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Rated: GC · Book · Action/Adventure · #1167223
A Navy SEAL, crippled by wounds, is given a chance to be whole again … but at what price?
#461735 added October 14, 2006 at 11:00pm
Restrictions: None
Chapter 37
CHAPTER 37

“You seem kinda nervous, Karen,” Amber asked as the Post-Modern Bimbos waited backstage at The Backbeat on Tuesday night. “Are you ok?”

“I just haven’t been feeling too well today,” ‘Karen’ replied. Brandi had taken on Karen’s appearance two hours earlier, and was dressed in one of her friend’s signature skin tight mini dresses. She desperately wanted a cigarette, but Karen did not smoke, so she could not either.

“Can you make it through the show?” Cyndi asked, concerned.

“I’ll be fine once I’m out there,” Brandi said.

Melissa pulled Brandi aside and pretended to be checking her outfit.

“You’ll be fine,” she whispered. “You know all the songs as well as Karen and you sound just like her.”

“It’s not the performance that worries me,” Brandi whispered back. “I’ve never held a form more than five hours. I’ve already been Karen for two and the show will last at least two. Then we have to breakdown.”

“They already think you’ve been sick,” Melissa said. “After the show, tell them you’re really feeling bad and need me to drive you home.”

“I don’t like lying to my friends!” Brandi hissed.

“It’s only for these last shows,” Melissa said. “Then we’ll be on break and have nothing scheduled until after New Year’s.”

“We’re on girls!” Cyndi called, and they made their way onto the stage. Brandi experienced a moment of extreme anxiety and then the music started and as soon as she began singing, she felt the fear vanish.

Brandi was quickly immersed in the performance and forgot about any other problems. She had not been concerned about her ability to pass herself off as Karen; she was designed to do things just like that. She was surprised at how much fun it was, and she really got into both performances; playing Karen and just being in front of the crowd. At one point she looked out and saw a blonde haired girl wearing dark glasses and a long, black dress, smiling and moving to the music. She smiled; Karen’s disguise was pretty good too.

It was exhilarating being up on the stage; the last time she had done anything even close to this had been years before as Brandon, singing Jimmy Buffet tunes at a navy bar near Norfolk. Now she was performing songs by Avril Lavigne, Michelle Branch and other contemporary female pop stars, as well as several numbers Melissa had written for the band. It was nothing like the music Brandon had performed or even listened to, and yet she found she identified with the songs far more, and her connection to the audience was much greater.

The crowd was not thinning out as they neared the end of their last set and the management asked them if they would play a little longer. Two hours stretched into three and by the time they finally retreated backstage Brandi was feeling increasingly weak. She was concentrating so hard to hold her form that she nearly collapsed and would have fallen if Cyndi and Renee had not caught her.

“You better get her home, Melissa,” Renee said, solving that problem for them. “We’ll take care of packing up.”

As soon as they were out of sight of the club Brandi lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, sighing as she exhaled.

“Can you hold on until we get home?” Melissa asked in a worried tone.

“I hope so, otherwise I’m gonna ruin Karen’s clothes when my boobs expand,” Brandi said, in her own voice. It sounded very odd coming from Karen’s body.

Karen was waiting for them as they entered, having left the club before the show ended. As soon as they walked through the door she and Melissa stripped the clothes off Brandi and with a whimpering cry she returned to her own form and passed out.

None of them had noticed the black sedan parked a short distance away from the house. Brandi had been far too out of it to have any hope of detecting the two men watching them. They reported that three young women had entered the house, none matching the description of the Genomorph.

“Do we maintain station?” one of the agents asked his superior over the radio.

“Negative,” came the reply. “It’s too risky, she could spot you. Return to the safe house. We’ll come up with a plan to flush her out.”

The car started and pulled away slowly, disappearing into the night.


© Copyright 2006 Scott Ramsey (UN: scottramsey at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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