Plasticity Page 8

  Alan had proved to be a decent person, even if he was a little awkward. Certain things set him to a concern for decency, while others seemed to make no impression on him. Bloody and naked, Hayley had hugged him and thanked him for bringing her to safety, and he had not flinched. Stepping out of the shower, though, was when he had averted his eyes, as if, somehow being clean changed the nature of her nudity.

  Half of Alan's cabin had been set up as a workshop, with prosthetic body parts, male and female, in no short supply. Alan, in the course of displaying his interest, had handed over several parts for Hayley to examine. He handed over an arm, from shoulder to elbow, a wrist and hand combination, a breast, a penis, without testicles, a vulva, and a few eyeballs, each a different color. Not once did he seem anything less than comfortable with these, but when Hayley selected a torso with small breasts, and no flesh beneath the navel, he shied away. She wondered how he was going to complete a body, if he felt improper seeing certain pieces of anatomy once they were assembled. Then, she wondered what the point would really be to assemble what would be, in effect, nothing more than a mannequin.

  She, now, took a seat in one of the chairs that faced the bookshelf at the far end of the underground room and picked up the book she had been reading. The bookshelf was one of several that lined the walls of the underground room. They held every kind of book Hayley could imagine, science fiction, fantasy, art books, dictionaries in a few different languages, horror novels, and various non-fiction books, separated by type and alphabetized by author. The philosophy book she was currently holding was not interesting in the least, but she felt she should finish it. It was one of those important books that people are supposed to read. Hayley saw her future as a long, open expanse of time, and she felt that gaining knowledge would be the best use of her time, even if it bored her, and the knowledge was not guaranteed to become wisdom.

  She paused for a second, ear cocked to the ceiling. She thought she heard footsteps above, but only for a moment. After several seconds of listening, she decided that she had imagined the noise. She picked up the old phone Alan had given her, preloaded with countless songs, and slid a pair of studio headphones on. She was determined to finish the book, and determined to listen to every song on the phone, even the ones she recognized that she didn't like, and especially the songs she didn't recognize that she didn't like.

  Several songs into her reading, the boredom became too much to bear, and she slid the headphones off. She sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the cabin. Listening for footsteps above. When she was reasonably sure that Alan was not upstairs, she set the book down and went up to the cabin-proper. She wavered between assembling more of the mannequin that Alan was letting her build, or taking a shower, which would be her second of the day. She stepped into the workshop and went to the mannequin. She stood by it, looking it up and down for several minutes, touching various parts, moving the arms, caressing the breasts. It was nearly completed; it just needed the feet, hands and head. She slid her hands between its thighs, then pulled away quickly.

  “It's not right, is it?” She asked the headless doll. “Can't consent if you don't have a head. Can't fight back if you don't have hands or feet.” She wondered, for a moment, if that's why she had not finished the thing, yet. If, maybe, she was holding back, so it would never be complete. She had grown a strange, off-putting desire for the thing, and not finishing it may have been the only thing keeping her from giving in to the temptation. She turned her back on her fragmentary Galatea, and left the workshop.

  Seeing that Alan had still not arrived, and noting that it was getting late, she assumed he would not be coming tonight. That was fine, she had other things to do, and could survive without accompaniment for a while. She made the decision to take a shower, as if it were required by a contract she had made with herself, since she wasn't going to work on the mannequin. In the room that she and Alan shared, as there was only one room that wasn't the main room or the workshop, and Alan didn't know about the underground room, she disrobed and dropped her clothes into a clothes basket in the corner. In the closet, she rifled through an assortment of costumes, some Alan's, some, she assumed, for the mannequins, until she decided on a simple outfit of a knee-length skirt and off the shoulder t-shirt.

