Original Son

Chapter 6
Part 6

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Chapter Description: Time runs short.

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With only the echoes of children playing down the hall, the main foyer took on a creepy, deserted ambiance. Danielle knew time was not on her side. Her heart jumped every time she opened a door. Most were unlocked, but yielded no miraculous finds. Just books, ordinary office supplies, and some extra soft drinks for the kids. Remembering her original destination, the conference room, she finally abandoned the front offices and started down the Bible Study wing. Passing a series of dark classrooms, she clicked off the numbers until she reached 1-14.

Naturally, the door was locked. All Danielle could do was peer through the stenciled glass in frustration. She considered breaking in, but stopped herself. Too risky.

Feeling the ticking of the clock, the sixteen-year-old youth track runner sped back toward the front office, her palms sticky with sweat. There she scoured the desks and shelves for a skeleton key or something she could jam in the lock. A box beneath the secretary’s desk produced a ring of keys with no labels.

Wasting no time, Danielle raced to the conference room and began testing each key, her hands shaking as she fed each into the keyhole. After the eighth attempt, the lock clicked and she was free to probe the one room Pastor Leary had so expressly forbidden earlier that week. Surely something inside would explain why an entire group of young adults had shed their maturity without a peep of protest.

“Shit,” she mumbled, rooting through several coats and purses hanging on the wall. The search was turning up nothing except for credit cards, compacts, and wallets. No secret formulas. No space-age youth rays. No dusty spell books.

Sunlight lit the room at an angle, obscuring the far right corner in darkness. There Danielle eyed a briefcase, tucked neatly behind a stack of Cambridge Bible companions. Crouching down, she read the initials embroidered on it: JGL. John Leary? she guessed. This could be it.

Much to her surprise the briefcase snapped opened with little effort, revealing a stack of forms, pens, and a thin paperback book nestled below. Sifting through the papers nervously, Danielle neglected to examine the book until she noticed the cover.

“What the hell would Pastor Leary want with a copy of the Q’uran?” she asked herself.

The fluorescent lights suddenly flickered on. Danielle yelped softly.

“Who’s in here?” a deep voice called out.

Still shielded from view by a large wooden table, Danielle crammed the contents back into the briefcase and refastened it. Standing up, she found herself t’te-?-t’te with Pastor Leary, whose looming seriousness threatened to overwhelm his face.

“Just what are you up to, Ms. Foster?” he asked, glaring down at the young woman.

“Oh, nothing. One of the chaperones asked me to get her jacket and...“

“Always ready with an excuse, aren’t we?” Leary smiled. “You know we don’t allow anyone except parents into this room. So do you care to tell me the real reason?”

Danielle froze, unable to utter a sound. Leary then grabbed her arm, not like a caring pastor but with the force of a police officer hauling in a suspect.

“What are you doing?”

“The rules were very clear,” Leary stated, directing the young woman out of the conference room and down the silent hall. “And you disobeyed them. I might remind you that’s not a very Christian thing to do...”

“But I wasn’t hurting anyone,” Danielle grasped for an excuse. “I won’t do it again.”

Pastor Leary neglected to answer the rebuttal and instead towed the frightened teen toward the smaller youth sanctuary located at the end of the Sunday School wing. When the broad burly hand dug into her arm, Danielle trembled, thinking how the circumstances already made her feel like a timid little girl.

***

When the rest of the day passed without a single word from Danielle, Matt began to worry. Three hours and no sign of his lone ally. Trying hard to blot out the anxiety and his constantly slipping pants, he focused on the task at hand: a macaroni picture of his house. Looking at it critically, he decided his artistic skills sadly had not advanced far beyond the fourth grade. Then again, Picasso was never confined to the medium of pasta and Elmer’s glue.

“Okay, girls and boys, time to wrap things up. Your parents will be arriving soon,” Ms. Blanchard announced in a sing-songy voice. “Be sure to take your projects with you. I’m sure your parents will want to see them.”

Matt thought for a moment. A few weeks ago, his projects were rough acoustic demos recorded on his computer and half-written short stories about suburban apathy. Now, his artwork consisted of kiddie crafts made from food. A pretty steep artistic demotion, he sighed.

That night, Matt fought to shut his eyes. Danielle’s absence troubled him. He wanted desperately to call, but his parents had confiscated his cell phone long ago.

They hadn’t set out a strict plan as to how they would communicate, but it was understood that Danielle would contact him at regular intervals throughout the day. He imagined the worst case scenario. Maybe some parents caught on and banned her from Bible School for the week. At most, they would have to postpone their meetings until other times could be arranged.

