Dancing with the Deadlie
In her book Everything Mary Says Is Wrong, Allie the Outcast has this to say about the criminal arts:
"Skinjacking, and ecto-ripping, along with all the other so-called 'criminal arts,' are not criminal at all when in the hands of someone with a brain and a conscience. Calling them criminal arts is just one more way Mary Hightower puts a negative spin on things beyond her control."
Chapter 8 Treasures of the Flesh
The living world was habit-forming to a skinjacker. There was no question about that. Allie tried to limit her skinjacking to the times she absolutely had to, but she only had so much self-control. The pull of the living world was hard to resist, and got harder each time she jumped into a fleshie.
The girl she now skinjacked was about her age, maybe a year older, with drab clothes, tight shoes, bad teeth, and acne. She was not someone you'd particularly notice if she suddenly became possessed by a different girl.
Allie had skinjacked her in a music store, and now stood a block away at a newsstand, on the small main street of Abingdon, Virginia. Allie's purpose was research. With all the time that had passed since she had left the living world, she had lost track of things. Who had won the last two World Series? What was the state of global warming? What movies had she missed and what bands were at the top of the charts? This was the reason for today's skinjacking. That's what she told Mikey. That's what she told herself.
So she stood at the newsstand, scouring various newspapers and magazines, but as she did, she found herself completely uninterested in news of the living world. What interested her more were all the things she could feel in this borrowed body. The consciousness of the girl who owned it had been easily pushed down into mental steerage, leaving Allie to luxuriate in her senses. An unexpected heat wave had rolled into Western Virginia, and the humidity that might have been oppressive to the living, was wonderful to Allie. Feeling the warmth, feeling herself sweat, feeling uncomfortable in a very human way--these were just a few of the many things that Everlost denied her.
And hunger! Allie had no idea how long it had been since this girl had eaten, but she was certainly hungry--her stomach was even growling. She caught the dizzying, yeasty aroma of a bakery a few doors down. A bell jingled as a customer opened the door, and the smell became so intense for a moment, it could have lifted Allie off her feet. She didn't dare go in; how completely wrong would that be to indulge in cookies and pastries? For all she knew the girl was diabetic or had a deathly allergy to nuts. She had to remind herself that skinjacking was a privilege, not a right.
"Are you buying that magazine, miss?" asked the newsstand clerk, "or are you just going to read them all for free?"
Embarrassed, Allie reached into the girl's purse, pulled out a couple of dollars, and bought the tabloid in her hand. Only after she opened the purse did she realize she had opened her own personal treasure box. She gazed in at the trappings of this girl's life. There was a set of keys with a heart-shaped key chain that said "I Love VA." There was lip balm--the kind that smelled like strawberry. There was a pack of tissues to blow her wonderfully stuffy nose--and nestled in the midst of it all: a Snickers bar. It had always been Allie's favorite ... and after all the girl was hungry. Besides, the candy bar was in her purse already--which meant she must not have some unknown medical issue that would prevent her from eating it. What harm would it do to take a single bite?
"I shouldn't ..."
"Shouldn't what?" asked the news clerk.
Allie hadn't even realized she had spoken aloud. "I'm not talking to you."
The clerk gave her a funny look and Allie walked away. Crossing the street, she found a bus stop bench in the shade, and sat down.
I've been in this girl for at least fifteen minutes, she thought. The girl would be frightened once Allie let her have her body back. She'd never know that Allie had been there, but she would certainly miss the time. On the other hand it was only fifteen minutes--and it hadn't been like the girl was doing anything important. She was browsing in a music store, and seemed to be in no great hurry. What was a few more minutes?
Allie pulled out the Snickers bar and slowly ripped the edge then peeled back the paper. The outside layer of chocolate had melted from the heat. It was already getting on her hands and that immediately made her think of Nick--which made her need comfort food all the more.
She raised the Snickers bar to her lips and took that single small bite, feeling her teeth sink into it, feeling the flavor rush over her taste buds. Life is wasted on the living, she thought. They take all this for granted. The feel of the weather, the taste of a candy bar, the inconvenience of time, and the nuisance of uncomfortable shoes. To Allie all of these things were wonderful.
Once she had started the Snickers bar, there simply was no way to stop. One bite became two, became three, and soon the entire bar was gone. Now that the deed was done, she felt guilt that almost, but not quite, outweighed the pleasure. She would go back to that newsstand and buy another candy bar for the girl and put it in her purse. That's what she would do.
"Was it good?" said the high-pitched voice of a child.
She turned to see a very young boy and a very old man standing beside her. The boy, who couldn't be any older than three, stared at her with an expression that seemed a little too cold for such a small child. The old man held his cane with a palsy shake and leered at her with a twisted kind of grin. There was something about the two of them that gave her the creeps.
"He asked you a question," said the old man. "Aren't you going to answer him, huh? Huh?"
"Yes," Allie said. "It was good. It was very good."
"Next time," said the little boy, "you should get some milk to wash it down." He held his cold stare for a moment more, then suddenly he burst out laughing and so did the old man. The moment was too odd, too unsettling. Allie could feel gooseflesh bristling on her borrowed body. She excused herself and crossed back to the newsstand, where she bought another Snickers bar, and dropped it in the purse before returning to the music shop. She would leave the girl exactly where she had found her, browsing in the alternative rock section. Only this time the girl would have to make sense of the twenty minutes missing from her life.
Mikey waited. He waited because he had no choice. He couldn't skinjack, and although he could follow Allie, and watch what she did in the living world, he didn't want to. There was something unpleasant about seeing her disappear into someone else's body.
What made it even worse was her choice of hosts. Mikey couldn't understand why she always chose the sorriest-looking fleshies to skinjack. If you could jump into anyone, why not choose someone you'd want to see in the mirror? Unless of course you were a monster, as he had been, and took pride in an unpleasant appearance. Allie, however, was anything but a monster, so her choice of homely hosts baffled him.
Perhaps I'd understand it if I were more human, Mikey thought. He had spent so many years as a monster, he was still trying to get the hang of thinking the way humans think again. Considering the feelings of others, holding his temper, digging down to the deepest part of himself to find patience.
He had very little patience when Allie skinjacked. He paced and grumbled, he complained to their sad-eyed horse. He steamed and stewed, and wished he were the McGill again, because it was so much more satisfying to be discontent when he was physically repulsive. Now, according to Allie, he was somewhat cute. He often wondered if she said that to punish him.
"I AM NOT CUTE!" he shouted to the horse. The horse tossed its head and whinnied like it had just been shown some sort of great kindness. It just irritated Mikey even more. Although he didn't wish to be a monster again, neither did he want a condemnation of cuteness.
He looked to his right hand. It had once been a deformed claw, covered in growths too unpleasant to mention. He had made it that way himself, for he had the power of change. Of course that was before Mary showed him that blasted picture of himself--the memory-in-a-locket that forced him to remember who he was. He turned his hand over, looking at his palm, his fingertips. They glowed with his faint afterglow, but otherwise, they were plain and human, and they hadn't changed since that day he violently and unexpectedly transformed back to his human self.