small apple slices into his left hand.
“Alright Ginger, find your apple.” he urged as he moved his hands into the air beside the mare's nose.
The horse almost seemed to scoff at her owner as she jerked her head towards his left hand. Steve opened his hand, palm up and Ginger scarfed the slices down.
Steve pulled the chain to open the gate and moved towards the stables, only to be quickly intecepted by his mare's large nose, sniffing the front of his sweatshirt for the last bit of apple in his front pockets.
Warm laughter erupted from the young man as he fed Ginger the treat.
“Good girl,” he praised.
The young man took a few moments to pet the mare before pulling open a pair of stout wooden doors to enter the stables. His father expected him to feed the fifteen working horses on the ranch every morning, rain or shine. Steve didn't mind, he loved the animals and they in turn greedily consumed the oats he delivered.
Taking a five gallon bucket from a hook inside the stable, he quickly filled it from a nearby silo and dumped the grain into a long feed trough. Other quarter horses in hues of red, black and brown trotted over to join Ginger for their morning meal. Four more trips and Steve's chores were finished, at least for the moment.
“Okay,” he thought, glancing at his watch. 45 minutes had elapsed since his alarm went off at 6am.
He winced slightly, imagining how much crap Lisa was going to give him when he woke her up in about twenty minutes. He only hoped the challenge of his newly acquired golden locks would distract her a bit. Lisa was definitely NOT a morning person. Her attitude on waking up was often as combustible as her flame-touched hair.
“I hope I don't have to dodge more shoes.” he thought as he jumped in his pickup and fired it up.
The red Ford F 150 was a bit of a relic, though Steve preferred to think of it as a “classic.” Both his brothers had driven the truck when they attended Valley High and now it was his turn. He just hoped he would have enough money saved to buy something new before he started college. Twenty miles of gravel and blacktop later he arrived at Lisa's house. Pulling up his hood and plucking up his courage, Steve got out of the truck and quickly made his way to the front door.
Rolling his eyes and shaking his head at his predicament, he knocked forcefully on the door for about ten seconds.
“C'mon Lise,” he tersely whispered as he listened for any signs of life from inside the large red brick two-story.
Finally, an eternal two minutes later, the door opened to reveal his bleary eyed and unhappy best friend. Lisa ran a hand through her mane of red hair and glared at Steve, her green eyes boring into him.
“Do you have any idea what time it is? It's bad enough I have to be up this early for school, but on Saturday! Geez Steve! . . . “ the tirade trailed off as Lisa took in Steve's embarrassed face.
“Sorry Lise, really, it's just” Steve pulled down the hood. “I really need your help.”
Lisa's eyes widened and a small grin broke across her face as she took in Steve's lightening and lengthened mane.
“What happened? Lose a fight with a bottle of peroxide?”
“Ha-Ha,” Steve retorted, frowning darkly. “Can we please not talk about this on your front porch?”
“Oh . . . um, come on in.” Lisa said as she stepped aside to let her friend enter the house, pushing the door closed after him.
“So, uh, nice look. Did you think you'd get more dates? Blondes have more fun and all that.” Lisa grinned, stretching to the full 5'9” that proved so devastating on the Valley Valkyrie volleyball team.
Her long slim fingers gently touched the top of Steve's head as she murmured, “Wow, soft.”
Steve cringed back as a pleasurable tingle suffused his scalp where Lisa had stroked the golden curls that sat there.
“What the heck is going on with me?” he wondered.
“Let's get some coffee.” Lisa said as she led her friend into the kitchen.
After a pair of mugs were filled, Lisa's black, Steve's with cream and sugar, (another source of constant ribbing), Steve recounted his vivid dream and it's apparent results.
“So, I woke up with these,” he said, setting down his mug and pulling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt.
Lisa narrowed her emerald eyes and frowned at the faint red marks on the back of his arms.
“Same on the back of my legs, and of course the skunk stripe.”
“Those look sort of like burn marks. Do they hurt?” she said, reaching out to gently trace the welts.
“They did when I got up, but the soreness seems to be fading.” Steve said, nearly sighing the last words as red skin tingled pleasantly beneath Lisa's cool fingertips.
“That's nice,” he breathed, before catching himself and blinking hard to focus on Lisa's somewhat surprised and bemused expression. Steve blushed beat red and jerked his arm back.
“Sorry,” he said lamely, “Your fingers just, um, felt really good on my burns.”
“I noticed.” Lisa replied, her forehead crinkling in thought. She might have imagined it, but Steve's red skin had felt noticeably soft, as if he'd been using lotion on it.
“That's it,” she thought. He must have used some cortizone or something to relieve the pain.
“So, um, any thoughts on all this?” Steve asked, the pleasant tingling finally subsiding. “I can't believe a dream could have done all this.”
“Maybe not the dream itself, but your subconscious reaction to it.” Lisa said. “I think my Mom has some books that might help.”
