Changes (11 page)

He ran to it quickly. He ran inside, and went straight to the counter that ran along the wall to the right. He went to the first of the three faucets in the counter and turned the cold water on to full. He slid his arm under the faucet and let the coldness of the water consume his arm. Slowly, he could feel the heat begin to subside. Slowly, his heart followed and started beating normally again. His breathing likewise calmed. With it all, he took a deep and cherished breath.

“What the hell was that?” He now had the time to think. He now had the ability to question. Everything happened so fast that nothing was able to register in his mind fully.           

He continued running his arm under the water, until he could feel the cold quench his hand. He watched as the blood flowed off his arm and down the drain. With the blood gone, he could now see the wound.
What the hell?
He saw what looked like several indents through his skin. It looked like a bite mark more than anything else could have looked.
What the hell would bite me?
He rolled his arm over and looked at the underside of his wrist. Again, several neat punctures were through his skin, and each mark lined up into an almost perfect horseshoe sized half circle, which crossed his entire arm. Whatever bit him, it looked huge. Only one possibility crossed his mind.
I wonder if that’s what killed those people?
A chill raced down his spine.
I better go and tell someone.
He pulled his arm out of the water’s stream, turned and reached for a towel in the aluminum dispenser to the right of the sink. He took a single towel, and then two, and then three, and wrapped them around his wrist. Instantly, his blood soaked through the brown colored paper, and seeing it, he went for more.

Again, he wrapped the extra towels around his arm, and yet again, he noticed the blood color its way through the paper.
Goddamn it!
He went for more towels. It just didn’t want to stop bleeding. He unwrapped the towels, pulled them off, and pushed his arm back under the water. Feeling the cold rush over him, he kept it there longer this time around. He knew he had to flush out the wound more. It made sense. It felt good. It must have worked, because this time it stopped. The blood clotted and the punctures settled. Seeing it, and feeling it, he brought it out of the sink. It felt better. It felt almost normal. The pain felt completely gone.

Satisfied, he rewrapped the wound with fresh towels, and this time, no blood flowed through them. Relaxed, he finally looked to himself in the mirror.

His face looked pale, his eyes looked wide, and it made him take another deep breath.
What do I do now?
He tried to force his jumbled thoughts together long enough to be able to figure out what to do next.
I have to call for help. I have to tell them about what happened. I may have to go to the hospital.
He had so many options roaming around inside his head.
I have to do something.
He groped, but decided that the best thing he could do was to address the wound first. It stopped bleeding, but the possibility of it becoming infected came rolling into his thoughts. It seemed like a good idea, so he went with it.

He breathed, left the bathroom, and walked back to the lobby. He remembered being told during his training that there was a first aid kit behind the counter in a locker along the wall, so he went to the counter and went behind it quickly, found the kit right where it was supposed to be and grabbed it. He left the counter and headed back to the bathroom, carrying the kit with him.

He placed the kit next to the sink, opened it up, and took out some gauze pads and tape. Quickly, he addressed his wrist. Already it felt better. Already he relaxed even more. He used the gauze and wrapped them over the wound. He took tape and wrapped it around the gauze. When he finished, he closed the case and again turned to himself in the mirror. Already he could see that he had color coming back into his cheeks. His eyes started to glean. He looked better than normal.
Now what do I do?
He stared deeply into his own dark eyes.

“We have it cornered,” a voice came from somewhere around him.

It almost caused him to jump at the mirror. Hearing it, with nothing but static around it, he knew that it had to come from the radio that he carried on his belt. With his right hand, he removed the black heavy radio and brought it up to the counter next to him, and turned the volume up.

“This is unit four. We see it now. We’re making our way to the east of the building now to join unit two,” a new voice came over the speaker.

He had never heard the man’s voice before.

“Remember that I want him alive?” another voice came over the speaker.

This one he recognized as the older man with the white hair, and the fine, nice suit, that he saw the night before. He was the one that led the group. He was the one that questioned Collins.

“It’s moving east, trying to make its way to the perimeter fence,” the original voice said as the radio clicked.

He looked back to the mirror.
If they’ve already found it, should I still tell them that it bit me?
He stared deeply at his face. He looked better than he has in days—weeks even.

“We see it now,” a second, new voice came in.

“Trap it,” the older man’s voice flashed. “We’re coming up to you now.”

The radio clicked again.

“We have it,” the first voice started, but a heavy popping sound flared out through the speaker, and cut it off.

