The final chapters of the sequel to "Team Spirit" by Janice Dreamer. Dr. Hanson and Bob have their final confrontation. Chapters 45 of 48 out of 48. Ratings and listed Elements apply to the entire story. I'd like to thank all the readers who have stayed with this very lengthy story. I hope that you found it worth your time.

TEAM SPIRIT: THE SECOND HALF
BY Meps98

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

I would have bet anything that Hanson was dead before she smacked the wall.

Hell, before he hit her that third time.

The first punch was a right to her jaw, snapping her head around. It would still be twisting if he hadn’t followed the right immediately with an equally vicious left. Doc’s body was dropping straight down when her chin ran into the uppercut.

It was just like a cartoon.

She completely left the ground, slamming into the wall behind her, then slumped to the ground. Bob just stood there staring at her...wasn’t even breathing hard. Took all of five seconds.

After a few moments, Bob walked back to my desk, scooped up all the shit from Honey’s locker, stuffed it in the box, and picked it up.

“Give me three minutes, then call 911. Call her office after that.”

What the hell was I going to say ... “No”? He was out the door before I could do anything.

I went over to Hanson’s body and was shocked when I found a pulse, a strong one too. She’s tougher than she looks. I did just as Bob said. Also called one of the cops I pay off. The ambulance showed up in about eight minutes, my cops about two minutes later. Had to make sure I wasn’t arrested for this crap. I didn’t say anything about Bob, Hanson can if she wants. I ain’t gonna cross that guy for all the coke in Columbia.

* * ** * ** * ** * *

My head and neck are throbbing. From the crown to my chin, one large, pounding, thumping cacophony of pain. I slowly open my eyes and try to move my head to look around but the pain is too great, so I just shift my eyes about. I appear to be in a hospital room, curtains drawn and dimly lit. My upper body is elevated to about 45 degrees. I think that there may be someone sitting in the chair to my left but it hurts too much to turn my head to look. I try to talk but my jaw won’t move, so I can only make a useless moaning noise, which attracts the attention of whomever is in the chair. A large, dark body moves in front of me.

“Finally awake, eh’ Doc.”

Wonderful. It’s Anthony. I try to tell him to get out but can only utter more unintelligible moans. He switches on a light, blinding me for a few seconds. Wonderful bedside manner.

“They tell me that your jaw is broken in three places and you’ve got a monster concussion. Your jaw is wired shut. The nurse left this for you.” He holds out a small whiteboard and marker. I slowly reach out with my right hand and take it from him, careful not to move my aching head. I prop the board on my lap and write.

“W.h.a.t. H.a.p.p.e.n.e.d.?”

“Bob hit you.”

“W.i.t.h. W.h.a.t.?“

He grins. “Just his hands.”

“N.o.t. P.o.s.s.i.b.l.e.”

“Oh yeah, very possible Doc. Let me tell you a little story.”

Oh please stop.

“I was watching one of those stupid reality video shows a couple of years ago. This particular video was from London, either a bus or train station surveillance camera, I don’t remember which, doesn’t matter. The camera was looking at a large waiting area and this big guy, not as big as me but good sized, was walking around, pounding on people. He was probably on drugs of some kind. Just walked up to someone and started wailing on them with his bare hands and kicking them. After a few punches, he’d stop, walk over to somebody else and start pounding them. The guy kept working the room, going from person to person, beating them. Didn’t matter if it was a man, woman or kid. No one really fought back, they just ducked and covered up. There wasn’t any sound so you don’t know if anybody was yelling for help but there weren’t any cops around.”

What is the point of this drivel?

“So, as this guy went around the room punching and kicking people, he gradually moved closer to the camera. There was this below-average size guy just in the bottom of the camera’s view. The big guy was headed right for him. The little guy took a couple of steps forward. The big guy was almost on top of the little guy when the big guy’s head snapped back, his body turned about thirty degrees to the right and he went down like he was shot. The little guy just kept walking, never saw his face. They did a slow motion replay and you could see the little guy hit him square on the jaw with a short jab, got his whole body behind it. No big windup, no big follow through. The punch probably traveled all of twelve inches and knocked the big guy out cold. The little guy knew his business, a pro. Fucking amazing!” I pick up my board.

“W.h.a.t. T.h.i.s. D.o. W.i.t.h. M.e.?”

“Cause that is exactly what Bob did to you, only three times in about two and a half seconds. Good thing my bookie wasn’t there because I would have bet everything I owned that he’d killed you. I called 911, the ambulance came, picked you up and here you are.”

“H.o.w. L.o.n.g.?” He checks his watch.

“Oh, about fourteen hours ago. It’s almost 1:00 a.m. The cops came too but it was a couple of guys on my pad. I didn’t tell them much, just that you and a guy were talking in my office, I heard a loud thump, came in, found you and called 911. Figured that you would want to tell the story your way.”

“W.h.e.r.e. B.o.b.?”

“Right now? No idea. He left right after knocking you on your ass. Haven’t heard from him since.” He stands up. “I told Connor that I would wait here until you woke up. She should be here around 8:00 o’clock this morning. I think she’s bringing some of your rejuvenation medicine with her. You should be eating solid food in no time.”

I franticly scribble on the whiteboard. “W.h.a.t. I.f. B.o.b. R.e.t.u.r.n.s.?”

“What if he does? He won’t do anything while you’re in here. Besides, the more I think about it, the more I believe that he pulled his punches. He sent you flying into the wall with no effort at all. If he wanted to kill you, he could have done it and I wouldn’t have been able to stop him. You’re probably safe here.”

“P.r.o.b.a.b.l.y.?”

“Yeah ... probably.” He waves his hand and leaves the room. A nurse enters as he exits.

“I have some pain meds for you Doctor Hanson.” It’s about time. She injects something into my IV line and I quickly fall sleep.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

When I wake the next time, my head feels better, I can move a little more without pain. The jaw still pulses but the intensity has lessened. I can turn my head far enough to see the clock. It’s 5:00 a.m. and the hospital is dead quiet. I close my eyes and try to go back to sleep.

“Good morning, Doctor Hanson.”

Bob! My eyes fly open but I can’t see anything. I try to shout but can still barely make any sounds at all. My right arm flails around, trying to find the call buzzer.

“Don’t bother Doctor.”

He steps out from the shadows. How long has he been there? The call buzzer dangles from his hand.

“I unplugged this to make sure we had a brief time alone.”

He swings my tray across the bed, stopping it in front of me. Bending down, he picks up a rectangular flat object and places it on the tray, flipping it open. It is a laptop computer. He pushes a button and the screen lights up. After the start up screen, the desktop appears. He reaches across and I involuntarily flinch. He clicks on an icon that I do not recognize. Whatever the program is, it starts and a text entry box appears.

“Go on Doctor, type something. Ask me a question then hit ‘Enter’.”

I do. The computer speaks. “Why are you here?” It is Honey’s voice, a little stilted and flat but clearly Honey’s voice. From what he said, there was only one place where he could have gotten the samples he needed. I type another question. “Did you break into my house?”

“I will answer the second question first. Yes I did. I found the tapes. As for your first question, I am here to apologize for striking you. I let my emotions get the better of me and should not have lost control. Before we go any further, I would like to get one question answered. Am I correct in assuming that our arraignment is terminated?”

I type and hit “Enter”.

“Yes.” That voice is a little unnerving.

“A shame, but perfectly understandable Doctor. I accept your decision. Having said that, there are just a couple of parting thoughts I would like to leave with you.”

“Do not want to hear it. Leave now.”

“I would prefer that you not make me insist Doctor. It will only take a few minutes.” He fingers my IV line with his left hand.

“Point taken. Go on.” He may be smiling, it is hard to be sure in this darkened room.

“Thank you Doctor. We both need to recover from our respective obsessions with Honey Sweet-Lay. Mine was of much shorter duration and a more positive nature, but we were both obsessed with her or him as the case maybe, and still are, despite her death. If either of us is to have a good future of any kind, each must get past that obsession. I intend to get professional help, if necessary, and I hope you would do the same.”

Where is he going with this?

“On a similar note, I did not destroy the tapes, nor the contents of Honey’s locker. They are all at your home. I had a change of heart after cooling off from our meeting at the club. It is true that I intended to destroy all evidence of Honey’s existence for every one’s protection, but also to piss you off. I knew that you would want to keep everything you could as trophies once Honey died. You bought Josh Thomas’s house, kept some of his athletic awards and other personal property, destroying the rest. I assumed you would have done the same thing with Honey’s meager possessions. Keeping all that property is dangerous, but it is not my place to make that decision for you. If you are able to give up those items, it would be an indication that you are on the road to recovering from your crippling obsession with all things Josh Thomas.”

Thank heaven he did not destroy my tapes.

“I took care of the problem with Honey’s friend Candi, you can speak with Anthony about the cover story. I did not use the computer in front of you. While it is the latest technology available to the general public, it is not quite sophisticated enough to run the voice program. The program on your machine is a simplified version of what I used. With practice, your computer could produce a fairly convincing conversation. I am giving you that computer should the need arise to divert the attention of the authorities once I am gone.”

“Why you being helpful?”

“Because I do not believe you are a lost cause, Doctor. You are a brilliant scientist who has wasted a good portion of her productive years seeking vengeance for an act that occurred many years ago.”

“Have Nobel Prize. That a waste?”

“Do you believe that you have reached your creative peak? That there is nothing more you can accomplish?”

“No.”

“Since winning the Nobel, you have rested on your laurels, spending your time tormenting Honey. Properly developed, your discoveries could change the world for the better if you could come up with a legal way to create your drugs.”

“Legal?”

“The raw material for your treatments is aborted fetuses, more precisely, embryonic stem cells, which you import from Russia, the abortion leader of the world.”

SHIT, SHIT, SHIT HE KNOWS! So much for reporting him to the police for assaulting me.

“I suspected that your treatments were not actually individually tailored to each patient. You were treating more than eighty people, including yourself and staff. That is more than eighty individual DNA patterns. Science does not yet have a complete understanding of how the entire DNA sequence works, so creating eighty individual medications would mean that there would be too many chances for errors, possibly fatal errors. Yet, you had a 100% success rate, which is practically unheard of for any medical treatment, let alone an experimental one. Your only ‘failure’ was Josh Thomas, which was the one case where you actually did create a unique DNA based drug. The rest of your patients received a drug developed from embryonic stem cells, using their own DNA as the model for their rejuvenation. My suspicions were confirmed when I forced you to change injections at the last moment when we first met at your lab. I know that you had plans to transform me but when that was thwarted, you immediately reached for a different vial. It was extremely unlikely that you would have gone to the trouble of creating two separate and unique drugs, so the one I received was most likely generic, just the same as everyone but Josh received. Once I discovered the source of your regular shipments, everything fell into place.

“Whom have you told?”

“No one and I do not intend to. Should the authorities become aware of your use of aborted fetuses and embryonic stem cells, the consequences would be quite bad for you. More importantly, should that information become public, there are certain groups with a particular ... shall we say, ‘viewpoint’ about the use of embryonic stem cells, who would spare no effort to make sure your experiments ceased ... with extreme prejudice.”

“I am giving you the opportunity to discover other ways to do the same things with legal ingredients. It would make you an incredibly wealthy woman and the world a better place. Just because I personally believe you have done terrible things does not mean that you cannot do good in the world. Honey and I often spoke about karma and redemptive acts. You have great untapped potential Doctor; beyond your already recognized accomplishments. I would hate to see you waste it.”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing Doctor. Your success is all that I require. Should you succeed and your treatments become available to the general public, I will benefit. For now, I intend to restart my original MS drug regimen immediately which should either prevent or reduce my symptoms in the future, assuming your treatments did not cure me. I also found that I enjoyed having female companionship, so I will start looking for Honey’s replacement.”

He is one cold son of a bitch!

