"You live alone too," I countered.

"Yeah," she said, "but not the way that you do. You're like that girl in the movie.
You've got a shadow behind you. There's some guy out there in the dark who worries you."

---

 
This is a response to one of Melanie Ezell's Challenges,
number 24: Build Your Own Body.

You Are The Target

2. Reality Check

 

Okay... trying to stay calm... fighting to breathe slowly and make my heart stop racing... God! It feels like it's going to fracture my ribs from the inside out!

When I woke up in Maria Mozzicone's new body, I never really intended to stay in it. I'm embarrassed to say that I let myself be seduced by the money she'd hidden away. And I'm ashamed to have to admit that I stole the money from her.

I suppose I pretended that there wouldn't be any real consequences; that I'd never be caught, never pay the piper; and above all, I let myself believe that there was nothing wrong with stealing from a thief.

The truth is, it's worse to steal from a criminal, because they don't stop at legal remedies. There's no limit to what they'll do.

Beyond all that, by stepping into Mrs. Mozzicone's life, I became a target for the people who were looking for her. Namely, her husband's business partners... not a very law-abiding bunch, to put it mildly.

But I'm getting ahead of myself... I meant to tell you how my big reality check arrived.

The scene was a downtown bar, a nice place, an establishment I'd come to like and often went to twice a day. Not to drink, mind you. And the food was pretty good, but I didn't go for that, either. The main reason I went there was to talk with Laurie, the bartender.

She was a tall, smart blonde in her late twenties. I'm not sure what she thought of my visits, but I spent as much time talking to her as she could stand. The thing was, not having grown up as a girl, I didn't have the slightest idea of what on earth I was doing. There was so much to figure out, so much to learn!

Take hair, for instance: not only did I not know how to style it, I didn't know how to figure out which shampoo and conditioner to use. And did I need other products? How could I tell? Some of that stuff my hair looking greasy and limp, and others dried it out like an old bird's nest. Then, cosmetics... where to even begin! A woman at Macy's made me up one day, explaining as she went. I bought all the powders and sticks and other goop that she used, and tried my level best to imitate what she'd done, but Laurie's brutal honesty let me know I was missing the mark, and missing it badly.

Worst of all were clothes! Heels are hell, I soon discovered, but flats weren't always a smart choice either. The whole business of what to wear when, of what goes with what... it was all so immensely complicated.

I pored over women's magazines, but a lot of what I read was arbitrary and contradictory. Sometimes I felt I'd gained some insight... but never more than once an issue, but more often my reading left me more confused than before.

"You keep looking for rules," Laurie told me. "It's not about rules. It's about knowing what looks good."

"I know what looks good," I protested. "The problem is, I don't know how to get there."

What I really needed was a mentor, or at least a model, and that's what Laurie was for me, whether she wanted it or not. After all, I figured, she's a bartender, and it was her job to be nice to me, or at least to tolerate me.

For my part, I became a very heavy tipper. That, of course, helped to grease Laurie's wheels.

I'm not sure how Laurie explained my ignorance to herself, but she caught on quickly to what I needed. As soon as I'd walk in, she'd give me a quick critique on how I looked: if something didn't "go" or if I was missing something, she'd tell me right off, then make a constructive suggestion or two. Then she'd stop.

After that, she'd talk about herself. She saw I didn't share my own past, and that I didn't have a present life to speak of, so she told me about her own past and a little bit of her present. I listened closely, taking copious mental notes. I needed to learn about the world of women. What choices to make, what things to avoid, and above all, how to handle men.

In fact, on the particular night that I'm telling you about, she said to me, "Listen, honey, I saw that J-Lo film on TV last night — Enough — have you seen it?"

"Uh, no," I scoffed. "I'm not big on chick flicks, really. And I heard it wasn't very good."

She gave me a good-natured frown and raised her hand in a joking threat. "I'm gonna smack you if you say chick flick one more time! This isn't a chick flick anyway. Listen, girl: it sent chills through me, and the whole time I was watching, I kept thinking of you, living alone the way you do."

"You live alone too," I countered.

"Yeah," she said, "but not the way that you do. You're like that girl in the movie. You've got a shadow behind you. There's some guy out there in the dark who worries you."

I was surprised by her perception, but I wasn't about to own up to it. "I'm alright," I told her. "I'm a careful person."

"I know you are," she said, "but face it: you're young, pretty, small, and alone. If some big bruiser comes after you, all you've got is your charm, and that might not be enough to save your skinny little butt.