The sound made him jump, sounding like a firecracker going off near the microphone. A crashing feeling raked through his back almost at the same time as he heard the sound. It stung him. It burned through him. It knocked him forwards to the counter. He felt winded instantly, felt dazed, and lost all of his breaths.
What the fuck?
His mind flared with thunder. Thankfully, it didn’t last long. As soon as it came, it stopped. He caught his breaths, and looked back up to the mirror. He saw his face and took a deep hefty breath. Instantly, he felt better. What happened, he had no damn idea.

“It’s down! It’s down!” the original voice shouted into the radio, sounding muffled and very heavy with static.

“Damn it, I wanted it alive!” the older man shouted in.

Again, he jumped with the sound, but this time he stayed normal. The knocking feeling didn’t come, so he calmed even more.

“It isn’t moving,” a new voice came in.

He recognized it as the blonde haired guy with the big build, and the voice caused a shiver to course down his spine.

The radio clicked, and then went silent.

Now he could only hear himself breathing. He looked down at the radio with his mind blazing.
They killed it!
He stared at it with wide eyes. It made sense. His stomach flinched, making him feel nauseous all at once. He took another deep breath, and looked back to his wrist. The wound looked clean. It looked neat. He looked back up to the mirror.
If they killed it, then maybe it’ll be fine. Maybe I should just keep quiet.
The thought seemed natural, and it seemed to make sense. Already the pain felt completely gone. Already he felt better. What purpose was there to go to a hospital? He could do everything himself.

He turned to the first aid kit and picked it up. He was about to leave, but quickly noticed that blood covered all over the countertop.
Oh shit. I can’t leave this like this.
He set the case back down, went back to the dispenser on the wall, removed several towels from it, and quickly cleaned up the blood. While doing that, he looked down and noticed even more drops on the floor. Quickly, he took care of those as well. When he finished, he looked all around the room, and saw nothing. It looked like he cleaned it all. With that, he picked up the kit and left the bathroom, went back to the lobby, and noticed even more blood on the lightly colored tiled floor. He took more towels from the bathroom and cleaned up anything that looked like blood. Finished and satisfied that he cleaned it all; he went back into the bathroom and looked over his uniform. Luckily, he was wearing a short sleeve shirt. There wasn’t a drop of blood anywhere on him. That was good. Nothing would be noticed.

He took the kit back to the locker, retook his chair behind the counter, and took a deep heavy breath. He did everything, and didn’t break a sweat.

He did the best he could do and avoided everyone for the rest of the night. With all that happened outside, he didn’t have any trouble doing it. He stayed inside, and completed his night as he always did. When he finished his last tour, he simply finished his paperwork and waited for his relief to come to work. No one ever noticed him. No one noticed the wrapping on his arm. No one ever questioned him. No one said a word. When Frankie came in, he simply filled him in on everything that he needed to know. He didn’t say much. He kept it simple, and when he finished, he simply went home.

He made it there a little after eight. He didn’t even remember the drive. He felt too tired to care. Once home, he took off his uniform and went straight to bed. The wound didn’t seem to bother him in the least. It didn’t hurt. In fact, it felt like it wasn’t even there. In bed, it didn’t even take him all that long to fall asleep.

Drifting off, his mind went completely numb. He thought of nothing, until he could see himself running through the trees. He felt like he was running through an old forest. He didn’t know why he felt that it was, he just knew it, and didn’t care. It all seemed like he had been there before. He couldn’t explain it. He never thought about it actually. He just ran. He felt free. He ran around the trees and missed all of them without any effort. He could feel the wind on his skin. He could feel the wet soil between his bare toes. It all felt so strange, but it all felt so wonderful at the same time. It all felt right.

The air around him felt so beautiful. The coolness of the breeze struck him as he ran faster causing gooseflesh to rake over his naked body. He came to a large tree, stopped, and came along side it. He admired the bark of its trunk. It looked so inviting. Its grayness seemed to call to him. The sharpness of its sides looked so wonderful. He took it into his ever-reaching arms and hugged it almost like it was a long-lost friend. Holding it to him, he rubbed his body up and along the coarseness of its bark. He raked it against his bare chest. It felt so fantastic. It blazed over his skin. He couldn’t resist its burning, so he rubbed it harder, rippling his skin. He rubbed at it until his flesh began to burn with its roughness. When he couldn’t stand the burn any longer, he simply turned over and allowed his back to feel what his front had felt. Again, he rubbed it hard and allowed it to scratch his skin. He allowed it to ripple his flesh. It felt wonderful. It felt powerful. It felt beyond magnificent, so much so, his skin began to burn. His flesh began to tear, until he could feel his skin beginning to fall off his body. God it felt so magical. God it felt too good to be true. He dug harder, and held his breath.

