Zippered Flesh 2: More Tales of Body Enhancements Gone Bad

by Bryan Hall

  And now she walked into her cosmetic surgeon’s sleazy secret room in his basement, ready for her latest feline transformation. Frankie would also become a new man, so to speak.

  “I’d like to keep Frankie for the day to monitor him,” the surgeon said. “Anesthesia is a tricky thing. So much can go wrong. When Frankie is fully alert and beginning to heal, he can go home.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. You take such good care of us. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  The surgeon smiled his million-dollar smile, which was no exaggeration since he earned in the seven figures.

  “And now you, Cat. This surgery will finalize your slanted cat’s-eye look. The cheek implants will angle your face, making it more feline.” The surgeon clapped his hands and grinned with delight. “You are truly a work of art, my masterpiece. I rarely get an opportunity to be so creative. I am indebted to you.”

  Cat knew, if anything, she was indebted to him because these surgeries were not cheap, but she wanted to look like her Frankie. She’d noticed many cat owners looked like their charges, and she wanted to take that look one step further. “Do you think I need another hairline reduction to make my forehead look bigger?”

  “Not at the moment, but you will need that in a month or two. And I love the color! You and Frankie have the same beautiful auburn mane.”

  “It’s called Desert Sunrise and the color blend was made especially for me.” Cat beamed with pride as she ran her fingers through her shoulder-length, layered hair. The style matched Frankie’s. She liked her thick hair. The new color was so much more alluring than her original mousy brown. She knew men and women alike envied her for her lustrous hair. Her hair got as many stares as her unusual face.

  “Let’s get you prepped, put under, pulled, and tucked, my dear. You and Frankie will have much to be proud of before the day is over.” The surgeon gave Cat instructions as to how he would proceed. By the time she was in his operating room, lying on his most comfortable table, she daydreamed of accepting the Grand Prize in the next Stellar Kitties Cat Show looking so much like Frankie people’s heads would turn.

  The surgeon placed a mask over her face. “Count backward from 100.”

  “I smell burned toast.”

  “That’s different. Most people smell pizza. The anesthesia is doing its work now. Count backward from 100.”

  “100 ... 99 ... 98 ... ”

  Cat dozed.

  “Welcome back to the world of the living, Cat,” the surgeon said. “You did very well. Frankie is also recovering. Both of you are just fine. You’re as healthy and as strong as a lion.”

  “And now I can go home with Frankie?”

  “Absolutely. You’re my best patients. Always recovering quickly and you’re repeat customers who pay cash, the best kind.”

  Of course, the repeat customers who pay cash part was most important. “Thank you so much, doctor. I’ll rest a bit and head home. May I have a mirror?”

  “Of course.” He handed Cat a large hand mirror. “You are stunning.”

  Angry purple bruises encircled her eyes and colored her cheeks, but she knew they would fade in a day or two. Her face had swollen more than usual but, like the bruises, the swelling would diminish in time. Her surgeon was a genius with extraordinary, talented hands. She hated driving to the bad part of town and hiding in a small, dark room in his basement for her surgeries, but he was the only cosmetic surgeon in the region who was willing to perform her transformation. Her eyes angled upward even more sharply than before, enhancing her catlike and intense expression. Her cheekbones, fuller and broader, gave her the heart-shaped face she wanted so much but didn’t have until now. Her bee-stung lips smiled above her pointed chin, pleased at what she saw gazing back at her from the mirror. Her transformation into a cat was almost complete.

  Cat couldn’t rush home fast enough. When she passed a butcher, her stomach rumbled. If only she had enough money to afford a steak! But no, she was broke again until next week. Her brood would bask in the light of her evolving beauty and she would treat them to their favorite Mariner’s Catch cat food. Two declawed legs marinating in a ginger-tamarind sauce awaited her. Pickings were slim but they would have to do. This one died only a day ago so it was relatively fresh. She would broil it until the skin was crisp, just the way she liked it. She worried the flea medicine she gave her cats a week ago would taint the taste of the meat, but they tasted like chicken.

  Cat walked through the door to her apartment with Frankie in tow in his cat carrier. Her clowder of cats perched all about—on the couch, on the rug, out of sight on her bed, in the bathtub playing with a spider, under the kitchen table, in the sink waiting for Cat to turn on the tap so it could drink. The ones out of sight ran into the living room when they heard the door open and close. When they spotted her, their hackles rose. Bodies tensed and tails fluffed as they backed away from her.

  She opened the cat carrier and Frankie sauntered out. He looked up at his mistress, recoiled, and hissed.

  “Frankie, what’s wrong?” She reached out to smooth his ruffled coat, and he lashed out with one paw, slashing her wrist. She cried out in pain, cradling her hand close to her chest. Frankie moved backward slowly, body rigid and tense, and hissed again as if he saw something—or someone—unfamiliar.

  That’s when Cat noticed the silence. The purring that was a constant hum around her had ceased. Twenty cats stared at her, eyes wide, as if they didn’t know what they saw. Teeth bared, they slowly approached her, in a pack, backing her into a corner.