"You know what you ought to do? You ought to do what she did in the movie. You need to learn to defend yourself. You ought to learn what she learned — it's called Krav Maga. I'm telling you, that movie really shook me up, and I'm going to learn it myself." She slid a colorful brochure across the bar to me. "It turns out they teach it at the Y, right around the corner. You're a woman on your own, you need something like this."

The brochure had several photos of women fighting with much larger men. I had to admit; it made an impression on me. To my surprise, one of the guys looked a lot like the body I'd chosen for myself, the one that Maria Mozzicone was now living in. He'd be nearly a foot taller than me, and he'd have 80 or 90 pounds on me. All of it muscle. I swallowed hard.

"Hey," Laurie said, "Hey! Hey!" She snapped the brochure out of my hands.

"What are you doing?" I demanded. "I want that!"

"I didn't mean to scare you!" she said.

"You didn't scare me," I replied. "Did I look scared?"

"Oh my God, yes! You were as white as a sheet, and you didn't hear me talking to you. Forget about this stuff... just forget it. Get yourself a great big dog. A great big dog that bites."

Okay... okay... take a deep breath. So far, all I'd done was frighten myself, with Laurie's help. It was all in my head. Her advice wasn't bad, but there wasn't any immediate danger. I needed to be cautious, not afraid.

I'd just about quieted my anxiety, when something else, something real, scared the bejeezus out of me.

Above Laurie's head, behind whatever she was saying to me, was a TV with the sound on low. Even so, one unusual name came through, and I heard it loud and clear.

"Laurie!" I said, interrupting her, "turn it up! The TV! Turn the sound up, quick!"

The image told us nothing at all: it was a ramshackle house surrounded by tall grass. The television camera was obviously high above, in a news helicopter. You could see police cars, trucks, and black SUVs parked around the house. A dozen people were looking through the grass, going in and out of the house, all of them busy: police, FBI, plain clothes, search dogs....

The newswoman gave a quick summary. "At this point, police have not given an official cause of death, but they have informed us that the murder was particularly brutal and vicious. The victim has been identified as Dr. Bartholomew Veerecks, a medical doctor who worked with the Build-A-Body Corporation..."

"Will you look at that?" Laurie said, "I wonder what the FBI is doing there?" Then she glanced at me. I was shaking and I couldn't stop. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Did you know that man?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Good God, girl!" she cried and put her hand firmly over mine. "You look like you're going to fall out of that chair! Hold on! Stay with me!" With one hand she smacked down a shot glass in front of me and filled it with Jameson's. "Toss that back!" she ordered.

She didn't need to tell me twice. I threw it down my throat, shuddered and sputtered, and shook like a wet dog, but it brought me back to myself. Laurie poured another. "That one, you better sip," she said. "If you need it."

I sat there, blinking and coughing, with her eyes on me the whole time.

In a low voice, she asked, "Was he a friend of yours?"

"No," I croaked. "I... knew him. I met him... a few times. But it's a shock... I knew him..." I trailed off vaguely.

After that, my dinner arrived. Eating helped to calm me somewhat. I caught Laurie trying to stealthily change the TV channel. I told her I wanted to hear the news as it emerged, and the other patrons at the bar were interested as well. They wanted to talk about it; a few had quite strong opinions, and I was amazed how certain and well-informed some of them pretended to be, given how little any of us knew.

Of course, there was one thing I knew, that I wasn't going to share: I knew who the murderer was, and who his next target would be. It had to be Maria who killed Dr. Veerecks, and next she'd come gunning for me.

Why me? Because I had her money. It was a lot of money. Not the kind of money anyone would walk away from. Especially when that "anyone" was a maniac like her.

"Listen, honey," Laurie confided, breaking through my dark ruminations, "If you need to put your feet up, just go upstairs. On the third floor back there's an office with a couch; you can go lie down."

"Thanks," I said, "but I'll be fine."

"You look like you're in a state of shock."

I nodded, and she moved down the bar to take care of some other customers. I returned to my thoughts.

Exactly how hard would it be to find me? I wasn't sure, but I'd done my best not to leave any tracks.

I had changed my name right away. The very first day, in fact. I'd sifted through death notices at the library. There were a fair number of girls who were born 18 years ago, so I could have made more of a... well... more of a sane choice, but you have to remember that my brain was a bit addled at the time. Long story short and believe it or not, a husband and wife had named their baby girl Whimsy Carter. Even though I laughed so hard that the librarian asked me to leave, I was convinced that I'd found the most perfect, the most absolutely fitting name I could ever dream of having.

Now, of course, I wish I'd chosen something something a little less odd and a lot less memorable. I still shake my head and wonder what on earth her parents were thinking, and pity that poor dead girl who once bore the name.

