This choice: Continue reading the "Proceedings ..." • Go Back...Chapter #24The Things That You Find on the Internet by: Seuzz   You turn the page. Hmm. A different story ...
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"My God," Angie gasped as the man stepped out of her bathroom. She stumbled back and sat onto the bed with her jaw practically in her lap. "You-- You look just like him!"
"Really?" the man said, sounding genuinely surprised and pleased. He turned and peered at himself in the bureau mirror and plucked at a bang. "I never even heard of this guy, and only had the pictures to go off of."
Angela leaped over to seize him by the shoulders, and spun him around. She grabbed the celebrity magazine from his hand and raised it next to his face. Her mouth split into a huge grin. "It's perfect. Is it really-- Really--?" She darted into the bathroom and looked around. Empty. She even looked in the tub, and returned to the bedroom shaking her head in wonderment. "When you went in, you were-- Well--"
"Go on, say it," the man smiled. "Kinda shrimpy and funny looking, right?"
She laid her hands on his shoulders and ran them down his arms. "What about the rest of you?" Her palms came to rest on his chest.
"Well, I had to improvise. I figured he looked kind of good, though."
Angela bit her upper lip, and he didn't resist as she pulled his sports coat off him and let it drop to the floor. She yanked his dress shirt out of his slacks and quickly unbuttoned it, working up to the collar. Then it came off too, leaving him in a white t-shirt that clung closely to well-formed pecs. She frowned. "I don't think he has--" She plucked distastefully at the curly chest hair.
"Oh, he goes for the shaved look, huh?" He rubbed at his chest through the t-shirt, and the dark hairs came loose and drifted away.
Angela's eyes glistened with anticipation, and then she lunged in and gave him a quick but deep kiss. "Oh God," she blushed. "Maybe I shouldn't have-- I mean--"
"You're paying for the afternoon," he laughed, and grasped her elbows lightly. "What do you want to do?"
The sound in her throat started as a moan but quickly climbed into something between a growl and a yelp. She flung herself back on the bed. "I want to eat you all up. Make a total meal out of you."
His eyes twinkled. "Yes, you strike me as a 'dessert-first' kind of girl. But, um--" He tugged at his ear. "Wouldn't the illusion be more convincing if we took it kind of slow? Like, if we pretended I'm really--" He glanced down at the name on the magazine, and his eyebrows twitched. "Pretended I'm really dreamboat here, and I stopped by for a cup of sugar, and you invited me in, and we got to talking, and--"
Angela rubbed a bit of drool from her lip with a dainty fingertip. "Role playing," she murmured hungrily. "I haven't done role-playing since--" She jumped up. "Come on into the kitchen. I got all the sugar you want in there." She took him by the hand, practically yanking him off his feet as he bent to retrieve his shirt and jacket.
"Stay away from the windows," she warned as they crossed a large sitting room. "I don't want the lawn crew seeing you. If David found out--"
"Who's David?"
"My husband. He'd kill me if--"
"I thought you told me it was his idea."
"His idea of a joke. I was watching you--" She giggled. "On TV, and I said if he died and left me all his money, I'd use it to rent--" She giggled again. "I'd rent you for a night. He said you'd be out of my price range, even with his money and insurance. I said I didn't care--"
"How many rooms are in this house?" her paramour said distractedly as they passed through what appeared to be a third living room.
"Twenty-nine. And he said a shapeshifter would be cheaper. 'And where would I find a shapeshifter?' I asked. 'Take out an ad,' he said. 'Look on the internet. You can get anything on the internet these days.'" They were in the kitchen by now, and she leaned against the refrigerator, but the hunger in her eyes was directed entirely at him. "So I did, and here you are!"
"Yeah, the internet is a surprising place," he agreed. "Is that what your husband does? He's in social media or something?"
"No." She made a face. "Real estate. Warehouses."
"Huh. I figured if he's a young guy-- I mean, you can't be more than twenty-two--"
Angela gasped in delight. "Twenty-five, actually," she confessed. "But he's in his forties."
