SAMPLE CHAPTER FROM "Shapeshifter"

By - J.F. Gonzalez

XC Publishing, www.xcpublishing.com

CHAPTER THREE

The change hit unexpectedly.

Mark Wiseman had felt the signs since mid afternoon when he was down at the Student Union at Orange Coast College, studying for Psych 101. He had felt feverish through the lectures and when class had been dismissed he had wandered out for a breath of fresh air. The feeling hadn't dissipated and seemed to grow worse as he went to the Union. He tried to squelch the feeling during his studying. While it ebbed slightly, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen. No matter how weak the feeling was, it was present, which was all that was needed for the possibility of change.

It vanished entirely when he pulled in to work that evening. He clocked in, mumbled an amiable greeting to Bob Davis, the day shift supervisor who was the person he reported to directly. Mark liked this setup. His hours were four-thirty p.m. to twelve a.m. and Bob left the office at five o'clock sharp, no later. Mark saw Bob for a maximum of thirty minutes a week, which suited Mark just fine. The minimal supervision fueled him to perform his job at a basic level and to complete his nightly tasks on time. Without the watchful eye of the boss looming over his shoulder, Mark found that he could work quickly, with less inhibition and stress, which resulted in a good performance review and a decent raise..

With the shaky feeling behind him, Mark had dived into the evening's work, not giving it a second thought until the change slammed into him at precisely eight-thirty. He had just loaded a tape onto the drive for copying when it hit him without warning. He screamed, clutching his face, trying to pull the change back. Sometimes he had control over the change, but he could tell immediately tonight wasn't going to be the case.

He moaned, staggering slightly, trying to regain his equilibrium. Another wave of change slammed through him and this time Mark screamed. He threw his head back and closed his eyes to block out the pain. The muscles along the back of his neck rippled, grew taut, then tight as his whole body grew hot from the heat of the change coursing through him.

He was able to take a breath before the next wave hit. When it did, he was prepared for it. He fought it, forcing his entire will outward, pushing the change back. Sweat dotted his forehead, his face was strained as he tried to fight the change.

When it ebbed, he took advantage of it in a more combative stance. He gasped for air, lunged for the door, and made his way to the men's room.

# # #

Clyde returned to the security booth just as Bernard was exiting. "What, leaving already?"

Bernard nodded curtly. He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice, but couldn't seem to control the slight crack that emanated from his vocal cords. "I just remembered that I forgot something up in my office. I'll be right back."

"Hokay." Clyde plopped his girth into the chair in front of the screens as Bernard picked up his briefcase and exited the security booth. He didn't look back as he made his way down the hall to the elevators in the atrium that led to the fourth floor.

The only thing he could think of as he walked back to the elevators was that he couldn't believe what he had seen. He had to investigate. To simply dismiss it as a hallucination wouldn't cut it. He had to find out what was wrong with the man who worked the swing shift in the tape library. Most likely he was on drugs and having a bad trip. That was the most practical reasoning behind the sudden violent behavior depicted on the security screen. Still, there was that tiny voice that whispered in his mind that it could be something else. Just exactly what, was his responsibility to look into. Nobody worked a security level job in this company under the influence of drugs as long as he was around. And if there was the slight chance that it could be something entirely different, something he could use to his advantage--

And even if it is something else, what are you gonna do? What the hell can you do?

He didn't know. But he had to find out, and that was what his mind and gut spoke to him. Catching an employee doing drugs during working hours might help him in some ways; at the very least it could illustrate to the board that he was loyal to the company.. If it was something else... well, his mother had told him never to pass up an opportunity, nor let a lead go uninvestigated. He was curious about what he had seen in the security booth and he had to satisfy his curiosity. If it was nothing, it was nothing. No harm done.

And if it was something?

He reached the elevators and pressed the UP button. The elevator doors opened silently and Bernard stepped inside, his heart racing wildly in anticipation of what he was going to find when he reached the Tape Library.

