The Omission Index, Ch 14: Summer of Me Pt. 2

Beneath the laughter of the Santa Cruz boardwalk, Hale felt the psychic tide pull. It was a cold undertow of insatiable loneliness that tasted of stolen joy and left a residue of human despair.

The SHEPARD team had taken over a plain, upper-floor room in a chain motel a few blocks from the beach. Its weak air conditioning struggled against the constant California warmth. It smelled of stale coffee and the faint, metallic tang of Reid's portable analysis kit. Maps of Santa Cruz and its nearby coastline were spread across one of the beds, dotted with red pins marking where Sarah Miller, James Keegan, and Diya Raathi had disappeared and reappeared.

Reid looked up sharply from his humming equipment, his face pale with excitement. "Hale, you need to see this. I just cracked the protein sequence from the Keegan scene." His fingers flew over the tablet interface. "The biological particles aren't just changing randomly. There's a pattern. Look-" He turned the screen toward the room. "The cellular breakdown follows a specific timeline. Forty-eight to seventy-two hours maximum stability before complete molecular collapse. Our Shapeshifter has an expiration date."

Hale moved from the window, his psychic senses still processing the disturbing mental impressions gathered from the victims. "How certain are you?"

"Ninety percent. Maybe higher." Reid's voice carried the thrill of breakthrough. "Whatever form they steal, they can't maintain it beyond three days. The copied DNA literally disintegrates."

Kwan pushed through the door, his face drawn and his empathic shields visibly strained. He'd just returned from interviewing Mark Jennings, Sarah Miller's boyfriend. "Jesus, Hale. That guy is shattered." He slumped against the wall, one hand rubbing his temple. "I've never felt residual trauma that deep. It's like... imagine if someone could reach into your memories and twist every moment of love into a question mark."

Knopff, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, shot a skeptical look at Hale. "All this psychic residue and mental signatures-you sure you're not reading too much into normal human misery? Santa Cruz isn't exactly short on confused tourists and bad breakups."

"The physical evidence supports the psychic readings," Hale replied, his voice steady despite Knopff's challenge. He'd worked with skeptical team members before. "Reid's biological analysis confirms what I'm sensing. This isn't human behavior."

Kwan shuddered slightly, still processing the emotional aftermath. "Mark keeps asking if any of what he felt with 'Sarah' during those days was real. The imposter didn't just copy her-it made the romance stronger, played out his ideal version of their relationship. It's left him questioning every genuine connection he had with the real Sarah."

"Abductions are clean, efficient," Knopff continued, his practical mind cataloging the tactical elements. "Victims report minimal struggle, sudden drowsiness or confusion. Fast-acting sedative, administered quickly enough they barely notice. The holding locations show no signs of struggle. Our suspect is either very strong, very skilled, or the victims are too disoriented to resist."

Reid nodded, his excitement building. "The energy signature of the transformation itself is subtle. Not a massive power burst-more like rapid, controlled biological change. Almost elegant, in a terrifying way."

Hale absorbed the new timeline information, feeling the pieces click into a disturbing picture. "It's wearing their lives. Stealing their relationships. The psychic residue shows an ecstatic, hollow joy. An overwhelming need for adoration. For perfect, idealized intensity."

He described the mental overlay he'd sensed on Sarah Miller-that foreign personality, sickly romantic, utterly different from her true self. "The Shapeshifter takes recent memories, mannerisms, and lives out an idealized version of their romance. But it's always amplified. They want the highlight reel, the honeymoon phase, turned up to unbearable intensity."

"So they target people already in relationships?" Kwan asked, still fighting off the empathic echoes.

"Precisely. They identify a couple experiencing significant romantic development, incapacitate one partner, take their form and emotional state, then live out that fantasy with the unsuspecting other partner." The full meaning settled in the room. "The original victim isn't just held captive. Their identity, their most intimate connections, are being actively twisted."

"And when the fantasy turns sour?" Knopff asked.

"They 'dump' the original victim in deep confusion and move on," Hale said. "The mental residue during these interludes is ecstatic but hollow. Built on stolen foundation. The moment the stolen personality falls apart, or the partner shatters the illusion, the Shapeshifter discards the identity and begins hunting again."

Reid looked up from his console. "The seventy-two-hour breakdown might force the reset too. They can't maintain a stable borrowed form indefinitely."

A grim understanding settled in Kwan's eyes. "It's feeding on them."

Hale nodded, looking at the map with its red pins. "It's chasing idealized love that no real person can provide. And Santa Cruz, with its romantic atmosphere, is perfect hunting ground."

The Shapeshifter wasn't just looking for a body to wear-it was looking for a life to live, a heart to temporarily call its own, before the inevitable, crushing return to its deep emptiness.

***

The late afternoon sun, coming through the bamboo blinds of the rented beach shack, cast stripes of gold across Jake's borrowed, perfectly shaped abs. Maria lay asleep beside them. Her breathing was soft and even, one hand resting trustingly on their chest-no, on Jake's chest. They allowed the correction with a small, internal sigh. The difference was becoming tiresome.