“Unfortunately Doctor, my original argument for you to stop working for the Wranglers remains. As long as you are involved with that team, you are at risk of exposure. You must get away from them and it needs to be their decision. I suggest that you sabotage the program, that it cease working. There is no need to actually harm anyone, that could lead to a different kind of investigation. Simple failure is all that is necessary. That would help squelch rumors about an illegal advantage the Wranglers have and give them an incentive to terminate your services. Besides, with Honey’s death, you have no reason to attend their post Super Bowl parties any longer.”

“How will I replace the Wrangler’s money?”

“I can not answer that Doctor. All I can say is that when you start ignoring the correct actions due to concerns about a loss of money, then someone owns you. Do the Wranglers own you Doctor?”

“No.”

“Then do what you should do, money be damned. There is one last thing and I want to make sure you understand that I am serious about it. As I said, you are a brilliant scientist, likely more so than I realize. I believe that, should you put your mind to it, you could clone Honey. You have her DNA at your lab. In a few years, you could have a new person to torture. I hope you understand that this would be completely unreasonable. Just in case you do not, I plan on checking in on you now and then. If I find out that you are attempting that or anything like it, I will burn your lab to the ground and kill anyone associated with it. You ... have ... my ... word ... on ... this. Do you understand?”

I cannot clearly see him, but I can clearly hear him. His is the voice of death and destruction, of this I am sure. There would be no escape, no reprieve. I have no intention of cloning anybody, though it is an interesting concept. Regardless, it is a chance I am not willing to take.

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good. I have found our relationship both interesting and beneficial Doctor. Take care of yourself ... Oh, please check on Anthony now and then if you will, I have grown fond of him.”

My door opens quietly, there is a brief flash of light from the illuminated hallway and he is gone, silently closing the door behind him.

* ** * ** * ** * *

(Six Months Later)

Doc Hanson was at the club again tonight. She comes in about once a month now; we sit in my office and talk. Just after Honey’s death, she was here practically daily. The first time she came in, I gave her the hair that Bob tore from Honey’s head before we torched her body. I had kept it in my freezer. She seemed happy to get it. Those first few visits, she pumped me for details about Honey’s death, the bastard who did it, how we cleaned the room and where we burned the body. She brought some kind of specialist in to go over the room, looking for evidence of the murder I guess. We even tried to find the old garage but I couldn’t recreate our original route. I’m pretty sure Bob planned it that way. I think that she didn’t believe that Honey was actually dead. I told her that Bob was never alone with Honey and he ripped out that clump of hair just before we burned the body. In the end, I think she accepted it. Maybe. Not my problem.

The last few visits, she was more interested in what Bob was doing. She never pressed charges against him for beating her up, I didn’t ask her why. He was living in the same house, but I didn’t go over there to check on him, didn’t know if I was welcome or not. He did however have other girls come over to his place like Honey first did. I know that because I talked with other club owners. He approached them with the same offer he made to me. Unfortunately for him, none of the other girls worked out. Honey really was one of a kind, in more ways than the obvious. I had to admit that I sorta missed her too. What a cocksucker!

Honey’s regular john’s asked about her, but I told them the same thing Bob told Candi when he called her using that “Honey in a box” computer, that she had gone to Germany to work their clubs, said that a guy bought her contract from me. Candi never did come back to my club. I think she decided to stay in Houston. Other than that, Honey’s disappearance didn’t cause a ripple. I don’t know if it was sheer luck or all that Bob did, but I thought we were in deep shit when I first walked in on that bloody murder scene. Turns out I was wrong. It was all probably for the best anyway. There’s no more fighting between Bob and Hanson. I can keep those psycho creeps out of my club. I don’t have to worry about her ratting me out to the cops. I miss the money but, in the end, it just wasn’t worth the hassle.

After Hanson left, I went back out to the bar. It’s a Thursday night in June and the weather had been brutally hot. Anybody selling cold beer was doing OK tonight. No one was on stage right now, so I took a leisurely tour around the floor, making sure every one knew I was here. Talked with a few of my regulars, pressing the flesh. There’s a guy I don’t recognize sitting in the corner at Bob’s old table. He’s slumped forward, can’t see his face. As I walk closer, he looks up.

“Son of a BITCH! BOB! How you doing?!” Bob reaches up with his hand. I grab it and sit down.

“Hello Anthony. It is good to see you again.”

“Me too man, me too. How you been?”

“Fine, you?”

“Pretty busy. Doc Hanson was just here, left about ten minutes ago.”

“I know, I’ve been here awhile myself. I thought it best to keep her unaware of my presence. I was not sure how she would react. There was no need to risk causing a scene, particularly given the reason I am here tonight.”

“What’s that?”

“I am here to say good bye Anthony. I have been unable to find a companion since Honey’s death, so it is time to move on.”

“That’s a shame man. Where you going?”

“I am not sure, possibly back East. Did I ever tell you that I am originally from the New York area?”

“You never told me anything about yourself Bob. You don’t sound like a New Yawker.”

“It took some effort to get rid of the accent. I miss winter and snow. I will see what area appeals to me. I just wanted to stop by, relive some old times and bid you farewell.” His eyes are a little misty.

“You still miss her, don’t you?”

“Very much so, but life moves on.” He stands up and pats me on the shoulder. “Take care Anthony.”

“You too Bob. Do you want me to tell Hanson about this conversation?”

“It makes no difference to me. Do whatever you feel is in your best interest. Good bye.”

He slowly walks towards the exit, looking this way and that as he leaves. When he reaches the exit, he turns and dips his head towards me. I nod back. He slides out the door.

I feel a lot more comfortable knowing he’s not in town anymore. A great guy to have on your side when there’s trouble around, but it seems there is always trouble when he’s around. I’d rather not have the trouble in the first place.

* * ** * ** * ** * *
(Three Months Later)

Summer was making its last stand in the middle-sized town of Bloomington, Indiana. Bloomington is a college town, home of the main campus of Indiana University. The town itself surrounds the campus on three sides, mostly older homes and neighborhoods, many of which have seen better days. A large number of the bigger houses have been converted to student rental housing, internally subdivided into multiple apartments. Some neighborhoods have resisted the creeping commercialization. Much of the University faculty resides in those neighborhoods, those and the sprawling subdivisions on the outskirts of town.

Today, the air is hot and moist, filled with the sounds of children playing in the neighborhood park. An average sized man, of average weight and indeterminate age with auburn hair pauses to watch a basketball game in that park for a few minutes before strolling down the street to a white, fenced, Victorian style house. He opens, then walks through the wrought iron gate, up the short concrete sidewalk, climbs the steps to the front door and rings the doorbell. There is no answer, so he rings again. The door swings open, revealing an attractive, middle-aged woman, dressed in a pale yellow sundress.

“Hello Bob. It is Bob today, isn’t it?”

He smiles. “Yes Susan, Bob James. I have been using this legend exclusively for almost two years and have grown quite comfortable with it. May I come in?”

“Certainly. I thought you said you would be here after 5:00. It’s only 4:15.”

“The traffic around Indianapolis was much less than I anticipated and there was no delay at the airport. I can come back later if you wish.”

“No, no come in. We may have more to talk about than you originally planned.”

They walk into the living room. Susan gestures towards a chair. Bob sits down while she has a seat on the couch.

“So, how is Ms. Taylor doing?” he asks.

“Amazingly well. Given her history, I would have expected a much more difficult transition to a normal life. She has really taken to the therapy, works very hard at it. You deserve a lot of credit for her willingness to accept what happened to her and put it in the past. I must admit that when you first came to me, I didn’t believe you. The whole story seemed too fantastic. If you had not been my patient when we both worked for ...”

“Yes, I remember.”

“As do I. Because of our relationship, I knew you were not the kind of person to make such claims lightly. Once she was able to trust me, she told me the entire story.” She shook her head. “Absolutely dumbfounding. That such technology exists is both thrilling and horrifying. Are you sure that Debbie is the only victim?”

“Yes, quite sure. Isn’t her name Deborah?”

“She prefers Debbie, don’t you like it?”

“Oh yes, it is cute and wholesome. ‘Debbie Taylor’. It suits her; of course practically anything would be an improvement on ‘Honey Sweet-Lay’. Where is she?”

“Out with friends. I believe the plans were to do some shopping at the Mall and then go to school to work on some banners for the new football season. I don’t expect her back until 6:00, though I did give her strict instructions to be home in time for dinner.”

“She’s not a cheerleader, is she?”

“No, they wanted her, for obvious reasons, but she wasn’t interested, for equally obvious reasons. Debbie still helps out though; she’s that kind of person, very generous and giving.”

“How is she doing in school?”

“Better than one might expect. Having been through high school once before is an advantage to her, but not much of one. Her then athletic talents gave her or him a bit of a free ride, at least in his later years. He must have learned and retained something because Debbie is getting B’s and A’s in Advance Placement classes, even the Home Ec class.”

“Home Ec?”

“She insisted. School has not been easy; she does put in the hours on home work and group projects.”

“I understand that she also works part time. What kind of job?”

“A clothes store, primarily teen fashion. I thought that it would give her a chance to interact with a large cross-section of people and help her become more comfortable out in public. It should also help her catch up on years of ‘fashion experience’ that she never had, giving her more in common with her peer group.”

“Debbie does not really have a peer group.”

Susan frowns. “You know what I mean Bob.”

“And she has friends?”

“Quite a few, particularly given that she only attended school for the spring semester. She naturally attracts attention, as you well know.”

“How about ... boyfriends?”

His voice catches on that question, which does not go unnoticed by Susan.

“Yes, there have been a couple. As I said, she naturally attracts attention, particularly from boys ... and men under the age of ninety.”

“Any ... serious relationships?”

“No Bob, none.” He visibly relaxes. “That is one of the things that we need to talk about. Would you care for something to drink?”

“Just water please.” Susan gets up, goes to the kitchen and returns with two glasses, water for Bob and tea for herself. She sits back down on the couch.

“As I was saying, Debbie has made remarkable progress in almost all areas except one. She cannot form a romantic relationship of any kind with males of her peer group. And no, she is not a lesbian, as you well know.”

“Is that a serious problem?”

“Yes, I believe it is. She has passed up several quite acceptable prospects.”

“Maybe she just has not met the right boy.”

“That is the problem, she’s sure she has.”

“I do not understand. Are you saying she is attracted to a boy who is rejecting her? If so, there is your homosexual. No red blooded male would pass up on an opportunity to date Hone ... Debbie.”

“No Bob, she’s rejecting all romantic overtures because she is in love with you, completely, totally and utterly.” Bob smiles broadly but says nothing. “And therein lies the problem, because we both know that you are incapable of a healthy relationship with anyone.”

“Now wait a moment Susan, that is not exactly true ...”

“How long was I your therapist, Bob?”

“At least ten years.”

“Ten years. In all that time, did we ever make any progress on your ability to actually bond with another person.”

“Certainly, by the end I was ...”

“Capable of convincingly faking it. You could fake most any ‘normal’ behavior but you never really felt the emotion. You remained an isolated person, which in your profession was a strength. You cared for no one, needed no one, relied on no one, shared with no one ... loved no one. You were able to convince Debbie that you and she had a relationship, you likely believed it yourself, having never demonstrated a propensity for cruel behavior for cruelties sake. We both know that the reality is something else. You never had a close, emotional connection with anyone in your life, though you tried. If things became difficult, you simply disappeared. Emotional connections with people would have been a liability when working for .... the ‘company’, but they are mandatory for a successful relationship.

Your condition makes success very unlikely with even a psychologically strong woman. To attempt this with Debbie, after all she has been through, would be unconscionable. I refuse to let her continue with this delusional relationship when she is so close to making an unprecedented transition from an abused, forcibly feminized male to a strong, secure, emotionally balanced woman. I only care about her best interest, not yours. You were my patient, but she is my patient.”

“May I say something?”

“Yes.”

“I do love her, with all my heart. The last nine months have been very difficult for me.”

“They haven’t been a walk in the park for Debbie.”

