Human by Choice Read online

  I left some windows open both to air out the place after being gone and so I could hear the sheriff coming. We had just finished breakfast when the sound of a car pulling into the drive alerted Jeri. She heard it well before I did.

  “That's your cue, Jeri. Into bed.”

  “Yes.” She smiled at me and left. For some reason I still had an image of her face in my mind as I stepped outside. I waited on the porch as he approached.

  “Mr. Leverson?”

  “Sheriff?” I held out my hand. “Call me Kyle, please.”

  “All right. I'm Buddy Morrison, County Sheriff,” he said as he shook my hand with a firm grip.

  “Of course. Would you like to come in? I have some coffee, just brewed.”

  “That sounds fine.” Unlike some of the big-bellied parodies of southern sheriffs, Morrison was tall and slim. He removed his hat as he entered the house, displaying totally white hair, incongruous over a face that didn't appear old enough to warrant it.

  I poured coffee after asking him how he took it and we sat down at the kitchen table, almost a requirement for conducting business in the rural south.

  “All right, Sheriff, now what can I do for you?” I was a little short with him intentionally, reinforcing my supposed exasperation at the incident of “the monster.”

  “It's like this, Kyle. Miz Moletta is well thought of in this neck of the woods. Nice, hardworking family woman, raising a little girl by herself and not given to hysterics. She swears she saw something horrible in your jeep, then it looked to her like it suddenly disappeared.”

  “How could that be? A disappearing monster? Come on!”

  “Who knows?” He shrugged. “You mind telling me what that hole was for?”

  “Humph,” I plopped my hands down on the table, exasperated. My tone of voice became irritated as I tried to act like a normal person would if confronted with such a tale. “Yes, I do mind. I don't think it's anyone else's damn business, but I'll tell you anyway. I got tired of hauling my trash to the dump and decided I'd just bury it instead. Then after I had it dug, I got to thinking about it and decided it wasn't that good of an idea, after all. This is really a nice place. No point in burying a bunch of junk on it when it can go to the landfill. Hell, it's not that big a deal.”

  He nodded, unable to refute my logic. It was a troublesome chore and a good number of the locals did what I told him I had planned, if for no other reason than to avoid the yearly fee of sixty dollars for use of the county dump. I watched him sipping at his coffee as he thought it over. The only hole in my story, no pun intended, was that it looked more like something heavy had landed at an angle than what a person might have dug. Apparently he decided to let it pass because I could see from his expression he was considering his next question and how he was going to put it.

  “I was looking around to see if there was any evidence of foul play while I was inside your house t'other day. There's a couple of odd-looking boxes you got in one of your bedrooms.”

  “So?”

  “Don't guess they're big enough to hide a body, but all the same, I'd like to see them again, if you don't mind.”

  “There's someone in the bedroom sleeping. I'd rather not disturb her.”

  “Really?” he said, with a raised eyebrow. He took another sip of his coffee and patted his phone clipped to the top pocket of his shirt. “I guess I could call Judge Best and get a warrant to do a real search, but you could save some time ‘n trouble if I just had a peek inside that room again.”

  “Damn it,” I said. That UPS driver and her friend must have really laid it on thick. I stood up. “All right, come on, but you'll see they're just a new kind of European luggage designed to make it hard to get into if you don't know where the latch is. Try to be quiet. She's still got a bad case of jet lag. The only time she can sleep is mornings and early afternoons.”

  “I'll be quiet.”

  I led the way and eased the door open far enough to let him look inside. The sun lit the room well enough even through the curtains. Jeri was lying on her side facing the door in a sort of fetal position, her hair tousled and the sheet all wadded up on her in a rumpled mess. It did a good job of concealing her odd body shape. She must have practiced a bit while I slept. As we stood there, her eyes blinked open. She closed them then opened them again.

  “It's okay, Jeri. Just a visitor.”

  “Sorry to disturb you, ma'am,” the sheriff said.

