Shapeless

by Glenn Bullion

  "Yes, sir."

  Wheatley disappeared, and Donovan was left with his own thoughts, and his own anger. He once again looked at the good doctor below, and shook his head at the potential disaster that lay before him.

  Project P-132ERSH-012, or as it was affectionately referred to, Zero-Twelve, was mishandled from the very beginning. Donovan wasn't in charge, so his complaints fell on deaf ears. Now he was left to clean up the mess. It was the story of his career. He was very good at cleaning up messes.

  A public facility. Minimum security. Civilian scientists and doctors. All in the guise of hiding the project from budget meetings and roving eyes. One of the most important projects, subject to political maneuvering and games of hide the money.

  Donovan wondered if even his superiors realized the importance of Zero-Twelve. In their greed and arrogance perhaps they'd lost sight over time. It was sad, considering his superiors were supposed to be older and wiser than him.

  He pushed his frustration aside. He'd let himself feel emotions after Zero-Twelve was safely in custody. The town, Everton Fields, was a decent enough size. But he'd handled bigger. Wherever Zero-Twelve was, they would find him.

  It was just a matter of time.

  CHAPTER 4

  2016

  Brady Jones narrowed his eyes in confusion as the phone rang next to his bed. He gave it a glare, as if an angry enough look would make it shut up. Refusing to sit up, he glanced at the time on the alarm clock. It was only fifteen minutes past seven in the morning. His heart sank as he regarded what an early morning phone call meant on a day he was scheduled to work the second shift.

  "I'm not answering," he whispered aloud, turning over in bed. "Go to hell."

  It was something he'd said a hundred times, and not once did he take his own advice. He threw the sheets off in disgust and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Running a hand through his brown hair, he picked up the phone. He didn't have an answering machine, or even a smartphone. The old piece of technology from the twentieth century would simply continue to ring until someone answered, or the caller hung up.

  "Hello?"

  "Brady? Shit, you're alive? I was just getting ready to hang up."

  "No, you weren't. Don't lie."

  He cringed at the sound of Kyle's voice. They worked together as security guards at the mall. Using the word friend might have gone too far, but the two did occasionally eat lunch together when their shifts overlapped. Despite the ten-year gap in age Brady often felt he was the older of the two.

  There was only one reason Kyle would call.

  "Dude, I'm in some shit. I need your help. Can you cover my shift today?"

  "What the hell for?"

  "I was out late last night. Met up with a couple of ladies. I was going to call you, but I'm guessing you wouldn't have come."

  "And you would have been right."

  "Anyway, bottom line is I can barely walk. Just…you know, a little too much partying."

  "On a Thursday night?"

  "Who the fuck are you? My father?"

  "How old are you again?"

  "Hey, at least I get out. So, what do you say? Can you cover for me?"

  "I'm supposed to work tonight. Plus, drive the lot for a few hours."

  "Yeah? So?"

  "So, you want me to work fourteen hours?"

  "Ah, c'mon, man. What, you have a hot date tonight? Some chick you're hitting on the side? You finally pulling your dick out of the safety deposit box? You're young. You can handle it."

  Brady clenched his eyes shut. He knew he wouldn't say no. Not because he was a pushover, but because he truly had nothing better to do. He had no plans, besides streaming YouTube on TV. The extra money didn't hurt, either.

  "Dude," Kyle begged. "Save my ass here. I'll owe you one."

  "Yes, you will," Brady said, standing up from bed. "Lunch, every day, next week. You're buying."

  "What? Everyday?"

  "Yeah. Deal?"

  "Shit, I don't know. How about I fucking come over and cook and clean your apartment, too."

  "Okay, then. I'm hanging up now."

  "Wait! Okay, deal. You piece of shit."

  "You're welcome. See you Monday."

  Brady hung up and stretched his arms over his head. His foot caught on the sheets hanging from the bed, nearly tripping him as he headed for the bathroom. Regardless of which shift he worked his routine was always the same. Without a shower, he was no good for the day.

