by RJ Blain
I obeyed, snapping a picture of each bill and the request for a follow-up. True to his word, he called me back within five minutes. “I’ll have one of the CDC secretaries file this mess with your Species Anti-Discrimination claim. It’s bogus, and yes, the CDC can easily verify you have zero evidence of ever having any of these conditions—especially since we have your eye in our possession and have done a full scan of it.”
“So they didn’t toss it in a trash bin?”
“If they had, it would’ve been a five hundred thousand dollar fine.”
I whistled. “How much will I owe for the CDC handling and storing it?”
“Nothing. How much did they charge you for storage and preparation fees?”
“A hundred.”
“Do you have the receipt?”
“Of course.”
“I’m going to send you a list of documents I will need for your case. Do not pay those bills. I will have someone draw up a letter of refusal for you and file it on your behalf.”
“How much is this going to cost me?”
“Nothing. It falls under the same provisions as providing a lawyer for anyone accused of a crime. In this case, it protects patients from medical fraud. While the government would typically provide the lawyer, the CDC has the right to claim any case that falls under the Species Anti-Discrimination Act, especially if the case involves a government employee, which technically you are.”
“What’s the catch?”
Dr. Yasolovic laughed. “There is no catch, Mr. Gibson. Insurance companies would rather individuals weren’t aware that they have recourse available to them, especially if the case involves discrimination and insurance fraud with falsified claims about someone’s health. As the CDC is responsible for public health, it falls under our jurisdiction when something like this happens. Those documents you photographed support the discrimination case and the police department’s failure to provide proper and adequate health care for you. I’ll contact a few reputable insurance companies on your behalf. Your insurer is under contract with the CPD, correct?”
“Yes. I was set up with the insurance when I was hired by the CPD.”
“Are there any circumstances you can think of that might support a claim against the CPD?”
“Someone attempted to frame me for murdering Mark O’Conners, the individual who’d shot me in Lincoln. Someone neglected to update Captain Martins with information.” I explained what had happened at the station.
“I’ll contact the FBI and get someone on it.”
“The CDC can do that?”
“Your shooting is directly related to the discrimination case; we wouldn’t have uncovered evidence without it. Thus, the CDC has jurisdiction to request information. Since the case crossed state lines, the FBI has jurisdiction. Tell me, Mr. Gibson. How do you like the taste of just desserts?”
“I’d much prefer still having a career. I don’t need to read the writing on that wall. This will just nail the coffin closed.”
“Don’t write off work within law enforcement quite yet. The United States is a large place, and no matter what people here think, Chicago isn’t actually the center of the universe. Text me an email address where I can reach you. I’ll have one of our lawyers contact you with all the documentation we need for your case.”
“Thank you, Dr. Yasolovic.”
“It’s not often I get to actually mean this when I say it, but my pleasure.”
Curiosity got the better of me, and armed with a knife and surrounded by a pile of boxes, I went to work. I targeted the package from my father first.
Big mistake.
I should have known he wanted some payback for me not coming home immediately following the loss of my eye so he could smother me with his affections. A pressurized can delivered the payload of glitter, which bloomed from the box in a mushroom cloud of tiny sparkles. Blue, pink, and silver coated me from head to toe, glimmered in the air, and settled in the carpet.
“What a dick.” I shook my hands, which shined. Not only had he used glitter, he had picked varying sizes, from powder to metallic confetti. It took me several minutes to figure out how he had rigged the trap. The bastard had fixed the box so when I pulled open the flaps, the trigger depressed on the canister of compressed air, delivering the demonic craft payload. More glitter filled the box, and since he hadn’t been satisfied with his initial attack, a second box waited inside the first, forcing me to dip my hands in more glitter to dig it out.
Resigned to my sparkly fate, I pulled out the second package, setting it aside. Since my father would do something evil like burying a small but important object within several inches of glitter, I checked the bottom of the box. Sure enough, I found another box and an envelope.
Death would be too lenient a punishment for Dad. Muttering curses, I shoved the trapped package aside and went to work on the second package.
A second cloud of glitter puffed in my face. Luck alone spared me from getting any of it in my eye, but I’d be picking sparkly bits of craft herpes from my hair for the rest of my life.
Since my apartment was permanently ruined, I dumped the contents out on the carpet. A gift-wrapped box waited for me. It was too small for a can of compressed air, so I tore into, tossing the wrapping paper aside. More glitter poured to the floor, accompanying a clear plastic box with a tag indicating my father had given me a watch.
Did I want a new watch bad enough to deal with more glitter to retrieve it? I scowled, and once again, curiosity got the better of me. Glitter poured out, adding to the disaster. Inside, safe in a plastic bag, was a digital watch, the kind meant to link with my phone.
I weighed the device’s coolness factor against the evils of glitter. Dad would still pay, and he would do so for a long time. Revenge would be served when he least expected it, and I’d make sure to record every minute of my triumph. Setting the plastic baggie and the watch on my coffee table, where I hoped it would be safe from any other fiendish evils Dad had in store for me, I reached for the third box.