“Please be okay,” he muttered to himself before turning out the light.

***

Matt’s maturity continued to retreat overnight. By morning everything appeared normal, for a growing fourth-grader. Now safely out of double digits, Matt was every bit a child. He’d even stopped checking himself in the mornings. The haphazard octave cracks in his voice had long given way to the unambiguous tenor of a young boy, while his manhood barely filled his new Spiderman briefs.

The transformation showed no signs of stopping either. With each day, he grew smaller and smaller, without any recourse. On the way to church, he felt a hint of the swirling vertigo that overtook him before.

He would feel better, he told himself, when he saw Danielle.

All through the opening prayer service Matt’s eyes scanned the sanctuary intently, but with no luck. Perhaps Danielle had been removed from the team of teenage volunteers for wandering off from the group. Absorbed in his search, Matt paid absolutely no attention to the service or the chaperones yelling out instructions at the end.

“Hey, move it,” barked the shaggy-haired boy seated next to him. “We’re supposed to go now.”

“Oh,” Matt apologized, “I’m sorry.”

When they reached the cafeteria for the morning snack, Matt could no longer reign in his curiosity. Approaching a female chaperone cautiously, he tapped lightly on her shoulder. The woman turned, her flashy seahorse earrings jingling like little wind chimes.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a stewardess-like tone.

“Yes. I was wondering if Danielle Foster is here today.”

“Danielle,” the woman repeated, lingering for a moment. “Oh yes, I think I know who you’re talking about. I think I just saw her a second ago over that way.”

Somewhat relieved, Matt trailed behind the chaperone as she wove through the rows of cafeteria tables. Finally the woman stopped and pointed toward the table closest to the far exit.

“She’s right at the very end down there, okay?”

“Okay,” Matt said, continuing down the row. When he reached the last chair, there were no adults in sight, only children picking at their crumbling sugar cookies and talking loudly. Puzzled, he spun back and forth between the two tables until he spied the nametag hanging around one of the girl’s necks.

No, it can’t be, he shuddered.

When she looked up, Matt could feel his blood pressure skyrocket.

“Danielle?” he asked fearfully.

“Ah huh?” the pretty seven-year-old replied. “Who are you?”

It’s really her. Matt couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The olive complexion, the endless brown eyes, the dimpled cheeks; all remained intact.

“My name is Matt. Don’t you remember?”

“Hmmmm,” she thought. “Nope, I don’t have many boy friends.”

The other girls laughed in unison, nearly spilling their Kool-Aid in the process. “Yeah, boys are gross,” another added, sending the group into another round of chuckles.

“I’m serious,” Matt pleaded. “Danielle. This can’t be you. You’re a grown-up, remember? You’re in college...“

“No, I’m not,” she answered, a flippant, why-would-you-say-that expression crossing her face. “I’m in the second grade. I’m not big enough to be in college!”

“He’s weird,” one girl piped up.

“Yeah, you’re weird. Go back to the boy’s table,” a bossy redhead ordered.

Matt just stared, dumbfounded. How had they done it so fast? he asked himself. And how had they found out? Now his only remaining friend had joined everyone else in childhood. He watched as Danielle, now even younger than him, turned back toward her new pals and commenced chatting about whatever little girls chat about.

She was still beautiful, though in a far more innocent way. The orange and red striped sleeveless top she wore left no doubt that her breasts had disappeared fully, as she clearly no longer required a bra. Her long auburn hair had been trimmed to shoulder length while her bangs were held back with a barrette. In the space of a day, the bastards at New Life had siphoned nine years from Danielle, both mentally and physically. It was nearly impossible to imagine.

Walking back to his table, Matt’s hopes sank. Obviously whoever or whatever was conspiring to regress his mates was also willing to take extreme measures to keep anyone from getting too close. Danielle must have stumbled upon something, he thought. But as Matt tried to wrap his head around the situation, the facts only got blurrier.

The physical effects of his youth were beginning to take their toll. Whatever irregularity had allowed him to remain cognizant of his true age, the memories had started to fade. In their place Matt detected more and more childish thoughts entering his mind.

“Excuse me,” a woman volunteer said, bumping into Matt as she carried a tray of cookies to the next table.

“It’s OK.”

“Are you lost?” she asked, noticing his aimlessness.

“No, I...“

“What group are you with?” She peered down at him with a cheery smile.

“The fourth and fifth graders,” Matt replied in monotone. He still had yet to get used to addressing the adults from his new lower station.