  “Is okay. I sleep wrong. Aeroflot noise make him.” Her voice had a thick accent.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Am okay. Kyle nice man is him.”

  The sheriff backed out and I gently closed the door.

  Back in the kitchen, we sat down again.

  “Who's the lady? Sounds like a furriner.”

  “She just arrived from Albania. That's where I had gone when you came out before—to pick her up.”

  “She some kind of relative?”

  “Uh, you might say that.” I made an effort to look guilty. “She's here on a six-week visa. We're probably going to get married. That's if I think we can get along.”

  “I see,” he said shaking his head knowingly. There were no flies on him. “One of those gals looking for a rich American, huh? You want to be careful. Some of them are prostitutes just looking for a way to stay in the country. You'd better have her checked for STDs.”

  “I had her checked by an agency. They were supposed to take care of all that. She's just a woman wanting an opportunity to better herself. I've been lonely since my wife died and I'm not much for the single bars scene. Not much of a socializer either.”

  “Jerry? With a R R Y or an R I?” He asked how her name was spelled.

  “R I,” I gave him the one we had picked out. He wrote it in a little notebook and allowed a lazy smile to cross his face as he rose, preparing to go.

  “Good luck, then. Sorry to've bothered you.”

  We had little else to say to each other as I walked him outside. When he reached out to shake hands I reinforced my story, doing my best to act as if I was embarrassed. “Sheriff, I'd appreciate it if you'd, uh, keep this to yourself. It's no one else's business, after all, and before my wife died I'd never have thought I would do something like this in a zillion years. It's just so damned lonely these days.”

  “Do my best,” he said ambiguously. He tipped his hat and slid into his patrol car. A moment later he was gone. Either he had forgotten that he told me he had forms for me to sign or had just used that as an excuse to investigate. I strongly suspected the latter. And he hadn't mentioned Jeri's survival kits again, either, so I guessed he thought they weren't important enough to bother with. If there's a force watching over us, it was surely with us then. But, of course, I don't believe in such things.

  I had no earthly idea what I'd have done if Morrison hadn't been distracted by Jeri and decided to check those “peculiar cases.” I might have tried to explain they were some newfangled suitcases I'd lost the key to, but I doubted it would have gotten by him. He was no dummy, not by a long shot.

  I didn't know whether or not he'd keep my affairs under that white Stetson of his. Maybe he would. He wouldn't last long in office if he made a practice of gossiping, not in this part of the country. On the other hand, I fully expected him to check and see if Jeri really did have a visa. In the age of terrorism, a new foreigner with an accent was automatically suspicious, especially arriving only a little over six months after Gwen's death, and visiting a newcomer to the area as well.

  As I walked back to the house I suddenly realized I had thought very little about Gwen since Jeri arrived. It made me feel truly guilty, not just the play-acting I had done with Morrison. It's funny how you can be so broken-hearted you think you'll never get over it, and then find that your emotions are fading, even though the past memories are intact. I guess it's a survival trait. I know it's not healthy to grieve for long periods or you begin living in the past.

  Jeri heard the sheriff driving off and was waitin
g on me at the door. She still had that jet lag appearance on her face. I wondered why but she told me before I could ask.

  “Now I know what it is to lie, Kyle. I don't care much for it.”

  “Don't worry about it.” Despite her appearance below the neck I gave her a comforting hug. “But you see where it's necessary on occasion?”

  “Yes, but...”

  “I know. It's not something you've ever done. I'm sorry, Jeri, but you'll just have to get used to it. We couldn't function as a society without a certain amount of mendacity. Some of it's meant as a kindness, like not telling a friend he's stupid for believing in astrology, for instance. Or when a person desperately needs their job to support a family, they aren't going to tell the truth to the boss when his wife is wearing a dress that makes her look like a whore and he asks you whether you like it as much as he does. Telling the truth all the time just isn't possible. When it's done to spare someone's feelings, to keep them from being hurt, it's called a ‘white lie'. It's all part of our culture even if it isn't talked about that much.”

