Mystery Lake
[10] Reality
"What?…" Ross asked, glancing over at Sherry as she walked around the area behind the counter to give their order to the cooks. She seemed perfectly normal, cracking her neck slightly and twisting her arms as she picked up a fresh pot of coffee and refilled the cups at the counter where requested.
Chiara kept her head down, refusing to look across the way at their waitress. She shook her head and gently whispered, "There's nothing there. I don't understand why. It's just a hole." She briefly stretched out her tongue, as if she were going to retch, but only gave a small cough that she covered with her hand.
Miranda tucked her chin between her fingers and stared at the table in front of her before looking at Chiara and speaking in a reserved whisper, choosing her words carefully. "What if we were exposed to a hallucinogenic? I mean, in addition to everything else. That might help explain why that… government official wanted to make sure we were okay on our camping trip. The lake is associated with a lot of native traditions, and there's a decent amount of customs out there involving altered states. Ayahuasca has been relatively decriminalized in Detroit, and there are certainly groups in the state that use it. That I've heard of...that I've heard of. But there could be a natural amount of some aerosolized substance either in the water or the area. Chiara went in the lake first, so maybe, I don't know." Miranda gestured around for emphasis, pausing at points where her unruly boobs accentuated her words in ways she didn't intend.
Ross replied in a guarded whisper, "What are you saying? We're gonna see stuff?"
Miranda set her arms on the table. "I don't know why Chiara is seeing stuff. Does anything else look off?"
Chiara squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "If there is, I don't want to know. Maybe someone else should drive if… I have vision problems." Roxanne felt a flare of pride that Chiara went along with obscuring their meaning for any nosy restaurant patrons listening in. She didn't know that Barry could fib without getting flustered.
Chiara still looked terrified, though, and she regretted being so far away. Brock reacted swiftly to hug her, wearing the determination that his touch could magically fix whatever was wrong. It couldn't, but Chiara gave him a friendly, lingering look. Brock didn't relent; he cradled her shoulder, holding her steady, and gave her a gentle peck on the forehead.
Chiara looked like she was surely going to break down in tears, but she managed to swallow the worst of it like a thick, unpleasant medicine. With Brock at her side, she took a precisely measured breath, straightened in her seat, set her feet on the carpet around the table leg, and asked, "Where is the waitress right now?"
Roxanne had the best viewpoint over her shoulder and managed to spot the waitress on the far side of the dining area, working her way around the window seats and back toward them.
An older dude a few booths over fixed a skeptical look on Roxanne. She raised her head and narrowed her piercing blue eyes at him. He soon grunted and looked away, choosing to sigh and stare out the window at the road. Roxanne quietly relayed her findings to her roommate.
Hazarding a quick, upward glance, Chiara raised her hand, almost touching her face, and mostly shut one of her eyes. She controlled her breathing and looked across the diner. Scanning the space, she worked from left to right and positioned her hand to cover every trace of pink that moved.
She got a few false alarms from colorful decorations among the bright, themed knickknacks on the walls, but managed to take in the full scope with only a small sliver of her vision obscured. To be sure, she scanned back the other way before quietly announcing, "I don't see anything else... that bothers my eyes."
Brock assured Chiara, "I'm here. You don't have to be afraid."
Hesitantly, she swallowed again and moved her hand in front of her face a few ways before finally letting it drop. When she did, her breathing immediately quickened with fear. The others could tell that her eyes snapped to the part of the diner where their waitress was standing.
Everyone seemed to lean forward slightly. Chiara gave a halting breath and managed to squeak out, "Still. Nothing else. Just...that." She took a deep breath and then placed both hands protectively over her face, as if consumed by a raging headache.
At least they had some sense that whatever was happening to her seemed to be confined to this seemingly innocuous individual. That didn't seem like a hallucination. But what else was left?
Ross wrestled with his thoughts on this and quietly expressed, "With all due respect, this could be an episode. We've been through a lot, life-changing stuff. I hate to say it, but some kind of hysteria is possible." He grimaced apologetically at Chiara, then specifically shot a look at Roxanne. Roxanne smiled knowingly. Ross scoffed and had to ask in a whisper, "How do you know?"
The historical meaning behind 'hysteria'? Her succinct response was to gesture to Jake right next to her while still calmly smiling. Roxanne's desire to pluck out some choice terms that were rattling around in her head for Ross was at an all-time high, but she resisted that temptation because it was clear that bigger and weirder things were going on around them and differences like this were small.
For a few moments, it seemed as if Ross might press the point, but he returned his attention to Chiara and asked her about physical symptoms she might not be recognizing. Her heart was racing slightly, but for obvious reasons based on what she claimed to have witnessed.
Her stomach felt tight, with gurgling discomfort threatening both ends. Sweat had popped up along her back with prickly heat and cold clamminess. A different waitress, closer to Debbie's age than Sherry's, appeared from a side kitchen door, hoisting a tray with all their drinks. Chiara sipped urgently but sparingly from her glasses, shielding her eyes behind them as much as possible.
The drinks brought her immediate relief, even if that relief was purely psychological, from the act of having something to do rather than as a remedy. And the drinking also had a side effect, as the icy water and chill apple juice dislodged the outgoing end, and her trim tummy gave a plaintive wail.