Continuing the sparkling theme, it contained more crap for me to clean up and directions for reaching my parents’ house along with a gift card for coffee.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, tossing the card onto the table with the watch. With my luck, the envelope would contain some sort of plea to come and visit. Part of the glitter armageddon was my fault; I hadn’t told my parents I was going to New York until right before I’d left. Picking up the envelope, I tore it open. Unlike the rest of the packages, Dad hadn’t contaminated it with glitter. A folded sheet of paper waited for me.
Mom’s handwriting greeted me, and her note contained a list of tricks and tips on cleaning up copious amounts of glitter and a gift card so I could buy myself a new vacuum, which I would need.
I pulled out my phone, grumbled complaints over the sheen of glitter on the screen, and called my father’s cell.
“If it isn’t my wayward son. You’re not in Des Moines,” he snarled.
“Per our father and son agreement, I’m notifying you that you and Mom deserve a fate worse than death, and I’ll be coming for you. Prepare yourselves, for revenge will come when you least expect it.”
“I see you’ve wandered your way back to Chicago.”
“I see you’ve discovered the existence of compressed air.”
“Are you shiny, my precious little boy?”
“Are you trying to provoke me into patricide?”
“You didn’t tell us you were going back to Chicago.”
I sighed and flopped onto the floor, staring up at my ceiling. “It was a non-optional trip. The CDC wanted to do some testing. I just got home to discover my loving mother and father had gotten bored, discovered the existence of compressed air, and somehow had gotten their hands on an obscene amount of glitter.”
“You know you wanted a new vacuum cleaner. Don’t deny it.”
“Hey, Dad?”
“What?”
“Christmas dinner is going to be so, so
fun this year. I just thought I’d give you advance warning. I’m expecting all four grandparents to attend. Don’t disappoint me.”
The silence assured me Dad worried because he couldn’t think of any reason for there to be any surprises for the holidays. “Should I be concerned?”
“Oh, yes. Especially now that I’m covered head to toe in glitter. If I lose my security deposit because of this, you’re repaying me in werewolf fur yarn. I’m sure Mom will enjoy helping me with this endeavor.”
“Dare I ask?”
“The CDC did a DNA scan as part of their tests.”
“Uh oh.”
“Do you have anything you’d like to tell me, Dad?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m listening.”
“So maybe your grandpa might not be exactly human.”
“May not be exactly human? You mean not human at all?”
“Basically.”
“Your side or Mom’s?”
“That’s where it gets complicated.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Both sides.”
“Say what?”
“Your mom’s dad is an incubus. My grandfather’s dad is also an incubus. And no, they’re not the same incubus, nor are they related. I didn’t even know until my great-grandfather showed up at one of the family reunions and met my father-in-law. Things got a bit awkward at that point, since your mom had no idea she’s an incubus’s daughter. You turned out all right, so no harm done, right? You’ve never demonstrated any incubus traits, so it’s not a big deal. You’re still human.”
“Fifty-five percent human. That does classify me as a human, barely.”
“You look like a human, you smell like a human, you act like a human. I say if you look, smell, and act like a human, you’re a human. And that’s a majority percentage, so obviously you’re human. Do we get to play ‘identify our son’s species’ over Christmas dinner? That sounds like a fun game. Make it really entertaining for us. I’m looking forward to it.”
While it would’ve been wise to confess I was likely a shapeshifter of some form, I decided to wait. Until I shifted—if I ever shifted—it made no difference. When I thought it through, I realized if I told either of my parents, they’d take matters into their own hands.
Being glitter bombed in my apartment would only be the beginning of their evils. Under no circumstances could I let them find out I was an unidentified shifter. If startling me into shifting for the first time didn’t work, they’d try to scare me. If frightening years off my life didn’t do the trick, they’d move onto something worse, like embarrassing me into shifting. If that didn’t work, I had no idea what they’d do, but I wouldn’t like it.
“Don’t sulk, Shane. We didn’t tell you because we were worried you’d be upset or worried over how having incubus genes might interfere with finding a wife. When you showed no sign of having an incubus heritage, we decided to leave it alone. Have you developed any sudden urges to sleep with every single woman who walks by?”
“The only urge I’m struggling with involves hunting you down and beating you for this glitter.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
How was it I still managed to lose the argument despite being the one side-swiped with surprise incubi relatives? “There’s no problem.”
“Good. You sound tired. Go get some sleep. Your mom’ll call you in the morning, I’m sure. I’ll also tell her there was a good reason you didn’t pick up the phone this morning so she stops sulking.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Anytime. Enjoy your glitter.” Dad hung up.
Instead of flinging my phone across my apartment, I set it on the coffee table, got to my feet, and trailed glitter all the way to my bathroom in the futile hope I could shower the majority off.
Twelve hours of undisturbed sleep did me a world of good, although it didn’t make my glitter problem go away. I doubted my neighbors appreciated me vacuuming at eight in the morning, but the mess had to go. My hair sparkled. Unless I got rid of the shimmering crap, I’d never be able to leave my apartment again.