  “Very 80's.” She mused, and slumped a bit when she remembered, as she found herself doing each day, that there was no underwear available. She would ask Alan to buy some, some day, but she kept finding it difficult to broach the subject. She had not asked for his help with anything, after he had saved her and provided her with housing. She didn't feel right asking him to spend his money on anything for her, and she had no idea how much money he really had. At first, she had assumed that anyone with enough money to maintain two different homes, must have quite a bit of disposable income, but had quickly come to see it under a different light. Having two homes to maintain, must cost a decent amount, and would probably be straining whatever income he was working with. “Oh well, I guess I'll just be 'Sexy 80's Girl' today. It's a little better than 'Sexy Lumberjack,' like yesterday.” She set the outfit on the perfectly-made twin bed, and stepped into the bathroom to take her shower. She paused, one last time, to listen for Alan, but heard nothing.

  She dialed down her sensors and stepped into the shower while it was still cold. As the water warmed, she gradually increased sensitivity, until she was back to her normal range around eighty percent. She washed her hair and her face, then began soaping up her body. She would love to have a loofah, or at least a cloth of some sort, instead of using her hands, but that would require asking Alan to buy it for her. She slid her soapy hands across her breasts and pretended to “accidentally” raise the sensitivity of her nipples. Sliding her hand down, she didn't even pretend it was an accident when she raised the sensitivity of her whole body. She hadn't even made it to her genitals when she was shocked into awareness by the scorching water coursing over her nipples. She hadn't considered the math implied by an increase to one area, followed by an over-all increase. It had to have been around a hundred and fifteen or so percent. Don't ruin this, you stupid body, she thought, and went back to work. Within moments, she had worked herself into a frenzy. This body was responsive, and it took very little input to stimulate the right areas. It was almost a disappointment how easy it was. Taking the work away made the reward a little less gratifying. She slid her finger up and around and a thought broke into her mind: How am I any different from that mannequin in the workshop?

  “Crap. And we were having such a nice time.” She rinsed what little soap remained from her chest and legs and stepped out of the shower. She would be breathing heavily, and her skin would be flush, if she breathed or had skin. Instead, she smeared a hand across the bathroom mirror and looked at her smooth, even-toned, face. The frustration that burned inside of her didn't register at all in the crisp, clean lines of the face that stared back at her. Maybe she would finish that damn doll and get it over with. Just to get it out of her head. She stormed out of the bathroom, dripping wet, and left her clothes on the bed. She didn't even stop to listen for Alan, as she stormed into the workshop. At the mannequin, she stopped and turned to face the shelves where the heads were stored. Alan had amassed several of them, male and female, in different shades and age ranges. Hayley was sure this would have creeped her out, had she been the old, flesh version of herself, but for now, she was methodically examining each one. The mannequin body was pale, and Hayley had paid little attention to it when she had first assembled it. Now, she needed to be conscious of its skin tone, in order to select an appropriate head. She picked up and examined a pale head with emerald green eyes, a sharp, Disney-Princess nose, and soft pink lips. She turned the bald thing back and forth and imagined different hairstyles and colors. She had made her decision. She carried the head to the mannequin, fished out the harness from the neck cavity, and plugged the head in, before mounting it on the armature. She placed a blonde hair-do on the mannequin, letting the soft curls rest agai
nst the pale face, knowing it wasn't the hair she wanted. She just wanted to make sure she had chosen the correct one, by testing out one she knew wouldn't work. She removed the blonde hair and replaced it with the dark black bob she had already picked out in her head. It was perfect. That was exactly what she was supposed to look like. She looked into the dead emerald eyes and sighed. She placed a hand on the shoulder of the plastic girl and laid her head against her chest.

  “It's not much better is it?” She gently kissed the mannequin's chest, and turned away. “Maybe tomorrow, Baby.” She whispered, as she left the workshop.

  In the bedroom, she dug her jeans out of the laundry basket and took the underground room's key out of the pocket. “This is why I have to keep looking for this damn key. I need to put it somewhere, instead of just leaving it wherever it ends up.” She left the bedroom, again, without getting dressed. Clothes weren't really necessary if Alan wasn't going to be there.