Laurie, in fact, could never bring herself to call me Whimsy. She called me "Honey" instead, as if that was my name.

In any case, I'd gone back to the storage place, rented a locker as Whimsy, and with the help of a big cart moved all the money from Maria's locker to my own.

It turned out that Maria had socked away TWENTY-NINE MILLION DOLLARS: twenty-nine identical bundles, each wrapped in black plastic and duct tape.

I didn't take it all. I left two million in Maria's locker, along with a scribbled note, which I'd found taped to the wall:
 

Dear Mom,

Thanks for trusting me to hide your money. I'm sure you must have wanted me to have some of it at least. So I took some. Don't be mad!

You can't pretend you'd even miss it, with the big malloppo you have.

So don't be mad! You know I love you. If I ever see you, I'll buy you dinner, then we'll be even, right? (JUST KIDDING!)

Remember what you always said to me: "You're young! You have your whole life ahead of you!"

Now I'm telling you: You're young! You have your whole life ahead of you!

I'm going to miss you.

Tanti baci

 

Why did I leave the two million? At the time, it made me feel less greedy. I could always say that I didn't take it all. And the note? Well, it wasn't addressed to me.

In retrospect, leaving it was a little smart: it might confuse the trail. Maybe Maria would think her daughter took the money. Then she'd have two targets to find, and if her daughter... what was her name? Vanessa? No, that wasn't it... Denise? No... never mind, the name would come. Anyway, her daughter took at least a million. She might have left the country. At the very least, if she didn't hide from her mother, she'd have to hide from her father's people, wouldn't she?

Or would she?

Rita! That was the daughter's name.

So anyway... I went back, boxed up the money, and took it away, using a car I bought in another town. The only way they could pick up my trail would be if they looked at the storage rentals after I woke. I noticed that the facility had no security cameras, which meant that no one would know exactly when it was cleaned out, or even that I ever visited at all.

So what did Maria know? She knew what I looked like. What else? She almost certainly interrogated the doctor... but what could he tell her? He only knew two things: where I first woke up, and the location of the storage facility.

Aside from what she knew, Maria had three other things on her side: time, money, and persistence.

She'd have the doctor's two million, plus the two I left her. With that kind of money she could do anything and go anywhere. She could even hire help: private detectives, thugs... whatever she needed. And since she was clearly a homicidal maniac, I had to figure she'd spend every waking moment hunting for me.

Okay... scary, sure. I needed to be ready, I needed a plan, but there was nothing I could do right now.

I took a deep breath and picked up the second shot of whiskey. I took a tiny sip and swallowed it. When the alcohol hit my stomach, it gently warmed me, like a little sun rising inside of me. The feeling of well-being spread through my whole body. I relaxed and smiled. Laurie looked over and gave me a smile and a thumbs-up. I grinned and waved back. I was feeling much better.

So: How to get ready for Maria? What choices did I have? I could keep running and stay ahead of her. Or... I could find a place where she could never find me. Neither option sounded safe or smart. Or possible.

On the other hand, I could go back to Build-A-Body and ask for a new body. The only problem was that Maria probably had somebody working for her there; someone watching for me. She'd already corrupted a Build-A-Body employee once — the late Dr. Veerecks — there was no reason she couldn't do it again.

Which meant that Build-A-Body was not an option.

But... I had a glimmer of another idea... I definitely had another choice. A risky choice, for sure — a crazy, one-shot choice — one that required some serious planning and preparation, but—

My eyes drifted up to the TV, and I saw Maria's face— or my face— I mean the new face that I had chosen, the one Maria was using.

Maria had been sloppy. She was in a hurry and she didn't care. Maybe she believed her current body was temporary; that once she found me, she could take mine back. Or maybe she was just plain nuts.

Either way, it didn't matter what she thought or why she didn't cover her tracks: the police had no trouble identifying her as the murderer.

"Nice looking guy," a voice commented beside me. Startled, I looked up to see a vaguely familiar face: not someone I knew, but someone I'd seen, though I couldn't think how or where. She was a big-boned woman in her forties, a bottle blonde with the raspy voice that comes from smoking and drinking. Her clothes were expensive but gawdy, and she moved in an aggressive cloud of Chanel No. 5. My eyes teared, and I gave a quick gasp, seeking oxygen.

Her jaws were working on a piece of gum while her eyes searched my face. She stopped chewing and she asked — so quietly that I almost didn't hear — "Are you mad at me?"

