This is a work of fiction intended for mature readers. 18 and over please.

All rights reserved by author.


“Won’t you please, please help me?”
“Help!” by The Beatles


Time Bomb by Nomdreserv

Part 8


Overwhelmed, Bob sat numbly on the bed. Even if he found the medallion, he had no
idea how to use it. Lisa, who had been their mainstay, was a helpless infant, barely able
to crawl. And Karen? He unhappily regarded the tiny girl, who was watching him with
equal interest. She hardly seemed much removed from infancy herself, as she stood,
finger twisting in mouth absently. Not very promising.

“Oh, shit,” he moaned.

Karen’s mouth formed a shocked “O.”

“Bad word,” she scolded, her stern expression comical on her young features.

“Huh?” Bob looked blank. “Oh, yeah,” he admitted, before continuing in explanation to
the disapproving girl. “But sometimes they’re all right to say when things are really bad.
And this seems pretty bad right now.”

“OK,” she agreed brightly. Then she started to happily sing, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh sh….”

“Stop!” He half smiled in spite of himself at her sunny expletives. “It doesn’t sound as
good coming from a little girl.”

“Like me,” Karen agreed again.

“Like you.” His despair returned. “Karen, what are we gonna do?”

A particularly loud cry from Lisa interrupted them.

“Baby cry,” Karen explained helpfully.

“Um, yeah, thanks.” Bob stood again, looking at the unhappy infant on the floor. He
wasn’t very good at guessing a baby’s age. She was certainly under a year, and had been
barely able to crawl out of her collapsed shirt. She sat on the floor, crying, looking
alternately from Karen to Bob. Seeing she had his attention again, she held up pudgy
baby arms imploringly to him.

“Spank her,” Karen suggested. “Bad baby crying.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Bob started to squat down next to her, but became acutely aware
of his own nakedness as he did so (gravity and all). He walked to the closet, grabbed a
shirt and shorts for himself, then pulled a T-shirt from Karen’s closet, tossing it to her.

“Here, Kari. Put this on.”

“Too big,” she complained, holding it up critically.

“We’ll find better clothes later,” he assured her, finishing with his dressing. He thought
he could find the kids’outfits they had bought on the weekend.

“Me like nakey,” Karen still balked.

“Please, Kari.”

“’Kay,” she agreed reluctantly, starting to struggle into the shirt. She wound up falling to
the floor. “Helf!” she called again, legs kicking.

Bob sighed. He wasn’t even used to being around kids this small or helpless. Now he
was married to one, his wife too young to even dress herself. At least Lisa had stopped
crying as she watched, wide-eyed, as the shirt and its captive rolled around the floor,
limbs thrashing.

Bob gently stopped her, stood her up, and pulled the shirt over head and arms.

“T’anks,” she smiled sweetly.

Bob felt a big brotherly twinge. He smoothed her pretty red hair.

“You’re welcome, honey.”

He turned to Lisa, picking the baby up gingerly, as most men without children would, not
quite knowing how to hold her. He finally cradled her in a steady fashion in his arms
against his chest, positioned so he could see her face.

“Lisa?” Please let her understand, he thought silently.

The baby blinked beautiful green eyes at him.

“Lisa, please. Give me a sign here.”

She did. For the second time in two days, Bob felt a warm liquid soak his shirt.

“Lisa!” he exclaimed, wondering if it was intentional. He looked at her suspiciously, but
the baby regarded him blankly, completely oblivious to her action.

“Baby pee!” Karen giggled, then suddenly squealed, clamped her hand to her crotch, and
ran to the bathroom. “Oops,” came the mournful conclusion.

Bob groaned. The situation was not improving.

……………..……………..……………..……………..……………..……………..


At least his own trip to the bathroom to clean up yielded a bonus. With a cry of triumph,
he scooped up the medallion from the counter. Maybe they could fix this yet.

Back in the bedroom, he found Karen playing peek-a-boo with Lisa, the baby showing
her first signs of pleasure since her transformation, gooing and laughing. Karen paused
when she saw Bob return.

“Oohh, shiny,” she identified the medallion.

Bob sat on the floor next to the girls, holding the artifact out for them to see. Lisa also
seemed transfixed, pushing herself to get closer.

“Kari, do you remember this?” he asked hopefully.

“Uh huh,” she admitted. “Med … meld …meldon …” she grew impatient “… magic
thingy.”

“That’s right,” he replied, encouraged. “And do you remember how to use it?”

She looked at him and the artifact alternately for several seconds, then pouted.

“Uh uh,” she answered. “No ‘member.”

Fear returned.

“Please, Kari. It’s very important.”

She wanted to please him and considered hard again.

“Uh uh,” she repeated. “Sowwy.”

