Slim Chance (Epilogue)

Mom and I talked a lot about the morning Amanda left in the months that followed. 

Men in dark suits picked her up and barely spoke a word, refusing to answer Mom’s questions. Amanda seemed comfortable with whatever arrangement she had made with them. The men carried her bags out to an oversized van and before I knew it Amanda was ducking through the front door. Mom carried me outside, clutching me to her breast like I was liable to get blown away by a stiff breeze. Given my condition, maybe she was right. 

I remember Amanda staring down at us, all smug satisfaction and arrogance. “They’re paying me more money than you could ever dream of,” she said. “And no one is gonna whine to me about how much groceries cost or rely on me for every little thing.” Typical Amanda, or at least that was what I thought at the time. Over the months though I began to see her words in a different light. For all her bravado and size Amanda had never been on her own before. Maybe she was saying those things to convince herself as much as she was to belittle us. Then again, maybe not.  

After that she simply climbed into the van, her weight forcing the suspension down to the wheel wells, and was whisked away. 

We didn’t hear from Amanda much after that, she certainly never called. Mom did, lots of times. But the few times Amanda bothered to pick up the phone she was always curt and rude even though Mom just wanted to make sure she was okay. Apparently she was doing well, but I only knew what was happening second hand through Mom. I never talked to Amanda directly, and that was how I wanted it. I was going to prove her wrong no matter what, and part of that was not caring about what happened to her. Mom had theories: one was that Amanda was working for a modeling agency or some social media company looking to use her size to make a splash. As the months rolled by and nothing about her was reported in the news that theory became less and less credible. I joked that they had Amanda lifting heavy things somewhere, which lead to some forced laughter on both our parts.

It was the things we did not talk about that got to me. We never talked about what Amanda had done to me. Mom saw though, she knew every time she helped me bath in those first few weeks that the bruises covering my body had been from Amanda. She knew when the doctor returned the results of my physical that the hairline fractures all throughout my body were caused by my sister’s rough treatment. She knew there were psychological scars too, things I could never talk about- but she never said anything. Mom blamed herself, just like I had blamed myself for so long. Thinking back that was probably the scariest thing about Amanda, her ability to tear other people down- to make them think that the problems that she caused were somehow their fault. Well the scariest thing aside from her being a gigantic unstoppable mountain of brattiness.

With Amanda out of the house things started looking up for me, literally. 

By the end of the first month I was back up to two feet tall. Mom babied me a lot during that time and even shared some milk. Not much though, she was still stressed from all the bills Amanda had run up on her credit. Whenever I tried to find out how much damage my sister had done Mom was evasive, telling me not to worry. I guess she wanted to protect me from the truth, which was hilarious in a black humor sort of way. Protecting Mom from ‘the truth’ was a big part of what had gotten us all into this mess. That first month I thought about Amanda a lot which lead to a lot of uncomfortable erections and I quickly realized I needed a strategy for combating my libido. Salvation came in the form abstinence meditation. It sounds stupid, but five months later without a single slip up- who am I to argue with results?

Month two was strength training and growth back to three feet tall, and probably the hardest month to get through. The realization that I had lost not only muscle mass, but the ability to build muscle was a crushing blow to morale. Knowing I would never get back to my old physique- or even close, was difficult to cope with. Mom was there for me though, despite all her own problems she took the time to reorganize Amanda’s home gym into something a two foot tall pipsqueak could make use of. By the time I hit three feet tall my bench was up to ten pounds, pathetic- but a major improvement.

The third month was a whirlwind of rebuilding my social life. I called old friends and started getting out of the house more. I was up to standard ‘little person’ height and so while I was a bit of an oddity- I wasn’t a total pariah. I even tried to reconnect with Megan. She was a mess. Amanda had broken off things with her as soon as she was out of the house and left her an emotional mess. My heart went out to her, Amanda had used her terribly just to get at me which made me feel even worse. After a few stilted conversations over the phone which only seemed to create misery for both of us I stopped trying to work things out with Megan. It hurt to admit but Amanda might have ruined things between us for good.