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Soon, Chiara asked the quiet question, "Uh... restroom?" She remained wrapped in Brock while leaning toward Miranda. Ross politely scooted off and out, clearing the way for both of the girls to get to their feet. Brock trailed after Chiara, but let her go with an encouraging smile. Roxanne didn't really need to use the restroom, but she figured this was some sort of gender siren call to flock together and opted to join the others. Jake almost went too, out of habit, but all the new boys stayed to guard the table and await their turn.
The trio kept Chiara shielded behind them so she wouldn't have to engage with whatever was going on with the waitress. It was easy to maneuver around the young woman because her attention wasn't drawn to them. Even the other diners seemed to have lost interest in their group.
Roxanne thought that if Miranda's theory had any weight to it, then it was possible that their hallucinations were so strong that they completely made up their transformations and everything else since they arrived at the lake. But if that was true, then it seemed likely to Roxanne that everyone here would notice something about them.
An obvious cross-dressing remark would have come up from Debbie or someone else. But no one even remotely reacted that way. Now, if someone were to say that they were just seeing things in that respect as well, then she would ask how on earth could they possibly know anything at all? Some things had to be taken for granted as a baseline of reality.
And her reality included walking to the ladies' room. She could imagine whipping it out one last time, but expected that reality to be a dripping mess all over the floor. The restrooms weren't themed, but Roxanne noticed that the lowercase "i" had a heart. The interior was nothing special, and the trash can off to the side looked bad and smelled even worse.
Arriving as a trio fostered a small sense of camaraderie that Roxanne didn't feel was that helpful. Chiara's eyes were only on the prize and the comfort of the large stall in the corner. She zoomed all the way there with her shuffle. Roxanne stopped first to wash up before she sought out a spot of her own. Fortunately, there were enough for all three. Miranda hesitated at her choice, as if she were looking at one of these stalls for the very first time. Roxanne nudged her, and she went the rest of the way by herself.
The stall was exactly the same size as every other one she had ever used. No special additions or odd subtractions, except for a small but conspicuous rectangular trash bin tucked away in one corner. It didn't smell like sugar and rainbows, just regular garbage. The height of the walls on all sides may have been slightly raised, but not to the point of being odd or offensive.
One momentary confusion was whether she should raise up her skirt or drop it around her ankles while sitting on the seat. The weathered tile floor didn't look damp or untrustworthy, and the skirt was a modest length, so she opted to unzip and clinch it as comfortably as possible with her legs splayed.
Actually going brought a flash of primal panic that something was wrong. It wasn't supposed to come out like this. She practically zipped through all the stages of grief for her dick. Phantom subconscious denial that it was gone, just had to jiggle the sucker loose. A flare of anger that the pee was getting all over. Finding certain benefits in a streamlined stream. Resignation at the amount of care and comfort she would have to give her little drippy hotspot. Fledgling determination that she had accomplished so much with her masculine body, that she could absolutely kick ass with whatever was thrown at her on the other side.
Getting in there with her crotch wasn't nearly as intimidating as she expected. Just another thing of flesh. She could wiggle it around, spread it, stretch it, or tie it in a bow. Maybe not that last thing. The territory was shifted around, and the boundaries stretched, but it had a crude familiarity, especially considering her extensive hands-on previews courtesy of Jess. And she threw out a few farts, just for old times' sake, for the freedom of it, and to clear a little space for breakfast.
She didn't really pay attention to hints from others, but it sounded like Chiara wasn't having the happiest time while Miranda committed to complete stealth mode on her padded throne. The other girls met her at the sink afterwards with defeated, thousand-yard stares. After washing up, she metaphorically chucked the silly parts of pride in the garbage and gave a quick hug and pat to Miranda without being overwhelmed by her massive hemispheres, and applied a lingering embrace to her roommate. Both girls, however, swung around and double-dipped. Roxanne issued an audible sigh, a little chuckle, and a roll of her eyes, but didn't deny either girl in need.
They shuffled out and soon assumed the same stance that had brought them here. Chiara slipped to the back but didn't remain there. The waitress, Sherry, was again on this side of the diner, and they would have to pass her to get back to their table. Chiara could have kept her head down and squeezed her eyes shut as the others led her back. But she raised her head and looked directly into the chasm of all her fears. Her voice caught in her throat as they passed, and she looked as pale as Roxanne had ever seen her, but she swallowed, squeezed her little hands into fists, and walked purposefully back.
Most of the ways there, she leaned closer to the others and whispered, "There's something on her back. Something dark."
Roxanne paused and looked over her shoulder. She didn't see anything. All that met her eyes was Sherry's blonde hair, pulled back in an awkward, side ponytail, with a few curly strands splayed across her shoulders, a smattering of old acne scars, the punctuation of random freckles, and those raccoon rings around the bloodshot white only faintly disguised by the application of makeup. Her chin did seem a little too straight and sharp, and her ear wasn't precisely in proportion to the rest of her face, but those were ridiculous details. Her head was there; it existed.
Right? But as Roxanne scrutinized the waitress one more time, she didn't know what to think. Something was definitely wrong; she could feel it, even if she couldn't see it the same way Chiara could.