At this point, Lisa gurgled and waved her arms. Bob’s hopes rose anew.

“Lisa, do you remember?”

“Gaaa!” Her fingers wiggled in her eagerness to hold it.

“Thank goodness,” Bob sighed, handing it to her unsteady grasp.

She promptly stuffed it in her mouth.

“Um, Lisa?”

She sucked and gummed it enthusiastically, kicking her feet in delight. Nothing else
happened.

“Lisa?”

She ignored him, sucking more of the chain in her mouth, then gagging and choking as it
reached her throat. With a cry, Bob reached down to snatch the drool-covered magic
icon.

“No! Bad baby,” he chided her.

“Bad baby, bad baby!” Karen echoed cheerfully, wagging her finger.

Lisa started to cry again.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bob apologized, but wondered how much she understood. He reached
to pick her up, then stopped. He walked to the bathroom and returned with a towel to
hold the baby against; he was only willing to ruin so many shirts.

Lisa quieted as he held her close, triggering another paternal flash. She snuggled
obviously against him. Seeing it, Karen began pulling on his shirt.

“Hold me!” she commanded. “Me! Me!”

“Kari,” he returned patiently. “You’re a big girl ... compared to Lisa.”

She threw herself on the floor in full tantrum.

“Waahhh! You don’t love me!”

He sighed again. As he had already observed, the morning wasn’t getting better.

……………..……………..……………..……………..……………..……………..


He ended up carrying them both downstairs, set them on the family room floor, then sat
dejectedly on the couch. Now what? Karen answered for herself as she spotted her
artwork on the coffee table and pounced upon it eagerly. Within seconds, she was
happily coloring again. She paused, and in a gesture of reconciliation, handed a crayon to
Lisa. It also promtly disappeared into her mouth.

Bob rescued her once more, then admonished Karen against giving the baby anything
small enough to eat. Holding Lisa in his lap, he tried once more to reach her.

“Lisa?”

The green eyes fixed on him, and she smiled winningly (as all babies do).

“Baa,” she said with apparent decision.

“Lisa, can you understand me?” He spoke loudly and slowly.

“Baa-baa. Daa,” she replied, sticking her foot in her mouth and starting to chew.

It might be an answer, he thought desperately, but her actions seemed to speak much
more clearly, the drool dribbling down her face suggesting no help was forthcoming.

“Me hungry,” Karen announced, perhaps spurred by Lisa’s oral fixations, as she finished
a color-jumbled abstract proudly.

“Kari,” Bob complained. “How can you even think of eating when ...”

Lisa interrupted with a loud “Gaa!”, then resumed chewing.

“Lisa hungry too,” Karen said with apparent certainty. “Pwease?”

“Sure,” Bob agreed resignedly. Come to think of it, what else could they do?

He found Lisa stayed quiet while she was being held, and tried to do things one-handed.
He fixed a bowl of cereal for Karen, and she dug in greedily. Then he looked at Lisa
blankly. What did babies eat? Or, more exactly, what did a baby this old (whatever that
was) eat? He figured milk was appropriate, but wondered how to give it to her - could
she still eat or drink normally, or did she need to suck? They had no baby bottles, so he
hoped a cup would work.

Thinking about baby equipment suddenly jarred a memory. Lisa had told him to buy
diapers last Saturday when she planned to further regress Karen. Well, now she could
wear them. At least that would solve one problem, and he wouldn’t have to worry about
his shirt supply.

He laid her back down in the family room and retrieved the diapers from the closet.
Fortunately, he had bought several sizes, so one was sure to fit. He picked one that
looked about right.

“Ready for a nice diaper, Lisa?” he asked, holding it up.

This seemed to produce a glimmer of recognition in her eyes, perhaps a sudden
realization of what had happened. Her eyes closed, and she started to cry again.

Undeterred, Bob fastened the diaper on, stopping briefly to marvel at how different his
former bedmate looked from this angle, then picked her up to pat her comfortingly again.

“Not much fun for either of us, Lisa,” he decided. “At least you don’t have to look
forward to changing it.”

Karen had watched with interest.

“She gots to wear a diapee cuz she’s a baby, right?”

Bob looked at one of the larger sizes appraisingly.

“You know, Kari,” he said cautiously. “It might be a good idea for you ...”

“No!” she yelled, kicking her bare legs wildly. “Me a big girl. No need diapee.” Her lip
started to tremble.

“OK, OK,” Bob agreed appeasingly. “We’ll see how you do, honey.” He couldn’t
believe he was trying to talk his wife into wearing a diaper, but didn’t want to face stereo
crying by forcing the issue. Yet.

He carried Lisa back into the kitchen, poured some milk in a glass, and sat down. He
held her up and experimentally tipped the glass to bring some milk to her lips. To his
relief, she opened her mouth, allowed a bit to trickle in, then swallowed.

