PROLOGUE
June 30th, 2018 was Lindsie Rounds’ 38th birthday. She spent it alone in her small, crummy apartment in the middle of town, a single candle flickering in the darkness on top of an ice cream cake she'd bought at the grocery store earlier that day. While she reclined on her couch, staring mindlessly at the ceiling, the cake sat on the kitchen table next to an unopened bottle of champagne. The expensive bottle was a gift from one of her more recent boyfriends. He was a much younger “man”—barely out of high school—who had dumped Lindsie after they'd slept together four times. Right after the fourth time, he promptly told Lindsie he had “grown bored with her.” His loss was what Lindsie thought to herself whenever she got in a mood about it. She got in a mood about it pretty often.
I happened to feel especially bad for our friend Lindsie on her birthday, a day that’s supposed to be fun. And before you ask, it’s not because of how she spells her name. See, she tries her best: works hard, pays her bills, gets along decently well with others, is not a criminal or anything like that, and yet she has nobody in her life. No family (estranged), no true friends (beyond the occasional acquaintance, to be fair), and obviously no man (she’s very desperate on that front). I mean, it's really sad if you think about it. She just doesn’t stand up for herself, and that’s because she doesn’t believe in herself that much. And so, out of the goodness of my heart (and because I wasn't doing anything else), I decided I’d help her out.
At this point you’re probably wondering who I am, and the answer is pretty complicated. I’m not some guy you’ll ever meet or talk to under normal circumstances. I'm something far greater than that; someone whose existence goes beyond what people like you can understand. I’m powerful, almost too powerful, and I can do whatever I want. Yes, I know how ridiculous all of this sounds, but don't worry about me. I'm perfectly sane. Well, at least as sane as an extra-dimensional being can be. Hah! All you need to know is that I’m somebody who usually sits on the sidelines and stays off the field, but for Lindsie I’ll lace up my cleats and step up to the plate. Why her? Don’t worry about it.
Operation Save Lindsie begins the next day when she gets to work. I should establish that she’s the “executive special assistant” to the CFO of a major corporation in the area. It's actually a respectable gig that pays well, and she’s responsible for making schedules, dealing with paperwork, answering the phones, typing reports, and taking notes during all meetings. Her job is basically a secretary on steroids, but she always liked the weight of the title. Her boss, an energetic, handsome 20-something wunderkind named Sam White, is nice enough for a guy she has to interact with constantly. Being a very hands-on type of executive, he doesn’t ever make the hyper-competent Lindsie do his job for him.
Anyway, once Lindsie arrives at her desk for the first time as a 38-year-old, I spring into action. But first I need to actually get on her level, so to speak; I need a human avatar. There’s a multitude of employees in her company I could borrow for the task, but none of them are right. They're either boring, obnoxious, stupid, or all three. So instead, I go with one of the interns: a college junior by the name of Angelica Caldwell. Angelica is far and away the most popular girl in the office, and that’s definitely because she’s a gorgeous young blonde who dresses to impress. She looks particularly great today, wearing a tight white dress and matching stilettos and that draws all the attention to her long, toned legs and slim figure. Her golden hair was worn up in a sleek, practical bun, and her lips were coated in an eye-catching cherry red gloss. Sure, she was a smart business major and definitely deserved her internship, but her beauty got her over the finish line when applying, not her brains. That’s why the oafs who ran the place (minus Sam) had her fetch copies and files all day instead of doing anything serious.
It’s never a difficult process when I decide to “be” somebody for a period of time. In this case with Angelica, I just focus really hard on her while she logged onto her computer and then soon enough I am the one looking at the screen with my perfectly-manicured hands on the keyboard. Her soul—is that what humans call it?—went haywire once it realized it lost control, but that’s normal. After a few more hysterics, I tighten the screws on it. Within seconds, her “soul” has faded away, gone completely… at least for now. I’ll make an exact copy and hand said copy the keys to her body once I’m done. But for all intents and purposes, there was only Angelica Caldwell’s body with me inside.
“Who made this password?” I say quietly, testing the vocal cords. All clear; her voice was soft, with an air of confidence to it. The password was 7x8!ye9@wq$6, by the way. I obviously didn’t bother typing it, since Angelica wouldn’t be doing anything associated with her internship today. She was my intern now.
Standing up at her desk in the corner of the almost clinical office, I briefly stretched before making a beeline for the hallway elevator. Right now I’m on the third floor, while Lindsie is on the 16th. Strutting around in heels was a lot tougher than I remembered, but it was a momentary struggle. Her body fit me like a glove, but then again I never had problems when I decided to walk amongst humans as one of their own. I was about to open the glass doors to the hallway when I felt a quick tap on my shoulder.
Turning around, I saw another one of the interns staring at me with wide, perplexed eyes.
“Uh, Angelica…where are you going?” She asked me. “Weren’t we literally just about to start working on press releases?”
Luckily for me, erasing a soul doesn’t erase memories. I had full access to them and was able to figure out that this girl—Jean—and Angelica walked in together and planned to get to work right away.
“I have to use the bathroom,” I lied. But Jean and my memories both immediately told me that was the wrong lie.
“Um, alright, but you asked me if I had to go a few minutes ago,” she said, brushing her shoulder-length brunette hair out of her face. “Are you okay, Angelica? Did something happen?”
I gave Jean a good hard look. She had an attractive face, with soft brown eyes and high cheekbones. Like Angelica, she was well-groomed and wore makeup that accentuated her features. Unlike Angelica, though, she was much more casual with her attire. With her button-up shirt tucked in, jeans, and flats, she definitely dressed for comfort and not for style. Oh, and her glasses were very nerdy.
“Angelica? Are you…gonna answer me?”
It would be naive to assume that Jean had genuine concerns. I was being told by Angelica’s memories that Jean was desperate to be friends with the much more respected intern. Episode after episode of Angelica heading home early or (truthfully) using the restroom or going to another floor or getting food never unfolded without Jean noticing and insisting on tagging along or knowing what happened. It was pathetic, honestly. And worse yet, Angelica had always been too nice to tell her off. They were attached at the hip, pretty much, although only one of them enjoyed it. It’s only natural, though, that someone like Jean would cling to someone like Angelica.
But “natural” wasn’t beyond my pay-grade.
With a mere thought from me, I changed Jean. Her makeup was gone, and the frames o her glasses were rounder, bigger, and thicker. Her pant legs merged and turned her jeans into an ankle-length denim skirt, while her blouse changed into a thick sweater. Invisible hands tied back her now-frizzy hair into pigtails as her nice flats were now plain black sneakers. As her clothes covered more and more of her body, her otherwise normal posture became closed off and her demeanor dulled, matching the sheer modesty of her appearance. She put on some weight for good measure, losing the air of body positivity she had a second ago.
“Uhh, hi… I guess? Um…hi?” she said, blinking rapidly. She stood there absolutely frazzled. “I-I didn’t m-mean to bother y-you…sorry, um…”
This new Jean looked like she was about to start crying, and that’s the whole point. I made her ridiculously shy. For her whole life, Jean—Jeanie, as everyone called her—was a meek, quiet girl who did everything she could to avoid human interaction. New memories of obsessive reading, doing schoolwork religiously, and spending so much time alone took hold in her mind. Her relatively outgoing, passionate persona was erased, leaving behind a sad, timid little mouse. Jeanie has never bothered nor would never bother a thing, Angelica included.
That was what I wanted.
Without even having to speak to her again, Jeanie scurried away and took a seat at her desk, shuddering. That was fine by me. I strolled up to the elevator, called it, and got in once the doors opened up. It was finally time to see Lindsie. Fucking finally.
END OF PROLOGUE