Incomplete Data
"Sequence thirty seven oh five." Bird Cievera read off the computer screen, fighting back a yawn as she glanced up at the large LCD screen that showed the electron microscope's output. "No changes. Is that the last one, Toby?"
Tobias Bormann carefully slid a tray out of the autoclave, though he knew the answer already. "That's the last one for tonight," he replied, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. "I guess we should call it a night."
Cievera was already shutting off the powerful microscope. As the University's chief lab technician, she spent most of the day operating the equipment for graduate students' clumsy projects in medical genetic research. In the evenings, after the last students had gone home at the lab's official 9pm closing time, she'd been spending more and more time helping Bormann- an instructor in the University's Equine Management program- run experiments in what he'd claimed to be research into using horse stem cells to repair tendon injuries. She had seen enough of the students' projects to know that instead of repairing damaged tissue, his experiments were aimed at changing it. But Cievera was lonely, and she secretly hoped that the handsome- and single- Bormann was working up the nerve to ask her out. "Are you going straight home, Toby? It's only eleven," she asked hopefully.
"Oh, I've got to be up early tomorrow," he replied. "It's Saturday." He didn't explain further the significance of the day, but fumbled slightly with the two small glass cannisters he was withdrawing from the microscope's scanning tray.
"Be careful, Toby," Cievera warned, pushing back her swivel chair. "Don't get that on you." There was no telling what the substance might do.
Bormann laughed. "Maybe I'll turn into a horse," he replied, quietly thinking [i] if only...[/i]
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Not being a tenured professor, Bormann lived off campus, and as he drove his slightly worn Dodge Neon down the near empty late night streets he sullenly pondered. [i] Maybe I'm just wasting my time. This has to be crazy, wanting to be a horse and spending so much time on half baked science projects. Bird likes me. Maybe I should forget the horse stuff. [/i] He turned into the lot of the rental apartments where he lived, pulling to an empty space- he lived in the last building, for some reason the parking spaces near it were almost always empty. Turning off the Neon, he picked up his laptop bag and started in. Pausing by the building's door, he fumbled for his keys, went in, then opened the mailbox, pulling out a few letters and a fistful of advertising circulars.
Up the stairs, unlocking the door, then he was into his apartment. Most of his neighbors would have been surprised at how starkly it was furnished; more like the apartment of a student. There was a single chair, sitting before a computer desk, and a small portable television sitting on a plastic container that stood in for a table. That was it- other than another larger plastic trunk whose open lid exposed a chaos of bridles, bits, reins, and assorted other horse equipment, and a sawhorse on which rested a rather worn Crosby saddle.
Tossing his keys onto the computer desk, he reached over and flipped the desktop on. A moment later, the screen was warmed up, and he sank into the chair, connecting to the internet, drawn again to look at the same sites, read the same stories of horse transformation, disappointed when he found no new stories, just the same comfortable ones he'd read every Friday night.
Continuing his routine, he went to eBay. He collected horse equipment, both as a hobby and as part of his job as an instructor. The battered saddle in his living room was intended for one of his students. He owned no horse of his own, instead tormenting himself with brief friendships of the horses belonging to students- frequently he was tempted, but he'd convinced himself that someday he'd be a horse, so it was somehow unfair to own one.
Entering 'bits' into the website's search page, a dozen came up, and he scanned through them. "Nothing special here...wait." The auction was ending in five minutes with no bids. The picture was somewhat blurry, but the shape of the bit was unusual, looking more like something from the 16th century than a modern item. Only the color- a bright shiny silver, that promised to be cheap plating- warned that it was likely just coincidental, that instead it was an inexpensive Chinese made forgery. 'Authentic antique bit from the orient', the text read. 'Grandpa brought it home from the war. Selling from his estate.'
[i]What's five bucks? It'll make a nice paperweight. ]/i] Bormann shrugged, typing in his bid, and ten minutes later, courtesy of PayPal, he only had to wait for 'post office shipping and handling'.
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The bit arrived the following Saturday, after another week of fruitless testing in the lab. The box was sloppily wrapped but it had made it. "All the way from exotic North Dakota," Bormann mumbled as he sat at the computer desk, tearing open the wrapping- then taken aback as the light glinted off what was clearly silver- or was it? He took the bit out, examining it closely. Shaped more or less like a mullen mouth curb bit, it had a mouthpiece of about five inches and relatively short but wide shanks. There were tiny stones set in it, a turquoise color that punctuated fine symbols engraved on the shanks. He set the bit in his palm, marveling at it's perfect balance. The metal felt warm, even though it had just come from the box, and he fought for a moment an impulse to put it in his mouth. [i] Why not... it's not magic or anything...[/i] He slowly and carefully brought the gleaming bit toward his lips.
His cellphone rang. Bormann put the bit down and flipped it open. "Hello?"
"Toby, it's Carol Haas, from the barn. Could you come down?"
"What's the matter?" Carol was one of the graduate students, who showed no sign of ever attaining her master's degree, but her wealthy father was quite generous to the university.
"I think one of the horses is sick," she replied.
There was a moment of silence. "Which one?" Bormann asked, exasperated at Haas' not providing such logical information.
"Henry."
Bormann groaned. Henry-who'd been known to millions of racing fans as 'Sudden Envoy'- was a thoroughbred on loan to the university's breeding program. He'd won several million dollars in his racing career, but his offspring had been disappointing, and his owners had sent him to the university with a generous stipend as a tax writeoff. Most stallions were a bit much for the students to handle, but Henry was particularly difficult- he'd be mild mannered one moment, lulling his handler into distraction, then suddenly snatch away from them and gallop off sending students and faculty searching as the stallion galloped about the campus. He'd usually make a straight line for the university commons, where he'd play 'keep away', grazing on the ryegrass then galloping away again as soon as someone came near, until he tired and would let someone catch him. "What's wrong with him?"
"I don't know. He's just sick."
[i]Knowing Carol, she's probably just afraid to take him out of his stall to groom him- but maybe he really is sick.[/i] "I'll be down in twenty minutes." He carefully placed the bit onto the computer desk, then suddenly picked it up, dropping it in his coat pocket as he snatched his car keys up.