Lisa's mother, Penelope, was the only psychiatrist in a three county area and therefore dealt with all kinds of patients and their problems. Steve followed his friend back towards the foyer and then into the large study that served as Dr. Davis' office and library. Lisa stood on her tiptoes and pulled a four inch thick hardbound book on dream interpretation down and placed it on her mother's mahogany desk. Steve quirked a brow at the tome, then looked up into his friend's eyes.
“Lise, this is certainly a really, um, big book, but don't I have more immediate issues” Steve rolled his eyes skyward to emphasize his point. “What am I going to do about this mess?”
“I can help with that, but I want you to take the book with you and at least look it over. If your dreams are so vivid that you're harmed or hair changes from them, we need to figure out what we're dealing with.” Lisa responded, her face filled with concern. “What's to keep it from happening again?”
Steve gulped visibly. In the rush to erase his golden locks, it had simply not occurred to him that his dreams might once again intrude on his waking world.
“That, that can't happen again, right?” he said, brown eyes seeking reassurance in green.
Lisa smiled gently and drew her taller friend into a hug.
“It's going to be alright.” she murmured.
Lisa held Steve for a full minute or so before he pulled away, feeling somewhat embarrassed. Why had the hug felt so good? Of course Lisa was hot, but they'd been friends since kindergarten. He cared about Lisa a lot, but he didn't want to screw that up. Besides, this was different somehow. Her physical presence had made his feel safe in a way that he hadn't felt or needed to feel since his mother had dried his tears as a child.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” he asked himself once more.
Lisa was almost as shocked as Steve. This was a guy who'd been knocked out of half a game last year by a vicious hit on a pass across the middle, only to come back to catch the winning pass in overtime. He wasn't one to be rattled easily, but the dream and it's aftermath had obviously freaked him out.
Keeping her tone light, Lisa grinned at her friend and ruffled his hair. “Let's get that skunk stripe taken care of.”
Steve nodded, concealing the shudder that ran through him from Lisa's fingers in his hair. The pair moved up a flight of stairs to the second story of the house towards Lisa's room. Soon Steve was on his knees with his head beneath the bathroom faucet, waiting for his friend to solve his chromatic crisis.
“How long will this take Lise?” he asked.
“Not too long,” she said, placing a box of Nice'N Easy hair color on the side of the tub. “You're just lucky Amy left this here the last time she was back from school. Otherwise I might have made you buy your own.”
Steve turned to glare at Lisa's playful grin, only to have his hair fall into his eyes. Pulling it back, he caught her look and sighed.
“Once we're done, I'm getting a buzz cut. How do you deal with such long hair?” he groused.
Lisa grinned as she slid on a pair of clear rubber gloves and carefully mixed the hair color chemicals together. The color soon turned a shade of brown resembling Steve’s original hair color and thickened enough to be applied.
“Okay, Cranky, sit up and let’s get this magical elixir on your curly locks.” Lisa joked.
Steve moved to sit on the side of the tub as Lisa worked the mixture through his hair from the root to the tips. The oddly pleasant tingle returned to his scalp but thankfully it seemed muted this time. Five minutes later Lisa was finished.
“We’ve got 25 minutes or so, X Box?” Lisa grinned.
Steve brightened. “Marvel vs Capcom?”
“Chun Li Lisa is going to kick your ass!” Lisa cried as the pair raced to her room.
“Fine, I’ll take Thor then.” Steve smirked.
Half an hour of decimation later the young man was shaking his head in disgust.
“How many hours have you spent on this game?” he asked in exasperation. “I didn’t know half those moves.”
“It’s called pure talent, my friend. Come on, let’s get you rinsed out.”
Soon Steve felt warm water running over his head as excess brown tint washed from his hair. The cascade produced a pleasurable rush over his entire scalp and Steve shuddered reflexively.
“Is it too cold?” Lisa asked.
“N-no, it-it’s fine.” he said, trying to force himself to stay still. It was embarrassing enough to have this problem, much less have some part of his body enjoy it.
“Alright, that should do it.” Lisa said, handing Steve a towel.
He vigorously dried his hair as he followed Lise back to her room. Lisa moved towards her vanity to grab a brush as Steve draped the blue cotton towel on the back of a chair and moved to gaze at his reflection in Lisa’s full length mahogany framed mirror.
“Umm, Lise are you sure you used the right box?” Steve asked, his eyes beginning to swim before him.
“Yeah, of course, why?” his friend said as she turned towards his voice. “Oh my God.” she yelped.
A wave of golden-blonde hair in soft curls sat incongruously upon Steve’s head, reaching nearly to his knees.
“Lise . . . I don’t feel so good.” Steve said in a weak voice, his eyelids fluttering over newly blue eyes before he collapsed forward into Lisa’s arms.
*To Be Continued*