“I understand that, I do not mean to compare our respective levels of misery. I just want you to understand that I really love her.”

“You may have loved ‘Honey Sweet-Lay’, though I doubt it; you do not even know ‘Debbie Taylor’. They are not the same person.”

“Fine, then let us have a chance to get to know each other.”

“No.”

“Shouldn’t that be her choice?”

“Normally yes, but this is hardly a normal case. I have done things not found in any textbook. God, if I could write a paper on this, I might get my own Nobel Prize. Debbie would do anything to make you happy so, in this area, her judgment can not be trusted.”

“Susan, I am a changed man! I swear!”

“I am sure that you believe you are, but your behavior says otherwise. Debbie told me of a number of instances where you put her in very difficult situations to accomplish your objectives. You did not get her consent for this. Her safety was secondary to your objectives.”

“Her escape was my objective! Chances had to be taken and I could not get her consent without risking failure. This is just like the Syrian matter. You ivory tower types have no idea what working in the field is like. Compromises must be made in order to succeed.”

“You don’t risk the life of someone you love!”

“You do if it is the only way to save them!”

“We disagree, but since I am the therapist, I win.”

“Susan ...”

“And don’t try to intimidate me Bob. I know all your tricks.”

“Not all of them.”

“I know that you respect me and my capabilities, otherwise you would not have asked for my help, which, by the way, is a point in your favor.” Bob says nothing for a moment or two.

“What if I tell her the truth?”

“You have been lying to her?!”

“NO! I have not lied to her ... not as far as anything important. I did not tell her many things, but that is not lying ... it is just not full disclosure.”

“A very subtle difference when you are the one being deceived, Bob.”

“I am offering to tell her the complete truth about me, my history, my job, my problems … that you have been so kind to point out, everything that is not classified. Would that satisfy you?”

She thinks about it for a few seconds. “I don’t know. Love truly is blind. She might not care about any of it; things that would drive any sane person away screaming might be blithely accepted ... I am sorry, simply telling her the complete truth is a minimum requirement. You also must promise me that you will not leave when things get difficult, and make no mistake, things will get very difficult. Debbie is much more stable than anyone could have expected, even hoped for, but she is far from being done with her therapy. If you and she became romantically involved and then you abandon her, the harm to her could be cataclysmic. Can you guarantee me that you would stay with her no matter what happens, no matter how difficult things become?”

“I would do the best I could.”

“That is not nearly good enough. If history means anything, your best will not be adequate ... I’m sorry Bob, but I can't support you, it is not in Debbie’s best interest.”

He nods his head. “I understand Susan. You must do what you think correct. All I know is that I have never felt this way before about anyone. There is no guarantee that will not change, but ‘normal’ couples are in the same situation, as evidenced by the current divorce rate.”

“Agreed, but they are not my responsibility, Debbie is.”

“All I ask is that you do not actively lobby against me.”

“I will tell her what I think ... I do not hate you Bob. You have many admirable qualities, mostly honest, trustworthy, unbelievably resourceful, a strong moral base, a preternatural calm in the face of stress or danger. But you are also ruthless, single minded, relentless, self-absorbed and willing to do most anything to successfully complete your objective. In a difficult situation, I would trust you with my life; I just wouldn’t date you, even at gun point.”

He nods his head again. “Fair enough Susan.”

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

It’s a good thing I brought a change of clothes. This hallway is hot as hell! School doesn’t start until next week so the AC isn’t on yet. Even with the doors open at both ends, the stifling, humid air is just sitting there. We can’t turn on a fan because the thirty foot paper banners spread out on the floor would go flying down the hall. My shorts and tank top make it bearable, but just barely. I’m starting to get sweaty bra rash. Jackie and Sherry are sweating as bad as I am, but they’re cheerleaders so their eternal peppiness keeps them from bitching about it, which leaves me with no one to complain to.

“How many of these do we need to make?” I ask. Sherry shifts from her hands and knees to sitting back on her heels, scratching her nose with the back of the enormous black marker in her right hand.

“One for the cheer section, one for the band, and one in each end zone.”

“Don’t forget the hoop,” adds Jackie “The hoop’s a bitch.”

“But we’ve got two weeks, why do you need these done by Friday?”

Sherry wipes the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “That’s what Emily wants and she’s head cheerleader. I told you that you should have tried out. I’ve seen you dance, you’d have kicked her ass! But noooo, you had more important things to do, like school and work.”

I throw my marker at her but she dodges it, laughing. Jackie and I laugh along with her. “If you’re going to insult me, screw you guys, I’m going home.”

Jackie stands up, brushing off her knees. “She’s not insulting you Deb. Everybody knows you’d be a great addition to the squad. You already spend half your free time with us anyway, might as well make it official. Anybody want a drink?”

I stand up too. “Water.”

Sherry chimes in. “Diet Coke.” Jackie heads for the ice chest at the end of the hall. I sit down next to Sherry.

“I hear that you’ve been seeing Larry Boyd.”

She swats my arm. “Who told you?!”

“I hear things at the store. Besides, you aren’t making a secret of it, parking at the lake.”

“I wish I had your sources, I’d be rich from blackmailing half the senior class. I do know that you turned Chris Bailey down again. Jeez Deb, he’s like the biggest catch in the whole school. Starting quarterback, rich family, a complete babe and ...” she lowers her voice “... a decent fuck, if you believe Joni Shipley. What’s the four-one-one?”

“I know, my Aunt Susan says that I should say ‘yes’ but ...”

“It’s the old boyfriend, isn’t it?” says Jackie as she tosses me a bottled water. “He must have done a number on you to turn you off the great guys who chase you all the time.” I twist open the bottle and take a big swig. Oooohhh yeah, that hits the spot. She sits down and hands Sherry her Diet Coke.

“They aren’t all great guys. Bob didn’t do anything wrong. He was great ... more than great, the best. All that and something else. Sweet, kind, smart, brave, supportive, and ... on Joni Shipley’s scale of one to ten, Bob was a fifty, on a bad day. And he never had a bad day.” They both gasp, then start giggling wildly.

“GAWD DEBBIE! You slut! You never told me that!” cried Jackie.

“No wonder you miss him! Where is he?” chirped Sherry.

“I ... I … don’t really know” I sighed. “We haven’t seen each other in almost ten months.”

“Bummer! Why’d he leave you?”

“Actually ... I left him ... it’s complicated guys.”

“Hey” said Sherry, “if it wasn’t complicated, it wouldn’t be any fun. Still, if he’s not around, maybe you could just try to hook up with somebody else.”

“You should form a club with my Aunt Susan. I have tried ... it’s just ... compared to Bob ... they’re all just ... children, you know?”

Jackie laughs. “Tell me something I don’t know, guys are like children most the time anyway. You better start seeing somebody soon or people will think you’re a lesbo.”

I grin. “Weeeelllll, now that you mention it....”

“Shut UP! You slut!” Sherry shrieks. Jackie falls onto her side, laughing hysterically.

I push myself up off the floor. “Enough fun, let’s get these done. I gotta be home by 6:00 and can’t help tomorrow, I’ll be at the store all day.”

Sherry jumps to her feet. “Hey! Are those cami tops still on sale? I really need to get a couple before school starts.”

“Yeah, but the sale ends Saturday. Come in tomorrow and I can get the commission.”

“How about the employee discount?”

“You know I can’t. If the manager caught me, she’d fire my ass, then my Aunt would kick it.”

“That’s OK Deb, I’m just screwing with you. You’re right, back to work.”

* * ** * ** * ** * *

“I’m home!” I shout as I open the door. It’s 6:12 but I’ve got a good excuse. ”Susan, I’m home!” She steps out of the kitchen, stopping in the doorway.

“You’re late.”

“I know, I’m sorry. We were cleaning up and getting ready to leave, but then football practice ended and the team walked in. Sherry just had to talk with Larry and she was my ride home. Then Chris started chatting me up. I was lucky to get out of there when I did. Supper’s not ruined is it?”

“Actually, I haven’t started it yet. Something came up. We will probably have to order something.”

“That’s cool. What happened?”

“I had a visitor, friend of yours.”

“It wasn’t Pam was it? I told her that I had no interest in Steve Lane. He was the one who chased me at the pool party last week. She can have him.”

“He sounds like a charmer, no it wasn’t Pam Sharp.”

“Not Mark Richardson I hope. He’s been showing up at the store to ‘shop’ every day for the last three weeks. If I’m not there, he leaves. If I am, he stays for a couple of hours. He doesn’t buy anything, just browses and tries to get near me.” I shudder. “Creepy.”

“No, it is an old friend. He’s still here.”

Old friend? He? I don’t have any old friends, at least none who know where I ... NO! SHE’S SHITTING ME! IT CAN’T BE ...

“Where is he?!”

“The kitchen.”

She steps away from the doorway and I slowly approach, not letting my hopes get too high, then peek in. He’s there, leaning with his back against the sink.

“Hello Debbie. Susan says that you are doing quite ...” That’s all he gets out before I rush in, throw myself into his arms and kiss him as if to suck the fillings out of his teeth. His arms are around my waist, holding me off the ground, my arms locked around his neck. I keep kissing him until I get dizzy from the lack of air. Breaking our lip lock, I look into his bright eyes and smiling face.

“Hey Bob. Nice hair.” I dive back in. We keep it up until he lets me slowly slide down his body, my feet finally touching the ground. I’ve still got a death grip around his neck.

“Debbie, I would appreciate it if you would release my neck. I would prefer to stand upright.”

“Only if you promise not to leave.”

“I promise not to leave right away. How long I am here depends on what we decide today.” I kiss him again, then let go of his neck but quickly grab his right hand. He’s not leaving my sight. I look back towards the kitchen door. Susan is standing there, a frown on her face. What’s her problem?

“Why don’t we all have a seat at the kitchen table. We have a lot to discuss,” she says. I’m so happy, so giddy, that I’d probably float away if I weren’t holding Bob’s hand. Everyone sits down but I keep the fingers of my left hand tightly intertwined with the fingers of Bob’s right.

Susan clears her throat. “Debbie, Bob’s here because I thought you were ready to deal with him.”

She’s shifted into therapist mode.

“I can’t tell you how proud I am of the progress you have made since we first met. Your acceptance of and adaptation to the changes in your life are nothing short of amazing.”

I know I’m blushing. Bob gives my hand a little squeeze. I glance at him, he has a satisfied smile on his face, almost a look of ... pride? In me? I look back to Susan.

“Naturally, you have been full of questions ever since you got here and I have answered them truthfully as far as I can, but I know very little of the complete story. Bob has told me what I needed to know … but not much else.” She and I share a knowing look. “I felt that it was best for you to come to terms with your ... situation before bringing Bob back into your life.”

“So you’re the one who’s kept us apart all this time?!”

“That is not quite correct.” Bob says. “There were other activities that required my absence.” Bob slowly releases my hand. “I am here to answer your questions, all that I legally can. Once we are done today, you will know everything that I did and why I did it.”

“Does that include questions about who you really are, where you came from, everything?”

He raises his right hand. “The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

Finally! I’ve wanted this for sooo long! I’m actually feeling just a little aroused thinking about it.

“Do you want to ask me questions or should I just start at the beginning?”

“The beginning. If I start asking questions, I’ll never stop ... oh wait, there is one, what’s with the hair?” He chuckles and runs his hand through his auburn locks.

“This is my natural color. I dyed it a more bland brown color when I worked for the government. As I got older, the red faded and the brown remained so I stopped dying it. One of the effects of Dr. Hanson’s treatments was the return of the original color. I went back to the hair dye so as to keep my appearance unremarkable. Do you like it?”

“Oh yes, very attractive, very sexy.”

Susan shakes her head. “Let’s stick to our objectives and keep the flirting to a minimum.”

Spoil sport.