"Mad at you?" I repeated, mystified. I looked into her face and was shocked to see hurt and even fear in her eyes, as if she thought that I might somehow hurt her— and then the light dawned. "Rita!" I softly exclaimed. It was Maria's daughter! How on earth had she found me?

I'm sure that the whiskey I'd drunk helped a little with what I did next. The thing was, this great big woman, who was older than me, stronger than me... was so obviously afraid of me, that it made me feel sorry for her. It brought out the father... or mother... in me. She stood there, clutching her wrists, trying to squeeze herself small in front of me. I realized, to my great disgust, that Maria Mozzicone must have been a awful mother. She must have terrorized this girl something fierce.

I turned to Rita and smiled a half-smile. "Did you come here to buy me dinner?"

Her face lit up a bit at that, but she was still uncertain.

I stood up. Even in heels, my face only came even with her breasts. I tilted my head back, looked up to her, and opened my arms. "Come here," I said.

"Really?" she asked, still uncertain.

"Yes, really." I said. "Come here."

She grabbed me, the way a starving man would clutch at a crust of bread. She wrapped her arms tight around me. Too tight. My feet left the ground, and I had to twist my head so I wasn't smothered against her massive chest. I did my best to get my arms around her, too, but I could hardly move them. She held me for a while, shaking, until I patted her and said, "Okay... okay..." a couple of times.

"Wow, Mom," she whispered, her voice full of emotion. "You're so different!" and she pressed a finger into the flesh of my upper arm.

I climbed back on my stool. She sat to my left.

"I know you told me not to look for you, but I just had to see," she said in an excited tone, and took my upper arm between her thumb and index finger. "Gosh, you're just a tiny little thing! And you're so SOFT!"

"Yeah, I know," I said. "I feel like a whole 'nother person."

Rita nodded to me. Then Laurie arrived. "Whatcha drinking?"

"Whatever she's got," Rita answered, nodding at me. Then she looked down, and scoffed in disgusted disbelief. "Forget that!" she corrected. "Give me a white russian, and make it a double."

"Did you have a hard time finding me?" I asked. I hoped she couldn't tell how hard my heart was pounding.

"Eh," Rita replied with a shrug. "Not really. I put a webcam with a motion sensor in the locker. Well, *I* didn't do it — I got that moron Petey to do it. When you cleaned the locker out, I came to this town and started looking."

"Why here?"

"There's only three towns a day's drive from that locker, and this one's the farthest." She tapped her head knowingly.

I stared at her a moment, dumbfounded. She made it sound so easy, I felt a complete idiot. After a moment I said, "I guess it's time I moved on, then."

She shrugged.

"Rita, if you can find me, someone else can, too," I told her.

"I dunno know about that. Nobody else knows what I know."

"There's Petey," I reminded her. "Is there anybody else who knows I'm here?" As I asked, as if right on cue, the front door opened slightly, and a man in a short-sleeved dress shirt slipped in. He looked like he'd stepped off the cover of a pulp detective novel: his wide chest and big biceps stretched his shirt to the limit, and his chin was the strongest, squarest chunk of bone I'd ever seen. He was very careful not to look at anyone in the room. He didn't look for a table; he didn't look for a friend. He just stepped in and stood by the door. My heart started pounding and I felt myself trembling.

"Naw," Rita repeated. "Nobody knows but me."

"Are you sure? What about that guy by the door?"

Rita glanced over and swore.

"If I was looking for me," I told her, "I'd keep my eye on you."

Rita gave me a fearful look. "Oh, God, Mom! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

I grabbed her hand. "Stay calm, Rita. We need to keep our heads."

"Mom, mom, mom, I'M SORRY!"

I looked at her, uncertain of what to say. It was incredibly stupid of her to come find me. She led her father's friends right to me, although...

"Rita, listen. They can't be sure that I'm you-know-who."

At that, she relaxed a bit. "Oh, that's right!"

"But... I'm sure they're going to want to take me somewhere to... talk to me."

"Right," she agreed. "Let's slip out the back."

"No," I said. "The reason we see the guy at the front door is to make us go out the back."

"Right!" she slapped herself on the forehead. "Oh, God, Mom, I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay," I told her. "We're not dead yet." I looked around the back of the restaurant. "Just do what I say. Right now, lean forward, onto the bar. A little more. I don't want to stiff the bartender." Rita looked surprised at this, but did as I asked. While she blocked me from the view of the man at the door, I tucked a few twenties under my plate. "Now, let's head toward the bathroom. Just follow me."

I walked around the tables, heading for the ladies, and then calmly went up the stairs. I didn't look, but I was pretty sure the man in front missed our little detour.