  They didn’t recognize her.

  In one great big wave, they leapt upon her, yowling and hissing their distress. They protected their territory as only cats can. Claws lashed out, tearing tender skin amid shrieks of pain. Teeth tore at her flesh. The coppery tang of blood filled the air. By the time her cats had finished with her, she was even more unrecognizable than she already was.

  Years of surgical perfection had been wiped away with a sweep of claws and gnashing of teeth. Frankie had gnawed off her perfect nose. New cheek implants exposed to the air beneath torn flesh. Pointed earlobes that cost $500 sported teeth marks. In the end, Cat became part of her cacophonous cats in ways she never imagined. But, unlike her cats, she had only one life.

  SEEDS

  BY L.L. SOARES

  After Roberta Maxwell stabbed her husband, Walter, five times with an ice pick, she went about with the methodical process of wrapping him in black garbage bags, placing him in a little-used closet on the first floor that had already been prepared for him, and then cleaning up the kitchen floor and counter.

  She did all this with a calm, determined demeanor. No one would be looking for Walter so soon, and she had all the time in the world, at least for tonight, to make sure things were done correctly. Once the mess Walter had left behind was cleaned, Roberta went upstairs and took a shower. She changed into clean clothes, and put the ones she had worn during the assault in another garbage bag.

  She put some boxes and other discarded items back in the closet, so that her husband’s corpse would not be readily noticeable. Not that it mattered if it was found. She just didn’t want to make it easy for them.

  She called a cab and waited in the living room for exactly twenty-four minutes until the vehicle arrived, and then she left the house, carrying just her purse, the contents of which had been emptied out to accommodate the garbage bag with her soiled clothes and the weapon. Once again, it did not matter if she left these behind, but she wanted to leave things as orderly as possible.

  The cab took her to a less than savory part of town. She got out, paid the fare, and had already gone out of sight down an alleyway before the driver could pull away.

  Roberta Maxwell threw the purse in a dumpster she moved past, then walked to a nearby safe house, where she entered several rooms until she reached the one she wanted. At which time she reached under her hair to feel for a strange indentation in her scalp that felt almost like a zipper. She pried it up and w
ent about removing her skin. It peeled off slowly, but in big, long pieces. Like peeling a hard-boiled egg. After she had discarded her skin, she put it in an already prepared container with an acidic solution that would disintegrate it.

  Looking in the mirror, Roberta Maxwell was a bloody shape, with patches of muscle and tendons and even some bone. But a new layer of skin had already started growing, and already covered some parts of her body. It would be a short time before the new skin had grown back completely.

  From that moment forth, Roberta Maxwell no longer existed in the world.

  “It’s done,”Graham said as he talked in the prepaid cell phone. “I will expect the other half of the customary payment in my account before midnight.”

  He did not wait for an answer.

  “Daddy!” June shouted when Tomas Robinson entered the front door. He had been on a business trip for three days, and his daughter instantly made the fatigue he was feeling melt away. He got down on a knee and picked up the girl.

  “And how’s my little Juney Moon?” he asked.

  “Much better now that you’re home, Daddy!”

  His wife Louise came into the room then, and he got to his feet to greet her.

  “I hate when you go away like that,” she told him. “We both do.”

  “I’m not so crazy about it, either,” Tomas said. “I could really use a shower.”

  Louise put her hands on June’s shoulders. “Let’s let Daddy go upstairs and wash up. Then we can eat dinner.”

  Tomas hugged them both again, and then picked up his briefcase and headed for the staircase. As he ascended, he couldn’t help thinking about how blessed he was to have such a warm and loving little family. Louise had been hinting about wanting another child, and he had done his best to pretend he didn’t notice. With everything on his mind these days, he didn’t need something else to worry about. But the way he felt right now, the way the two of them made his homecoming so special, made him want to give Louise whatever she wanted.

  When he got up to the bedroom, he went into the adjoining bathroom and turned on the shower. As he got undressed, he found himself humming an old tune that he hadn’t thought about in years.

  Tomas stood before the full-length mirror on the back of the door. He was in pretty good shape for a man his age. And, for the moment at least, everything was well with the world.

  Then he slid inside the shower stall and started to scrub himself. It had been about six hours since his last shower, and he still felt dirty.

  He closed his eyes and thought about the men he had killed earlier that morning. With a machete, no less. He would much have preferred to use a gun, but he wanted to send a message to those who would defy him. He was not a man to be trifled with.

  He demanded respect, but getting his hands dirty wasn’t something he enjoyed doing. His father had been able to do horrific things without batting an eye, but Tomas found the bad things stayed with him. That they affected him. He truly tried to distance himself from these things, but it just wasn’t in his nature to be a stone-cold killer.

  I do these things because I have to, he told himself. But it made him scrub his flesh all the harder. Trying to wash his sins away.

  I am a seed, Graham thought, sitting in the cold, damp room. Waiting to grow.

  Since shedding the skin of Roberta Maxwell, he had already regained three inches of height, and he was about twenty pounds heavier. His body would continue to revert to its original dimensions, dimensions that were restrained inside the body of a woman almost half his size.

