Story #72 - Liza

Liza

“Liza?”

The word was a shadow of a thing, flitting at the edge of her mind to hide behind her eyes. Looking directly at it sent it scurrying away in the direction of what she knew should be her ears, but she couldn’t seem to follow it, couldn’t seem to pin it down for more than a second.

“Liza, wake up.”

The word had a voice behind it now, a strong and fatherly one that sparked a momentary familiarity, one that was quickly hidden behind a wave of spinning darkness. Bouncing around inside her mind, Liza could feel the edges of a way out, see a slight lightening of the bottom curves of that blackness and she reached for it, struggling to push past what muscled into her brain to hold her down.

With a choking sob, she wrenched herself out of the abyss and found a younger man in glasses looking down at her, his white coat creased but clean, a concerned expression plain on his face, one that slid into an odd mixture of relief as their eyes met.

He was handsome, this one, and vaguely familiar. Had they met?

“Liza,” he said, breathing a deep sigh, “welcome back. I know this must be confusing for you.”

She smiled prettily up at him. Confusing or not, he was getting better looking by the second. The black-framed glasses he wore only served to accentuate his light blond hair, which was short and spiked up in the front. His strong jaw made her shiver slightly as he turned to a small table next to her bed, showing off an impressive flexing of muscle along his neck. Glancing down, she smiled; she must have known she would be seeing him today – she had her favorite flower-print dress on, the one that gathered at the hip and showed off just enough cleavage to draw the right kind of looks.

Shifting slightly on the bed she tugged down on the top of the dress to give him a better view. He wouldn’t get more than that yet, but he had to know where she stood – or laid, in this case.

“Not when you’re here, doctor,” she purred, “everything just seems right when you’re around.”

He ignored her, or at least didn’t respond directly to her words. Eyes elsewhere, his hands were fiddling with something on a metal table, and when it came into view she could see he held a small silver pill between his fingertips.

“Liza,” he said seriously, “let me explain what’s going to happen here – I know this has been very disorienting.” He held out the silver pill to her, but she didn’t touch it. Drugs were unnecessary in most cases, and she preferred to keep her body as pure as possible. Running a hand over her hip she smiled; it left her free to fully enjoy other, more impure activities as well.

He smiled disarmingly at her, fully ignoring any of her efforts on his behalf. It was an effort not to pout.

“This little silver fellow is going to help you, Liza – with the nightmares.” His voice was soft, but she immediately stiffened.

It had been a struggle to tell anyone about the nightmares, even someone who might be able to help, but they had finally gotten out of control. At first, they had come only once or twice a week, hideous visions of a frumpy, middle-aged woman inhabiting her body and sapping her will, but over the course of the last year they had become more frequent, even striking in the middle of the day when she became tired or distracted. It was frightening, the loss of control, the smothering double image of her glorious form overtaken by some tightened old prune.

Reaching out, Liza snatched the pill of doctor’s hand and flung it into her mouth.

“Water,” she said sharply, cheeking the pill. It was something she was used to; for years, doctors had been trying to treat her “appetites”, as they called them, but she had ways of avoiding what they wanted her to do. This time, she would swallow, if only to get back the control she deserved; a woman like her shouldn’t have to suffer in silence.

A glass came to her hand and she gulped its contents down, a feeling of euphoria washing over her. It couldn’t be the drugs, not yet, but somehow, she knew it was going to work, knew it was going to get rid of the dull doppelganger that slipped into her dreams when her back was turned.

She cried out as her legs stiffened, locking her to the bed, and tried to cry out again as her arms were pinned. No sound would come from her mouth, wedged open in a silent snarl, as the doctor looked on, that same strange mixture on his face.

Jackal! He had tricked her! This was another anti-sex pill, another libido suppressant or love killer that she’d been swindled into taking. It wouldn’t work – they could limit her briefly, strip her of her power only momentarily, but she would be back – and they would regret it.

* * *

”Jenny?”

The name sounded strange, but then everything sounded strange in the fuzzing void that surrounded her. Was that her name? Maybe.

“Jenny, wake up.”

The words were enough to clear away the worst of her fog and her eyes fluttered open to reveal the face of Dr. Macnemara. Clever and young, he’d come highly recommended to help her.

“We can’t be sure it’s permanent yet, but it looks like for now the treatment is working.”

She breathed a quick sigh of relief; it wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. Wetness under her made her shift uncomfortably; Dr. Macnemara had told her the pill could cause a physical reaction, but she hadn’t been aware it was going to be this intense. She hoped he hadn’t seen anything too embarrassing.

Glancing down at her dress she frowned; she hated flower print.

- D