”Agreed” replied Bob. “From the top. You already know how I came to be at Anthony’s club, what I was looking for and why I chose you. All of that was the truth. You know how I discovered your secret. What I did not tell you was that from the moment I discovered that secret, I began working on a rescue plan.”

I KNEW IT!

“At first, it was purely an academic exercise, an interesting logic puzzle. The objective was to get Josh Thomas back.”

“What?!”

“As I said, it was an academic exercise. The situation was so unique that I could not resist the challenge.”

“What was so wrong with me that you wanted that jerk Josh Thomas back?!” Bob seems surprised at my reaction.

Susan tries to ease the tension. “I am sure that Bob meant no offense Debbie. He’s probably not aware how disassociated you are from Josh Thomas.”

Bob grabs at the lifeline she just tossed. “Remember, this was many months ago, I had only known you a few weeks and did not know Josh Thomas at all. I was not choosing between you and he, there was no intention at the time of implementing any plan I may have created.”

I feel a little better. “Sorry, go on.”

“Thank you. I quickly came to the conclusion that there was no way to bring Josh Thomas back. It would require the complete cooperation of Dr. Hanson and that would never happen. Neither force nor blackmail would work. She would have killed you before letting that happen. So, I changed my objective to getting you out of her clutches. Obviously, the primary obstacle was your addiction to Anthony’s semen. I briefly explored the possibility of synthesizing some kind of replacement but had no luck with any expert I consulted. The other possibility was to gain her trust and persuade her to remove the addiction. That required me to become a part of the conspiracy.” He paused.

“What? Come on Bob, go on. I want to know.”

“I am not particularly proud about what I did next. At the time, it made perfect sense and I had no problem doing it. In retrospect, I regret making that choice, though it was still the correct move, from a purely tactical standpoint ... it is difficult for me to explain why I regret it ... and I am not just saying that to mollify you, Susan.”

“What is he talking about Susan?”

“We can discuss that later. Go on Bob, you promised Debbie the truth.” Bob was clearly very uncomfortable.

“I did promise the truth ... I gave you enough information to attract Dr. Hanson’s attention, knowing that she would torture you, that you would resist to the last possible moment, then break and tell her what I told you.”

“You knew she would torture me?! And you did nothing to stop it?”

“I not only knew it, I was counting on it. In fact, I practically arranged it. This was no longer an academic exercise. After spending more time with you and finding out how you were treated by Hanson and Anthony, I decide to try to save you. If you recall, you were willing to let me try.”

“Sure, you told me that you would try, but then she found out about it and you traded my freedom for your treatments!”

“That was all part of the plan. Please withhold judgment until the end of my story. Where was I? ... Oh yes, torture ... as soon as Hanson discovered Anthony’s agreement with me, she would strongly object and want to question you. That was inevitable. I decided to attempt to control the timing. That meal at the restaurant where she saw us eating was not picked at random. In reviewing her financial records, I discovered that she often ate there. It was in her charge card records. I bribed the reservation clerk so that she would contact me the next time Hanson made a reservation and then make one for me a half hour earlier. The fall that brought her attention towards us was not an accident; it was an intentional act on my part. I knew that once she became aware of our relationship, she would go directly to Anthony for an explanation, and then she would question you. If you had a secret to keep, she would dig until she got the truth. The more you resisted, the more believable it would ultimately be. I knew I could give you just enough information to whet her appetite for more but that I could not tell you my real plan, you would not have been able to keep the secret. I knew that this put you at risk but trusted Dr. Hanson to have enough control to not irreversibly harm you.”

“You mean kill me, don’t you? Or did you think that I was too weak and would break before she got that mad?”

“Either one would work and they were not mutually exclusive. I knew how the addiction affected you. Unfortunately, I did not realize how hard you would struggle to keep the secrets. I understand that you were extraordinarily brave, but no person on earth could have resisted.”

“Could you?”

“Resist? No, but if the secret was important enough, I would have either killed myself or made sure that she did it for me. I can be quite infuriating when I want to.”

“OH COME ON!”

He looked towards Susan. She nods her head. “He’s not lying dear. It was part of his training, plus I did his psych profile. He’d have done it.”

“Wow.”

“I believe that this incident is the one that Susan most objects to.”

“We will deal with that later Bob,” says Susan.

Later?

“As you wish, you are the professional. Once Hanson became aware that I knew her secrets, she could not let me go free. Her plan was to either convince me I was wrong, which was not very likely, or Anthony would have to shut me up, possibly kill me. I am sure that you remember how that worked out for her.”

“God yes! It’s one of my best fucking memories!”

“Debbie! ... language.”

“Sorry, Susan,” I sigh. Bob’s face is blank but his eyebrows are raised. I smile at him, guiltily. “I’m trying to clean up my potty mouth, to be more ‘lady-like’.”

He suppresses a grin. “A worthy objective. Once both of her plans failed, I subtly suggested a third option, the one I wanted her to take, but it had to appear to be her idea, not mine. That was her controlling me by treating my MS symptoms but not curing the disease.”

“Wait ... you’re not on Hanson’s drugs anymore are you?”

“No, I am back on low levels of some of my prior medications as a preventive measure. There have been no signs of new damage from my MS, so it is possible that I have been cured but there is no way to tell for certain.”

“Why did Hanson cut you off?”

“Our relationship ended when I broke her jaw in three places.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!

“I think that will come up later too.”

“You bet your sweet ass it will!”

“Debbie! Langua..”

“I know! I know!” Bob can’t hide the smile this time. “Sorry, go on Bob.”

“Naturally, she never intended to follow through with that agreement. She was just bidding her time until she could get me under her control. You warned me about that, if you recall Debbie.”

“I thought you were crazy to trust her.”

“Since I did not trust her, I must not have been crazy.”

There’s the smirk I know and love ... sometimes.

“I believe that she was planning to repeat what she did to Josh Thomas, maybe make me your twin sister.”

I start to giggle at the image. “That could have been interesting Bob.”

“Briefly interesting, perhaps, but that was not my plan. I had to wait to the last second to thwart her, so that she had no time to come up with a coherent response.”

“What if she had a backup plan?”

“Her ego is too large. She refuses to face the possibility of failure and the need for an alternate plan. As fatal a flaw as there can be.”

“Well, it was a close call anyway. Good thing you had your friends to watch your back.”

“There were no ‘friends’, we were alone.”

“No… no … what about the phone call, the blood pressure trick?”

“All technology. I have a false tooth. When I worked for the company, it was switched out for each assignment, to contain whatever I needed for that particular job. I kept the devices when I retired. In this case, it had a blood pressure sensor and a short range transmitter to a receiver in the trunk of my car, which was just outside the window. That was one of the reasons why I insisted on providing my own transportation. The more powerful equipment was in the trunk, including the voice synthesizer and the automatic dialer. There were a few pre-recorded phrases, which I could trigger by manipulating the tooth. There is no such thing as an organized group of retired assassins.”

I look to Susan. Now she’s smiling. “It’s true. I’ve seen the equipment, or at least something like it.”

I’m speechless for a few moments. “My God! Then it was all a ...”

“Bluff, but a well thought out one. I have given some thought to organizing all the retired assassins though, it is not a bad idea.”

“But if she had called your bluff ...”

“I had some options.”

“Such as? Because you could hardly move, if I remember correctly.”

“Well, my last option was enough explosives in my car to level the building, on a timer so that if I did not go out and disarm it, we all would have died in an hour or less.”

“Holy crap!”

“Another act that I believe Susan objects to.”

“Later Bob.”

“Right. So, you see, I had the bases covered, one way or another.”

“But if it hadn’t worked, if she had called the bluff, you could have ended up like me or dead.”

“You would have been killed too, you know.”

“Yeah, but you really risked your life to save me. That or ending up transformed ... and you knew what that meant, the addiction and everything, the hell your life would become, and you still took the chance.”

“It was a small risk Debbie. My ‘Plan A’ worked as I expected. Please, do not dwell on the ‘what ifs’.”

How could I not? No one had ever taken that kind of risk to help me. And we weren’t even lovers yet, that was weeks in the future and certainly not guaranteed to happen. We were hardly even friends. He took an unbelievable risk to save me. I had to know.

“Why would you do that for me?”

“You had agreed to put your life in my hands; I owed you my best efforts. It was what was required to succeed. No risk, no reward. Dr. Hanson was too smart, too resourceful, to take half measures to defeat. Once I accept a challenge, I do what is necessary to successfully complete the objective.”

He is a weird guy. A weird, dangerous guy.

“Once brought into the conspiracy, the next move was to get Anthony on my side, but it had to appear that I was supporting him, not him supporting me. That way, I could start building a case for removing the addiction. Hanson would always be suspicious of that idea, so it was a stroke of luck when she asked me to kill someone to prove who I was.”

“Would you really have killed Hanson’s secretary?”

“Janet Lester? No, of course not. Though I must admit, Dr. Hanson surprised me with that request of proof of my bona fides. I thought that we were past that point in our relationship.”

“You were surprised?”

“Yes. I am not infallible Debbie. I assumed that something like this might crop up early in the process but not at this late stage.”

“Couldn’t prove it by me. You didn’t have a scheme ready to go?”

“Nothing exactly on point. Luckily, I noticed that Lester was gathering her things as I came into the clinic. Having done bios on all of Hanson’s employees when my investigation began, Lester was the perfect choice anyway; young, married, a mother and not vital to the function of the clinic. When I realized that she had already left the building, Janet Lester became the target.”

“Then it all backfired on Hanson.”

“Correct. After that plan failed, she was on the defensive and my tracking device gave her a face saving way out. It would also shut Anthony up. No offense, he had grown bored of practically daily sex with you. Once convinced the tracking device would give him some relief, he became its’ biggest advocate.”

“I wasn’t exactly happy to see him every day either, you know.”

“I remember. After manipulating the situation to have your addiction lifted, it then became a matter of timing. Hanson was intent on keeping total control of you. Once she saw that you were still exhibiting evidence of free will and independent spirit, she was prepared to redouble her efforts to torture and abuse you. With the addiction gone, you could have run away but the tracker made that difficult, not impossible, but difficult. She would never, ever give up pursuing you. The only answer was to kill you.”

“Which explains why I woke up in a motel room with bandages on both arms and my side”

“That is jumping forward in the story a bit, but yes. Hanson would not search for you if she believed you were dead. It had to be done when she would not be available to view the ‘body’. I could fool Anthony but not her, if only because Anthony would not inspect your extremely bloody corpse too closely. Her attendance at the Nobel Prize ceremony gave me a five-day window. I also needed to know that you were prepared to deal with life after your escape. It would have been a hollow victory if you ended up in a psych ward somewhere.”

Another piece of the puzzle clicks in place. “Is that what all that ‘accepting myself’ stuff was about?”

“Yes, also getting you out in public in normal life situations, to see if you could handle it.”

“Wait … did you arrange my meeting Sarah, Brit and Piper?”

“No, that was completely serendipitous. I was only interested in seeing how you handled the crowds and shopping. Observing how you interacted with them, how quickly you developed a friendship with them and how you handled the party and the problems that developed told me that you could survive outside the club. It also increased my admiration for you as a caring, capable and brave human being.”

“Really? You admire me?”

“The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

“Was it that important, figuring out if I could make it in the real world?”

“Yes it was, though at Susan’s suggestion. I had already recruited her. I could not accomplish this on my own, though solo jobs are my preference. I also needed her expertise in helping you after your escape, and arranging for the surgery to ultimately remove the tracking device, but I am getting ahead of myself again.”

“You also needed that scary guy who came to the club, the one with the big coat and blonde hair.”

Bob lightly chuckles.” That was me, Debbie.”

“NO WAY! He was taller, thinner ... had a tattoo ... a big nose ...”

“It was me, but back to the correct chronology. I adopted the disguise of one of Hanson special recruits, the ones she brought in to give you a particularly hard time.”

“You don’t need to remind me ... you knew about them?”

