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— I said, lift your ass, turn to the wall and don’t make any sudden moves! — barked Officer Mark Rivers, gripping the gun with both hands.
He had been waiting for this moment for almost three months, ever since the day he got that first strange case — the case of Sarah Connors, a bank employee who, according to her own statement, disappeared for seven hours and came back in complete shock, insisting she had “lived someone else’s life,” even though every camera clearly showed it was her who opened the boxes and walked out of the bank with a solid amount of cash.
Her story back then was written off as a pathetic and utterly ridiculous attempt to justify herself — there were way too many pieces of evidence against her. But then came Jeeford Stone, then Craig Donovan. All these guys said the exact same thing, like a carbon copy: about a sudden “shift,” a new body, a life… and it was already way too strange. Just like the fact that a few days before committing their crimes, they had all been at Ethan Crawford’s show — a street magician, as he called himself, whose fortune was growing too damn fast for a regular fraud.
— Interesting, — said Ethan, slowly standing up as if no gun was pointed at him. — And why are you so sure all of this has anything to do with me?
— Because there are too many coincidences, — Mark snapped. — Game’s over, Crawford! Hands on your head!
Ethan gave a slight smirk.
— You know, officer… — he raised his hands, but not behind his head, just in front of himself. — People like you often lack… how should I put it — he narrowed his eyes, glancing to the side, as if scrolling through possible words in his mind — love? affection? Or… maybe just a second chance, huh? That’s what you want, right?
— Enough talking! — Mark barked, stepping forward. — On the ground. Now!
Ethan looked at him with an almost sympathetic smile.
— I think I guessed right…
The snap of his fingers was barely audible, and everything happened in just a second.
The first thing Mark noticed, still standing with his arms stretched out in front of him, were the voices. Female, male — they seemed to fill all the space with their quiet yet loud hum, as if discussing everything in the world at once.
'You won’t believe it, Charlie — yes, that Charlie — he’s dating MONICA now! Yeah, I know, I’m shocked myself'
'If we trust the theory of evolution, then social roles formed no less than biological traits'
'Mom! I passed! Yes! Math! THANK YOU! And I love you'
The phrases cut off, overlapped, like radio static. Mark inhaled sharply and immediately heard with some inner sense that it came out strangely high.
His hands, out of old habit, tightened around the grip of the gun to regain at least some sense of reality — but it only got worse. The grip was different. Smoother. Bigger in size. As if it… as if it was:
— A HAIR DRYER?! — burst out of his mouth, turning into some kind of squeal. So high-pitched that Mark flinched from his own voice.
The hair dryer in his hands trembled slightly, its pink body catching the reflection of cheap locker-room lights. His hand pulled back instinctively, trying to steady his stance, but his center of gravity shifted, and Mark nearly swayed in place. His legs, in knee-high socks, trembled...Full story (9 800 characters - 4 parts + add. images) is open to subscribers here or on Patreon