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Bormann arrived to find Carol anxiously waiting by the door, a large bruise on her face. "What happened?" Bormann demanded.
"Henry tossed his head and hit me when I went to look at him," Carol mumbled in reply through swollen lips. "I think I broke my nose."
"You'd better go to the infirmary," Bormann said, turning and walking into the barn and toward the row of stalls that housed the breeding program stallions- Haas could wait for a few minutes, he'd check Henry first.
As he passed the stalls, several of the horses whinnied in greeting- they recognized Bormann as someone who frequently would feed them, and watched with anticipation, hoping for some treat. He got to Henry's stall- the big thoroughbred already was wearing his halter, so Bormann picked up a lead rope, watching the horse first to try to see what was the matter. Henry stood in an uncomfortable, slightly parked out stance, his head slightly lowered, looking at Bormann and ignoring the dark green alfalfa hay that stuffed a large hayrack in the corner of the stall.
"The green stuff coming out his nose," Carol said, finally anticipating a question.
Bormann knew instantly. "He's choked." Sliding open the door, Bormann attached the lead to the horse's halter, then pried open his mouth, which was filled with half eaten hay.
Haas was immediately defensive. "I didn't know, it's not my fault," she half whined.
"It's not your fault," Bormann said matter of factly. "Call the vet."
As Haas ran down to the barn office, Bormann pried Henry's lips apart again. "Gums are a little dark," he said aloud in a calm and even voice. The horse pricked his ears forward, as if he was listening to the diagnosis, but Bormann knew it was just the tone of his voice that Henry was keying on, and hoped to keep the big horse calm. He carefully ran his fingers along the horse's jawbone, finding the artery, and looked at his watch, scowling. "Seventy five. That's awful fast, buddy. Hope you aren't going to colic on me too." Colic could be brought on by stress, and the discomfort of the wadded hay in his throat might be just enough to bring it on.
Henry coughed, sending more mucous laden with alfalfa leaves spraying out his nostril as Haas returned. "No one is answering at Doctor Meier's office."
"Call the night emergency number."
"I don't know it," Carol said.
"It's on my cellphone- it's in my coat, on the front seat of my car."
As she scurried off, Bormann turned his attention back to Henry, who was starting to paw at the ground with his right forehoof.
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It was getting colder, despite being May, and Haas shivered as she pulled the door open of the battered economy car and picked up Bormann's coat, a gray saddle duster. There was a heavy object in the pocket- she reached in, pulling out the silver bit. Even in the dim light of the car's dome light, it glittered, and the turquoise stones seemed to amplify the light that they reflected. Carol was entranced, staring at it for a moment, then remembered the phone. Sticking the bit back into the pocket, she fumbled with the bulky coat, finding the phone and bringing up the directory- the vet's emergency number was at the top of the list. "Doctor Meier's service."
"Mister Bormann asked me to call you, one of the horses is sick here," Carol yammered out.
"Is it an emergency?" the person asked.
"If it wasn't would I be calling the emergency number?"
"Could you tell me what's wrong with the horse?" the voice on the phone persisted.
"He's choking," Haas replied, almost in tears. "He's going to die."
There was silence for a second. "I'll have Doctor Meier call as soon as possible. Can I reach you at this number?"
"Yes, yes," Haas said. She snatched the coat. [i]It's cold, and Mister Bormann will want his coat. [/i] She ran back in the barn, somewhat alarmed- Henry's door was half open, and she could see the big horse lying prone. Dropping the coat and phone, she ran to the door. "Is he dead?" she almost screamed.
"He's colicing," Bormann said from where he knelt by the horse.
"We have to get him up and walk him!"
"No, let him rest." Bormann put his hand on Henry's neck. "When will Doctor Meier get here?"
The phone rang. Haas ran back, snatching it up, and kicking the jacket aside, half under a bench. "Hello?"
"This is Doctor Meier. Can I speak with Toby?"
She dashed back to the stall, handing the phone to Bormann. "It's the vet," she said.
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Horses, despite their great size and strength, are quite fragile when it comes to their digestive systems. Despite Meier's night long care, Henry continued to worsen, and by morning when another veterinarian arrived, the big thoroughbred's condition was grave. "I'm afraid he's not going to make it, Toby," Meier said as he began to pack up his equipment.
"Can't you do anything?" Carol asked, as she watched the horse through bleary eyes where he stood, filled with painkillers that slowly dripped in through an IV.
Bormann put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "We can only keep him comfortable now."
"I'd put him down, but the insurance company won't have it," Meier said in a voice filled with obvious contempt. "They'll insist on keeping him suffering, on the one in a million chance they won't have to pay."
As Meier talked with the just arrived Doctor Rand, Bormann and Haas turned away. "Let me take you to the infirmary," Bormann said gently- a bit more impressed now with Haas; she'd stayed up in the all night vigil when she easily could have left to sleep using her injury as an excuse.
She looked again at Henry- a long, intense look. Bormann watched as the thin girl reached out, touching the horse gently on the face. "Good bye, Henry," she said softly, then she turned and accompanied Bormann as they walked down the barn's aisleway. The large doors were open, and they walked out into the orange light of the sunrise that streamed down through the trees. "It's too beautiful a day for Henry to die." She started to cry, very softly.
Again Bormann touched her shoulder gently. "There's no happy day for death," he said, shivering slightly from the cool morning air.
Haas looked at him. "You're cold. I'm sorry, I left your jacket in the barn."
He was reaching for the car's door, and he looked over. at the barn. The parking area was about a fifty yard walk to the entrance. "I'll get it later."
"No, I should get it." Haas started to turn to the barn, then suddenly collapsed, sobbing. "Oh, Henry... I'm so sorry, this is my fault."
Bormann carefully lifted her and set her in the car's passenger seat, marveling at how light she was. [i] She can't weigh more than eighty pounds- she's small, but thin as a rail. Wonder if she's anorexic.[/i] "It can wait. I'll get it later."
He started to walk around the car, when he noticed Meier walking out of the barn. "Hey Toby, here's your jacket," the veterinarian called, almost having to shout because of the distance.