  He was nearly to the door when the shorts and tee shirt he'd slept in changed. Their color vanished and turned to a near-liquid substance before melding with his naked body. He'd stopped wearing real clothes once he turned eighteen and left his last foster home. Brady didn't know how he did what he did. He didn't know how he changed shape. But one of the many small bonuses was saving money shopping. With a mere thought, a pair of jeans, a suit, a robe, boxer briefs, shoes, sunglasses, socks, belts, it didn't matter what, would form from his essence and cover his body. If he could imagine it, he could reproduce it.

  Brady looked human, talked and moved like everyone else. But he knew he was very different.

  The shower did little to wake him up. It wasn't until he heard the loud crash from the apartment below that his eyes shot fully open. He shut off the water and listened intently. A few seconds of silence were followed by loud arguing and screaming. He shook his head and turned the shower back on. John and Sharon's fighting was reaching new levels lately. Two weeks ago, the police had to be called. At least this time they sent their kid off to school first.

  Most people, as part of their normal routine, browsed and picked out clothes for the day. Brady had no such hindrance. His closet was a magazine taken from the department store in the mall.

  With only a towel wrapped around him, he walked into the living room and grabbed the magazine from the coffee table. He flipped through the pages, looking for something that caught his eye. His memory of clothes had grown over the years, but he often found himself going back to the basics. Jeans, simple shirts with no logos or designs. White socks and tennis shoes. Occasionally in the summer he would wear sandals. But every now and then he wanted to try something new, and a peek at a fashion magazine sometimes sparked the imagination.

  But not this time. His choice of clothes didn't matter too much on a weekday, regardless. He'd be stuck in his uniform most of the day. He flung the towel on the arm of the couch and concentrated on a few items he kept close to the front of his memory. Black underwear, tan shorts, shoes, socks, a gray tee shirt. Everything felt real to the touch. Nothing fancy at all. He knew he wouldn't turn heads at a party.

  That was always one of his goals. Something he'd learned surviving six foster homes, and from the fact that he wasn't human.

  Blend in as much as possible.

  After a bowl of cereal and a glass of chocolate milk he left the apartment and shut the door behind him. He glanced over his shoulder at the landing, to make sure he was alone. His shape-shifting abilities weren't limited to clothes and objects. It was a simple task to liquefy his finger and shove it into the lock. He felt for the tumblers, lining them up, then re-solidified his finger just enough to turn the lock. It was a nice benefit to being whatever he was. Brady had stopped needing keys a long time ago.

  His apartment was on the third floor. As he rounded the second-floor landing, he listened in on John and Sharon's fight. He couldn't pick out the words, but Brady had no doubt they were fueled by alcohol. He'd only met John a few times, and each time he had a slur to his voice.

  The muffled shouts and angry words brought back memories.

  Brady pushed open the front door and circled around the apartment building. There was a large wooded area that separated the apartment complex from a neighboring shopping center. He used the trees as a personal parking lot, of sorts. He didn't own a car.

  He never needed one.

  Upon entering the safe, dark shadows, Brady willed himself to change. A picture of the animal formed in his m
ind, and his body followed suit to copy it. His arms and legs shrank and pulled into his main body mass. His form turned malleable, becoming smaller and smaller, folding in on itself to take up less space. Wings sprouted, followed by a beak and talons. Black feathers completed the transformation, and he beat his wings slowly, adjusting to his new form.

  A raven was about as small a form as Brady could go. As he aged and grew the smaller forms took more effort, and simply didn't feel comfortable. His days of scaring the third-grade girls at dance club by turning into a mouse and running into the classroom were over. Those were fun times.

  But not as fun as flying.

  He soared up and landed near the top of a tree, to gauge the wind. It was a beautiful spring morning, just slightly breezy. A robin sang from a branch nearby. Brady always wondered if the animals nearby knew what he was. Did the robin think he was a raven? Or was the song some kind of warning, telling him that he was an impostor?