He woke up, and turned over in bed. His entire body burned. He brought his hands between the sheets and rubbed at his skin. Slowly, he scratched, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more. He wanted more. He couldn’t resist but to dig faster and harder. He wanted more of his nails. He wanted more of the scratching. He wanted more of the digging of his flesh. He wanted more. He needed it. He wanted it more and more and more.

Fuck!
He sat up, and pulled himself out from under the sheets.
This itch is going to drive me crazy!
He reached over, took the lamp next to his bed on the nightstand, and turned on the light. The entire room flared, blinding him totally and completely as his eyes burned, and his mind blanked out. He forced his eyes to focus and when they did, he looked at his arm and the lamp, and gasped by what he saw.

His entire right arm looked completely covered in what looked like peeling and white meshes of skin. In fact, it looked like his arm had been put into a meat grinder, and shredded just for spite.

What the fuck?
He brought his arm up to his face. He could see that even his fingers had dried skin hanging off his fingertips.
Am I dying?
He couldn’t believe what he saw. His mind raged in all directions. His body continued to burn so he followed his fingers up past the hand and turned his arm over to the elbow. The cracked and dried skin ran up along his arm, past the elbow, and continued as far as he could see. It was everywhere. He looked covered with it.

With a shaky left hand, and using his index finger and thumb, he peeled some of it off his hand. The sensation felt almost too much for him to bear at once. It felt like ecstasy. It felt like wonder. It felt like the best thing in the world and then some. The itching stopped at the spot he pulled. He looked at the skin that he pulled off and studied it closely. It looked huge, almost three inches in size. Lifting it to his face, he couldn’t believe his own eyes. It looked incredible. It looked almost dreadful. He didn’t know what else to think.

He looked at his left arm and hand, and except for the bandage that covered most of it, it all looked the same as his right arm did. His entire left arm looked cracked, with dead skin hanging off him in chunks and pieces. It all looked like it was dangling in mass.

Again, he tore a piece off, but this time from his left hand and brought it up to his face. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to do. Seeing enough of it, he took the piece to the side of the bed, mashed it out between his fingers, and let it fall to the floor beside him. He watched it fall, and then turned his attention to his chest.

Again, only dead skin covered him. It looked to be everywhere. It was all over the place and in every place he looked. His entire body looked covered. It looked like he was shedding his own body.

Again, he reached for a piece around his right nipple, grabbed it with his right index finger and thumb, and pulled it off. He could see a bright pink colored fresh patch of skin beneath the dead. He held the piece out in front of him, and this time, he noticed that it was maybe ten inches in size and looked thicker than what had come off his arm.

I’m falling apart.
There was no other reason for what he saw. Sitting up, and bringing his feet to the side of the bed, he looked down to his legs. Again, he saw that they too looked completely covered with nothing but dead and peeling skin, except this time, he noticed something different as well. Being that he was part Italian, he had always had a good amount of hair on his legs, but not now apparently. This time his legs were now hairless. Seeing it, almost stole his breaths away.

What the fuck?
He bent in at the waist and brought his left leg up closer to his chest. He had to see it. He couldn’t believe it, but it was real. It was there. All of the hair was completely gone. Seeing it, his heart now raced ten times as fast. He turned back to the bed and pulled the sheets completely off it behind him.

The entire bottom sheet looked splattered with small black hairs all over where his legs had been. In fact, they traced his legs perfectly. Seeing it, he jumped to his feet with one swift and violent jerk.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!
He felt astonished. He felt dumfounded. He felt all of those things and more.

Standing, he looked around the bed, and noticed that his pillow also looked covered with hair. Seeing it, he rushed his right hand up to the top of his head, and with his palm, felt nothing but the dried skin that apparently covered his entire body. He also felt completely bald.

That’s it. I’m dying.
Completely terrified now, he turned and ran out of his bedroom to the next door on his right, flew into the bathroom with urgency, and went straight to the mirror above the sink. He flipped the light switch on at the right of the doorjamb, and what he saw almost flared his mind into a bright halo of light.

His face was completely covered with dead and mashed skin. His receding hairline was completely now nothing more than skin, matted and twisted all over his head. Some skin was even hanging off his ears. Some was hanging off his nose. His chin looked dried and matted. His eyes looked like nothing more than hollow black recesses inside white and torn rubber. He looked like a skeleton. He looked more like a lizard than a man. Seeing it, and gasping, his nauseous stomach gave way and brought up everything in it, and he threw up in the sink. He gagged, but finished quickly. When he finished, he looked back to the mirror and started to cry.

Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! What the fuck is happening to me? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the…
He stared deeply at what was left of his face. With a shaky and trembling right hand, he brought his fingers up and took a piece of skin that was hanging from his forehead, and tore it off. It felt beyond wonderful as a pink patch came out from beneath it. He let the skin fall to the floor.

He looked down to his bare stomach, and still trembling, he took some of the dead flesh from there, and likewise tore it from him. A chunk of it fell to the floor, and again, just the sight of it alone, brought heavy heaving through his throat, and caused him to throw up in the sink. Nothing came up this time, making him just gag some and wince. He just coughed. He sighed as tears rolled down the leather of his face.

Finished, he looked back to the mirror and again grabbed more of his once alive skin and tore it from his forehead. He continued the process, and each time, threw what was left of him to the floor. For several long minutes, he continued the same routine. He continued to peel away the dead flesh, revealing fresh pink flesh beneath it. Soon his entire face was now lying on the floor. When he finished, he stared in the mirror, and saw what was left of his face was almost a pure colored pink. He looked like a monster. He looked like an animal. He looked almost dead. Looking at himself closer, he noticed something even odder then what he already had. On his forehead, he noticed small hairs coming out through the new skin. In fact, there was more hair there than what he had before.

What the hell?
He gasped. He felt amazed. He brought his hand to his head, and using his palm, rubbed the top of his head. He felt hair there. It felt new. It felt fresh. He now felt in awe.
I have new hair.
He continued to rub his own head, not believing what he saw, not believing what he felt. Everything he saw was nothing but wonder. Everything was like watching himself with disbelief.

Seeing his new hair, and with relief flowing through him, he once again brought his hands to his legs. He peeled and pulled at all of the dead skin and realized that like his hairline, his legs were still likewise covered with hair. It seemed that what hair he did lose was still there and was now growing in fresh and new. It all brought a wonder to instantly flow through his heart and soul.
I’ll be fucking crazy!

Finished with peeling the skin of his legs, he turned his attention to his chest, and again, he pulled at all of the dead skin until there was nothing left to pull and drop to the floor. He went to his stomach, and then to each arm in turn. Each time, when all of the skin was gone, he felt what he had left and felt astonished by what he found.

Not only did he still have hair where the hair was supposed to be, but he also had something else—well something that he was in fact missing. Where once he had a fat belly, beer sized in fact, there was now nothing but muscle and firmness? When he looked to his chest, he likewise found it firm and formed. It all brought his eyes back up to the mirror, and what he saw only brought the fascination he felt to flow through his heart.

His double chin was gone, and he could see his
Adam’s apple
. His eyes looked clear and bright. His face looked firm. He looked alive. He looked down to his chest.

His chest looked like he worked out every day. His stomach looked ribbed, and his belly button was out some. The curves down to his groin were all there. He turned his attention to his arms.

They looked strong. His biceps felt firm and solid. He could see the veins in his arms. Whatever happened to his skin, it seemed to have taken away all of the fat on his body with it. He felt flabbergasted with it all.
What the hell happened to me?
His mind came together, and his thoughts became firm. It made him have to look back to the mirror. He looked perfect. He looked fit. He looked like a million bucks and more. His body felt new, and he looked ten years younger, if not more than that.

Breathing normally again, he left the bathroom and walked back into his bedroom. He walked to a full-sized mirror that was on his closet door, opposite his bed. There he could see himself full and strong. So much so, that he could barely recognize himself completely.
This is fucking too much. What happened? How could this be? Something had to do this. Something had to…
He turned to the bandage on his left wrist. That had to be it. Nothing else could have caused what he saw. Nothing else happened.

Slowly, he pulled at the tape that held the gauze pads in place. When the tape was gone, he slowly removed the pads. It looked like his right hand did, completely covered with dead skin. He pulled at the skin, until the last of it was gone, but that wasn’t the only thing missing. The wound on his wrist was completely gone. It looked normal. In fact, it looked like there was never anything there in the first place.

You’ve got to be kidding me.
He looked back to the mirror. He looked at his perfect body. He looked like a model. He looked like perfection. He looked almost pure.

Out beyond his bedroom, a phone started ringing out. He heard it, but he didn’t seem to care.

It’s gone. It’s all gone.
He turned from the mirror, left his bedroom, and walked back to the bathroom door. He stopped just at the doorjamb, and looked to the sink. He then looked to the floor in front of it. A pile of white skin lay on the floor. He again couldn’t believe any of it. It was all too much to comprehend at once.