Zippered Flesh: Tales of Body Enhancements Gone Bad!

by Nicholson, Scott; Shirley, John; Jones, Adrienne; Mannetti, Lisa; Masterton, Graham; Laimo, Michael; Rosamilia, Armand; Colyott, Charles; Bailey, Michael

  Opening the door, I blinked, squinting as the big redhead shone a flashlight at me. “Whoa.” I backed up. “What’s going on?”

  He lowered the light. “Sorry to get you out of bed, but we need to search your house.”

  I thought of the bag of high-quality cannabis I kept in the freezer, and my intestines gurgled. “Um ... why?”

  The second cop stepped forward. He was older than the redhead, with graying, brown hair and ruddy cheeks, folksy looking until you saw the eyes. His expression said he’d gladly make you bleed if you even thought about pissing him off. “We’re pursuing a crime suspect,” he said. “He headed up this way. Yours is the only house in the area, we want to make sure he didn’t break in here to hide before we move on.”

  Reasonably sure no one was hiding in my small house, and guessing they’d not be looking for him in my freezer, I let them in.

  My cottage had just one small bedroom, a bathroom, kitchen and living area, but the cops tore through with aggressive thoroughness, opening closets, cabinets, and cupboards. I sat in a kitchen chair, watching the tall redhead scour the pantry while the other one went down to check out the basement. The tall guy seemed nervous, his expression tight and flushed, unlike the emotionlessly chiseled cop-face he wore in town.

  I heard the other cop stomping up the wooden stairs from the basement, and then he appeared in the kitchen doorway. Ignoring me, he spoke directly to the other officer. “Looks empty, but we’ll keep a detail on the property. The others are checking the woods.” He looked at me. “You fish?”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry?”

  “Fish,” he said, casting an imaginary line, then reeling it in. “You’ve got the pond out back. I’d guess most folks would rent this place as a fishing getaway.”

  “Ah, right. The pond is nice, but, no, I don’t fish. I’m just here to sort out my head. I’m a science teacher in Boston. Took a leave of absence. Life’s been a little stressful lately.”

  They exchanged a glance. The chubby one looked around at the mess, and then raised a brow at me. “Science, huh? Mr. uh, what is your name?”

  “Jason Sarno.” I held my hand out to shake. He didn’t take it.

  “Mr. Sarno, would you mind if we took a look at the back of your neck?”

  I thought I’d heard him wrong. “My ... my neck? What for?”

  The ginger cop moved in a slow sidestep behind me as the chubby one edged closer, like they expected me to run.

  “Will you or will you not let us look at your neck, Mr. Sarno?”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “Yeah, sure. Look at my neck.”

  He raised his left hand, right hand resting on the gun at his hip. “Put your hands over your head and keep still,” he said.

  I did what he asked. The officer’s cold fingers trailed up the back of my neck, and despite the oddness of the moment, I was self-conscious about my appearance for the first time in weeks. He lifted the mop of hair I’d let grow past my collar. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d brushed it. Letting myself go had been intentional, part of my self-imposed exile, but I hadn’t planned on other people examining me, poking around my dirty house, invading my disgrace.

  “He’s clear.”

  When the fingers were gone, I took a breath of relief, unsure why. What were they expecting to find on my neck? A packet of cocaine?

  “You got a phone here?” the shorter one asked.

  I shook my head. “I came here to be alone, without a lot of modern conveniences.”

  The cop huffed, and pointed to the box of empty beer bottles next to the trash bin. “Is beer not a modern convenience? What about electricity? You out hunting your own food, then?”

  “No, I meant ... well, this is pretty back to nature for me, coming from the city.”

  The cop’s smirk told me he’d been yanking my chain. “Yeah, I didn’t quite figure you for a hunter, seeing you got a pond stocked with trout out there and you don’t even fish. I’m guessing your main prey is salami sandwiches.” He laughed, throwing his head back. The other cop tried to grin but didn’t quite make it, still looking nervous.

  “Are we ... done here?” I asked, my face burning. The hangover initially scheduled for sunrise had awoken early and tapped ruthlessly at my temples.