“I suspected something unusual was occurring. You told me of the ... clients who treated you more roughly than usual and that they tended to show up just before you were scheduled to get your semi-annual ‘tune-up’ treatments from Dr. Hanson. I noticed certain men arriving at the club who did not pay to get access to you but instead gave Anthony a yellow business card, which I discovered they had obtained from Hanson.”

“How did you figure out what was happening?”

“I bought a few drinks for some of them after they left your room. They were generally quite proud of their activities.”

“They were all bastards!”

“Undoubtedly, but they gave me the opening I needed. I did tell Susan about them so that she could deal with it in your therapy.”

“How’d you get a card?”

“I lifted an old card from Anthony’ collection, added the blue contacts, wig, nose, fake tattoo, elevator boots, waist wrap, duster coat and voila, ‘John Smith’. I hid my equipment in the coat.”

“What equipment?”

“The makeup, prosthetics, extra blood, wire cutters, drugs, gag ...”

“Yeah! That gag! It hurt!”

“But not for long. It was coated with an anesthetic to numb your throat and was a vital component of the plan. I needed to knock you out and simulate death. I ultimately settled on two of the three drug cocktail used in executions. They paralyzed your muscles and greatly slowed your breathing. The gag contained compressed oxygen to keep you alive.”

“I do remember feeling something like that just before passing out.”

Bob hands me his phone. “Here are the pictures I took of the scene for Hanson. They are a bit graphic.”

I scroll through them. Damn, he wasn’t kidding! No wonder Anthony didn’t want to get near me. My throat hurts just looking at the one with my head laid back, a bloody slash nearly decapitating me.

“How did you do this? Where did you get all that blood? I’d say that I was dead too if I wasn’t sitting here.” I hand the phone back to him.

“Makeup and prosthetics. The blood was real, expired whole blood from the local blood bank. That slit throat is a bit of an optical illusion. There were some real cuts, as you know, for the close-up photos. I also needed the one on your side so that I could disable the tracker. I hope that the scarring was minimal.”

“There weren’t any.” I hold up my arms for him to see, then stand up and strip off my tank top. “See, not a mark.”

“Debbie!” cries Susan. “What are you doing?”

“I’m wearing a bra! It’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked before.” And I hope again in the very near future.

“I don’t care about that! Get dressed.” I pull the top back on. Bob has an intent look on his face. I think he enjoyed the show.

“I hoped that Hanson’s drugs were still in your system so that you would have a rapid recovery, apparently I was correct. Once I had bagged your ‘body’, Anthony locked the door and I left to get supplies to clean the room. I did not actually leave though. Picking the locks, I snuck back to your room, picked you up, and brought you out to Susan’s car, which was waiting in the back parking lot. The replacement body was in her car so I took it back in to your room, relocked everything and left.”

“Replacement body? You didn’t kill someone ...”

“Of course not! It was not a real body. It was a silicon model of your body. I am often amazed at what you can find on the internet. The company will make a copy of a person’s head if you provide them with the necessary information and attach it to one of several standard body models, though they will customize for an additional fee. It has an articulated skeleton and is ... anatomically correct. You may recall that I left you alone at the mall after Thanksgiving. I was contacting the company to make last minute adjustments to the body because of your ... recently enhanced figure.”

He’s blushing. How can somebody do what he does and then blush when talking about my tits? “I also removed some of your hair and left it with the fake body so that I could later pretend to rip it out of your head to prove that it was really you in the body bag just before I burned it.”

So that’s what happened to my hair. I rub a spot at the back of my head. It took weeks to grow back.

“Anthony and I collected the ‘body’ and all the disposable items in your room, took them to a remote location and burned them with a combination of kerosene and liquid oxygen.”

“Why use that stuff?”

“Because it burns very hot, some rockets use the combination as fuel.”

“I wish I could have seen that.”

“It was impressive.”

“Wait, wouldn’t the silicon stink when it burned. I’ve never smelled a burning body, but I don’t think it smells like burning plastic.”

“You are correct, but I chose an abandoned garage with a pit that was coated in old oil and grease. The smell of burning petroleum products covered the odor of burning silicon. After disposing of the body and the rest of the evidence from your room, we returned, cleaned up the mess then contacted Hanson to give her the bad news.”

“I bet she was pissed.”

“Quite, but there was little she could do from Sweden. The face-to-face confrontation occurred a few days later. There was a dispute over who should get the Christmas present to me that was left in your work locker.”

What? “I didn’t have a Christmas present in my locker.”

He smiles at that. “I know, I planted it there earlier to guarantee an argument between myself and Hanson. Luckily, Anthony remembered that we had not emptied it out when we cleaned your room, but I was prepared to ‘remember’ that fact if necessary. I needed to give Hanson a reason to terminate our agreement. Your death would likely have been adequate but I wanted to make sure. Of course, it had to be her idea, not mine. We had a ... brief physical altercation and Hanson ended up unconscious with a concussion and a broken jaw.”

Way to go Bob!

“You don’t have pictures of that do you? Please have pictures!”

“I do have one of her in the hospital.” He holds out the phone again.

“Gimmee! Gimmee! Gimmee!” I squeal, snatching it from his hand. She is laying there, propped up, head flopped to the side, a metal brace around her head, everything below her nose is black and blue. It is not as bad as I hoped. Unfortunately, it would be impossible for it to be as bad as I hoped, unless she was dead. I reluctantly pass the phone back to Bob.

“Thank you. I appreciate that Bob, really appreciate it.”

“You are welcome Debbie. I thought you might enjoy it. Once the arraignment with Hanson was terminated, I started taking my MS medications again and auditioning Honey’s replacement.”

“OK, hold it right there. What exactly does ‘auditioning’ mean?”

Bob chortles, then smiles. “I had to act as if you were dead. That meant a return to searching for someone to care for me in my anticipated ultimate disability.”

“And exactly what services were you auditioning for Bob?” I inquired.

“Why, the same ones you were originally recruited for Debbie, cooking, cleaning, eventually nursing ... and others.” The son of a bitch is playing with me.

“Care to be more specific as to what ‘others’ consists of?”

He continues smiling. “I remain a gentleman Debbie and gentlemen do not talk of such things.”

“Bullshit!”

His laughter fills the kitchen. “Sorry, I could not resist. I promised the truth. There were no ‘other’ services; I did not have sex with any of the candidates. They were all reasonably attractive but they did not appeal to me. It was all an exercise to convince Hanson that you were truly dead. At first she did not believe it, but eventually came to accept that you were gone.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Susan had stopped correcting my language. I think she was engrossed in Bob’s story.

“I gave her a laptop computer loaded with a program to simulate your voice, a simpler version of one that I had used to persuade your friend Candi that you had willingly left the country.”

“Was that really necessary? I was hoping that I could ... you know, some day ... maybe ... see her again.”

“We will see about that, but I would not hold my breath if I were you … sorry. The computer is also hard wired so that I can remotely access it. It was top of the line when I gave it to her and she has decided to use it as her primary laptop. I know everything on it, including her diary entries. It is possible that she suspects I have done something like this and it is all a ruse on her part, but all of her actions indicate she believes you are dead. Still, there was no reason to take unnecessary chances. I waited what I thought to be an appropriate amount of time and then moved to New York. I then waited long enough to make sure that I was not being monitored and then came here. That is about it, any questions Debbie?”

“It’s all so overwhelming Bob. I honestly can’t think of anything right now. I know I will later, after I’ve had time to think about everything you’ve said ... actually, I do have a question. Why?”

Bob looks confused. “Why what?”

Susan leans forward. “I believe she wants to know why you did all that you did. It has come up frequently in our therapy sessions. Can you answer that question Bob?”

“I believe that I can, but it will bring in other issues we have not yet dealt with.” He looks at his watch. “It is after 7:00 p.m. and none of has had supper yet. Should we take a break and order something?”

I jump up from my seat. “Yes, please. I’m starving and need to shower too. I smell like a gym bag and my hair’s a mess. How about Mother Bear’s pizza? Have you ever had Mother Bear’s before Bob?”

“I can't say that I have.”

I grab a take out menu from the fridge and flip it to him.

“Order me a small, deep dish sausage and mushroom and I’ll go shower ... Oh sorry, is this OK Susan?”

“Sounds fine to me. Since you’re buying Bob, I’ll have a medium cheese with onions and anchovies, regular crust.”

He picks up the phone. “I did not realize that this was my treat. Still, it will be a cheap date, the first I have had in a while.” He starts to dial and I dash upstairs to my room.

I quickly strip off my clothes, adding them to one of the piles littering the floor. It really is a mess in here. Susan’s been on my case for weeks to clean it but I kept blowing her off, I’ve been so damn busy with school and work and everything. If she’d told me Bob was coming, it would be immaculate. Now, it’s too late. I can’t bring him up here, it’s just too pitted out, particularly the way he kept his house. I rush to my bathroom and to take a quick shower. Do I have time to shave? Probably not. Thank God I cut my hair to shoulder length; it reduced my prep time by two thirds. After finishing, I wrap the towel around me and sit down at my make-up table.

What message do I want to send? What image? “Hey Bob, why don’t you throw me down on the floor and fuck me, right here, right now.” Or maybe “Pleased to meet you Mr. James. Why don’t you have a seat and tell me one of your droll stories.” How about “Hey Bob, nice to see you again. Come on in and we can hang awhile.” Looking at all my dirty clothes piled around me, I realize my choices are limited. I settle on pink shorts, white polo shirt, matching bra and thong with sandals, mostly because they are clean and comfortable. I pull my hair back into a short pony tail, spritz on some perfume and go back downstairs.

Just as I get to the bottom of the stairs, the doorbell rings. Bob walks out of the kitchen, reaching for his wallet. We walk to the front door and I open it. The delivery guy is standing there, balancing three boxes on his right hand. When he sees me, his eyes go wide and he almost drops the boxes.

“Whoa, sorry, sorry, close call there ... You call in an order to Mother Bears?”

Bob looks over at me. Guess I’m going to handle it.

“Yes, we did.

“Good. Let’s see, I got a small deep dish sausage and mushroom; medium onion, cheese and anchovy; and ...”

“Extra-Large barbecue chicken” Bob finishes.

“Extra-large! You pig!” I poke him in the ribs, just like old times. Bob counts out the money as the delivery guy hands me the boxes, making sure that our hands touch. I look over the tops of the boxes. The delivery guy’s grinning at me.

“Hope you like them. If you order again, ask for Carl.” He winks at me, “I’ll make sure you get taken care of.” Bob hands him the money. He counts the bills. “Thanks man.” He winks at me again and heads back to his car. I take the boxes to the kitchen as Bob closes the door and follows me. Susan’s not in the kitchen when we get there.

“Is that a common occurrence for you?” he asks.

“What?”

“The reaction of the delivery boy. He was actually startled by your beauty and then almost immediately hit on you. Does that still happen often?”

“Enough that I don’t notice it any more unless it’s extreme,” I sigh.

“Has it been difficult to adapt to the real world outside of the club?”

“Sometimes. I never could have done it without Susan’s help.” I look around and lower my voice. “She can be a pain in the ass, but she’s OK, a real professional. I’m glad you hired her.”

“I did not hire her; she volunteered once she learned of your situation, though I did agree to pay her costs. You are correct, she is quite good. But how are you doing?”

“Compared to life in the club? This is Nirvana. No creeps pawing me, screwing me, beating me. It would be perfect …” I reach out and touch his hand. “… if a certain person was here.”

He gently takes my hand, brings it up to his lips and kisses it, then lets it go as Susan walks back into the kitchen.

“Good, the pizza’s here. There should be some drinks in the fridge, help yourself Bob.”

He goes to the fridge. “What would you like Susan? Debbie?”

I ask for a Diet Coke, Susan has a beer. Bob takes a Sprite. We all sit down.

“Should I continue with my story or perhaps we need to talk of something else. My career with the government is not exactly dinner conversation. Debbie was just getting ready to tell me how she is doing. I understand that her grades are quite good.”