  She popped open the door in the floor, slid it out of the way and dropped down the stairs. There was still a decent amount of night left, and she needed to do something to fill the time that sleep used to fill, so she decided to read another book. The philosophy book could wait; there'd be time, later. At the bottom of the stairs, where she normally looked across the room and saw the two chairs, instead was a girl. She was short, young, pretty in a weird kind of way, and dressed like a creepy doll. Old Hayley would have believed she saw a ghost and run screaming from the room, back up the stairs, out the door and as far away from the cabin as possible. New Hayley knew better, though. This was certainly not a ghost, which actually made her more worried. She was mentally scared, but she didn't know how to make the body physically react to this fear, so she just stood there, staring.

  The girl stared back for the longest time. She was obviously angry, her eyes narrowed, her nose wrinkled, her mouth in a snarl. She looked ferocious and ridiculous. Still, Hayley was working through her initial surprise, and started to say something, but as soon as she opened her mouth, the girl screamed.

  “Get out of my house!”

  Hayley didn't know how to make the body react to fear, but she knew how to make it run. Up the stairs, out the door and as far as the tree-line, before she stopped herself.

  “What the hell was that?” She asked of the weak darkness that was slowly giving way to the predawn light, actual dawn being a couple hours away. Of course, she didn't expect an answer. At least, not from anyone outside of the cabin. She worked to calm herself down, and steel herself, then she went back to the cabin.

  Chapter 10: Tabitha

  Her name wasn't Tabitha. She didn't know what her name was, but she knew it was not Tabitha. Well, she knew it probably was not Tabitha. Some old lady, who tried to offer her candy of all things, said she looked like a girl named Tabitha from some old television show, so that is what she called herself. And so, Tabitha who was not actually Tabitha sat on a hillside, shaded by the trees above her, while looking down at the trees and roadways below. A sudden wind began to rise, and with it, leaves the color of flames licked up from the ground, and a rushing maelstrom formed around her small body. The leaves screamed against the trees like thousands of winged devils, tearing their kin from the branches and scattering them into the air. Tabitha managed a weak smile as she imagined the world was on fire, but then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. She waited for a couple of minutes, to see if the wind would return and light the world on fire again, but it did not, so she rose to her feet and began to walk. She had rested enough, anyway, and she was so close to her destination, any lingering just seemed to be wasting time. The library's alarm had been triggered months ago, but she could only walk, and walking, even if you do not get physically tired, is time consuming.

  The sun was beginning to set, casting the sky in dark red and orange to match the dying foliage crunching beneath Tabitha's feet. By the time her feet met the charcoal strip that divided the yellowing grass from the crumbling trees, the sky had turned a regal violet, and then crisp blackness enveloped her as she entered the trees. Soon she would be home. Well, the only home she had ever considered “home.” As far as she knew, she was born there. Although she had spent a much larger portion of her life away in the north, she had always believed she had one true home. And, as she approached the cabin, set in a small clearing, she saw that there were lights on inside.

  She had expected to find the cabin in a state of disrepair, having been empty for so many years, and was more than a little disconcerted to find it relatively clean, and occupied. She crept to a window, getting as close as she dared without allowing the light from inside to illuminate her face. No one could be seen from the window on this side of the cabin, and no sounds could be heard inside. A stealthy perimeter recon almost assuaged her fears, until the furnace kicked on. The roar, easily heard outside the cabin, splitting the dark silence, told her that someone was using this place as a home. They may not be there, now, but they would be at some point. Weighing her options, Tabitha decided, instead of going inside and waiting to confront whoever was living in her house—squatters, most likely—she would find a perch nearby, and observe the residents when they returned.