  They started for the door. “You see anything, hear anything strange, come out and tell one of the officers,” the short one said. “We’ll be stationed around your property and the pond. Anyone tries to break in here, you come running. You really don’t have a phone?” He paused in the doorway, eyeing me with disdain.

  “I don’t have a phone. What exactly did this guy do? The one you’re looking for.”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” he said, and they left the house, climbing off the porch and heading toward my backyard.

  “Why are you guarding the pond?” I called out.

  They both stopped, turning back. The redhead looked sick and frightened, sweat shining on his skin. “The guy we’re after is good at hide and seek. Now, please, just stay inside until we tell you otherwise,” he said. “If you need to leave the house, let one of us know. We’ll be out back.”

  They disappeared around the corner of the house. I shut the door and ran to the living room, peering out the back window at the darkness of the woods. Three flashlights danced around the pond area, another two in the woods to the side. I shook my head, rubbing my temples. Moving to the kitchen, I grabbed the bottle of pain pills from the cabinet over the stove, my heart sinking to find only one left. I popped it down with a sip of water from the faucet, knowing it wouldn’t do the trick.

  Getting back to sleep didn’t seem like an option, with cops crawling over my property and the threat of some anonymous perp breaking in. So much for my restful retreat.

  I longed to smoke a joint. My nerves danced, fueling the pending hangover’s throbbing pulse. I glanced at the freezer. Smoking a joint with a yard full of cops was probably not the best idea I’d ever had. But screw it, I needed it. I could take it in the bathroom and turn the fan on.

  I opened the freezer door and something sprang out, knocking me onto my ass. It rolled off me onto the kitchen floor, a shiny lump of flesh, dog-sized and hairless. I crab-shuffled back on my elbows as it unraveled, unfolding itself from a fetal ball, revealing arms, legs, head. The scream that had stalled in my throat found its way out, but the sound was cut short as the thing dove on me, an icy hand clamping painfully down on my mouth.

  The eyes looking down on me were yellow with large black pupils, skin pale-green with splashes of turquoise. “Not a sound,” it said, and despite the slash of gills on either side of its rubbery mouth, it was the voice of a man.

  He released my neck, but hovered over me, a web-fingered hand poised to clamp down again if necessary. “Not a sound,” he said again. I nodded.

  He stood. One of his cold, slippery hands grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet.

  As I faced the thing, my body went so still I almost forgot to breathe. It felt instinctual, my primitive mind urging me to become invisible, nonthreatening, like a rabbit freezing stiff at the whiff of a predator.

  He was nearly my height, nude, and human looking, despite the odd skin and eye color. Even with the gills, webbed fingers, and what looked like flaps of blue seaweed crowning his scalp, he had a man’s shoulders, chest, and abdomen, his navel a blue dent darkening rippled green flesh. I tried not to look at his penis.

  “I need some clothes,” he said.

  I nodded. “Oh, um, okay. My room. I ... they’re in my room.”

  “Show me. And don’t try anything.” He fanned his hand in front of my eyes, and I gaped at the sharp talons.

  Shuffling out of the kitchen, we made our way down the hall and into my bedroom, the creature gripping my arm.

  When I flicked the light on, he yanked me back, out of the way of the window, nearly pulling my arm out of the socket.

  “Ouch!” I fell back against the wall. “Take it easy, the shade is d
own.”

  A clawed finger pointed to my dresser. “Clothes. Something dark. Preferably black.”

  When he let go of me, I dug through my drawers. I was again struck by how normal he sounded, so much that I might have believed this was just a guy in a costume. But all my instincts screamed other, different. It wasn’t just his appearance. His life-force, energy, the very presence of him felt wrong.

  When I was six, my father took me walking through the woods and we came upon a dead deer. She hadn’t been dead long, no decay or sign of injury, but I still didn’t believe it when he said she was sleeping. Something inside me seemed wired to recognize that which is foreign to life, and there’s nothing more alien than death. I knew this creature in my room wasn’t human, the same way I’d known that deer wasn’t breathing.

  “Here.” I handed him a pair of black running pants and a navy- blue T-shirt.