# # #

I will not change, I will not change, I will not, will not, I WILL NOT --

Mark muttered this under his breath as he leaned over the bathroom sink. His head was tilted back to the ceiling, eyes closed in concentration, as he willed the change back. He could already feel some of it taking place. His hands had grown longer, the fingers slimming into needle-sharp claws with hair sprouting along the backs of them. His feet, likewise, had undergone a similar metamorphosis, splitting the seams of his Nikes. His clothes were barely holding his bulging muscles within their confines as muscle and tissue contorted and grew, only to recede, then bulge outward again. His snout elongated slightly, bringing needle white agony to his nose and jaw. It was all he could do to block the pain out of his consciousness. The changing, shifting bones of his face and skull was always the most excruciating, if not the most dreaded part of the metamorphosis.

He clutched the counter in concentration, centering all of his will and energy to a single thought that he forced through his mind. The more the change pulsed and tried to blast past his willpower, the more he gritted his teeth and pushed back with all the force he had. He wasn't even aware of the rhythm of his breathing. He barely paused to take a breath during the change's brief interludes.

After a moment, the blackness that had swooped over his mind began to retreat, which brought a voluntary gasp of breath from him as he mustered more of his will power and strength and continued to push the change back. It receded a little more and he felt the familiar tickle of sensation in his brain as he felt his fingers and toes shorten themselves. The feathery sensations of their receding registered more firmly as the feeling retreated further and further, feeding his strength and mind-power. Any minute now and he could push it back and overpower it, hopefully keeping it at bay until he left for home.

The pain in his face diminished as it changed back to normal. The feathery feelings in his hands and feet accelerated as they became normal again, all this occurring while the blackness in his mind retreated, giving him more foothold. When it finally reached the point where it stopped, Mark released a breath of air, took a deep breath, and pushed with every ounce of mental power he had.

There was a sudden mental explosion, as if a headache had suddenly detonated in his cranium, and then he was normal again. Normal, staring at himself in the mirror with a tingling numbness echoing over his body. His mirror image stared back at itself, tousled hair in a lightly bearded face, wide-eyed and gasping for breath.

It was another moment before he regained his composure and caught his breath. He leaned forward, head bowed for a minute, letting his breathing return to normal as his body slowly recuperated from the minor attack. After a minute or two with no signs of the feeling arising for a second round, he looked at himself in the mirror and managed a slight smile. He had beaten it. For the first time in his life he had actually beaten it.

That thought set him back in motion. He grinned as he splashed the sweat from his face and washed his hands. He could feel his spirits soar as he toweled himself dry. This marked a turn. He had never been able to control the change. It had pretty much controlled him for the better part of a decade. Now that he knew that he could maintain some control over it, he felt more confident that the more he played with it, the more he learned to manipulate it, there would come a day when he would be free from it. Forever.

With this in mind, his spirits soared. He grinned at his reflection, tossed the damp paper towels in the wastebasket and exited the Men's room.

Where he nearly walked right into Mr. Big himself.

# # #

Bernard nearly dropped his briefcase when the door to the Men's room opened, spilling the unknown tape librarian. The culprit nearly jumped out of his shoes, retreating slightly toward the already closed door to the lavatory. Bernard managed a smile despite his flush of surprise. The young man stood before him, his face also reddened.

"Excuse me," Bernard said, switching his briefcase to his left hand. He extended his right hand in a friendly gesture. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that."

"Yeah, don't worry about it." The young man was wild-eyed, still panting. Exertion? Or the sudden shock of being startled? Bernard tried to divert his attention to this miniscule detail and concentrated on the superficial.

"Um, look, I'm sorry I startled you." Concern melted into his voice as easily as when he assumed his nice-guy persona. His charming mode. "I didn't realize I had scared you so badly."

The younger man blinked, then shrugged. "Don't worry about it." He looked into Bernard's face with a flushed and slightly guilty-looking countenance. "You just surprised me. Guess I should have been paying attention to what I was doing."

Bernard chuckled. "I guess I should have been doing the same thing. Sometimes it's hard to take my mind off of my work."