  “It's still wrong to lie deliberately for no good reason, isn't it?”

  “I think so. Some businessmen might disagree. A lot of them think anything they say or do to make a sale or get a contract is legitimate business, but I personally believe they're wrong. As the old adage goes, man is not a rational animal; he is a rationalizing animal. Our brains are wired somehow to rationalize a hell of a lot of behavior we wouldn't even consider if we thought about it logically. Hormones and our sex drives play a part in that, as well as our territorial instinct. I guess what I'm trying to say is that in the long run, if you always try to be as truthful as you can without upsetting people's apple carts, you won't go too far wrong.”

  “You said it's not talked about. You must be right because I don't find many references to it in entertainment or popular culture articles, other than surveys.”

  “Lying isn't the only thing we don't talk about. Do Cresperians daydream? Or have you begun daydreaming as a human yet?”

  For the first time, I saw her blush. It wasn't much, probably because all her internal changes weren't complete, but it was there. She started to reply but I held up my hand to stop her.

  “Don't tell me about it,” I advised gently. “Everyone daydreams and some of the dreams are really wild, but no one talks about the subject. If we all suddenly confessed to what we've daydreamed about over the last week, our whole civilization would probably collapse.” I chuckled, thinking I had hit on a not too obvious truth. “Come on, let's get inside and have a drink and I'll tell you a story.”

  While I was pouring a shot of bourbon over ice for myself and a glass of wine for Jeri, I began talking. “Okay, the story goes like this. I was at a party once with Gwen. There must have been, oh, maybe twenty or thirty people and we were playing a game, each of us asking the rest of the group a question about human behavior and trying to stump them. When it came my turn, I asked, ‘What is an activity that we all spend a significant part of our waking lives doing but no one ever talks about, not even to their spouses or lovers?’ Know what? Not a single person got the answer right. No one thought of daydreams, even though we all spend a lot of time doing it, because we never talk about daydreams to anyone else. Never, even if they're perfectly innocent and not about sex or violence of being a hero or poking an obnoxious boss in the nose.”

  “How curious.”

  “Isn't it? But we're a damn weird species, or at least I think so. You'll just have to get used to it.”

  * * * *

  Jeri's changes progressed rapidly after that. A few days later she was looking entirely human. She had dispensed with the robe and was dressed in jeans and t-shirt when I came into the kitchen to brew my morning coffee. She had told me the day before that there were still a few changes going on internally but even those would be finished by the end of the week. They were out of sight, and mostly had to do with adjusting and fine-tuning her prioperceptive senses, the ones that take care of those thousands of little automatic movements we make without having to think about them, and putting the finishing touches on her immune system so she wouldn't have to spend so much time using her perceptive sense combating diseases. From what she had told me up until then, with her running a human body, it wouldn't be susceptible to illnesses. No colds, no genetic diseases, no cancer. For the first time I had a real view of the woman I was now living with. And what a view. It was enough to wake me up without my usual morning coffee.

  “Good morning, Jeri,” I greeted her. “You look good in clothes.” I averted my eyes from her bust. She hadn't put on a bra and the t-shirt was a light-weight summer cotton. Her nipples were partially erect and clearly limned against the fabric.

  “Thank you, Kyle. I made the coffee already.”

  “Huh?” I said, very intelligently. Sure enough, it was already in the carafe where I kept it hot through the mornings. I drink a lot of coffee. I poured a cup, then thought of her. “Would you like to try some?”

  “Um, yes, but not much. Remember, while my external body is completely human now, my taste buds aren't quite ready for some things.” I could understand that. A lot of food and beverages we eat or drink are acquired tastes and differ tremendously according to ethnic groups, cultural habits and so forth.

  “Here.” I poured a half cup and handed it to her. “Just drink what you want. I take mine black but you may like cream or sugar. Many people do.”