I think he may be directing attention towards me to avoid some touchy subjects. “They’re alright, A’s and B’s last semester.”

“But they were all AP courses Debbie” said Susan. “That’s very good, particularly since you have not been in school for years”.

“Yeah, but I already graduated from high school once; a lot of this isn’t exactly new.”

“Your courses in high school the first time around weren’t particularly challenging and you received preferential treatment as an athlete.”

“I could get preferential treatment now, if I wanted it.”

“What exactly does that mean?” asks Susan.

“You know, with these” I point to my boobs “I could get away with murder. You know Mr. Daly, my chemistry teacher? He can hardly keep his eyes in his head sometimes. I bet I could get any grade I wanted out of him if my top was low enough.”

Debbie! You wouldn’t ...”

“No, it’s not right. I’m just saying.”

“Well, you’ve earned your good grades. I’ve seen you studying late at night and weekends.”

“I always said that you were very intelligent,” Bob says, reaching over and patting my hand. “You also work part time don’t you?”

“Twenty hours a week at ‘The Vault’, $8.00 an hour plus commission. I do pretty good with the commission. Susan makes me put most of the money in the bank.”

Bob appears to be confused. “I don’t understand. I told her that I would pay any expenses. If you need additional money, all she needs to do is ask me.”

“It’s not about the money Bob, it’s about time management, responsibility and blending in.” says Susan. “It fits with her legend as my niece, Debbie Taylor, from New Orleans. She doesn’t come from money so the job fits, plus it lets her experience normal life with other teens and prepare her for the future.

She’ll graduate midterm this year, you know.”

“That is impressive. You have really accomplished quite a lot in only eight months Debbie.”

After we finish supper, Susan suggests we move out to the living room, it’s more comfortable there. Once settled in, Bob starts again.

“I have already told you about how your escape from Dr. Hanson was arranged. Susan was brought in because I knew and trusted her, she was my therapist while I worked for the government. We all had therapists; it was part of the program. They were supposed to monitor our mental condition and warn our employers if a problem developed in addition to keeping us on an even keel. She was the first to provide the diagnosis of Borderline Sociopathic Personality. When she retired, she joined the faculty of Indiana University. Her job, this town, it was all ideally suited for you to both hide and recover. Once I convinced her that I was not a raving loony, she agreed to help.”

“And I haven’t regretted one minute of it Debbie. It’s been a challenge but you’ve worked so hard. I’ve never had a better patient, including Bob.”

“I was a lousy patient, that is why I knew that she was so good. If she could help me, she could help anyone. I had to build your legend from scratch, but I tried to incorporate as much of your real life into it as I safely could, adjusted for your age and sex of course. Once you are done here, I can create another if Debbie Taylor is not to your liking.”

“I really don’t want to start again with another new life. I don’t know how you’ve done it all these years Bob. I’ve got friends, I’ve got a job, I’m in school ... it’s all good. Being Debbie Taylor is fine, unless I have to change.”

“It is your decision Debbie. Legally, you are now eighteen years old so you can go out on your own, if that is what you want. After tonight, you should have new information which you can use to help you make a decision, though one is not needed yet.”

“But,” adds Susan, “you’ll be graduating in four months, so you will need to do something by then.”

I’m worried now. “Are you saying that I am going to have to leave in four months?”

“NO! No, not at all. I just don’t want you drifting along. You need to keep the momentum up, keep moving forward. Don’t let fate or someone else control you. You need to make positive choices, but you don’t have to do it tonight. This is just to provide you with information and options, nothing more. You’ve got plenty of time to give it a lot of thought. I’m always here to help you.”

She has been a good friend and therapist, if you can combine the two.

Bob clears his throat with a quick cough. “Now, as to my history. I was born Richard Blaine Jackson to an unwed, drug addicted, alcoholic mother in Plains, New York. My father is unknown. When I was born, I suffered from a mild case of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and had both heroin and cocaine in my system, gifts from my mother’s continued consumption of her favorite vices during her pregnancy.”

“Not surprisingly, the local child protective services removed me from her care before she left the hospital. Eventually, her parental rights were terminated and I was adopted by an older couple, Dennis and Cynthia Riley. My last name was changed, so officially, I am Richard Blaine Riley. Sounds Irish, but there is no evidence of any actual heritage, beyond that shared by most third or fourth generation Americans. My biological mother died of a drug overdose six years later. I have tracked down other members of her family out of curiosity, but never made contact. Alcoholism seems to be a common thread among them, which is the primary reason I do not drink much. My adoptive parents are also dead; they were in their late forties when the adoption occurred so that is not surprising.” He stops to take a drink, and then continues.

“I am afraid that I was not a very good son. Not evil or too badly behaved, but not the loving child they wanted and deserved. I exhibited symptoms of what was eventually diagnosed as Borderline Sociopathic Personality Disorder from the start, not bonding with either parent despite their repeated attempts to do so. I was not a disobedient child, just inner directed. I did what I wanted to do, which sometimes meant doing as they requested and other times not.”

“There were many years of assorted therapies and I eventually developed several coping techniques, which made life easier for everyone, but never solved the basic problem. Fortunately, I did well in school but found almost everything too easy, and therefore boring. I was definitely a discipline problem in my early years, but again I was able to formulate coping techniques and managed to graduate from high school on time and with honors.”

“We were not rich by any stretch of the imagination and while I had an interest in attending college, I did not want to go deeply in debt to do so. Eventually, I decided to join the Army, intending to stay long enough to qualify for GI Bill benefits. Not surprisingly, my discipline and control problems emerged in such a controlled environment. I was not opposed to following orders, I just had a tendency to ask why I was supposed to do something and then come up with a better way to do it. An advantageous attitude in most environments, but not at the platoon level of the Army.”

“I was on the brink of dishonorable discharge when there was a visit by a recruiter from a different branch of our fine government. He had a proposition for me. Come join his elite group of problem solvers, get well paid, educated and trained, see the world ... and kill people, all to help the United States of America. Well, that was basically the same thing as being in the Army, just with better benefits and more independence, so I said yes. Both adopted parents were dead by then, though that may not have made any difference in my decision, so I was ‘killed’ in a training accident on the Army base one day and reborn the next as an agent for ... we used the euphemism of ‘the company’, lower case ‘c’, with a new identity, the first of many.”

Bob stopped and took a long drink from his Sprite.

“Here is where I must draw a line in my story. Practically everything I did for the company is still classified and therefore I cannot tell you about it. Susan is aware of the general outlines of certain operations but is not privy to details either, which put a crimp on our therapeutic relationship. Even if something was not classified, I probably would not say much, simply on principle alone. These were secret operations, ordered presumptively by the highest level of our government, and I was tasked with completing them quickly, quietly and mostly cleanly.

I took to the job like a duck to water and had many years of satisfactory service. I might go an entire year without an assignment, so I would just train and go to school. Some years, there would be two or three assignments but they rarely took more than six weeks, at most. The rest of the time was again training and schooling. I never received formal degrees, but have the equivalent of two masters and a doctorate without the dissertation, plus other assorted classes. Most of the assignments were individuals in foreign countries, sometimes political, sometimes criminal, often both. It was very disillusioning to discover how frequently the two mingled.”

He stopped for a third drink, but doesn’t start back up right away, seemingly reluctant to say anything more.

“Go on Bob” Susan prompts.

“Right. The assignment that started me questioning my chosen profession involved a drug lord in an unnamed South American country. It required killing not only the primary target but everyone and thing that resided with him, his wife, children, other family members, even pets and livestock. I was one of three operatives tasked, which was rare because I was almost always a solo act. The job had to be done quickly and there were too many targets for one person but two could have handled it. The third was likely there to make sure the other two did not balk at the last minute. We did the job, but no one would explain the logic behind it. I was told to just follow orders. Eventually, the entire district in this particular country became embroiled in an all out drug cartel war in which hundreds of innocent people died, not counting the ones I killed myself.”

He stops again. After a few seconds, Susan starts to say something but Bob has already begun again.

“After that, I began to question my orders more closely and checked up on the results of my prior assignments. I discovered that the situations that developed after I finished a job were often worse than before, that my orders were frequently a knee jerk reaction to some event and that all possible consequences had not been properly examined. Needless to say, when I began to offer alternatives to my assignments, my superiors were not pleased. Eventually, I was relegated to simple jobs where previously I had been the fair-haired boy.”

“My diagnosis of MS was more a relief than anything else. I resigned with full benefits, not that I needed them financially. The company gave me a nice little retirement party, full of phony platitudes and false regrets at my departure. And so began the search that led me to Anthony’s club and the bewitching Honey Sweet-Lay.”

He had this wan little smile on his face and seemed deeply sad. I wanted to go over, hug him and tell him that everything would be OK. Even Susan appeared to be affected by his story, though I’m sure she’d heard it before, at least parts of it. Ever since I got home, there seemed to be this ... fog of anger hanging between them. Neither said anything remotely pissy to the other, but I don’t know what happened before I got home. Now, Susan seems to have softened a bit. We all just sat there for a moment, saying nothing. Bob broke the silence.

“Which brings me to one of the reasons I was driven to save you from Amy Hanson’s clutches. We have spoken about this at length, but you might now have a better understanding of my motivation. I have caused such pain and suffering throughout my life, I now feel compelled to try to make amends. I thought that my opportunities to do so would be limited due to the MS, but finding you presented me with the chance to both help an abused young woman and improve my health so that I could go on and help others. Some may quibble with how I went about achieving my objective …” he glances at Susan “… but my motives were pure. You do not have to subscribe to my belief system, but understanding it helps understand me and why I do what I do.”

“No one here is questioning your motives Bob or your objectives, just your implementation” says Susan.

Is that what all the hard feelings are about? “Look guys, I’ve got no complaints about what Bob did for me and how he did it. I’ll admit that at the time, I was confused, scared or mad a lot of the time, but he clearly knew what he was doing. It worked; I’m free, end of story.”

“It’s not the end of the story Debbie,” said Sarah. “There is your future to consider. You are in a different situation now. What was acceptable behavior then isn’t necessarily acceptable now. If you are going to make a decision that will affect the rest of your life, you need a clear, unemotional head on your shoulders.”

“Susan is correct” said Bob. “You have a great deal to consider, which brings us to the third act of tonight’s drama. So far, we’ve just been dealing with the past and present but now the subject is the future. Unfortunately, she and I have a dispute about that. It will be your choice, but we have to make sure you understand your options and our concerns.”

“Before we start, I want to get a couple of things on the table. I am not saying this to influence you in any way. Susan is already aware of my intentions in this area ... I promise that, regardless of your final decision, if you want to go back to college or some other form of education, I will pay for it, all of it. Should you want to start a business of some kind, I will finance it, within reason. I will not leave you in the lurch, no matter what you decide, unless you specifically ask me to leave you alone ... and then I will.”

That last part sounded like it was torn from his heart. I didn’t like where this conversation is going. Before I could say anything, Bob gestured towards Susan with his right hand.

“You may go first.” She nods her head towards him.

“I want to start off making it clear that I am not criticizing anybody, this is just how I see the situation, and I would be doing you a disservice, as my patient and friend, if I did not tell you what I believe. We all know that you have strong feelings for Bob. We also know that Bob believes that he has strong feelings for you. I’m just not sure that those feelings are genuine. His Borderline Sociopathic Personality Disorder prevents him from forming lasting emotional connections with people. He is quite capable of simulating that connection, I helped him learn how to do it. After talking with him, I believe that he believes that he loves you.”

YES!

“But I am not convinced that he does. Understand, I am not accusing him of lying but I am saying that he does not have an adequate frame of reference to make that statement. To a certain degree, actions speak louder than words. I can point to at least three occasions where he put your health, even your life, at risk while trying to help you escape. You yourself have told me of several conversations where he seemed to swing between loving attention and cold indifference. Bob is not illogical or impulsive. Everything he does, he does for a reason but I am afraid that your immediate well-being is not his primary concern.”