Bormann turned away from his car, walking back and meeting Meier halfway. "Thanks, Doc."
"Not a problem." The vet frowned. "It'll take a miracle to save that boy. You have any in your pockets?"
Bormann felt the weight of the bit- it seemed heavier, and he reached into the pocket, touching it. "Not that I know of."
Bormann walked back to the Neon, climbing into the driver seat and slamming the door. The package shelf rattled as he put the key in the ignition and started the car. "Don't take me to the infirmary," Haas suddenly said as he backed up.
He stopped the car, shifting it to neutral. "You want me to take you home?"
"No. I just- I want to be with someone, and not at a hospital." She looked hopefully at Bormann, her young brown eyes seeming to plead. "Could you...I mean, I'm sorry to ask... don't take this wrong, I just... the horses like you, I can see it when you come in the barn. Could I be with you this morning?"
There was no strict university policy about fraternization between instructors and students, it was frowned on, but Bormann reasoned that this was different- she just wanted to talk to someone for a while, and it was Saturday- no classes. "Sure," he said sympathetically. "Do you want some breakfast?"
"Do you have any- I don't eat meat," she said, in a somewhat embarrassed voice. "That must seem silly."
"I don't either," Bormann replied. He shifted the Neon into drive. "We can go to Nen Chen's. They have a pretty good tofu and oatmeal breakfast."
"They're closed on Saturday morning," Haas replied. "And Woodman's doesn't have a very good menu for breakfast."
Another car had come into the parking lot, so Bormann let his foot off the brake and started to the exit. He signaled, turning left onto highway 31, toward his apartment. He drove a bit slow, his thoughts a bit clouded by fatigue. "We could stop for coffee."
"Could we go to your place?" she asked. "I'm really hungry."
"Sure," he said. He pushed the car up to the speed limit, the out of balance tires making the steering wheel vibrate slightly. Driving past the train station, he turned left, into the apartment complex parking lot, feeling a bit uncomfortable as he got out of the car, picking his jacket from tht seat- Haas seemed to have suddenly brightened up, almost seeming excited as they walked up to the building.
He opened the door, and she half pushed by him, touching his chair in front of the computer desk. "You don't have much furniture. Can I call you Toby?" She sat in the chair, turning it around to watch him, her face reflecting a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
He didn't answer immediately, but opened the refrigerator, taking out a container of milk. "Anything is possible, Carol." He picked a coffee mug up off the counter- it was orange and green, and advertised a brand of horse feed- filled it with milk, and handed it to her.
She sipped at it, looking at him over the cup's rim. "It's sweet. What kind of milk is this?"
"Mare's milk," Bormann said as he poured a glass for himself. There wasn't another chair, so he pulled over a toolbox and sat on it. "It's not as thick as a cow's milk, and it has a higher sugar content."
"I'll remember that if I read it on a test," she promised. "Toby...can I ask you kind of a personal question?" She put the mug down on the computer desk.
"You can ask, but I might not answer," he said.
"Well...you're a kind of a good looking guy, sort of...and, well, do you like girls?"
"I've never met a filly I didn't like," he said lightly.
He'd pulled the tool box too close, and she almost lunged onto him out of the chair, wrapping her arms around him. "I want to be your pony." She pressed her face close against his.
Bormann managed to not spill the milk or fall off the toolbox, carefully putting the mug down as his mind spun. [i] What do I tell her? [/i] "Carol..." despite his fatigue, he felt a rush of erotic desire for the young woman who was squirming in his lap. She'd turned around, her back pressed against him, straddling his legs, pressing her rump against his waist. It seemed too bizarre, and the fatigue from being awake too long added to the hazy unreality, an almost dreamlike situation. [i] What the hell...she's legal. [/i]
He slipped his hand up under her blouse, pulling it and her bra off, letting her small breasts loose, and as he did ran his hand down her arm. Then, taking both hands, he pulled off the sweats she was wearing, along with her sandals and socks, leaving her nude, with his head pressed against her back. "You're a naughty little filly," he said, feeling out of place, like he had walked into a cheap porn video.
She turned her head half around, making a halfway decent whinny. He reached over to where a pile of bridles and halters sat, waiting to be cleaned, and picked one up- it was an adjustable foal size halter, one of the ones that had an adjustable noseband. Fiddling with it- he'd worn it himself, so knew how to adjust it- he set it around her head and buckled it. "Come on, you've work to do."
Carol started to get to her feet. "No, horses need to walk on four legs. No rearing," he scolded. She stumbled along slightly as he tugged the leadrope, taking her to his bedroom where he opened a trunk. Pulling out some homemade hooves he put them over her feet, then another pair on her hands. They were a bit too big, but he pulled the leather buckles tight- he'd almost caught himself in them, they were near impossible to get off, and he took some vetwrap- an elastic bandage- and wrapped several times across the buckles; she'd not take them off herself unless she could get a kitchen knife and saw through the bandage. He tossed the leadrope around the bed's post, tying a bowline and pulling it tight, then pulled a tail out- it was one of the fake tails, designed to be woven into a horse's real tail for show to make it look fuller, but for his own play at being a horse it had served well, and he taped it onto her rump. "There we are, little mare. Now time for a ride." [i] She needs a bit... this is too kinky.[/i] He left her, wearing hooves and the halter snubbed against the bed, and went back into the living room, finding an old leather headstall. Pulling the cheek pieces off another bridle, he pulled the bit from his coat pocket and attached it, then put on a pair of roping reins, and started back for the bedroom. "Time to ride. Hmmm....what would be a good name for my mare?" he said aloud. Carol didn't answer, but looked back at him with hungry eyes. "I think 'Shadow'," he said, and she again made a halfway decent whinny of approval.
He looked at the bridle in his hand, feeling himself hard and erect, and debated for a half moment- [i]Put the bridle on, or go ahead and take her now? {/i] Reaching down to his own pants, he fumbled with the zipper.
The phone rang, noisily intruding. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out and flipped it open, annoyed at the interruption. "Hello?"