  I was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Jeri had constructed an extremely attractive female body, just judging from what I could see, but I had no doubt that beneath her clothing she would look pretty much like the model from the magazine. I hadn't lived with any woman other than Gwen, although my experience wasn't limited to her. We'd married after I'd been in the army several years and had decided to take the commission I was offered and make a career of it. We moved down to Fort Rucker, Alabama, where I went to Warrant Officer Candidate School. Then I did the Warrant Officer Basic Course at Fort Huachuca, Arizona, and from there was moved back to Huntsville, Alabama, with the 902nd Counter Intelligence Group. I was away a lot even then. Before long I was promoted up to a Chief Warrant Officer Two (CW2) and then I got promoted to CW3 just before I was wounded. We had five years together after my medical discharge and she had just gotten pregnant when she was killed. They were happy years, too. Once we married, I barely looked at other women. She was all I wanted and then some. Pretty, intelligent, a great figure, and a career of her own, not just an adjunct of my own life. She was a book editor, which was how I met her, at a science convention she was attending to get a feel for a science book she was editing. And it was her who made the approach. She was too regal-looking for me to even think about making a pass at her.

  I shook the old memories out of my mind and took my coffee over to the big lounger in the den, just as I normally did. I liked to have several cups before breakfast. She followed me and sat down, curling one leg under her and sitting half turned toward me just as a normal woman might have. It stretched her t-shirt tight, causing me to avert my gaze again. Damn. I knew right then that I hadn't correctly anticipated how much her face and body would appeal to me. Or any other halfway normal man, for that matter, despite her alien origin.

  “You're being very quiet this morning,” she commented.

  I looked at her. Even without makeup, something I'd neglected to buy, she was disquietingly pretty, on the verge of beautiful. This was going to take some getting used to.

  “I'm sorry. You're so good-looking that it's distracting me, but it's all right. I'll get used to it.” I looked at her bust again. “Did I get the wrong size bra?”

  She laughed, a pleasant-sounding tinkle. “I don't think so, but I found it a little uncomfortable. I think I probably need to have you help me adjust it.” I realized that to her it was a perfectly innocent request, and that she didn't yet understand how much men are visually oriented in sexual matters despite my explanations back when she'd first run across porn
ography on the net. I didn't even know if men were attractive to her as a female human now. Theoretically they should be, but she was a blank slate. However, hormones should take care of that problem to some extent, I thought. I didn't know yet just how much she would be affected.

  For a moment I wondered why she would have had problems with the bra, then thought of how girls start practicing wearing one even before they've properly begun to develop breasts. But helping her? I felt a twinge in my groin, then remembered her original appearance and it deflated. Still...

  “Maybe you need to have a bra fitting done by a professional, except I doubt we could find one closer than Little Rock.”

  “You couldn't help me? I think the cup size is okay, it's the straps giving me trouble.” She was fast losing her formal English and picking up my way of speaking.

  “I could try but ... Jeri, remember you look exactly like a very attractive woman. I couldn't help but, uh...” I floundered, as embarrassed as I'd been the first time a girl allowed me the opportunity to unhook her bra and I couldn't manage it.

  “Good.” She smiled sweetly. “I was hoping I'd have that effect on you. I believe my hormones are already near their proper level.”

  That took care of my wondering how men affected her. Of course, I was the only man she'd known yet. I was in pretty good shape, but I wasn't all that handsome to begin with. The best that can be said is that Gwen told me I caught female glances because my face had the characteristics of an adventurer or a pirate, whatever that meant. My premature gray hair made me look older than my years. People seeing us together were going to think she was my daughter or I was her sugar daddy, or perhaps had gotten me a trophy wife. Or so my thoughts went then.

  “Whoa,” I said. “We're going to be living together, but I didn't intend for you to, uh, feel that way.” Me and my big mouth. It got me into trouble more often than I like to admit.

  She looked stricken, already using appropriate facial expressions without having to think about it. I wondered if this one was real or just for effect. She quickly set me straight.