By the time we reached the third floor, Rita was huffing and puffing. "What are we doing up here?" she wheezed.

"Taking the high ground," I said. "I need a little time to think." I pushed open the door to the office in the back. The light was off and the window was open. Outside was a fire escape. I looked at Rita and put my finger to my lips. Carefully easing my head out, I peeked down. There was a beefy man standing near the back door, smoking a cigarette.

"You know him?" I whispered. Rita nodded.

"Hey, Ma," she whispered. "There's something you should know." I nodded, and she went on in a hoarse rasp. "You know there's a price on your head, right?"

A breeze suddenly came through the window, and the blood within me froze. Was Rita hoping to collect on her own mother? It was pretty clear to me that having Maria Mozzicone for a mother was like having a picnic in hell. Could anybody blame Rita if she wanted revenge?

I wet my lips, which were suddenly quite dry. "I figured as much," I whispered back.

"Now it's dead or alive," she hissed.

"Good to know," I commented, and looked around the office. "Listen, Rita. I'm going to ease out on the fire escape, and when I tell you, I want you to hand me that plant. But don't make a sound!"

I slipped my shoes off and slid out the window. The metal grate of the fire escape hurt my feet, but I ignored it. Carefully setting my shoes down, I looked over the edge. The man was almost in the right spot. I gestured to Rita, and she handed me the potted plant, wrapped in a napkin she'd found on the desk. "Fingerprints," she explained helpfully. "I'm going to go wipe off the door knob and the sill. They's the only things you touched."

While she disappeared inside, I eased my way back to the edge of the escape and looked over the edge. The man below was restless. He kept walking to the door and back. He took out a pack of cigarettes, shook one out, hesitated, and put it back. He shifted back and forth until finally...

I let go of the pot. It struck him square in the head, and down he went. I listened for a moment, but didn't hear any reaction. "Come on!" I said to Rita, and the two of us made our way down the metal stairs. We made a hell of a racket, but no one seemed to hear.

Once on the ground, I ran to the man on the ground and touched him. Then I pulled back in startled revulsion. "Oh, my God!" I whispered. "He's dead!"

Rita looked at me as though I'd lost my mind. "Of course he's dead! What did you think?" she asked.

"I only meant to knock him out."

She scoffed. "Jeez, Mom, you really are soft!" But she smiled.

I got over my shock and quickly went through the man's pockets.

"What are you looking for?"

"Car keys," I said as I fished them out. Straightening up, I pushed the button on the fob, and a Escalade tweeted.

"You taking his car?" Rita asked.

"Yes," I said. "I can't risk going around front to get mine. Where can I take you?"

"Take me?" she asked, puzzled.

"Yes, take you," I said. "Your car is out front too, isn't it?"

Her jaw dropped. Her face lit up as though she was having a religous illumination. "Oh my God, Ma! Are you worried about ME? You're worried about ME?"

"I don't want anything to happen to you," I told her.

"You DON'T?"

"No, of course not," I replied.

"Oh, Ma!" she exclaimed, and taking me by the arms, buried her head in my shoulder. She sobbed for what seemed like an hour. I needed to get out of there, but the glimmer of an idea that I had in the bar was beginning to crystalize. Rita might be exactly the help I needed in neutralizing her mother for good. So I held her, swallowed my impatient fear, patted her head, and made sympathetic noises. At last she let me go, leaving my sweater soaked with tears and smeared with makeup.

Rita sniffed and wiped her nose with the heel of her hand. "Oh, Ma, this is the best night of my life!"

I nearly laughed, it was such an insane thing to say, but instead I told her, "I'm glad, hun. I'm really glad. But now we have to go. Where can I take you?"

"You don't need to take me anywhere," she said. "They're not looking for me. They're looking for you. Once you leave, I'll smoke a couple cigarettes and go back inside."

"Then why did you come up the stairs with me and do all that?"

She gave me with a helpless look and spreading her hands wide said, "I just wanted to be with you."

I had to smile. But, "I have to get the hell out of here, Rita. I've got to run."

"Where are you going to go?" she asked. I couldn't believe she was asking, but it was too perfect. I had to tell her.

"Ames, Iowa," I replied. It was the first name that popped into my head. Almost any place would do, and I didn't think Maria had any connections there.

"Are you shitting me?"

"No, Rita, I'm really going there. Hey, do you have a pen?" When she nodded, I held out my hand for her to write on. "Give me a phone number where I can reach you."

She stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth to help her concentrate, and excitedly scribbled the numbers and "Rita!" with a heart dotting the i.

[ This is part two of a three-part story. ]

© 2012 by Kaleigh Way