It was Meier. "Toby, I need you to come down right now and stop these jackasses," the vet spat out, his anger clear on the phone.
"Henry?" Bormann asked.
Meier let out a few choice obscenities. "The damned insurance people... you won't believe it if I tell you, better come down." The vet hung up.
Bormann stared at the phone, then at the nude girl. [i] It'll only take a few minutes... I'll bang her, then...crap. Henry needs me. [/i] "I've got to go see another horse, Shadow. I'll be back in a little while." He tossed the bit and bridle onto the bed near her head. "Be a good girl."
He flew down the stairs, running out to the Neon, and fastened his seat belt as he backed the small car up. The motor protested as he stomped on the gas, steering out of the lot and back onto the highway. It was normally twenty minutes to the barn, but the light Saturday traffic and his near reckless driving let him make the trip in eight.
As he arrived, both Meier and Rand were standing in the parking lot. Rand was throwing his equipment into his own truck. "I've never seen such shit," Rand said, his voice as disgusted as Meier's had been.
The older Meier looked at Bormann. "It's a séance. The goddamn insurance company brought in some psychic to talk to Henry, and told us that he doesn't want any more treatment." Meier spat on the ground. "The bastards have been cheap before, but this..." the old vet shook his head. "It's just a dodge to not have to pay for Banamine. Toby, you go talk to them. It's sheer idiocy."
Bormann ran into the barn, finding a young woman wearing a gold lame' tunic- she looked like someone out of a Disney cartoon- sitting cross legged on the ground in front of Henry's stall. The big thoroughbred stared out at her across his half open dutch doors, while several other women of various ages, clad in white, stood to either side, holding a variety of odd looking talismans and humming. "What are you people doing in my barn?" he demanded.
"Shirlin is channeling," one of the older women replied. "You must control your anger."
"She can channel her ass right out the door," Bormann snapped. "This is a sick horse, and he doesn't need a bunch of..."
The woman on the floor opened her eyes and looked at Bormann. "The mare is waiting. Go to her."
Bormann was taken aback but only a moment. He pushed by, looking at Henry- the horse still had an IV line taped to his neck, but had no bag attached. "He's in pain. He needs his medication."
"He does not want the drugs, they are clouding his mind and spirit," the gold lame' intoned, closing her eyes again. "They are imbalancing his world and his karma."
The fatigue finally bit in to Bormann, and he lost his temper. "Get the fuck out of here! All of you!" he yelled. Several of the other horses looked up startled, coming to their stall doors and looking down toward the scene.
Several of the women looked frightened. "Your own karma is imbalanced," their leader again intoned, half chanting and half monotone. "You need our help more than even An-herra."
"Who?"
Gold lame' opened her eyes again and gestured toward Henry. "An-herra is his true name. The wind of the hills. And your true name is Ro-herra. The wind of the storm." Bormann realized that two of the women were near him, waving their talismans near his head.. He'd been too distracted, almost entranced by Shirlin's words, and he suddenly felt very tired.
"Look. You people need to leave," he said, his voice uncertain. "I'll call the University Police." He felt for his pocket, realized that the phone was still sitting on the seat of the Neon, as another wave of almost tangible fatigue washed over him. He lurched, slightly unsteady, and reached out, bracing himself against the stall door.
"Ro-herra, Ro-herra," the women all began chanting, and Shirlin looked at him, a look of satisfaction on her face that almost seemed the mirror of Carol Haas'.
[i] Shit. She's tied to the bed...[/i] He stumbled toward the door.
"Before the sun next rises, you will become your true self, Ro-herra," Shirlin called as he left the building, the other women's chant still ringing in Bormann's ears.
He was almost in a panic as he yanked the door of the small Dodge open. Meier was nearby, saying something, but Bormann couldn't understand- he almost couldn't get the keys in the ignition, it was as if he was forgetting how to drive. The car burst to life, and he slammed it into reverse, the tires spitting gravel as he backed up, then raced down the drive, turning onto the highway without slowing, thinking of nothing but getting back to his mare. [i] Stormy. Her name is...[/i] Again, thankful there was no traffic, he sped back to the apartment building. Pausing only to yank the keys from the ignition, he ran up the stairs, flung the door open, and ran into the apartment. He heard it bounce against the wall and slam shut as he ran into the bedroom...
She was still there, though she'd managed to lie down on the floor. The bit was no longer on the bed, but instead it lay next to her, where she'd pulled it down, trying to pick it up wither her mouth but failing. She got back up, turning her rump toward him suggestively.
That was all it took. The lust came rushing back, and he tore his shirt off, followed quickly by the rest of his clothing. Like a lust crazed breeding stallion, he threw himself on her from behind, and she squealed in surprise, sounding more like a mare than from her amateurish attempts at whinnying.
He awoke on his bed, hours later, still feeling disoriented. Haas slept in his arms, still wearing the artificial hooves, tail and halter and the leadrope still tied, but he'd pulled her up into the bed with him. The alarm clock was blinking all 'eights', and he realized that it was already night time and raining outside as the thunder rumbled. [i] Power must've gone out. Funny, it wasn't supposed to rain today. [/i]
He slipped out of bed, Haas stirring and mumbling in her sleep, and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Turning on the faucet, he stared in the mirror. For a second, his mind played tricks- he half saw the face of a bay horse looking back at him. [i] Henry. [/i] Feeling guilty, he wondered if the horse was still alive, but strangely felt no animosity toward the psychics as he stared at his own reflection in the mirror.
A middle aged man. No pointed ears, no altered shape to his eyes... running his hand down his own back, he found no tail, then examined his hands carefully. Fingers, no magic changes, darkening fingernails or sudden hair growth, and a sudden anguish and loneliness washed over him.
He walked back to the bedroom, finding Haas still asleep, then picked up a bathrobe and went into the kitchen, where the computer desk was. Turning it on, as it booted up he opened the refrigerator, where several of the failed genetic experiment samples lay. Impulsively, he dumped two into a coffee mug, poured in some of the mare's milk, and drank it in a single gulp. The computer finally warming up, he looked at the search engine, then typed in 'horse transformation.' The usual websites came up- Bormann as always ignored them, going to near the end of the search results, finding the 'off the beaten track' websites.