My pride could handle only so much.
Two minutes after eight, my cell rang. A better son would have stopped vacuuming before answering, but I figured since Mom had joined forces with Dad to inflict the glitter apocalypse on me, she could deal with the noise. “I’m never opening a box from you again.”
Mom laughed. “Did the second box get you, too?”
“You’ve won this round, Mother. Expect retaliation.”
“How are you doing?”
“Plotting revenge, so not too bad. Yourself?”
“Your father tells me you returned to Chicago.”
“So I did, Mrs. Incubus’s Daughter.”
“You’re not going to be letting go of that anytime soon, are you?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“Are you using your new vacuum?”
“No, I’m using my perfectly good vacuum to clean up this mess you helped make. It’s everywhere. What possessed you to use so much?”
“We figured if we contaminated your apartment with enough glitter you’d come home for a visit.”
“You could’ve warned me.”
“Is there enough glitter you’re ready to come back home for a visit?”
“No.”
“Did we not use enough?”
“You used plenty. I have some stuff here I have to take care of. Maybe in a few weeks, assuming you keep your fridge clean and stop tossing pancakes on the ceiling. Also, tell Lewis I’ll be expecting my bike delivered to your garage in perfect condition with a full tank of gas.”
“Now look here, you.”
“No, you look here. I cleaned that toxic wasteland. If you want me to visit in the near future, you’ll keep it clean.”
“Darling, you raised a clean freak,” Mom called out.
“No, you raised a man with self-respect and dignity. That said, I have a lot of cleaning to do to restore what little self-respect and dignity I have left. Bye, Mom. Love you, but never again. Am I clear? Never again.”
She laughed. “All right. No more glitter. For now.”
“No, not for now. Never again.”
“We’ll see.”
“Mom.”
“Take care, sweetie. Call us if you need anything.”
“I need this damned glitter out of my carpet!”
Instead of offering wisdom or a promise never to glitter bomb me again, she hung up. My vacuum chose that moment to give up its will to live, spluttered, and died.
I didn’t blame it, not one bit.
With the help of a lint roller and some strategically placed garbage bags, I managed to escape my apartment without trailing glitter into the hallway. I still had some in my hair, but if anyone asked, I’d blame a random toddler. My parents were essentially overgrown toddlers, so it wasn’t really lying.
I almost made it to my old, beat-up car before a cruiser pulled up. Stripes refused to look me in the eye, but Michelle rolled down her window and leaned out. “Hey, stud. Fancy meeting you here. Goin’ somewhere?”
I turned, leaned against my car, and crossed my arms over my chest. “Stud?”
“It takes a real man to leave his home while… is that glitter?”
“I was assaulted by a pair of toddlers.”
“Toddlers? What toddlers?”
“Normal people call them parents. Me? I have a pair of toddlers. Remember that box I said came from my father?”
“Yes.”
“Glitter bomb. Apparently, I hadn’t been paying them sufficient attention.”
“Are you serious?” Michelle bit her lip, probably to keep from laughing at me. Stripes snickered, although he kept his gaze diverted.
“Since the glitter killed my vacuum, I’m going to the store to buy a new one. Ironically, the toddlers planned this from the start. Would you like a pair of parents? I’ll sell you mine for cheap.”
“No thanks.”
>
“Is there something I can do for you?”
“Not precisely. I wanted to swing over and give you the good news.”
“What good news?”
Michelle held out her fist and flung confetti in the air. “You didn’t kill someone. Congratulations!”
“Have you lost your mind?”
Stripes burst into a fit of laughter so intense he doubled over in his seat.
“Why would you say such a mean thing, Shane?”
“You just threw a handful of confetti at me, telling me something I already knew. But since you’re here delivering the good news, how did you find out?”
“The body was a fake.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The body was a fake. Since there was zero chance you could’ve committed the murder, the captain requested a full autopsy and evaluation done on the body, including a DNA test. It was a pig corpse transformed by a practitioner to look like the victim, who was spotted in New York City yesterday.”
“That was pretty dumb of him.”
“That’s what we thought. But why go through the effort of framing you for murder only to show up at his regular roost? It’s driving the captain mental. He wanted us to tell you to be careful, because something seems really fishy about this whole thing. You’re off the hook. I thought you’d like to know.”
“Thanks for letting me know. And hey, Kayne?”
Stripes canted his head. “What, Gibson?”
“You do realize I’m not going to bite you, give you any diseases, or otherwise mar your humanity, right?”
“Were you always this much of an asshole?”
“Yes. I just cared more about hiding it. Since I’ve got nothing to lose at this point, why not? Two-way street, buddy. Welcome to the club. It’s a pissy place to be, but you know what they say. Misery loves company.” Standing straight, I reached over and gave the roof of the cruiser a hearty slap.
“That was low, Shane.” Michelle scowled at me.
“So is being treated like I have the plague.” I dug my keys out of my pocket, tossed them in the air, and caught them. “Have a safe patrol, you two.”