The kid nodded, heading forward, making to dart around Bernard. "I know exactly what you mean. Um, if you'll excuse me--"

"Oh, by all means," Bernard said, stepping aside, allowing the kid to pass. He managed a smile and nod. Just as the kid breasted him Bernard called out, "Excuse me. Sir?"

The kid stopped, features frozen in that telltale look of what now? Bernard smiled and stepped forward. "I know it doesn't seem right for the President of the company to do this, but I'd like to introduce myself." He held out his hand again, finding the ability to push away the curiosity and concentrate on the outer image. The corporate image. "Bernard Roberts."

The kid shook his hand, looking at Bernard as if he had lost his mind. His hand felt limp in Bernard's grasp. "Uh, Mark. Mark Wiseman." He looked jumpy, as if he expected Bernard to bite.

"Nice to meet you, Mark. You're in Computer Operations, right?"

Mark nodded. "Yeah." He wiped the hand that had shaken Bernard's against his jeans. "Tape Library."

"Great department. I started there myself when I was in college. You a student?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Where are you going?"

"Orange Coast College."

"I went to USC myself. Worked swing shift at headquarters downtown and was a student by day." Eight years ago, in 1982, Free State outgrew the building in downtown Los Angeles it had been housed in since 1898 and moved to a newer, more spacious building in Costa Mesa. "What are you majoring in?"

"Liberal Arts. I'm going for my AA degree. I can only afford to take three or four classes a semester and I should have enough credits to transfer to a state university next year." Mark's jumpiness was not as evident, although Bernard could tell he was itching to leave. "Once I do that I might major in computer science."

"Good job market in that field."

Mark shrugged. "I guess so." Awkward pause. "Listen, it's great talking to you Mr. Roberts, but I've got to get back to work."

Bernard chuckled. "By all means, Mark. Don't let me keep you from doing your job. It was great meeting you."

"You too. Take care."

Bernard gave Mark a farewell wink and strode toward his office. Behind him, he heard Mark move toward the double doors that bordered Computer Operations' maze of cubicles. Mark inserted his security-coded badge in the slot and the lock disengaged with a click. He opened the door and stepped inside. Bernard continued on until he was sure that the door to the hallway was closed and Mark was making his way down the hall to the Tape Library. Then he turned and walked back the way he had come.

His features remained immobile as he rode the elevator to the first floor and made his way to the rear entrance. He barely looked up as he signed out again at the security booth. Another guard was there, a new guy whom Bernard didn't recognize and didn't care about. The guard acknowledged him with a slight wave and Bernard returned it, pushing his way through the glass door as the guard buzzed him out. Into the night.

His central thoughts as he piloted his Mercedes home was that Mark Wiseman was acting way too jumpy for someone who had just been startled. The way he'd hedged around the questions Bernard had shot at him, the nervous shifting from foot to foot as if he was antsy, waiting for Bernard to spring something on him. His features had held that weak mask of guilt that Bernard had seen a million times on former employees. The guilt of lying, truancy, or stealing from the company. Whatever it was the party was trying to cover up, Bernard could always find a way to the truth. Mark had displayed the blatant signs of a man who had something to hide. He hadn't been downright lying to Bernard as they talked, but he had been trying to break away so that Bernard wouldn't catch a glimpse of whatever secret he was trying to hide.

Bernard grinned. He had played along with the little game perfectly. He knew that the guy was hiding something, but he didn't press the issue. He played calm, casual, normal, and when the guy had excused himself he had played along with it. The better to avoid suspicion. And suspicion he had.

Now it was a point of confronting that suspicion. With hard truth. And Bernard knew just how to do it. As an executive of the firm he had a lot of pulling power. The pull of the right strings with some of the right people would help him perfectly. He'd get started tomorrow morning by talking to Paul Rogers, Director of Security. Paul would be sure that everything Bernard asked him for would be kept in the strictest of confidence.

And then the 42-inch color big screen TV in his office. The VCR....

Bernard smiled. The plan was already forming in his mind before he could even confirm his suspicions.