“Sweety, are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you look awfully young to be in that group,” the woman said. “Maybe you’re thinking of the second and third grade class.”

Matt squinted angrily. “I think I know what grade I’m in.”

“Let me take you over to Miss Reynolds with the third grade group and see if you’re on her list, OK?” She placed the cookie tray on the table and grabbed his hand.

As they proceeded through the busy cafeteria, Matt noted that his clothes did feel rather shapeless and saggy, with his sleeves dipping lower than normal. Crap, he thought. I probably do look like a third grader by now. The volunteer’s hand felt a little too large.

After a short conversation with Ms. Reynolds, Matt realized he would have trouble convincing anyone of his age, even as early as that morning.

“What’s your name?” the aging, boofont-haired lady inquired officially.

“Matt Kessler.”

“And you’re how old, honey?”

With the end of his pants low enough to snag the back of his shoes and a shirt threatening to swallow him, Matt figured anything approaching nine, his estimated age earlier that day, would be overly optimistic. At this point, he could only guess.

“Eight.”

“Oh, then you should be with our group,” Ms. Reynolds said. “We’re about to head to the sanctuary for a service.”

“But I was just there with...“ Matt began but decided to stop. It wasn’t worth it to fight the adults.

Once back inside the chapel, this time seated one row across from a much younger Danielle, Matt felt his attentions waver. Without an older ally to pass along information, the impossibility of unraveling the plot appeared more and more distant. As he watched Danielle’s legs swish back and forth, barely touching floor, the despondency sunk in. By that evening, he would be just as young as her - and it appeared his mental faculties might soon follow suit.

“It’s so wonderful to see you all here today,” Pastor Leary began the talk much as he had earlier that morning with the fourth and fifth graders.

As Leary droned on Matt caught sight of a piece of paper folded inside one of the hymnals. Collecting the book and opening it, he discovered a letter addressed to no one but clearly intended to alert the reader. As he read, Matt realized he recognized the handwriting. It was Danielle’s.

[quote]If anyone reads this, please help. My name is Danielle Foster and I’m a college student. The pastor of this church forced me to drink something and it’s causing me to grow younger. I look eleven or twelve right now. He’s locked me in the sanctuary and said he will be back in a half hour. By then I may not be able to understand what’s happened, so I’m writing this letter in the hopes that someone will find it and alert the authorities...[/quote]

Matt could hardly believe what he was reading. Knowing she was regressing rapidly, his partner had left him one last note before mentally de-aging. He leaned forward and stared down at the untroubled child version of Danielle happily listening to the sermon from her pew. He would have signaled his thanks somehow, but now it was useless. Like all the rest, Danielle had only faint memories, if any, of her tenure as a teen.

Matt read on. As the letter continued, the sentence became messier and more scattershot. By the third paragraph it was clear the changes had begun affecting her mind. She described dizziness and clouded thoughts as her body passed through puberty going the wrong direction.

[quote]The room spins and I’m not sure anymore. I think I’m supposed to be older, but...[/quote]

As the lines trailed off, Matt tried to pull whatever clues he could from the increasingly cryptic writing. By the end, Danielle was reduced to simple, blocky sentences.

[quote]My name is Danielle. I am in the 2nd grade which is real grown up. I’m in a church and my parents are going to pick me up soon I think. There is nobody here so it is quiet right now.[/quote]

The letter read like a journal written backwards. Witnessing the transformation through words, Matt held his breath. Pastor Leary wanted to turn back the clock on all of them, just as he had with Danielle, and take high school and college students back to their crayon and construction paper days. Still, Matt puzzled over Leary’s motivation. And how the entire congregation could blindly overlook their own children slowly growing in reverse.

Even as Matt reread the page concentration became harder. He found his mind wandering off into boyish daydreams about cartoons and remote controlled cars. More and more he felt the urge to play. Adult matters grew boring and obscure. Hearing his own voice in his head, high-pitched and childlike, the old Matt couldn’t help but identify himself as a kid. A big kid, of course, but a kid nonetheless.

“Everyone up, it’s playtime outside, campers,” Leary finished to a small cheer from the audience.

Playtime. It almost sounded fun. Matt had to shake off this worrying tendency repeatedly. By that evening he would be seven years old. Danielle might well be six. And Candace could be a toddler.

“Excuse me,” Matt said, tugging at the shirt of one of the volunteers.

“Yes?”

“My tummy feels bad. Can I maybe go home?”

“We’ll take you to the nurse’s station and see,” the young man answered, pulling the youthening boy from the crowd.

Matt knew there was little time before he would end up just another happy camper.

 

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