She didn't know what to think.
She reached out and took a teddy bear from a shelf. Allie secretly loved fluffy things, but being a nonfluffy girl, she never kept her stuffed animals the way nature intended; she always tweaked them somehow. This one was 'Winnie the Punk,' with Sharpie-drawn tattoos on his fur, and a safety pin through his eyebrow. The bear seemed larger than she remembered, but then she realized that it wasn't larger, she was just in a smaller body.
Allie clutched the bear to her chest, and felt herself becoming emotional. She blamed it on the boy's physiology- after all, little kids are quick to turn on the waterworks-but who was she kidding? These tears were all hers. She sat down, and let the tears flow gently and quietly.
Why had she come back here? Did she really think she could just walk into her parents house in the body of this boy, and talk to them? And yet she was already angling on ways to return tomorrow-perhaps in the body of someone selling alarm systems. Would that be her life now? Returning each day in a different body, pretending to be someone else, just so she could be near her parents?
She curled up on the bed clutching the bear-a remnant of a life that was lost. Then something happened that she wasn't expecting. She should have realized it could happen, because, after all, it was the middle of the night, and she was in the body of a small, exhausted child. As she held tightly on to the bear, her thoughts began to swim together, and in an instant, without warning, Allie fell asleep.
Allie awoke at 7:45 in the morning.
Unfortunately the boy she was skinjacking had woken up at 7:41. It's amazing what can happen within the span of four minutes.
'It's all right, don't worry-it will all be all right. We'll get you back home.'
It was her mother's voice. She was in her mother's arms. They were rocking back and forth. She was out of breath, her vision was blurry, her chest was heaving, and a God-awful wailing sound was coming out of her. Allie's whole body was shivering with the force of her own sobs. What was going on here? Where was she? Who was she?
'I wanna go home,' she heard a child's voice say. It was all nasal and stuffy so it came out 'I wadda go hobe.' Then she realized it was her own mouth speaking those words. All at once it came back to her-she was in the body of a boy she had skinjacked. She was in her parents' home, in her own room. Her mother was holding her, her father was standing nearby, phone in hand.
'I wadda go hobe!' the boy wailed again-he had no idea how he had gotten here. Then Allie realized a moment too late that she wasn't hiding behind his consciousness- she was out there in the open, right in the middle of his mind. Now that she was awake, the boy knew she was there, and he screamed in terror.
'Who are you?' the boy wailed. 'Go away! Go away! Get out of here!' Allie's mother backed off, thinking he was talking to her. 'I don't want you here! Get out of me!'
This was a bad situation that was only getting worse. The best Allie could hope for now was damage control. She struggled to seize the boy's body, and send him back to dreamland, but now that he knew she was there, he didn't go easily. He went kicking and screaming all the way, until finally his thoughts fell in upon themselves and he was unconscious.
Allie was in control, but the boy's body was still full of fear and heaving with sobs. She looked to her father who was holding the phone in one hand, and in his other hand… in his other hand…
… he had no other hand.
His left arm now ended just past the elbow. As Allie tried to process this, she saw that his left hand was shifting the phone in his palm, preparing to dial with his thumb. He was poised over the 9 button.
Calling 911 was definitely not part of Allie's damage control.
'You're calling the police?' Allie screeched, using the boy's wild state to her advantage. 'I don't want the police! I don't I don't I don't!' She screamed as loudly as she could, and her father looked helpless.
'Put down the phone, Adam!' her mother ordered.
'All right, all right!' He dropped it on the desk like it was about to explode. 'There, I've put it down.'
Allie stopped screaming, and took a minute to calm the boy's body down, allowing her mother to hold her. Allie hugged her back, and took more comfort from it than her mother could possibly know. The convulsive sobs eased until they were nothing more than shallow sniffles. 'Can you tell us your name?' Allie's father asked.
Allie did know his name, because if there's one thing that little kids fill every thought with, it's their identity.
'Danny,' she said. 'Danny Rozelli.'
'Well, Danny,' said Allie's mom, 'I think you did a little bit of sleepwalking last night.'
'Yeah,' said Allie, 'sleepwalking, yeah.' She was always impressed by her mother's ability to be logical against all reason.
'Could you tell us where you live?' Allie's father asked.
She knew where Danny Rozelli lived, but wasn't ready to share that information, so she shook her head, and said, 'Something street.'
Her parents sighed in unison.
Allie looked at the stump of her father's arm. There were indentations in the skin that must have been from a prosthetic arm, but of course he hadn't had time to put it on before finding little Danny Rozelli screaming in their dead daughter's bed.
'How'd that happen?' Allie asked, realizing that a seven-year-old's lack of tact was an asset now.
Her father hesitated for a moment, then he said, 'Car accident.'
'Ouch.'
'Yeah. Ouch.'
Her father also had a scar on his forehead and cheek. So the accident had taken his right arm, and left him with scars. None of it was pleasant, but it could have been a whole lot worse. Then again, it was worse, because they had also lost a daughter.
Allie longed to tell them that they hadn't lost her at all- that she was right here in front of them, but she couldn't find a way to do that as the cat woman, and she couldn't as Danny Rozelli, either.
'Do you know your phone number, at least?' her mother asked. 'We really should let someone know you're here- your parents must be worried sick.'
Allie didn't have much sympathy for parents who would eventually get their child back. She didn't know the number anyway, and that was fine. She was finally here with her own parents, and they were treating her with love and kindness. This was the closest thing she might ever have to true family time with them.
'I'm hungry,' she said. 'Can I have something to eat?'
Her parents glanced to each other, her mother threw her gaze to the phone, her father nodded and he left the room. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was going to call the police from another room. Allie thought of throwing another hissy fit, but realized she couldn't stall the inevitable much longer. She would make the best of the time she had.
'Can I have Apple Jacks?' she asked. 'Apple Jacks in strawberry milk?'
She could have sworn her mother turned a previously unknown shade of pale.
'Never mind,' said Allie. 'You probably don't have that.'
'Actually,' said her mother, 'we do.'
Her father rejoined them in the kitchen, giving a secret nod to his wife. He must have made the call. Allie figured they had about five minutes before the police arrived.
Allie savored every spoonful of her cereal while her parents sat with her at the kitchen table. She tried to trick herself into believing this was just a regular family breakfast.
'Sorry if they're a little stale,' her mother said.
'No,' said Allie, 'they're fine.'
'Our daughter liked Apple Jacks,' her father said. 'She liked them with strawberry milk, too.'
'A lot of kids do,' Allie told him-although she didn't know anyone else who ate them that way. She dipped the spoon into the pink milk and let the last applejack float in like a lone life preserver.
'More, please.'
Her mother poured a second bowl. Allie pushed down the orange cereal circles with the back of her spoon, coating them with milk.
'I guess that was your daughter's room I was in, huh?'