One was listed as 'Spelles and majikal incantations of the far Easte'. He clicked on it, bemused slightly by the sheer falsity of the deliberately bad spelling. It featured several other pages, filled with speculations on how to transform one's self into a horse. [i] They're all nuts. But I guess I am, too...[/i] he clicked onto another page listed as 'magik devices'.
It took a second to refresh, as if reluctant to share it's data, but as it did, a drawing came up, clearly a photocopy of some old book, of a silver bit with fine turquoise runes, and Bormann, his hands shaking, slowly scrolled down the page, reading.
[i] "A Shirlin, leader of the Gao-tse cult, would use this to summon and control the Ro-herra, the spirit of the wind storm horse. The Gao-tse legend spoke of a powerful and wealthy sorcerer whose plain daughter had fallen in love with the Ro-herra, and secretly used her father's potions to transform him to a human, then, his mind befuddled, she had given her body to him. Angry that his daughter had mated with a transformed animal, the sorcerer cursed the pair, he to roam the earth as a human longing to be a horse, and she to..."[/i]
Thunder rumbled outside again, and the power flickered and went out, darkening the computer screen. Bormann stared for a moment at the blank screen, feeling weak- not sure if it was from the huge dose of equine hormones and DNA that he'd just ingested, lingering effects of being awake too long, or something else. He got unsteadily to his feet, and started back toward the bedroom, when a sudden dizziness overcame him. A sudden stomach cramp- feeling as if his insides were twisting- made him double over, and he caught himself on his - hands? He fell to the floor, his hands numb, and he stared at them in a brief flash of brightness from lightning outside.
Haas awoke in the darkness, from the thunderstorm's rumbling. A brief moment of panic from the unfamiliar bed and the restriction to her hands from the artificial hooves was replaced by euphoric lust at the thought of what she had done. <i> I'm such a tramp. But this feels so good. I never thought Mr. Bormann would be such a good lay. Where is he? </i> "Big stud, your mare needs you.," she called out.
At the stable, Doctor Meier watched as a large Cadillac arrived. "About time," he huffed as he got out of his truck, retrieving his medical kit. "Mister Jensen? I'm Doctor Meier."
The man who got out of the Cadillac wore a white suit that seemed almost luminescent in the darkness, reflecting the light spilling from the stable. "Where's the horse? Let's get this over with." He glanced in the car. "Hold on, honey. I'll be back in a couple."
"What are you doing here?" a thin, short man demanded as he walked out of the barn. "Oh, hello, Mr. Jensen."
Meier looked at him with contempt. "If your whackos are done, I'm going to put Henry out of his misery."
Jensen looked at the thin man. "Sudden Envoy is insured for twenty million dollars. Shame that we have to put him down. When will I get the check?"
Ignoring the two, Meier walked into the barn, meeting Shirlin who was walking out with her attendants. "You finished tormenting that poor animal?"
Shirlin gave him a smug smile as Jensen and the insurance agent walked up. "An-herra's spirit is free. But the Ro-herra will need his body, and will heal it."
Meier pushed past, into the barn and walked down the row of stalls. The horses snorted uneasily. <i> They always know. Somehow, they always know something is very wrong with one of their herd. </i> Meier walked into the stall, then spun around. "Where is Henry?"
"As I said, the Ro-herra needs his body to again walk this earth." Seeing Meier's blank look, she continued. "The one you call Bormann."
The short insurance man had a look of near glee on his face. "No corpse of a horse, no check." He grinned.
"Damn it, you have to pay on a theft policy, then," Jensen insisted.
"Sudden Envoy was on loan to the university, right? Bormann is the manager and since you trusted the horse to his care, no theft payoff. Good night, Mister Jensen. Let me know when you find your horse." The insurance agent turned and walked out of the barn, leaving an incredulous Jensen staring at the empty stall.
Jensen stormed from the barn, whipping open the door to the Cadillac. Ignoring the hooker who sat on the white leather seat, he punched a number into his cellphone. "Jake, damn you. I paid you to whack the horse."
A tinny voice answered. "I gave him enough poison to kill an elephant. He should be..."
"He's not. He's gone, some guy named Bormann took him. The barn manager. Go find this Bormann, find the horse, and take care of the job." Jensen snapped the phone shut angrily. Sudden Envoy had gone from being a racing hero to a breeding joke, and his stud fee had fallen drastically as his first crop of foals had failed miserably at the track. Deep in debt, he'd counted on the horse's insurance money to pay off his creditors- some of whom, he knew, were loan sharks who'd collect on his insurance policy if Sudden Envoy's didn't pay off. Jensen shuddered, wondering how much time he had.
Bormann only half heard Cindy Haas call for him as he lay, disoriented in the apartment's hallway. Strange visions came to his head- memories that weren't his, that seemed like bits and pieces of a dream that quickly fade as one awakes, but instead of fading they were crowding into his memory. He was afraid for a moment, then accepted them with wonder.
<i> The crowd roared as he lengthened his stride. There was only one other horse in front of him, and he felt the unnecessary sting of the jockey's whip on his flank. He didn't understand the humans, but he did understand running, and like every other colt he wanted to run the fastest. He surged by the other horse, hearing the pounding of the rest of the horses' hooves fading quickly behind him. The jockey suddenly stood in his stirrups, and Henry knew that he had won the race.
His dam stood nearby, in the green pasture, her left ear turned back and a watchful eye on him as she grazed. He was only four days old, but already was running a short distance away from her, then rushing back. He felt under her belly, nuzzling back until he found her udder to take a quick drink of milk.
The man pushed him into the trailer. He didn't want to go, but the rope behind his hamstring wouldn't let him back up. He pushed back against it, but there were too many men, tugging on the rope and laughing, He pinned his ears and kicked back, almost falling, but he caught himself, stumbling forward into the trailer and hearing the gate slam shut, trapping him. He hated humans for doing this to him.