“Thank goodness,” he sighed in relief. This wasn’t so bad.

Or it wasn’t, until the next mouthful was only half swallowed, the rest spilling out the
side of her mouth and down his arm. Well, another shirt, another lesson.

Karen giggled as he made expressions of disgust over the ensuing mess, but he eventually
got about half the glass into her. He tried burping her without much success, unless you
counted an extra ooze of saliva and milk on his shoulder.

Karen lost interest and went back to coloring. Satisfied that Lisa wouldn’t starve, Bob set
her on the floor, where she struggled to crawl towards Karen and the table strewn with
crayons and markers. The brightly attractive colors were real kid magnets, and Bob
wondered if that had something to do why Karen had bought them on impulse over the
weekend.

Bob despondently watched the baby wriggle, no signs of her adult self returning. He
went back to sit at the kitchen table, head in hands, once more wondering what to do.

As if in response, the doorbell rang.

Bob jumped in surprise, but made no move to get up. The last thing they needed was
company. If it was anybody they knew, he’d have some difficult explaining to do, and he
felt no inclination to deal with sales or charity appeals, though he realized they were most
unlikely at this hour. However, an insistent knocking replaced the ringing, with no signs
of the mystery visitor withdrawing. The girls ignored him as he walked to the door.

“Who the hell would be at the door at 7 AM, anyway?” he mumbled, opening it
cautiously.

The answer stood on the step.

Or rather, a man did. He was about Bob’s height and of medium build. His face had a
somewhat hardened look for his forty-something years, and was dominated by a
prominent hawkish nose. The effect was softened, however, by a benign, vaguely
pleasant expression and faint smile. The stranger wore a cloak or some kind of modified
poncho over otherwise nondescript pants and shirt, and had a weather beaten and
consequently almost shapeless broad-brimmed hat which he now doffed in greeting.

“Good morning,” he began, in a rich, slightly accented tenor. “I’m here to rescue you.”

Bob stared, the stranger’s benevolent expression never wavering.

“Ex ... excuse me?” he finally stammered in reply.

A faint puzzlement spread across the man’s features, then he brightened.

“Of course. Silly of me. Introductions. Quite.” He extended a hand which Bob slowly
accepted. “You must be Bob. Heard a lot about you.” Wink. “Bit younger than I
expected, but then, that’s the whole problem, isn’t it?”

“I, uh, well ... how ...”

“Never mind. Stories later. I’m Gregor. Gregor Zauberersohn to be more precise, but
usually just Gregor. Saves time. Pleased to finally meet you.” He shook Bob’s hand
vigorously. His Germanic name seemed at odds with a vaguely British accent.

“You’re ...” Bob started, as Gregor finally released his hand.

“Lisa’s Gregor? Yes, quite. Star pupil, esteemed teacher and all that.” He peered over
Bob’s shoulder. “Where is she, by the way? No answer at her place. Very inconvenient.
Lucky she gave me your address. Told me she might spend the night. Is she decent?
Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more, eh? But seriously, is she around?”

“She’s inside, but ...”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Gregor breezed quickly past, then spun about. “Nearly
forgot. Grab that bag, would you? May need it. Thanks.” He started down the hall.

“Wait! I, uh, she ...” Bob sputtered, even as he picked up the cloth bag on the step. He
ran to catch up with Gregor.

The sorcerer had stopped at the family room door, hearing the girl and baby giggling and
gooing together. Bob came abreast and set down the bag. There before their eyes was
little Kari, happily coloring a ducky, and Lisa contentedly gnawing on the coffee table
leg. Gregor looked at Bob aghast.

“Lisa?” he asked, pointing at the baby.

Bob nodded.

“And I presume that must be your wife, Karen?”

Another nod. At her name, the red-haired tot looked up and smiled shyly.

“Hi,” she said sweetly.

“Good morning to you, Karen,” he replied formally. “My name is Gregor. Gregor
Zaub.... never mind,” he decided as she returned to coloring.

Lisa looked up, an apparent recognition lighting her eyes.

“Gaa-gaa. Laagaa dogaba,” she burbled.

“And to you, Lisa,” he returned.

Bob’s hopes rose. “What did she say?” he asked in a whisper.

“I have no idea,” Gregor returned. “I’m a wizard, not an interpreter.”

Gregor then looked back and forth from them to Bob several times, finally muttering a
significant sounding “Ahh.” He nodded his head sagely and motioned Bob back into the
hall to speak quietly. Bob waited breathlessly to hear the master’s assessment.

“Bob,” he confided conspiratorially, pausing as though to best phrase his expert and
erudite judgment. “This is not good.”


END PART 8

Copyright 1998 by Nomdreserv

All rights reserved by author


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