This particular fantasy, the 'Jake and Maria' paradise, had been wonderful, truly. One of their best. The thrill of riding waves with Jake's natural athletic skill, the easy friendship with his surfer buddies, the breathless, salt-tinged passion with Maria under moonlit California skies-it had been, for a glorious seventy-two hours, everything they'd ever longed for. The adoration in Maria's eyes was physical warmth spreading through their borrowed chest. Perfect.

They had improved upon the original Jake, of course. Smoothed out his rougher edges, his occasional quiet moods, his slight insecurity about not having a "real job." This Jake was effortlessly charming, deeply romantic, surprisingly well-spoken, and completely devoted to Maria. She'd even said it herself last night, voice thick with wonder: "You're like the best version of you I've ever known, Jake. It's like a dream."

A dream, yes. And like all dreams, it was beginning to fade.

This morning, Maria had mentioned needing to call Jake's mother about his sister's baby shower. Jake's mother. Jake's sister. The words landed like stones in their perfect pool. The complex web of Jake Riley's actual, messy life threatened to intrude. They'd avoided it with charming promises, but irritation had been planted.

Then, at lunch, Maria laughed at one of their perfectly delivered stories, and a tiny fleck of spinach was visible on her front tooth. A flash of internal revulsion, sharp and unexpected. The real Jake might have found it endearing. To them, it was a flaw. A crack in the flawless surface.

The intense burn of initial infatuation was dimming. Maria's little habits-once charming-now felt like minor annoyances. The way she hummed off-key while making coffee. The sweet scent of her plumeria lotion. Tiny details that rubbed against the smooth surface of their stolen happiness.

They slipped out of bed and padded to the window, looking at the endless, indifferent ocean. The original Jake Riley was safely stored, sedated and disoriented, in the locked back room. His presence was a dull anchor to reality they were eager to discard.

Their gaze drifted down the beach toward the distant boardwalk. So many possibilities. So many fresh starts. A young couple walked hand-in-hand near the water's edge, their laughter carrying on the breeze. They were young, vibrant, radiating that intoxicating energy of new romance. Liam and Chloe.

They'd noticed them yesterday. Liam, with his artist's hands and thoughtful eyes, looked completely devoted to Chloe. And Chloe possessed a radiant, infectious joy that seemed to draw all light toward her. She looked at Liam with such open, uncomplicated adoration. To be the recipient of that gaze, to bask in that particular sunshine...

Electric restlessness began thrumming under their borrowed skin. An urgent ache for the new, for the clean slate. The Jake-and-Maria story had run its course.

They glanced back at sleeping Maria, faint contempt flickering in their eyes. She would be heartbroken when her 'Jake' vanished, when the real, flawed Jake Riley was returned to her. But her pain was insignificant compared to their own fleeting moment of feeling wonderful.

Chloe. Yes. The decision solidified. The hunt was about to begin anew. The old skin of Jake would be shed, the old fantasy discarded. The summer of Jake was over. The summer of Chloe was about to dawn.

The original Chloe would need to be temporarily put aside. A minor inconvenience for such a perfect prize.

***

The Santa Cruz sun felt heavy to Hale as they spent another day in their frustrating game of hide-and-seek. The Shapeshifter had shed the "Jake Riley" identity. The real Jake had been found wandering near his apartment, dazed, dehydrated, with a three-day gap in memory. The mental signature around him was muddled, the Shapeshifter's overlay quickly fading.

Their target was likely in base form now, or maybe a temporary, plain transitional one-a ghost in the sun-drenched crowds. Hale had stationed the team at romantic hotspots their profile suggested the Shapeshifter would visit. His mental senses cast wide, searching for that specific signature of predatory longing and transformative energy. It was exhausting work, filtering through the overwhelming mental noise of peak tourist season.

Three days of surveillance had yielded nothing but strained nerves and growing frustration.

It was late afternoon, the "golden hour," when Hale felt it.

A sudden cold spot in the mental atmosphere, predatory focus slicing through the warmth. He zeroed in, tracing the mental tendril back to its source.

A figure sat alone on a low sea wall about fifty yards away, seemingly sketching the surfers. Plain. Medium build, dark hair tucked beneath a baseball cap, sunglasses hiding their eyes. Nothing remarkable except for the aura pulsing with familiar, desperate longing and the faint thrum of unstable energy. The Shapeshifter.

Their attention was fixed on a young couple laughing against the railing overlooking the surf. The young man, tall and lanky with an artist's thoughtful expression, was teasing the woman beside him. She possessed a smile that seemed to radiate joy, her red-gold hair catching the last rays of light like a halo.

They were a postcard of youthful love, and the Shapeshifter was watching the woman with focused, predatory desire so intense Hale felt his arms stir. Not the man. The woman.