He ran through the field, looking right and left. There was a flat, muddy spot, and he abruptly stopped, pawing at it and sending mud splashing onto his belly, then, folding his forelegs, he lay in it and rolled, squirming to grind the dirt into his coat, then he stood, shaking some of the mud. There was some nice grass nearby, and he walked over, reaching down with his mouth to.. </i>
Bormann took in a deep breath as he lay in the hallway. He'd always wondered, hoped to find what it was to be a horse. Somehow the memories of one had just flooded into his mind. <i> Is it Henry? Did he die, and somehow...</i> A sudden aching filled his chest, as if all the loneliness from his fifty years had condensed into one point. Opening his mouth, he tried to call out in anguish, but was unable to exhale- air rushed into his throat as his lungs seemed to explode outward like a balloon. His ribs seemed to- no, they were, bloating out, his torso enlarging and changing shape. It wasn't painful, but it was physically unpleasant, and he felt angry at himself for a moment, as his legs, arms and head were inappropriately small for the horse-sized torso that he abruptly found himself with. He tried to get up, but found his legs and arms inadequate to hold up his bulk.
A sudden tingling feeling washed over him, and he felt his chest with his hands. He could feel, but not see in the darkness, the hair that now covered his torso. A coat of hair was growing rapidly on his still human arms, legs and face, covering his ears, that he could feel changing shape, elongating and starting to migrate toward the top of his head. It was too dark in the hallway to see his own transformation, and he felt a bit of regret that he was missing it.
His head- the bones in his skull- suddenly began to ache, and again Bormann felt panic. <i> My brain will be smaller. What if I...what if I lose my mind, or can't reason...it doesn't matter. I will be a horse.</i> A calm fell over him, his neck thickening, becoming enormously out sized for a moment compared to his head, and he reached for the last time with his hands, feeling his jaw, then reaching down too late to touch his groin and feel his penis- it was too late, as already his arms were twisting, the bones reforming and shaping, elongating to those of a horse. A sharp pain at his rump announced that his spine was also lengthening, and he felt for the first time his tail...his tail, a tail, a wonderful horse tail. He sent it swishing, as he lay there, his forelegs complete, and only his quickly changing hind legs revealing any memory of physical humanity.
He lay a moment on his belly. <i> A horse. A horse. I'm really a horse. I can still think- or at least I think I can, would I realize if I couldn't? Can I still talk? </i> He carefully shaped his lips and tongue into what he thought might be appropriate shapes, then changed his mind and nickered, concentrating on his voice box- he found that he had control of the pitch and timbre of his equine voice. <i> A bit of practice, and I'll sound like Scooby Doo. </i> The thought amused him, and he whinnied in amusement.
Haas whinnied back, or tried, her human attempt now sounding feeble to Bormann's horse ears. Carefully bracing out with his forelegs, he pushed with his powerful hind end, coming unsteady to his hooves- realizing, that like a newborn foal, it might take him a few hours to get familiar with the art of walking in his new body.
The power came back on, and with it the hallway light. Bormann looked expectantly at the mirror, both surprised and not surprised at his image- after all, he had somehow transformed to a horse.
A tall, bay thoroughbred stared back, the famous slightly crooked white blaze on his face unmistakable. He was Henry- or his identical twin.
Haas heard the movement in the hallway, and again made a nickering sound. To Bormann's new equine ears, it was a poor simulation of the real thing, and he felt amused. <i>Well, she's in for a big surprise.</i> Stepping carefully, but with confidence in his balance growing by the minute, he turned and walked into the bedroom, his hoofsteps muffled by the apartment's carpet.
Haas was on the floor, on all four of her artificial hooves, her rump turned invitingly toward the door. Bormann walked up as quietly as he could, then stuck his muzzle up against her rump. He was surprised at the intensity of the his senses, breathing in deep, smelling her odor. He fought his stallion's instinct to leap on her back, his human reasoning knowing that she'd be hurt, and instead began to lick her with his tongue, hearing her moan with pleasure as he brushed it over her clitoris.
Haas had closed her eyes, allowing herself dark fantasies. <i> What if a horse was here instead of Toby... I didn't think his tongue was so long. </i> The floor beneath her seemed to shift slightly, as the licking stopped, as if Bormann suddenly weighed a thousand pounds and his movement was...
She abruptly opened her eyes, as she felt horsehair against her back, and instead of Bormann's arms beside her head were a pair of bay forelegs. She spun her head around, knowing it had to be some kind of trick; it was impossible that a horse could be in the apartment... It had been a bit of a joke around the stable. For a tall thoroughbred, Henry's penis was rather small- in horse terms- but it now looked enormous to Haas, it's two foot length hovering just behind her rump, dripping slightly. She had seen Sudden Envoy cover mares, seen him almost violently crazed with lust and passion, and though she'd fantasized about having sex with the big horse knew he'd tear her insides to shreds. Now, somehow, Bormann must have brought the horse into the apartment and was about to let the stallion kill her as some kind of freaky sex perversion scene, like something you'd read about on a bondage website. Half of her- three quarters of her was ready to do it; her own desire overcoming any thought of the consequences, and subconsciously she arched her back slightly and pushed back, inviting the horse to take her.
It was all that Bormann needed, as he held his head arched to look at the young woman beneath him. He gently pushed himself into her, feeling her wet vagina stretch to accommodate his girth, careful to not push too hard. The sensation was different than he'd felt as a human- the softer end of his penis seemed to feel the most sensation, instead of the shaft, and though his instincts and body were urging him to thrust forward, he instead stood as still as he could, waiting for the mare to push back...
The other quarter of Haas' mind took over. She was still tied with the halter to the bedpost, still wearing the plastic hooves and artificial tail, and could not escape her predicament- she was afraid that if she tried to collapse and roll on the floor, Henry might trample her. There was only one option.
She started screaming as loudly as she could. "Help! Someone help me!"
************************************************
George Adiz was a professor of linguistics at the university. He knew that Toby Bormann was an instructor as well, something in the animal science department, and appreciated Bormann's quiet behavior- it was almost as if no one lived across the hall. The screams were entirely out of character, and the elderly Adiz immediately leapt to his feet. Running to Bormann's door, he found it unlocked and threw it open. "What's going on?"