Month four was the first major setback on my road to recovery. The effect of the pills and injections seemed to decrease dramatically and I went from gaining a few inches to barely more than single inch per week. I did my best not to let it get to me and joined social media to distract myself. There were a lot of other guys going through what I was going through, and I read a lot of other people’s stories. A lot of it was pretty depressing, but there were glimmers of hope here and there that kept me going. There were not, however, other stories of growing girls aside from one unconfirmed report in Arkansas. Apparently Amanda was a genuine anomaly.

Month five I rejoined the workforce- or at least attempted to. One of the worst things about being a disease carrier was how society treated us. It was worse than having a mental handicap or some other disability- because those were quantifiable conditions. With the disease we could shrink at any time and suddenly be unable to carry out even the most basic jobs. Mom helped me get a job bagging groceries part time, but the money was pathetic and the effort of lifting and moving things around all day left me sore to the bone. Still, it was better than nothing. By the end of the month I made it up to 4’8”.

Half a year after Amanda had left the house I was 5’ tall, working minimum wage part time, and could bench 65 pounds- maybe 75 on a good day. My limbs look like they belonged on a spindly teenage girl, but I found if I dressed well I could mostly cover how frail my body was. My social life had improved dramatically: I was grabbing coffee with friends, visiting the movie theater, and even online dating a bit. The search for better work continued, Mom still had a lot of debt that I was determined to help her pay off. So when a “one-of-a-kind opportunity at Lansing Research” appeared in my inbox, I had to follow up. The glassdoor reviews were outstanding and practically everyone agreed the pay was phenomenal. The only catch was you had to be a disease carrier to qualify.

In other words, a perfect opportunity.

***

“Sit right there new guy and keep your eyes on the screens, I’m only going to go over this once.” Frank set his steaming cup of coffee on the desk and gestured to the chair beside him. Alan took his seat as instructed. A console lined with black and white security monitors stared back at him. “We’ve got about twenty patients here right now, about a dozen of them are long term- the rest tend to cycle in and out,” Frank explained. He was a big guy with an even bigger beer gut stretching out a starched blue shirt. A badge sown into the shirt read ‘SENIOR SECURITY ADMINISTRATOR’ in large, block letters which to Alan seemed like a little overkill.

“This one here,” Frank said, pointing at one of the monitors. “Has a unique strand of the disease that makes parts of his body shrink differently.” Alan looked through the monitor and saw a man who looked like he had activated the ‘big head’ cheat in a video game.

“Poor guy looks like he is 50% head,” Alan muttered.

Frank snorted a laugh. “Yeah, that’s about right. Anyway twelve is here voluntarily, but that don’t mean he ain’t a security risk. Every single one of our guests is highly contagious and could POR-tentially re-infect the entire populace with the disease.” Alan had heard the spiel three times already and winced every time Frank pronounced ‘potentially’ wrong but knew better than to interrupt the man’s tirade. “These three here are scary cases,” Frank went on, jabbing his finger at three different monitors in turn. The first two screens displayed shrunken men. The first was roughly two feet tall and was lying on a bed much larger than he was reading a book as big as his chest. The second was closer to a foot tall and was running on a miniature exercise bike that appeared to be cobbled together from parts of various toys. There was no one on the third monitor. “All three are slowly shrinking all the time no matter what we -or they- do,” Frank explained.

“I only see two.” 

“Exactly,” Frank replied. Alan swallowed in nervous excitement- how small must the guy be to not even show up on the security footage? Frank’s meaty hand clapped his shoulder- and he stiffened. “Relax new guy. Follow protocol and you’re no more likely to get exposed than any civvy. Less likely, even.” Alan nodded and and took a steadying breath as Frank continued, “Four here is a sad case.” He pointed to an incredibly fragile looking man hooked up to life support. “All the muscle in his body withered away, he needs machines to keep his guts movin’ proper.”

Alan watched the man’s bony chest rise and fall for a few seconds before he lost interest. A loss of muscle was well and good, but loss of size was Alan’s real interest. His eyes wandered across the console and settled on a set of three monitors aimed at what appeared to be an especially large room. An enormous bed dominated the center of the room and was surrounded by a lot of furniture and other stuff. The room was more packed with belongings than all of the others combined. “Who is in this one?” he asked.