“You have been through a very difficult last four years Debbie. Your first objective should be improving your own psychological health. An ongoing romantic and sexual relationship with Bob, given his limitations, does not, I believe, help you. I realize that separating your feelings for Bob from this process will be very difficult, but you must try.”

“Relationships that develop under stressful situations tend not to last long. A person tends to grab any lifeline that comes their way and hang on for dear life. Bob was your lifeline. He helped you greatly at the time, but you are no longer that person, you are not ‘Honey Sweet-Lay, hooker with a heart of gold”, you are ‘Debbie Taylor, young lady with a bright future’. You would not be here without his help and you owe him a great deal, but you do not owe him participating in a doomed relationship.”

“We both want you to have a happy, normal life or at least as normal as possible given your history. The questions you need to answer are what do you want out of life, what do you need to do to get there and is a romantic relationship with Bob the best way to achieve your ultimate goals. If you are going to have a relationship with anyone, they need to be stable, strong and as normal as humanly possible.”

“Can I ask something?”

“Certainly Debbie, go ahead.”

“Can’t Bob be treated for the disorder? I’ve known him for some time and the difference between when we first met and now is like night and day.”

“There is no known treatment and certainly no cure. The condition is remarkably resistant to therapy. We do not know the cause. Subtle brain damage is suspected, along with chemical imbalances and environmental effects.”

“How about genetic defects?”

“The condition does not statistically occur frequently in the same family or identical twins so genetics does not seem to be involved. I know how you feel about Bob, but you haven’t had any decent relationship with anyone else since your transformation, you have nothing to compare it with.”

“Now that’s not true. Josh Thomas was in lots of relationships, most of them pretty unhealthy, so strange as it may seem, I know a bad relationship when I see one.”

“A valid point, but would you be able to recognize a good relationship?”

“I don’t know.”

“Which is my point. I also want you to consider the possibility that you are hanging on to your relationship with Bob because he knows your secret, that you were once a man. This is something that you would have to explain to a future boyfriend or husband.”

“I wouldn’t have to tell him. Look at me, who would ever suspect I used to pitch instead of catch?”

“Secrets undermine and poison relationships, Debbie. Sooner or later, you would have to chose between the truth or losing him. That is not a problem you have with Bob, he knows almost all your secrets already, even those that most people would find beyond belief.”

“So, you’re saying I should date Bob?”

“No, I’m saying that makes your relationship with him easier, more comfortable, than starting fresh with someone else. Just because the familiar is easy does not make it the correct thing to do. I don’t have anything else to say right now. Go ahead Bob.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, just taps his right index finger on his leg. I’ve seen this before, when he was deep in thought. He straightens up in his chair and begins.

“This is not a debate and I do not plan to argue with Susan, that would not help you Debbie. I also cannot dispute most of what Susan has said. I did put Honey at risk, sometimes great risk, while working towards her ultimate escape. I did not seek her permission because it would have compromised the plan. I decided on my own what I thought was best for her and acted accordingly. But as Susan pointed out, that was then and this is now. I will not act that way in the future. If you agree to start ... I guess, dating me, I promise to make it a balanced relationship.”

“As for my medical condition, I am not a doctor or therapist so I must defer to her on that point. I will say that since I met Honey, my feelings for her have grown by leaps and bounds. These are not figments of my imagination; they are different from anything I have ever felt about anybody before. I can't say that I am fully normal, because I do not know what that is and I can't explain what has caused this change. It is possible that Dr. Hanson’s treatments have had an effect, but there is no absolute proof either way. Regardless of why I have changed, I swear that I have.”

I’m still confused, but now for a different reason. “Changed from what? You both talk about simulating or faking emotions. What exactly do you mean?”

Bob goes back to tapping his leg, then stops. “It is Christmas. You are sitting around the Christmas tree with your family. Your Grandmother hands you a gift from her, you open it. It is a hideous, hand-made sweater. The wrong color, wrong size, completely un-wearable but she spent a month making it. What do you do?”

“You tell her you love it?”

“Exactly! You smile, thank her profusely, say it is just what you wanted and act as if it is the perfect gift. Now, assume that you did not know the appropriate response was ‘fake’ happiness and thankfulness, that you had to determine the correct response to this particular situation by analyzing all the available facts and comparing them to a mental checklist which would tell you how you should act, what emotional response is the right one, laughter, tears, anger, or disdain. Add to that the determination of the strength of the response, such as a belly laugh, a snicker, a chortle, a chuckle or a guffaw. Do you have that in your mind?”

“Sure.”

“Good. Now, think what it would be like if you had to do it for every waking hour of your life for over forty years.”

“MY GOD!”

“It gets easier with practice.”

I turn to Susan. “Is that true?”

“His description of the problem or that it gets easier with practice?”

“The problem!”

“As I understand it, yes that was what his life was like, day in and day out. But he is also correct that it gets easier with practice and experience. Plus, his observational skills are incredible. I swear, sometimes I think he can read minds.”

Tell me about it. “But living like that would drive you crazy!”

“It almost did’ said Bob. “But Susan helped me adapt to my problem so that I survived, even thrived ... until now. After I began my treatment program with Dr. Hanson, I started to feel the correct emotion, not create it after a logical review of the situation. That rarely happened before the treatments, now it happens all the time, actually more often than I would like. Careful what you wish for, eh. That is the change. These last few months have been the hardest in my life. Every day, I fought the urge to just drop everything and come talk to you.”

“You could have called me Bob. I missed you too, you know.”

“It was not safe yet. Actually, there is no absolute guarantee it is safe now. My best judgment is that you are safe unless something changes.”

“Like what?”

“Something that would bring Debbie Taylor to Amy Hanson’s attention, a photo in a newspaper, a television story she might see, that sort of thing.”

“The odds of that are pretty long I’d think.”

“I agree, but I was not going to risk your discovery by prematurely communicating with you ... I do not want to put you between Susan and myself, but we can't agree on what happens next so the decision falls to you.”

“That’s right, the decision has always been mine. It’s my life and I’ll do what I think is best for me. I’m not being ungrateful, there’s no way I could ever repay either of you for what you’ve done for me, but I’m not an inexperienced kid. I’m ... what, forty three years old in my head. Some really fucked up years but they taught me a lot. Whatever my future is and who I choose to spend it with is my call. I’ll be happy to listen to whatever you have to say, but it’s my call.”

“You’re right Debbie. They are your decisions, and both Bob and I will support you as best we can,” said Susan. “As long as you give our professional opinions due weight, everything should work out for the best.”

She means her professional opinion, unless I plan on killing someone, then it’s Bob’s turn to offer advice.

“Debbie” said Bob, “I only want what makes you happy and fulfilled. If I should force you to choose some course of action that is not in your best interest, then all my efforts will have been wasted. I do not know what will make you happy and I can't give either you or Susan a rock solid guarantee that I will succeed, personal relations being somewhat new for me, but I can promise that I will do the best that I can to make this work, should you choose to give me a chance to get to know Debbie Taylor better.”

Now I’m completely confused. “You guys have really dropped a bomb on me, you know. I wasn’t planning on dealing with this kinda stuff for a couple of months, at least.”

“Neither Bob nor I are saying you must decide tonight, it is after 9:00 p.m. There are a few weeks before you need to send out college applications, assuming that is something you want to do. You have time and now you have information ... Do you have any questions you would like to ask me or Bob?”

“No ... not now ... maybe later.”

“Do you have any idea where you want to go from here?”

“Not the vaguest.”

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

(5 years, 1 month, 17 days, 22 hours
and 18 minutes later)
(give or take)

The doorbell rang again, for like the hundredth time tonight. I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to get some reading done before bedtime. Thankfully, I’m ahead in everything but Econ 310. I push myself out of the futon chair and walk to the door, picking up the plastic cauldron as I open it.

“Trick or Treat! Trick or Treat!”

There are four kids on the porch, one dressed as a witch, the second a biker, I think. The third is a soldier and the last a ninja. I don’t recognize any of them as local kids but that’s not unusual. Our neighborhood gets a lot of traffic on Halloween and our house more than most. That’s what happens when you give out full sized candy bars instead of those little ones, you quickly get a reputation. I step out onto the porch and hold out the plastic tub half-full of assorted candy bars.

“Those are very nice costumes, particularly the Biker, you are a Biker, aren’t you?” The boy looks like he’s 9 or 10 years old, wearing black plastic pants and vest with chains, a Harley logo on his hat. “I really like the beard. How did you do that?”

“Uhhhh” He’s embarrassed. “Makeup.”

“Well it’s a very good job, all of you look wonderful.” I try to say something positive to every kid who comes to the door. “Each of you can have one of whatever you want” I lift the black plastic cauldron up in front of them and they all quickly reach in, grabbing a bar. I glance at the two parents standing on the sidewalk below our porch. I smile and nod at them and they nod back. The kids say thank you and hurry off to the next house. I pause a moment to look around. It’s almost dusk and I see several small groups of kids and adults roaming up and down the street, some with flashlights. Looks like I’m not done for the night, hope we have enough candy. I walk back inside, close the door, and settle back onto the futon, pulling my legs up underneath me. I try to get back into the book but it’s hopeless. The young children have been through already. They usually show up shortly after supper with one or both parents. The next wave is grade school kids. Then they get progressively older throughout the night. The bell rings again so I get up. I’m getting my exercise tonight. This time, its three boys, probably middle school, dressed as rappers. I recognize two of them from the neighborhood. They look disappointed when I open the door.

“Nuts! Where’s your costume?” asks the blonde kid.

That’s the other thing our house has a reputation for. In the past, I’ve dressed up to hand out the candy, usually in a fairly sexy costume. Nothing like I used to dance in but enough to attract attention. Last year I was ‘sexy doctor’ in garter belt, stockings, heels, lab coat, stethoscope, and clipboard. We get a lot of teenage boy traffic and fathers bring their young kids by frequently. This year I’m wearing light gray yoga pants with a zip up long sleeve hoodie.

“Of course I’m wearing a costume. I’m ‘lazy student’.”

“That’s no costume!”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d want to see me dressed up this year. Tell you what, next year I’ll do something special. OK?”

“Sure!”

“Great!”

“You’ll just have to settle for candy tonight.” They reach into the container. “Only one each, you know the rules.” They shout their thanks as they rush to the neighbors’ house across the street. I check my watch. It’s about 7:45 and getting darker. Things should start to calm down.

I’m almost back to my chair when the doorbell chimes again. Returning to the door, I open it. I almost miss him, or her, it’s hard to tell. I was expecting older kids but it’s just one small child, not even four years old, I’d guess, dressed in a store bought monster costume with a plastic mask held by an elastic band covering the face. It holds out its bulging bag with both hands.

“Twick or tweat!” The mask muffles the child’s voice.

I step out on to the porch and look around. There are no adults to be seen, not even older brothers or sisters. This child is much too young to be out alone, particularly this time of night. Maybe she got separated from a group. There’s probably a mother or father completely freaking out about now. I squat down to get closer to eye level.

“Hello there” I say in a quiet, soothing voice. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing. Is your mommy or daddy with you tonight?” The child says nothing. “Maybe a sister or brother?” Still nothing, though she fidgets a little and turns to look back towards the street. Suddenly, I hear a voice in a stage whisper coming from the bushes next to the steps leading up to the porch.

“You don’t have a mommy or a daddy, you’re a monster.” A veerrryyy familiar voice. Now I know what is going on. The child turns back to me.

“I don’t have a mommy or a daddy, I’m a MONSTER! GGGRRRRRRRR!!!!!” She drops her goodie bag and raises her arms, spreading and curling her little fingers like claws. I try to keep from smiling, but it’s a losing battle.

“You’re a Monster? Well Mr. Monster, what do you want?”

“I’m not a boy Monster, I’m a girl Monster!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. What does Ms. Monster want?” She pauses and the voice in the bush prompts her.