  She did not have to wait long before she heard footsteps approaching. They crunched every leaf and twig in their path, with no regard for stealth. A two-legged cow, or perhaps a Minotaur, seemed to be coming out of the woods, toward the cabin. A moment of surprise passed Tabitha's face, as she realized she could feel the person approaching. Like a pressure change in the atmosphere. Then, she saw the small girl walk out from the trees that she, herself, had walked out of so few minutes ago. The girl could not have been a day over twenty, but she carried herself like a middle-aged man. Walking, almost lumbering, to the cabin door, feet clomping on the boards of the porch, keys jangled, and she was in, without so much as a backwards glance.

  Tabitha moved as quickly as she could without raising too much clatter, and positioned herself at a window. The girl had her back to Tabitha, half-bent over a table. She was looking through papers, small mechanical parts, and what appeared to be junk food packaging, all strewn about the table in the dinette. When she found what she was looking for, she turned, and Tabitha backed away from the window a little further, just in case. She watched the girl drop down, disappearing below her sight-line, then reappear, briefly, before descending from view. Tabitha rushed to the window, caution being disregarded, for the moment, and saw the girl's head vanish into the floor, and the door to the library slide back into place.

  Tabitha was wholly unhappy with this situation. How many of them were down there? Did they find her room? It was hidden, sort of, but any real snooping would reveal it within moments. She looked down at herself, what once had been vintage Honey Cross shoes, were now chewed up dog toys held together with various colors of duct tape. Her white stockings long ago greyed, now with, she had just noticed, a new hole above the left knee. Her dress, weathered now to unrecognizable shape and missing one of the cute bows from the bottom, had once been a Sister Maria, sailor-collared, one piece. She lifted her arms in front of her to note the frayed ends of the sleeves and slumped into a crouch. “My clothes are in that room.” She pouted out loud, but the only ears it reached were unsympathetic woodland creatures. She decided it was necessary to chance it, and go into the cabin. Maybe they would understand that this was her house, and maybe they would just leave. You never know. People can surprise you. Although, she did kind of doubt they would go quietly. But, sitting outside and speculating was not getting anything done, so she walked to the cabin's front door. Softly, at first. No need to ruin the element of surprise. She found that the girl had left the door unlocked, perhaps expecting more company, or just being absent-minded.

  Once inside, she fished her necklace out from beneath what was left of her sailor collar, and pulled it over her head, cupping the chain in her hand to quiet the movements as she positioned herself at the hidden door in the floor. She popped up the latch, which made a dismayingly l
oud “thwack,” to reveal the lock beneath. She hoped the floor was thick enough to hide the sound, and tried to think back to when she used to stay down there, but could not remember. She moved gently, in the hope that she had not already given herself away, as she slid the door open just enough to look inside. It was quiet and brightly lit. She could see nothing from her perch above the door. Crouching with her face to the opening revealed little more than what she could already see. Slowly, she slid the door open all the way, angling her body back, in case anyone inside the library was carrying a weapon. She saw no one, and still heard no one, which made her believe that she had been found out, and whoever was in the library was hiding. Steeling herself, she stepped quickly, but carefully, down into the library.

  The girl was sitting in one of the two wingback chairs, set apart, with a small coffee table between them, all facing the bookcase that covered the far wall. With her back to the entrance, and a pair of comically large headphones on, the girl appeared to have not noticed Tabitha's arrival. So obvious a ploy that Tabitha was almost offended that they would believe she would fall for it. She began to clear the room, like a swat officer, sans-rifle, corner to corner, behind objects, beneath the long table that stretched from the entrance to the book case at the far wall. She found no one else, and had managed to go undetected by the girl in the chair. So, her friends must have yet to arrive, then. Tabitha backed away from the chairs, and crossed the room, crouching beneath the stairs. A quick glance behind her, to make sure she was not being watched, before she pressed on the wall behind the stairs. A gentle click, and the door was free to slide open, revealing the pitch black abyss that was Tabitha's room. She pivoted her back into the room, leaving her facing the chairs. Still no movement. She watched intently as she closed the door, until the last moment when the door clicked back into position.