"Help me, in the bedroom!"
Adiz was stunned- it was something like a student might dream up in a bad writing essay about a trip to Tiajuana. . A young woman was tied to a bedpost, near naked except for being made up to look like a pony, and a huge horse was coupling with her. Adiz knew nothing about horses, but he was a veteran of the Korean war and knew how to take action. Snatching up the only object at hand- a large book that was lying on the floor- he began to smack the horse on it's rump. "Get off her! Get off!" he shouted. The horse backed away, snorting slightly, it's eyes wide and ears up, and Adiz looked at her dilated vagina dripping with horse semen with disgust- more at himself than at girl or the horse, as he felt aroused. Pushing the thoughts aside, he stepped up, mindless of the horse who was moving into the hallway. "Young lady, are you all right?" he asked as he undid the halter.
"Please... find something, cut these off," she replied, holding up her hands that were still encased in the plastic hooves. Internally, she knew that she should be grateful to be rescued, but her body was screaming resentment at not having continued her intercourse. As Adiz ripped the bandages away, pulling the plastic hooves from her hands then feet, she started to consider finding Bormann and convincing him to let her finish the act she'd started, but pushed the thought aside.
"Here, let me help you," Adiz said graciously, helping her to her feet. He saw Bormann's coat, wrapping it around her, trying to keep his eyes from her jiggling breasts or the tail that still dangled between her legs.
Standing in the hall, Toby felt a confusion of emotions- disappointment at having not completed his sex act combined with a bit of remorse at having taken advantage of Haas' predicament, along with hunger. It was still his apartment, so he walked into the kitchen, his muffled hoofsteps replaced by a pleasing clop- clop on the wood kitchen and dining room floor. Pulling open the refrigerator, he fumbled with his equine nose, finding a plastic bag of salad, pulled it out with his lips and tried to rip it open. The zip-lock of the bag was frustrating, and he began to shake it up and down, holding it with his teeth and pinning his ears back slightly. <i> I'm acting like a horse... am I becoming one mentally or is that just because I've been around them so long that I've picked up their mannerisms? </i> Hearing Adiz and Haas coming out of the bedroom, he backed up slightly and turned to face them, the plastic bag still in his mouth.
Jake Scorelli was proud of his work. An accomplished arsonist as a youth, he'd branched out into doing the unusual- he did a lot of insurance work, so when Phil Jensen needed a horse done in, the people on the street pointed him at 'Blue Eyes Jake'- the nickname not from his eyes, which were brown, or any resemblance to Frank Sinatra, but from his legendary (in the underworld) torch job of the 'Blue Eyes' casino. He'd done the research, found the poison that would be blamed on a common commercial rat killer found in most supermarkets, even arranged to have a few boxes of the poison to be in the stable's storage room for later 'blame'. It would look like an accident, no one would realize that instead of eating ten pounds of 'Rat-away' Sudden Impact actually got twelve ounces of the concentrate in his evening meal. So when Jensen had called him to tell him he'd failed, Jake had taken it very personally.
He eased quietly up the stairs of the apartment building. The security lock was little more than a two second joke for his lock kit. Slipping the tools into one pocket of his reversible blue sport jacket, he reached into the other and made sure that the safety was on the 9mm pistol. It was a Walther PPK, just like- well, sort of like James Bond used. Jake favored it as he knew that the expensive gun would always work when needed, that the World War II vintage weapon was nearly untraceable if purchased from unlicensed collectors, and that there was a plentiful supply. The door to the apartment was open- he'd find Bormann, 'encourage' him to reveal the location of the horse, then kill both. He didn't like doing the 'physical stuff', but this was a case of professional pride.
He looked in the door. Besides an old man that he assumed to be Bormann, there was a girl, and a horse with a plastic bag in it's mouth. He stepped in, pushing the door shut, and pulled the pistol out of his coat. "Everyone be quiet, and no one gets hurt," he lied in a calm voice.
The old man started toward him, an angry look on his face. Unlike in the movies, Jake felt no reason to have a lengthy conversation. He pulled the trigger once, and a small round hole appeared in Adiz's forehead. The elderly professor's knees buckled as he fell face forward on the floor.
Not needing any witnesses, Jake smoothly moved his arm, aiming for the girl- she was moving, toward the falling Adiz, so he held his fire, waiting to steady on the target...
An enormous weight slammed into him. Jake was not an expert in physics, but as he hit the ground he realized too late that he should have shot the horse first. The gun fired as it went flipping from his hand, and as he wondered how he'd get to it all his thoughts ceased as Bormann brought his right forehoof and a half ton of weight smashing down onto Scorelli's head, crushing his skull like an egg. In a frenzy of anger, Bormann reared, bumping his head on the ceiling, then came down on the man again, sending his brain splattering about the room.
Bormann's anger was suddenly gone. He could see without turning his head- a huge field of vision- but turned to walk to where Haas kneeled by Adiz, sobbing. He reached down with his nose, touching her gently on her shoulder, then pulling on the coat with his lips when she didn't respond. She seemed almost in shock, so he tried to speak. "Caool" he managed to mumble out. He couldn't quite do the 'r'.
She looked up, her tear filled eyes widening. "Toby?" she whispered. "Caool...m..a..hoo...eee. s eee." He stopped, slightly frustrated, but could see the growing realization in her face as she stood.
"Toby... how?" she stammered, mindless of the corpses on the carpet.
Bormann suddenly brought his ears and head up, looking toward the kitchen. "Gah has." He flared his nostrils; he could not only hear the gas leak from the stray bullet but smell it as well. The bullet must have hit a pipe, or the stove.
Haas made a quick decision. "Let's get out of here." She knew that nothing good would come of this- it would be splashed all over the news if they didn't leave quickly. She ran into the bedroom, grabbed her clothes and stuffed them into a pillowcase. She'd have to change later. Running back into the dining room, she found Bormann holding a bridle with his mouth and looking at her. "Okay, you rode me, now I'll ride you," she said. She grabbed a pad and a saddle- Bormann had several sitting in his living room on saddle racks- and tossed it onto his back. Fortunately he'd been lazy, the girth of the western saddle was still attached. It was a quick second and she'd pulled it reasonably tight, no time for niceties, and she started for the door.