  Brady leapt from the tree and flew over the wooded area. He circled the apartment building, just to stretch his wings, and then headed for work. Enjoying the town from an amazing vantage point always humbled him. His life had been complicated. No memories of any family, bouncing from one foster home to the next. He'd learned long ago to hide whatever he was, to never let anyone close, never let anyone see what he was capable of. Friendships weren't something he excelled in.

  But he could fly. He could even change into a fish and breathe underwater. Maybe an occasional bout of loneliness was a small trade-off for that privilege.

  The flight across town took ten minutes. He weaved in between buildings, soared low across traffic, just for the thrill. Several people on the streets pointed out the large raven, some even trying to take a picture. He kept on his way, dreading the long work day ahead of him.

  Brady approached the mall and circled the parking lot. There were more cars than usual for a Friday morning. The weather was getting nicer, and people were getting out more. That usually meant his work day would go by faster. More kids would be out to steal from stores. More shoppers would lock themselves out of their cars.

  He glided to his normal landing spot, one of the loading docks for the department stores. The corner by the dock was invisible from any outside cameras, with very little foot traffic. Landing on the concrete, he shifted back to his typical shape. He pushed his transition harder and faster than he usually did. It would be an awkward situation if a straggler wandered behind the mall, passed the loading dock, and witnessed a bird changing into a man.

  Brady entered the mall through one of the main entrances. Some of the regulars, the early morning walkers, recognized him and waved. The McGee sisters, both very close to eighty years old, were wearing tight yoga pants as they raced by, their arms moving in rhythm. He smiled at the sight. He hoped he'd be that active when he was their age, although he'd probably pass on the yoga pants.

  Would he be able to change shape when he was eighty?

  He walked through the back halls of the mall to the security office. The office was a combination break room and locker room. The boss, Paula, wasn't at her desk. Since the locker room was empty Brady had no worries about changing shape. His physical body stayed the same, but his clothes twisted and shifted. Shorts stretched into slacks. His tee shirt became an ugly, dark blue button-down collared shirt. A generic name-tag grew over the left side of his chest. He actually tried wearing a real security uniform when he was first hired three years ago. It didn't matter if the uniform was real fabric, or material from his own essence. It was still uncomfortable.

  He rounded out the uniform with a nightstick that slid into existence from his belt. Real or not, it was very heavy and effective. He'd threatened many would-be shoplifters in the past with it.

  Brady double-checked his locker, making sure the normal contents were there. Money for lunch, a wallet he never carried, his driver's license for patrolling the parking lot. The only truly real thing he carried throughout the day was his radio. He gave himself one final glance in the mirror before letting out a deep sigh.

  "Let's go protect the mall."

  Hours passed. Brady went about his typical routine. He circled the mall on foot before occasionally driving the truck through the lot. He responded to a call about a possible shoplifter in one of the clothes shops. There was no action. The young man in question left the store when Brady arrived, empty handed. Over the years, he'd befriended some of the regular mall employees, and passed the time chatting in front of the stores. He wasn't one to typically wish for something to happen, but on a double-shift, he longed for a fight to break out, a mother to attack another in the children's play area, teens to run out of the lingerie shop with thongs on their heads, anything to liven up the day.

  During his break, he spent time in the department store, browsing through clothes. He'd committed several items to memory, some jeans and shirts that caught his eye. If the dressing rooms didn't have cameras in them he'd go through the human tradition of actually trying them on, see how they looked and felt.

  He was holding up a pair of jeans, turning them back and forth, when his radio squawked.

  "Kyle. Kyle, are you there?"

  Brady reached for the radio on his belt.

  "Hey, Paula. Kyle's not here today."

  "Brady?" Paula said. "Is that you?"

  "Yeah. I'm filling in for him."

  "Don't you work tonight, too?"

  "Yeah."