  He got dressed, yellow eyes on me with silent warning. When he’d finished, he sat on the edge of my bed. He remained silent for close to a minute, and in my terror I felt the need to babble. “I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting shoes.” I pointed to his webbed toes, attempting a friendly chuckle.

  His blue lips curled in a semblance of a sneer. Bowing his head, he reached back, the claw of his index finger prodding behind his neck. “Damn it, what is wrong with this thing,” he muttered. His weird face twisted, frustrated; then there was a click and a hiss, like air being let out of a tire.

  I jumped back against the wall as his body rippled and pulsed, green skin smoothing to golden tan, gills retracting; the weedy scalp fins elongating and twisting into hair. The rough flesh smoothed and the shifting stopped. Then it was a young man sitting on the bed, wearing my clothes. A young man I recognized.

  “You!”

  He ran a hand through his dreadlocks and I was pleased to see he no longer possessed claws. “Yeah.” He stretched his back, spine cracking. “Me.”

  “What ... the hell.” I stared at him, stunned. His name was Tony. I knew this because I’d heard others greet him at the liquor store where he worked. He’d rung my beer purchases up dozens of times since I moved here, a handsome young guy with a mop of sandy dreadlocks and a perpetual suntan.

  I liked Tony; he knew how to mind his business, a sign of professionalism the way I saw it. A liquor store clerk knew better than to comment on your purchases, or the frequency with which you made them, and Tony always rang me up politely, never looking me in the eye or acknowledging that I’d been in there three times already that week. I appreciated it. Even pharmacists weren’t so discreet. They always had to add “Don’t use that cream internally” or “Stay out of the sun or that rash will spread” while a line of customers pretended not to eavesdrop.

  “Why,” I started, struggling for words. “Why are you an alien, Tony?”

  He finished cracking his knuckles and gave me a sour grin. “Oh, I don’t know. Shit happens. Jason, is it?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t think you knew my name.”

  “Small town,” he said, and stood, stretching his legs. “The locals call you Twelve-Pack Jason. How much food do you have in the house?”

  I scowled. “I don’t know. Not much. Why?”

  “Because I need to wait it out here until those boneheads out back give up and leave. Who knows how long that will be, but—OH, no. No, no no!”

  He grabbed his cheeks as his face rippled, greenish tint surfacing like a neon blush. Then the pulsing, rippling contractions shook his body again, lumps traveling over his visible flesh. A click, the hissing sound, and Tony’s features contorted, slipping back into creature form, slick and shiny with gills, dreadlocks back to weedy darkened flaps.

  I stared at this thing wearing my clothes, and this time I truly forgot to breathe, clinging to the dresser as a dizzy spell hit. Tony didn’t seem to notice, or care, as he was busy punching my bed, his clawed hands balled into fists.

  “Damn it! Piece of crap! This can’t be happening.” He straightened up and paced my tiny bedroom, shaking his weird head. “Can’t be happening. Not now. Shit.”

  I held to the dresser, catching my breath. “What’s wrong with you?” I whispered.

  He made a sound that was likely a laugh but sounded more like a growl. “Oh, gee, what’s wrong with me? Not much. Just that I need to leave town stat; this implant is malfunctioning, and I can’t go out in public like THIS!” He threw his clawed hands up, showing them to me. He then whirled away, kicking the bed with a frustrated growl.

  “What is it for?” I asked. “Your ... implant.”

  He stopped pacing and tilted his head at me. “I know you drink a lot, but are you dense? You know what it’s for, you just saw it work.”

  “Makes you look human,” I said. “So you can blend.”

  He clapped his hands. “Change of plans, Twelve-Pack. There’s someone down in the village who can fix this.” He lifted his flaps of scalp weed and showed me the back of his neck where a dime-sized silver plug stuck out like a metallic nipple. “Or he better be able to fix it if he doesn’t want an ass kicking.”

  At first I thought there were black veins spider-webbing out from the implant, but they were very fine wires embedded into his flesh.

  “Not that I should blame the manufacturer. When the cops raided my place, one of them whacked a gun on the back of my head. I got away, but he must have damaged the implant. Shit!” He kicked my bed again and I jumped.