"Mmm."
Her face fell. "What does that mean?"
"It means ... 'mmm.' But can we eat something? Doing a change makes me real hollow inside."
And so they ate and they talked. Mostly she talked and he listened, but he filled in the gaps with little improvised lies to go with his assumed face, and she listened with a fascination that had more to do with his mouth than with the words that came out. And then they went back into the bedroom and took their clothes off and went at it like gangbusters. She was so excited she insisted on taking the top the first three times, and after she lay back exhausted he turned on his side and asked if she was happy and comfortable. "Mm-hmmm," she said lazily.
"Let me fluff your pillow for you," he said, and he straddled her and picked up one of the big pillows. She smiled up at him. He was so handsome, and so nice.
Then he laid the pillow across her face and held it down until she stopped struggling.
When he was satisfied that her pulse wasn't coming back, he got up and pulled on his boxers and started going through the dressers. Carefully he set out all the jewelry and examined it. There was far too much there to be replaced all at once, so he set most of it aside and only pocketed a few small things, like her wedding ring. Examination of her closets showed some dresses and furs that would also fetch a nice price. Probably she had other expensive things stored away, but that could wait until later.
All this time, he kept smiling and humming to himself, like a man who was really enjoying his work.
When he was satisfied with his cataloging, he got back in bed next to her and laid his left hand flat on the back of hers. Slowly, his hand changed, becoming smaller and softer and more delicate. The color and the changes continued to creep up his arm even after he switched to undertake the same operation on the right hand. Then he wedged himself atop her and put his legs next to hers, studying and comparing them closely as he brought his into alignment. They were nice legs, and well tanned--maybe she had done a lot of swimming. He then laid atop her, breathing carefully as his chest expanded and drooped. He ran one hand through her hair, smoothing it out carefully, even as he ran the fingers of his other hand through his own hair, spreading it out carefully as well, until it was well past his shoulders.
Then he fetched a large mirror from her bathroom, and balanced it on his chest so that it caught both of their reflections: His cheekbones rose and his cheeks sank; his chin lost its cleft; his brow softened and drooped; his nose turned up a little; and his eyes turned violet.
When he was done he dressed and carefully wrapped her in the bedclothes and carried her out to his car. It was a two hour drive out to the country, to the spot he had already chosen. Then he stopped by a jeweler to drop off the pieces he had selected so they could be copied into cheaper material. The rest he scattered around various pawn shops.
* * * * *
"How was Houston?" Angela asked David three days later when he walked into the living room and dropped the suitcases. She laid aside the magazine and smiled up lazily at him.
He sighed, then froze. Angela? In a negligee? At this time of day? With that kind of smile for him? He advanced slowly with a frown and squinted at her. Then he broke into a smile. "My God," he exclaimed. "You look just like her." Angela giggled. "Have any trouble?"
"No. I've had to stay away from the neighbors, but otherwise--" She shrugged. "You have my money?" He took an envelope from his pocket. "You know, if you don't want your wife disappearing quite so abruptly--"
"I wanted something faster and cheaper than a divorce."
Angela sighed and took the envelope.
But David's fingers remained locked on it even after she'd grasped it. He was staring at the ring on her finger. "The hell--?" he said softly. "That's not hers. It's a fake." His eyes blazed as he looked up. "The fuck are you trying to pull, you--"
She sighed again. "You would object to a little light chiseling, wouldn't you, you cheap bastard." And then she stabbed him in the throat with the letter opener she'd been hiding in her other hand.
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It took several weeks, after disposing of him in turn, to sell off his assets even at a distressed price, and to offload the house and all its furnishings. But it came to several million dollars, all of which he converted into physical gold and carried off to bury with the hoard he'd been patiently accumulating for several thousand years. It distressed the bankers to see those kinds of numbers withdrawn, but he was old-fashioned. And besides, unlike his latter-day victims, he didn't trust anything--even banking--that could be done over the internet.
* * * * *
To continue investigating the room: "Disposing of Lucy"    indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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