  Already there had been a phone call and a meeting was arranged. But he insisted they give him a day to rest. To recoup his energies. Normally, he would have taken more time off between jobs, but this one sounded urgent, and he didn’t want to create too much tension between himself and his employers.

  After this I’ll go away somewhere, he thought. Maybe the Riviera. Somewhere where no one can reach me for a few weeks. It’s been so long since I had a real vacation.

  He stretched out on the bed in the hotel room. Even though his skin was done growing, it was sensitive enough that everything felt enhanced, the cool sheets on his bare flesh, the pillows spread out beneath his pressure points. It felt wonderful to be free of restrictions, to simply be.

  I really need more time to recover, he thought. It takes a lot out of me.

  But rest was for the wicked.

  “We need you back here.”

  “I just got home,” Tomas said. “You can’t expect me to come back so soon.”

  “There’s been a problem,” his associate on the other end, Rafael, said. “And nobody solves problems like this quite like you.”

  “You trying to tell me there’s no one else on our payroll who can handle this?”

  “Not anyone who can send the same kind of message. Who demands the same kind of respect.”

  Rafael was trying to use flattery to get him to do what he wanted. Tomas thought he was above such things, but it did play on his ego.

  “Look, I want to spend time with my family.”

  “One, two days tops,” Rafael said. “And I promise you we won’t bother you again for a while. We just need your presence here to keep a few undesirables in line.”

  “I still don’t know why someone else can’t handle it.”

  “You know why I’m calling you,” Rafael said. “You know what your strengths are.”

  “It will hurt like hell, leaving them again so soon after the last time,” he said. “Will you take care of the details?”

  “The plane ticket is already on its way to you. The other details are in the works. All you have to say is that you’re coming.”

  “I’m coming.”

  “Then don’t worry about the small details. They’ll be handled for you.”

  “I wish it could all be handled for me,” Tomas said, before he hung up.

  He watched the driver put the suitcase in the trunk, and the well-dressed man climb into the backseat of the taxi. It was the same man from the photographs. Either way, Graham had to start the process now, but this unexpected detail would make things even easier. Without the man around, there was even less chance of being detected as he set things up.

  Graham waited until nightfall, and then he removed the loose boards he had pried open the day before, and slid underneath the porch. Under the house. In the dark, he could feel the dirt beneath him, and spider webs brushed across his face and hands. He had stopped being squeamish about such things years ago. It wouldn’t do in his line of work to be concerned about such silly things. He used the flashlight briefly, to get a good look at his surroundings, and then he shut it off and crawled to where he needed to be.

  And then he waited.

  He really hoped that Tomas Robinson would not be gone long. There were seeds to be planted, sprouts to take hold. And while Robinson’s absence was convenient now, the longer he was away, the longer the process would take.

  He was positioned where he needed to be.

  Now, it was all up to his quarry.

  The trip took less time than expected. Maybe it was because Tomas was determined to get things done quickly and aggressively. Even Rafael was surprised how swiftly and brutally he had been able to take care of the situation. Tomas could see it in his eyes. His scared eyes.

  Before he got on the plane home, he made Rafael promise that his number was off limits for the rest of the week, at least until the weekend was over. He had earned time with his family, and he didn’t want any more distractions unless it was an absolute emergency. And even then, he would weigh it carefully to determine just how urgent it really was.

  He got on the red eye and, despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t get any sleep. He just stared out the window of the plane at the clouds below. Thinking of little Juney.

  He thought about the man he had strangled with his bare hands. The way the man’s eyes bugged out of his head as he struggled for air that wasn’t coming.

  Tomas listened to the sounds t
he plane made, hoping they would lull him to sleep. Even a couple of hours would have made a world of difference, the way he felt.

  But sleep eluded him.

  Graham woke under the house, knowing that Tomas Robinson was home. He wasn’t sure if he’d heard anything in his sleep, but whatever woke him up was more than just a sound. He could feel the man above him, in the house. It was so vivid that actually touching the man wouldn’t have been much more intimate.

  They’re all home now; time to take root, Graham thought. And then he was no longer aware of the boundaries of his body. Instead, he was like a pair of eyes hovering over the world. Hovering over the house of Tomas Robinson, looking for just the right soil in which to plant himself. The choice he made was essential to the plan. He entered the body of that chosen person and took up residence inside them, sending forth slender roots to firmly grasp bodily organs and hold them tight.

  He then began to grow.

  It would not happen overnight, but it did happen relatively quickly, considering how he had to begin again as a seed and sprout into a fully formed human being.

  “I can’t get up,” she told him. She tried to be quiet, but every once in a while a low moan would escape from her lips. She was having one of her migraines.

  Tomas felt helpless, but he knew there wasn’t much he could do except leave her alone. He did get her a warm, wet cloth to put over her eyes, and he turned off all the lights. He tried to arrange the sheets so she was as comfortable as possible, but even then she was miserable.

  “Is Mommy sick today?” June asked, waiting for him outside the bedroom door.