Frank grunted. “Someone who won’t be here much longer if I have anything to say about it.” The man sounded profoundly displeased as though Alan had mentioned a sick family member or some similarly distressing topic. “You know, most of these poor bastards send the money they earn from the program back home to their families. Not this one though, bribed the right people to get all that junk moved in here. Total disgrace.” Frank took a long pull from his coffee as if to wash a bad taste out of his mouth.

“How much trouble can a little fella really be?” Alan joked, attempting to lighten the mood.

“She. And there ain’t nothin’ little about her.” 

“She? I thought all carriers were male.” Alan’s heart skipped a beat and made feigning surprise simple.

Frank grunted again. “Now you know different. Listen, I’m only gonna say this once. Stay away from subject seventeen. That should be an easy order to follow. She has her own meal time in the mess, and her own time alloted in the gym. Any time seventeen is out of her room, everyone else in the facility is confined to quarters.” The tension in Frank’s voice was contagious and Alan began to fidget nervously. 

A light on the wall suddenly clicked then buzzed, changing from green to red. The door whirred as an automatic-locking system engaged and Frank muttered, “Speak of the devil.” The flat black surface of Frank’s coffee rippled. Then rippled again. The third time Alan felt it, a tremor running through the ground. When the tremor came again he turned just in time to catch a huge, dark shape pass the small wire-mesh window embedded in the security door. “No frickin’ way.”

“Look.” Frank stabbed a finger at the corner of the bank of cameras. Long benches and tables filled a room that appeared to be a cafeteria. One of the tables was stacked high with trays, the rest were empty. No one was in the room.

“I don’t see anyone.”

“Not anymore, she just finished eating.” Alan was about to ask what he was supposed to be looking at when Frank’s meaning sunk in. All those empty trays- enough food to feed a couple dozen people- had all been consumed by one person. “No frickin’ way,” he repeated.

“Here she comes,” Frank said. Which seemed strange because the tremors were becoming less violent. A second later he saw movement on one the cameras for seventeen’s room. “Get a good look new guy, because this is the only way you’re ever going to see seventeen.” 

Alan saw, but did not believe what he was seeing.   

She was immense, at least ten feet tall and the opposite of underfed. The phrase ‘brick shithouse’ came to mind, but even that seemed inadequate to describe the mountainous female striding into the room. The bed that had appeared enormous was a modest single or twin when seen next to the enormous woman it was built to support. Her hips were wider than the doors and supported an ass that could have put a hippopotamus to shame. “H-how is that even possible?” Alan stammered.

“Above your paygrade, new guy.” Frank’s voice softened and became conspiratorial. “But I hear the government is real interested in ‘er. Can you imagine a battalion of soldiers that size? Could probably wear armor thick enough to stop a tank shell.”

Alan felt an uncomfortable tension in his pants that had nothing to do with military prowess. He hunched over and put his head in his hands, pretending that he could not cope with what he was seeing. He could not let anyone at the lab find out about his fetish, not now when he was so close. It had taken months of interviews and social engineering to get this far, but the rumors he had found on the internet had been real this time. He had finally reached the epicenter of shrinking disease research. For a long time he had hoped to become infected but in spite of his best efforts he lacked the proper genetics. The lack of disease kept Alan at in infuriating six feet tall, many times his ideal height. All the tiny men enjoying relationships with huge women and feeling sorry for themselves made him sick. He would have killed to take their place. 

Subject seventeen sat down on her bed and absently scratched under one of her plump tits. Her tight bodysuit favored function over flair and left little to the imagination. Alan watched in awe as she stretched and yawned- attributing divinity to her every move. She would accept him as her worshipper, there was no doubt of that. He would find something that she wanted- something that only he could get- and become her most trusted follower. Patience, Alan urged himself, don’t rush after coming so far. There was time. There had to be. “You said she is leaving soon?” he asked as casually as he could manage.

“If I had my way she would already be gone, she is a risk to this entire facility,” Frank grumbled. “But I’m not calling the shots and, like I said before, the boys upstairs have big plans for her.”

Alan could not keep the smile from his face. The big wigs at Lansing Research were not the only ones with big plans.