There was a tree in the front yard, and open windows upstairs. Her parents always kept the upstairs windows open on summer nights. The tree was a live oak--a knobby thing, with a double trunk full of random twisting limbs. It was a climbing tree--and although the limb leaning closest to the house was a slim one, Allie reasoned that a child who weighed less than fifty pounds wouldn't break the limb.
She trespassed in neighborhood homes, and finally found the perfect specimen a few blocks away. She didn't have to put the boy to sleep, because he was already in the deep kind of slumber that only young children can reach. She easily seized control, slipped on a pair of velcro SpiderMan shoes, and went downstairs and out into the night.
The moon was a scant sliver in the sky, a scimitar edge that seemed to slice the clouds that crossed its path. The streets were deserted, and no lights were on in Allie's parents' house. This boy was no stranger to climbing trees. Allie knew it the second she scuttled up the trunk. She relied on the boy's muscle memory to take her higher until she was on the branch that stretched toward the house and the open upstairs window. She climbed out toward the edge of the branch, and just as she reached toward the window the branch began to break.
Allie gripped on to the window ledge for all she was worth, and the boy hit the side of the house with a thunk. Had she been in her own body, she would not have been able to cling to the ledge, but there's a reason why small children can climb to high places. His body was so light, she was able to pull herself up, then, holding on with one hand, she thrust the other through the window screen, and tore the screen loose. It tumbled down into the yard, and Allie hauled herself through the window, into a bedroom.
By now a light had come on in the hallway--she could see it underneath the closed door--and she heard footsteps moving hurriedly toward the room, so she scrambled underneath the bed just as the door opened. From under the bed, she could see two bare feet entering the room. The feet of a man. Her father. He flicked on a light and the room around the bed became much too bright for comfort. Allie pulled herself as deep under the bed as she could get. Although Allie was wildly out of breath, and spiked with adrenaline, she slowed her breathing to make it as quiet as possible, and she watched her father's feet as he moved around the bed to the window. Allie could feel the boy's heart beating as far up as her eyeballs now, making her vision blurred and veiny with each beat.
"What was it?" said her mother, who was now standing at the threshold.
"Nothing," her father said. "The tree knocked down a window screen, that's all."
"I told you we should have had it trimmed." Then she added, "Are you sure that's all it was?"
"Come look for yourself."
Her mother crossed to the window. Allie heard the window being pulled closed. "I'm sorry," her mother said. "After that woman today, I'm a little spooked."
"There are crazies everywhere. But if it'll make you feel better, I'll see about getting that alarm system."
Her parents left the room, turning off the lights and closing the door. In a few moments Allie heard the complaint of springs as they climbed back into bed. Allie remained frozen for ten minutes, just in case they decided to come back in. Then finally she came out from under the bed and looked around. With nothing but a distant streetlight shining through the curtains, everything was cast in shades of gray. Even so, Allie recognized exactly what this room was.
This was her bedroom.
Or at least the Memphis version of it. It had been her bed she was hiding under, with her covers spread across it. There was the desk where she had once labored over homework, and on the walls were posters of bands whose music she hadn't heard for three years. It was like a museum. A shrine to her memory. What on earth had possessed her parents to do this? It would be one thing to keep her room in the old house, but to recreate it here? She didn't know what to think.
She reached out and took a teddy bear from a shelf. Allie secretly loved fluffy things, but being a nonfluffy girl, she never kept her stuffed animals the way nature intended; she always tweaked them somehow. This one was "Winnie the Punk," with Sharpie-drawn tattoos on his fur, and a safety pin through his eyebrow. The bear seemed larger than she remembered, but then she realized that it wasn't larger, she was just in a smaller body.
Allie clutched the bear to her chest, and felt herself becoming emotional. She blamed it on the boy's physiology-- after all, little kids are quick to turn on the waterworks--but who was she kidding? These tears were all hers. She sat down, and let the tears flow gently and quietly.
Why had she come back here? Did she really think she could just walk into her parents house in the body of this boy, and talk to them? And yet she was already angling on ways to return tomorrow--perhaps in the body of someone selling alarm systems. Would that be her life now? Returning each day in a different body, pretending to be someone else, just so she could be near her parents?
She curled up on the bed clutching the bear--a remnant of a life that was lost. Then something happened that she wasn't expecting. She should have realized it could happen, because, after all, it was the middle of the night, and she was in the body of a small, exhausted child. As she held tightly on to the bear, her thoughts began to swim together, and in an instant, without warning, Allie fell asleep.
Allie awoke at 7:45 in the morning.
Unfortunately the boy she was skinjacking had woken up at 7:41. It's amazing what can happen within the span of four minutes.
"It's all right, don't worry--it will all be all right. We'll get you back home."
It was her mother's voice. She was in her mother's arms. They were rocking back and forth. She was out of breath, her vision was blurry, her chest was heaving, and a God-awful wailing sound was coming out of her. Allie's whole body was shivering with the force of her own sobs. What was going on here? Where was she? Who was she?
"I wanna go home," she heard a child's voice say. It was all nasal and stuffy so it came out "I wadda go hobe." Then she realized it was her own mouth speaking those words. All at once it came back to her--she was in the body of a boy she had skinjacked. She was in her parents' home, in her own room. Her mother was holding her, her father was standing nearby, phone in hand.
"I wadda go hobe!" the boy wailed again--he had no idea how he had gotten here. Then Allie realized a moment too late that she wasn't hiding behind his consciousness-- she was out there in the open, right in the middle of his mind. Now that she was awake, the boy knew she was there, and he screamed in terror.
"Who are you?" the boy wailed. "Go away! Go away! Get out of here!" Allie's mother backed off, thinking he was talking to her. "I don't want you here! Get out of me!"
This was a bad situation that was only getting worse. The best Allie could hope for now was damage control. She struggled to seize the boy's body, and send him back to dreamland, but now that he knew she was there, he didn't go easily. He went kicking and screaming all the way, until finally his thoughts fell in upon themselves and he was unconscious.
Allie was in control, but the boy's body was still full of fear and heaving with sobs. She looked to her father who was holding the phone in one hand, and in his other hand ... in his other hand ...
... he had no other hand.
His left arm now ended just past the elbow. As Allie tried to process this, she saw that his left hand was shifting the phone in his palm, preparing to dial with his thumb. He was poised over the 9 button.
Calling 911 was definitely not part of Allie's damage control.