  “So, are you leaving?” I asked hopefully.

  “Well, yeah, I need to get across town. A place called Michelangelo’s on Alpine Drive.”

  “Michelangelo’s Body Design? It’s a piercing shop.”

  His shiny green face stretched around the mouth, a smile, I supposed. “You know it, good. You’ve got a car, right? The jeep outside?”

  “You want me to drive you? What about the cops? I mean, I’m terrified of you, don’t get me wrong, but that little fat cop gives me the creeps, too.”

  “He’s not a cop.” Tony shut off the light and peeked out the window through the side of the shade.

  “He looks an awful lot like a cop,” I said.

  “Well he’s not. He’s a hunter.”

  I dared a step closer to alien Tony. “What’s he hunt?” I winced.

  He held his arms out and did a little twirl. “Guess.”

  “How did he find you? I mean, I know you’ve been living here since I moved in, at least two months.”

  “I’ve been here three years, and got left alone until now. It’s complicated. He’s a slippery bastard. Has this new tracker that measures chemical changes in fresh water supplies in the area. If one of us is living nearby, we cause a slight, but very specific, change in the water composition. It’s a setback, but we’re looking into a way to remedy it.”

  I sat on the bed, hands on my knees. “One of us? You mean you’re not the only one? There are others like you in the world?”

  He did a double-take, turning away from the window. “Sorry to fuck up your reality, pal, but there are others like me in this town. Which is why I need you to take me to Michelangelo’s. I need to see Fat Pierre.”

  “Is ... Fat Pierre an alien?” I asked.

  Tony gave me a sour face. His expressions were becoming more discernible, even in creature form. “No, he’s not an alien. Fat Pierre’s a body modification specialist down at Michelangelo’s. He’s been working both sides for years. He’s trustworthy.”

  I threw my hands up. “I’m sorry, it’s just ... I was picturing some secret underground lab full of scientists in white coats fixing your implant. Not some sweaty tattoo artist in the village.”

  “Fat Pierre only poses as a sweaty tattooist. Trust me, he’s much more. So will you drive me or not?”

  “How am I supposed to get you out? They said I have to tell them if I leave the property. They’ll see you! They’ll probably search my jeep.”

  His yellow eyes flicked side to side as he thought, finally resting on me. “You got a cooler?”

/>   “Yeah. Why?”

  “How big is it?”

  I moved to the kitchen and he followed, watching as I pulled my big plastic beer cooler from the pantry. I put it on the floor and looked at him.

  He scowled at it, chewing a claw nervously. “I think I can manage that.”

  “Manage what?”

  “I can roll myself pretty tight. I’ll get in the cooler. You cover me with ice and beer or something. Tell them you’re going to the beach. Everyone in town knows you’re a drunken slack-ass, they won’t question it. Then you can drive me to the body modification place.”

  I was actually getting annoyed with this guy, gills or not. My hangover pain was starting to take dominance over the shock of having an alien in my house. I just wanted him to leave so I could go to sleep. I’d process the quagmire of his existence later, over a strong cup of coffee. “Why the hell did you come up here, to my house, anyway? Why couldn’t you just hide in the woods or something?”

  “I was planning to hide it out in your pond. I can stay underwater for hours, but the bastards headed me off. Now will you help me get out of here or not?”

  “Why should I? I don’t know anything about you. Maybe you deserve to be caught. Maybe you’re here to take over the planet and harvest our organs.”

  “That’s brilliant, Jason,” he said. “I’ve got a world domination gig, but I choose to work at the liquor store for a shit wage. That makes sense.”

  I shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. You’re my first alien. In all the movies, you guys want to kill us or eat us or enslave us.”

  He held his hand up, fanning out his claws. “Okay then, if that’s what you’re expecting, we’ll do it your way. Tell you what. If you don’t help me escape, I’ll rip your throat out. Does that work for you?”

  I took a step back, but then Tony’s yellow eyes widened, and he doubled over, clutching his abdomen. “Oh, come ON!” he shouted.