"What the hell?" Alarmed by the shots, another neighbor had come over. The man held a beer in one hand, it slipped and fell to the floor as he beheld the scene. "I'm calling the cops."
As he ran down the stairs, Bormann stepped out through the door and looked at the stairs, feeling a sudden burst of equine panic. He was just getting comfortable with walking, and the idea of going down the stairs seemed impossible. Haas was already halfway down. "Come on, Toby," she urged, then looked at his face, realized his fear. "Toby... please..." she begged.
Pushing aside his terror, Bormann started- one step, another, starting to tremble with fear as he stepped gingerly down the stairs, the stirrups of the saddle bumping against first his flank then the wall. It seemed an eternity before he reached the first floor, then still shaking followed Haas to where she held the door open.
He stepped out, pausing for a moment. The delicious smell of the grass tempted him and he breathed in deeply, savoring the day. He was finally a horse. He would be able to gallop with other horses, roll in the dirt, feel the...
"Toby, come on, wake up!" Haas was climbing onto the saddle. It rocked slightly to the left as she mounted, and he could feel that it was on a bit too far forward, pressing slightly against his withers. He turned his head slightly to the side, catching a quick glimpse of her body underneath the coat- she'd not taken time to put on anything else.
She bumped her heels against his side to urge him on. Bormann felt a thrill. <i>I'm really a horse. She's going to ride me...I've no bit in my mouth, but I'll enjoy that later. </i> He started to walk, then went to a smooth canter, savoring the wind in his face and the subtle weight changes of Haas moving in his saddle. He could hear the sirens in the distance, and turned and headed for a nearby wooded area- it would, he decided, be a good idea to disappear for a while.
It was a depressing day overall in the news. The usual boring stuff- more deaths in Iraq, a toaster recall, several murders, a trailer park hit by a tornado. The public was burned out and turned aside, looking for the 'real' news, like the latest escapade of Paris Hilton or which television star was going to rehab instead of jail for drunk driving, so the results were quite predictable. Instead of lamenting some faceless solider blown to bits or the forty residents of Pine Bog, Georgia being homeless all of the networks along with most of the major metropolitan newspapers led with the story. For Fred Akins, it was his moment of fame, the eyewitness neighbor. "Right before the fire started I heard the shot," he said, the red flashing lights of fire trucks reflecting from his face. "Bormann must'a shot old Mr. Adiz. This crazy girl and the horse almost ran over me getting out of the place."
The anchor at his desk continued. "Fed by a gas leak, the fire raged out of control. A source at the coroner's office reports that Bormann's head was crushed, apparently by the horse, and was burned beyond recognition. Bormann has no known living relatives for DNA testing, but the eyewitness, Fred Akins, reports that he is certain that he recognized Bormann's body before the fire, and that no one else could have had access to the secure building. In other news, Paris Hilton denies reports that she..."
Jensen angrily turned the television off. Somehow, Scorelli had muffed it up even worse, killing Bormann and likely taking off with the horse himself. Now, not only would the insurance claim be held up likely forever, but if Scorelli was captured and 'rolled over' for a lighter sentence, Jensen would be implicated not only in insurance fraud but likely as an accessory to murder. There was only one thing to do. He picked up the phone and made another call. "Mister Bowen... yes, I saw the news. Please, sir. If you'll let me suggest... if your 'people' can take care of the horse, and this girl, the whole twenty million insurance will cover the money I owe you and then some..." Jensen swallowed. If Bowen decided to not accept... owing money to the mafia was not a way for a long life.
Fortunately, Bowen was not just a gangster but was a logical businessman. If he killed Jensen, he'd have nothing but satisfaction, and twenty million dollars was worth a bit more than satisfaction. "I accept your fair offer," Bowen said with a hint of sarcasm. "Consider it done."
One advantage to being from a wealthy family was that modestly large sums of cash were easily accessible. Carol touched the wad of cash that she'd retrieved from her school dorm room- five thousand in cash was pocket change to her, but she knew it would have to last for a while, at least until she could contact her father. "I'll give you twelve hundred."
"I don't want to cheat you," the man selling the van lied. "But I really need fifteen hundred. It runs almost like new." He gestured toward the former U-haul truck, it's paint faded to a flat red. "Plus, it still has the pull out ramp. It's all aluminum. You could sell it for scrap and make that much."
"Okay," Haas said. "But I'll make you a deal. My drivers license expired, and I can't get plates. Give me the license plates and I'll give you fifteen, all cash."
Money talks. "Deal," he agreed, handing her the keys.
It wasn't from a used car lot- even the least scrupulous would need to do paperwork. Haas had purchased the van from a private owner, found in the classified ads. The driver door creaked as it opened. Climbing onto the torn vinyl seat, she pushed the key into the ignition.
As advertised, the van's engine barked to life. It wasn't one of the huge trucks, but was one of the one-ton chassis with a big aluminum box on back. It was old, but drivable. She drove cautiously to the small forest preserve, pulling into an empty picnic area and stepping out, the slightly cool breeze making her wish she had more than Bormann's jacket to keep her warm. "Toby!" she called out. [i] Unless it was just all a dream... maybe I shouldn't have taken those pills...[/i]
Bormann stepped out of the woods and walked over to her. Haas had taken off the saddle and set it among the trees, and she reached up and touched his forehead, then ran her hand along his neck. "Toby...I'll take you where we'll be safe. Then I'll ask my father for help, he can get you doctors or scientists to try to help you."
"Nooo hel, I wanna be hose," Bormann managed to mumble back.
Haas' hand tensed against Bormann's neck. "You want to be a horse?" she asked, feeling a stirring within her.
Bormann nodded, the gesture easier than trying to make words with his equine mouth. He breathed in, noticing that Haas' smell was slightly different, and feeling a stirring within himself as well. He arched his neck slightly, instinctively flaring his nostrils. [i]The mare is in heat. Wait... what am I thinking?[/i]