Page 121 of Switch!
Trixie shrugs. “It’s debatable.”
“I don’t think we should. That would be using our powers for evil. What we’re doing is already morally ambiguous.”
“If you say so,” Trixie says, checking the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of wine. “Does this count as food?”
She looks so earnest that I can’t help but laugh. “Yes. We’ll open that tonight. For now, let’s finish exploring.”
The hours melt away. We dress in Gary’s clothes, using neckties as sweatbands as we strut around in full suits. The clothes are too short for me, although Trixie manages to look stylish in hers after rolling back the sleeves and cuffing the pants. We rifle through personal items, opening every drawer we find, including one full of studded leather harnesses and spanking paddles, which sends us both into fits of laughter. Especially when Trixie puts one of the harnesses over her suit and chases me around with a paddle while yelling, “Fifty shades of Gary!” Most of his possessions are as mundane and boring as anyone else’s. That doesn’t stop Trixie from offering estimates on anything she suspects is valuable.
When we tire of snooping, we go swimming. Trixie doesn’t insist that we skinny dip, but we do strip down to our underwear. I can’t help noticing how pretty she is as we splash around. I’d probably be going crazy if still in my original body, but whenever I begin to entertain such thoughts, I’m reminded of Laura. She might not have been my wife, but this body had grown to love her so deeply that all other options pale by comparison. Much in the same way that my culinary preferences change with each switch, I simply can’t imagine being with anyone else. It’s Laura and no one else.
The sun is setting by the time we’ve finished swimming. We reconvene in the basement, wrapped in blankets while watching a movie in the home cinema. The bottle of wine is opened, and we make repeated runs to the kitchen for snacks. I feel nervous when it gets so dark that we have to switch on lights, but as Trixie points out, the houses here aren’t built close together, and Gary doesn’t seem the type to inspire the love of his neighbors. Part of me keeps expecting to hear a knock on the front door, or maybe the police shouting orders to us over a megaphone, but by the time we each choose a room to sleep in, I’m convinced we’ll be okay. I even set the alarm to make myself feel safe.
Sleep doesn’t come easy. I didn’t want to burden Trixie with further talk of Patrick and his grief. Not during our vacation. But I am curious to find out if our efforts have been useful. I sit up in bed, a pillow behind my back to support me. Then, for the first time since I saw him last, I return to the black box.
The scene that greets me is Christmas-themed again. I understand why now. Patrick’s job was always demanding. The holidays were one of the few occasions he could spend time with his family, his parents included. Patrick would fly home to Connecticut with his wife and daughter to celebrate. That’s probably why we’re in the living room of his childhood home.
Patrick is sitting on the couch. He’s not alone. A little girl is curled up next to him. Serena is sleeping peacefully. Patrick seems tranquil too. Until he notices me. When that happens, the Christmas music stops and the room goes still. Even the gentle rising and falling of Serena’s slumbering form has ceased.
“Sorry,” I say, braced for anything—the heat of anger or ice-cold indifference—I’m never sure what I’m going to get with him. This time it’s a simple upward nod.
“Is it important?” Patrick asks, his tone guarded. “I’m happy here.”
“Happy,” I repeat. It’s not a word I was expecting to hear from him. “Really? That’s great news!”
Patrick considers me. Then he nods. “I didn’t realize I could create other people. Not until I showed you what happened in San Diego.”
“Yeah,” I say, my throat tight. “I’ve done that myself, when missing people from my past.”
Patrick nods toward the stairs. I’m guessing Laura is up there somewhere. A copy of her, at least.
“I’m relieved that you’re doing better,” I say, moving closer. “That’s what I wanted but…” I sigh, not wanting to upset him. The truth is too important. “None of this is real.”
“I know,” Patrick says evenly. “What I want doesn’t exist anymore. This is as close as I can get.”
“What about Laura? She’s still out there. Somewhere.”
Patrick stares at me, his voice raw when he asks, “What do you want?”
“You need to come back with me,” I say.
“No.”
“Just for a little bit. A few minutes.”
He shakes his head. The room is growing dark. Even the lights of the Christmas tree flicker, as if they’re about to go out. I refuse to let any of this intimidate me.
“Please?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then I’m really sorry about this,” I say, just before I rush him.
I dragged him in here. I should be able to drag him out. I throw my arms around Patrick and will the world around us to disappear. The room, the couch, even the little girl. All of it vanishes. I can feel him fighting me, trying to drag us back down. I imagine myself as a space shuttle, an explosion of fuel from three thrusters rocketing me into space. Or back to consciousness.
My eyes shoot open as I gasp in air. I’m conscious again, but it’s Patrick who needs to wake up. I release control to him and visualize myself standing with my arms spread wide, blocking access to the black box. There’s no need. Patrick is so puzzled by his surroundings that he doesn’t try to escape. Instead he gets out of bed and walks to the window, searching for clues to his whereabouts.
That’s when it hits him. All the memories Trixie and I have made since we barged into the spare room. Every therapeutic roleplaying session, every tear-soaked conversation, all the advice that we both tried to drum up and follow for his benefit. Patrick clutches the side of his head, overwhelmed by it all. Then he returns to the bed and sits on the edge.
