Body of Evidence

 

Harry was a good policeman. For two years he had tracked every lead on a massive drug-smuggling gang, and today was the day of the big bust. Everything was going according to plan — until he caught sight of Jasmine slipping out the back exit with a briefcase.

“Put it down and step away,” Harry barked, leveling his gun.

But Jasmine spun around, her eyes flashing. Harry pulled the trigger — and missed. A blinding flash lit up the alley.

When his vision cleared, strong hands were yanking him to the ground. Cold metal snapped around his wrists.

“You’re making a mistake — she’s getting away!” Harry shouted. But then he looked up and froze.

It was his own body standing over him. His own face, smirking, gun trained on him.

Now he sat in the interrogation room, the briefcase on the table before him, trapped in Jasmine’s body. The officers across from him weren’t congratulating him on the bust. They were questioning him as a suspect — the supposed mastermind of the drug ring he had worked years to take down.

And there was nothing he could say to convince them otherwise.

When the trial came, Jasmine — wearing Harry’s badge, Harry’s uniform, Harry’s life — testified against him with cool, measured authority. The jury hung on every word. Harry could only sit there, seething in Jasmine’s skin, knowing the truth would never be believed.

The verdict was swift. Guilty. Sentenced to twenty-five years.

As he was led away in chains, he caught one final glimpse of Jasmine — in his body — standing outside the courthouse. She smiled, a slow, mocking curl of his own lips, before slipping on his sunglasses and walking into the crowd.