"Kwan," Hale murmured into his comm. "Subject found. West Cliff, near the lighthouse overlook. Target appears to be the female, red-gold hair, with a taller male companion. Our suspect is observing from the sea wall, south of their position. Dark hair, baseball cap, currently sketching."

"Copy, Hale. Moving to visual," Kwan replied.

"Knopff, Reid, potential engagement developing. Subject is locked on. Reid, any fluctuations?"

"Minor, localized energy spikes around your tagged individual," Reid's voice came through. "Consistent with pre-transformation stress. They're definitely getting ready for something."

Hale watched the Shapeshifter subtly close their sketchbook. The casual movement held terrifying finality. He could feel them "tasting" the woman's aura, sampling her vibrant joy, her open-hearted love. The cold click of a choice made: her.

Kwan was now in position. Knopff moved down the cliff path, cutting off escape routes.

The Shapeshifter stood, tucking the sketchbook under their arm, and began walking on a path that would cross the couple's near a secluded bend hidden by wind-shaped cypress trees. Perfect for an abduction. Isolated. Momentary cover.

As Hale watched, a second figure emerged from deeper in the cypress grove-someone in maintenance coveralls wheeling a large trash cart. They positioned themselves near the trees, seemingly emptying waste bins, but Hale felt the coordinated intent. An accomplice.

The Shapeshifter timed their approach perfectly, meeting the young man and red-haired woman as they reached the shadowy grove.

Hale felt the mental lurch, a sickening pressure, as the Shapeshifter made their move. He saw her falter mid-stride. Her laughter caught in her throat. She stumbled, hand flying to her temple, pain and confusion flashing across her features.

"Babe? You okay? What's wrong?" The young man's expression shifted to sharp concern.

"I don't know," the woman mumbled, voice suddenly small and confused. "Just dizzy. Like the world tilted."

The Shapeshifter materialized from the cypress shadows with unnerving quickness, wearing a mask of helpful worry. "Oh dear, are you alright, miss? You look quite pale. Perhaps you need to sit down? The heat can be tricky this time of evening."

Beneath the normalcy, Hale felt the focused intensity directed at the woman, mental tendrils latching onto her vibrant energy.

"Kwan, engage! Now! They're doing it now!"

Hale was already moving, but the Shapeshifter was brutally efficient. As the young man bent to support the faltering woman, the Shapeshifter moved with inhuman speed. A glint of metal-a compact auto-injector-pressed against the woman's exposed neck.

She gasped, eyes widening in brief terror. Then her body went slack.

"What the hell did you do to her?" the young man roared, finally realizing the threat.

The Shapeshifter smiled coldly. And then the transformation began.

Hale felt it as a violent mental wrench. The woman's aura was violently pushed aside, replaced by the Shapeshifter's consciousness. The accomplice moved with practiced efficiency-as Liam's attention was locked on the impossible transformation happening before his eyes, they grabbed Chloe's unconscious body and quickly wheeled it away in the cart, disappearing into the maze of maintenance paths that crisscrossed the cliff area.

The physical change was subtle but complete-height shifting, features softening, hair brightening to that unique red-gold. The Shapeshifter was accessing surface memories, mannerisms, the specific rhythm of her voice.

The entire process took ten horrifying seconds.

When the newly formed imposter looked up at the young man, her eyes held what Hale assumed was the real woman's warm gaze, but intensified, too perfect, too idealized.

"Oh, darling," the imposter said, voice a perfect musical imitation. She swayed slightly, pressing a hand to her forehead. "I felt so strange for a moment. So terribly dizzy. But I'm alright now." She smiled up at him, dazzling and utterly false.

The young man looked around bewildered, struggling to process the impossible. "But... Chloe? That person... they stuck you with something... I saw it..."

The imposter laughed, light and airy. "Darling, you must have imagined it. I think the sea air is getting to you." She reached out, touch feather-light on his arm. Her gaze filled with manufactured adoration.

Hale reached them then, flanked by Kwan, with Knopff securing the exits. He could feel the triumphant thrum of the Shapeshifter's aura, perfectly masked beneath Chloe's stolen identity.

"Everything alright here?" Hale asked neutrally, eyes fixed on the imposter.

"Chloe" turned to him, smile warm and convincing. "Oh, yes, sir. I just had a little dizzy spell. My boyfriend, Liam here, was being overprotective, weren't you, darling?" She squeezed Liam's arm affectionately.

Liam looked from Hale to the imposter, confusion and dread warring on his face. "But there was someone else here. They pricked her with a needle. I saw it."

The imposter laughed dismissively. "Darling, you really must be tired. You're imagining things. There was no one else." She turned back to Hale with polite apology. "We're fine, really. Just enjoying the sunset."

The performance was flawless. Too flawless. The real Chloe was gone.

The urgent chase was on: find her before she became another traumatized ghost in the creature's wake.

***