  Silence, followed by an irritated tone.

  "You know, there was a time when employees would call me when they were sick. You know, since I'm the boss and everything."

  "Uh, he said he wanted to call, but didn't want to bother you."

  "Is the shit-head even sick?"

  "He…well, on the phone—"

  "Stop, Brady, before you sprain your tongue. You're a horrible liar."

  Danielle, an employee at the store, smiled at the conversation as she straightened racks. She shook her head in amusement.

  "I'm actually pretty good at lying," Brady said.

  "Yeah, whatever. Well, since you're here, stop by the office. We'll get your annual review done."

  He cringed not only at the thought of his review, but at the mention of it on the radio. His hope that no one was listening was squashed when David, the other security guard on duty, chimed in.

  "Hey, Paula. Since you're doing his review, remember when Brady was trying to pull a kid out of the fountain last year, and he fell in? Do you knock points off for clumsiness?"

  "I'll be right there," Brady said, before more jokes were unleashed.

  He tucked his radio away. Danielle was at his side before he could return the jeans he was studying.

  "Are you buying those?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "I was just looking."

  "Here," she said, taking them. "I'll put them away."

  "Thanks. I'll catch up with you later."

  "Lunch, maybe?"

  It wasn't an unusual question. Many employees of the mall knew each other.

  "Sure."

  She caught his arm before he could walk away.

  "Did you really fall into the water fountain?"

  His lip nearly twitched into a smile.

  "Maybe."

  "You all hot and wet," Danielle said, laughing as she looked him up and down. "I would have killed to see that."

  "I'm sure Kyle has pictures."

  Brady smiled at her before leaving. Kyle was always telling him Danielle lusted after him, but he didn't believe it.

  It was a five-minute walk across the mall to the security office. Paula sat at her desk, reviewing a schedule. Behind her was a wall of monitors showing different parts of the grounds. The monitors rotated between cameras. He laughed as he caught a glimpse of a couple making out by the movie theater. People would be surprised at how much mall security could see.

  "Paula?" he said, knocking on the open door. "Still a good time?"

  His boss looked up and flashed Brady a small s
mile. He'd always liked Paula. She was funny, easygoing, but could be tough when needed. He would never forget the day he met her. She approached him as he ate lunch in the food court, on a break during a shopping trip. Out of the blue, she asked if he needed a job. She told him he would make for a good, intimidating security guard. She told him this as ketchup dripped from his hot dog onto his shirt.

  He accepted the job offer that day.

  "Brady, sit down. Okay, review time, review time," she repeated, shuffling papers on her desk. "I was never a big fan of this part."

  "You and me both."

  She smiled. Paula had the look of a woman who had seen things. A kind face, but occasionally her eyes would go dark and mysterious, maybe even angry. Brady guessed she was close to sixty. She kept herself in good shape. Her blond hair was beginning to show signs of gray; a fact Kyle had risked pointing out before.

  "Give me a sec," she said, still rifling through papers and tapping away at her keyboard. "Here we are, Brady Jones. Over the past year, you have been late exactly zero times, and you haven't taken a single sick day." She looked up and gave him a half smile. "Do you even get sick?"

  "Of course," he lied. Paula was wrong about him. He was a good liar, when he truly wanted to be. "But, you know, the mall needs me. How many packs of bubble gum would vanish if I wasn't here?"

  She laughed and looked back to the computer.

  "And obviously, you don't have a problem working extra, taking other lazy bastards' shifts that party too much. You do great work. Everyone here loves working with you. The stores all say when they call with a problem, they know you'll be the first one to show up."

  Brady felt his cheeks turning hot. He hadn't heard that before. It was good to hear, but a little embarrassing.

  "Excellent work, keep it up," she said. "Eight percent raise. But…let's see." She fumbled through more papers. "I'm not supposed to give a glowing review like this. I have to give you something to work on. So, what do you think? What bullshit can we make up?"

  "Uh, cover the lot more?"