“You want candy.”

“I want candy! GGGRRROOARRR!”

“Are you sure? Because I heard that monsters love to eat brussell sprouts.”

“Yuck, No! Monsters love candy.”

“How about ... rutabagas?”

She giggles a little “No, candy.”

“How about ... succotash?”

“What’s suc-tash?” The voice speaks up again.

“Give me candy or I’ll eat you!”

Her hands come up again and she starts to walk towards me “Give me candy or I’ll EAT YOU!”

“OH Please don’t eat me, don’t eat me!” I start to slowly jog around the porch while the little monster chases me, giggling, laughing and growling the entire time. After a few laps around the porch, I let her catch me.

“Oh you got me Ms. Monster! You’re sooo fast. I guess you have to eat me now.”

“Mommy, I’m not a monster, I’m ME, I’m ME!” She flips the mask up.

“NO! You’re Samantha? Well you really fooled me! I was so scared!” She is giggling and jumping up and down so quickly that she can barely keep her balance. “If you’re not a monster, then where is Daddy?” She runs to the edge of the porch and points to the bush on the right.

“THERE! He was helping me!”

“So you both fooled me!” The giggle fit returns.

A dark figure emerges from behind the bush, climbs the steps and scoops Samantha up in his arms, while she squeals and wriggles. He holds her on his right hip with one arm while reaching behind my head with his left, pulling my mouth to his, gently kissing me. After a few blissful seconds, I lean back.

“Hey buddy, you trying to eat me?”

“Not now, maybe later.” He let’s Samantha slowly slide down his leg until she touches the ground.

“Good job Ms. Monster. I think you really scared Mommy. Why don’t you pick up your candy and take it to the kitchen?”

“OK, Daddy.” She flips the mask off her head, carelessly letting it fall to the floor, picks up her bag of candy and walks into the house.

“Whoa there Sam! You forgot your mask. Come back and pick it up, you don’t want to lose it.” She comes back, picks the mask off the porch floor, hooks it on her arm by the elastic band and skips back into the house. We follow her, my right arm around his waist and his left around my shoulder. He kisses the top of my head.

“Were you busy tonight, babe?”

“About the usual, there were some disappointed customers though.”

“Why’s that?”

I point to my hoddie. “No costume.” He laughs.

“I bet they were very disappointed. You’ll have to make it up to them next year, maybe that little French Maid number in the back of the closet.”

“Michael! There’s a difference between teasing and propositioning. Most of them are just kids anyway.”

“Jerry Adams isn’t a kid. I overheard him tell Frank Vasco that stopping at our house with his kids is the highlight of his Halloween.”

“Jerry did seem a little disappointed when he came by tonight ... hold it a minute. SAMANTHA?” No answer from the kitchen. “SAMANTHA?”

“Yesth.”

“Are you eating candy?”

“Yesth.” She swallows whatever she had in her mouth. “Daddy said I could have three.” I glance over at him.

“Didn’t we agree to spread it out until Christmas, just one piece a day?”

“She was very good, didn’t run ahead of me once. I thought I’d reward her.”

“Michael, you will spoil her rotten. I don’t want to keep being the bad guy ...”

“You’re not the bad guy, you’re the perfect Mommy ... and wife.”

“If I’m so perfect, why did Sam leave dressed in a Princess outfit I spent last weekend making and came back dressed in a store bought monster costume?”

“She wanted to try to fool you.”

“And who’s bright idea was that?”

A grin creeps across his face. “It was a mutual idea.”

“You mean that you both thought of it at the same time?”

“Weeellll, maybe I mentioned the possibility to her first, but she ran with it.”

“How long did she wear the Princess outfit?”

“The monster was just for you. She changed in the car after we made the rounds through the neighborhood. Everyone loved the Princess. Any time someone told her how pretty she was, she did a little spin, thanked them and said ’My Mommy made it special for me’. Your reputation as Super Mom is intact.”

Super Mom. Who’d have guessed that anybody would ever call me that with a straight face. I sigh; time to be bad cop again.

“Samantha, come on out, it’s bath time.” She shuffles out of the kitchen, a familiar pout on her face. She could be my clone.

“No Mommy, I wanna stay up, I’m not even tired yet.”

“With all the sugar you’ve eaten ...” I give Michael the stink eye, he smiles back at me “... I’m not surprised. But that was the deal, you get to go out for Trick or Treat late but you agreed to go right to bed when you got home, remember?”

“I remember.” She’s not happy about it.

“Here” I hold out my hand to her. “Let’s go upstairs and I’ll give you a quick bath.” Michael lets his arm fall off my shoulder.

“I’ll do it Deb, you stay down here and rest; you’ve had a busy night.” He bends down, grabs her by the waist and lifts her high in the air. “How about a bubble bath Sammy?” She’s smiling again.

“Yay! Bubble Bath!” He cradles her in his arms and they head upstairs, him tickling her and she giggling wildly. She’s turning into quite the Daddy’s Girl, not nearly as clingy as she was when I stopped breast feeding. The door bell rings again. So much for getting some rest.

There’s only a couple more visitors in the next twenty minutes, all older boys hoping for a show. After I send the last group away with a couple of bars each, I check out my face in the mirror by the door. My driver’s license says that I’m twenty four but, honestly, I barely look nineteen, if that. I still get carded whenever we go out on the town. I don’t know if it’s my borrowed genes or the remnants of Hanson’s treatments, but my aging is still really slow. Who knows how long that will last. I’m actually looking forward to looking like a mature adult.

Thank God, Samantha is healthy. When we became pregnant, it was a total accident. Neither of us was taking any kind of precautions because of Hanson’s experimental birth control implant. She said that it was supposed to last for a year but it just kept working so, well ... we forgot about it. When Dr. Patel said I was pregnant, we were both completely stunned.

Michael proposed that night. We had talked about getting married but Samantha forced our hand. I was not going to be an unwed mother. Problem was, we had no idea if I could safely have a child. All the plumbing checked out, but what about my DNA? Plus all the drugs Hanson gave me? I know that I’m a combination of more than one person’s DNA, at least that is what she said. If she screwed it up, any baby I might have could be in serious trouble. Michael and I had considered adoption to avoid the possibility, but again, Samantha took care of that.

I can hear them singing upstairs. She really seems to be a perfectly normal three year old girl, the spitting image of what I might have looked like if I had ever been a three year old girl. We did every test possible during the pregnancy to make sure she was OK. I could never tell Dr. Patel exactly what I was afraid of and why, he just thought that I was unnecessarily concerned. In the end though, it all went smoothly, even the birth. You gotta give Hanson credit; she really built me one hell of a body.

The water is draining from the tub so they must be done. I’m curled up in the futon chair, eyes closed. Not sleeping, just resting. I hear someone on the stairs and turn to look. Michael and Samantha are coming down, holding hands. She’s barefoot, dressed in her pink nightgown, holding the rail with her other hand, taking one step at a time. When she reaches the bottom, Michael releases her hand and she scampers to me, climbing into my chair. I pull her close, hugging her, smelling her damp hair.

“Mommy?” She sounds worried, a mother can tell.

“Yes, pumpkin?”

“Did I scare you when I was the monster?”

“Yes, a little, but not too bad.”

“Mommy?” Still worried about something.

“Yes, pumpkin.”

“Did I scare the babies?” She reaches out with her little hand and rests it lightly on my baby bump. I put my hand on hers.

“No Sam, the babies weren’t scared. They know that their big sister will always look out for them. Won’t you?”

She gives me a big smile, she loves it when I say that she’ll be a big sister. “Yes Mommy, I will.”

“You are three years old so there is ...”

“Mommy! I’m not three, I’m three and a half!” Michael manages to keep from laughing but barely.

“You’re right Sam, I keep forgetting about the half. I’m sorry.”

She snuggles against me. “That’s OK Mommy.” Michael comes over and picks her up. I’m reluctant to let go. I so love these quiet moments with my daughter.

“Time for bed Ms. Monster.”

She grabs him around the neck. “No, I want Mommy.”

That’s right baby, Mommy loves you too. She is tired though.

“Mommy will be up in a few minutes. How about I read you a story?” says Michael.

She leans into his chest. “OK” He bends down, bringing her close to me “Give Mommy a good night kiss.” I kiss her over his shoulder, her head immediately dropping down to rest there. She won’t last five minutes. Michael smiles at me and heads upstairs. As he carefully carries her to bed, I think about the differences between Michael and Bob.

Of course, there are more similarities, but the differences are amazing. Michael is much more laid back, more willing to have fun for fun’s sake. He’ll talk to someone like a regular person, you don’t need a dictionary for every fifth word. He’s smart, smart as hell, but he doesn’t lord it over you. He’s friendly too. He helps out all around, and half the guys in the neighborhood are here each weekend, at one time or another, though I probably have as much to do with that as he does. All the wives and girlfriends tell me how lucky I am. I have to agree. Since he works from home on his charitable foundation, one of us is always here with Samantha, but he has the time to take her out to the park and on play dates when I’m in class or at the library.

Looking around the room, I can see at least three renovation projects he did in the living room alone. When we bought this place, it was in desperate need of repair, dragging down property values for the entire block. Once it was clear that we were going to fix it up right, we were the most popular couple in the area. Most of the work was done by professionals, but Michael tackled a few “specialized” ones himself, including the gym and party room in the basement. He’s going to move his office to the renovated attic because we’ll need the space for the twins.

The twins. I rub my tummy. Twin boys. We’ve done the same tests on them that we did on Samantha and it’s all good, knock on wood. This time, it wasn’t an accident, though we didn’t plan on twins. When Michael found out, he was floating on air for about a month, could hardly talk about anything else. Thankfully, he came down to earth and we’ve been planning for the changes in our lives. We’re including Samantha so that she feels a part of the process. I’ve got six months to go so I’ll get this semester finished before it gets too uncomfortable. I can skip the spring semester and then graduate in the fall of next year. I hear a creak on the stairs and look that way. Michael is sneaking back down. After he reaches the bottom, he walks over and sits on the couch.

“She was out by the time I got to page six of ‘Hop on Pop’.”

“Why didn’t you come down then?”

“Just wanted to sit there and watch her.”

“I do that a lot on her afternoon naps.”

He swings around and lays down on the couch, propping his head on the armrest. “Did you recognize any of our customers tonight?”

“Only twenty, twenty five percent. Sherry and Larry Boyd stopped by early, they brought little Charlie with them, dressed as a bunny. They only stayed for about ten minutes”

“Charlie’s what, seven months?”

“Six months. Samantha would have gone nuts, he’s a real cutie.”

“That’s probably your hormones talking. Right now, you’d think anything in a diaper is adorable. Remember when you were pregnant with Samantha and fawned all over the Schwartz’s baby. That was one ugly kid!”

“She wasn’t that ugly! I saw her just yesterday and she’s a lovely child.” She’s no Samantha, but then what child is.

“Yeah now she’s fine, but as a baby, someone hit her with an ugly stick.”

“Speaking of hormones, remember what other thing I experienced while pregnant with Samantha?”

“Uhh ... morning sickness?”

“Please, don’t remind me. That’s not it.”

“How about your craving for pineapple, jalapeno and cottage cheese pizza?”

Actually, that sounds pretty good right now. “No, that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Give me a hint then.”

I untuck my legs, slip out of my chair, slowly strut over to the couch, kneel down next to his head, take it between my hands and kiss him hungrily. We play tonsil hockey for a couple of minutes, then I pull back, leaving him with a wide smile of anticipation. “Ah yes, now I remember, you were often horny.”

“Veerrry horny, and this time, its twins.”

“You’re not trying to drop a hint are you?”

“Oh, I think I’m way past the hint stage.”

He sits up. “I thought you were tired.”

“I caught my second wind.”

“Well let it never be said that Michael Robert Nelson failed to rise to the occasion and fulfill his husbandly duties. You check the back door, I’ll get the front and set the security system then meet you at the bottom of the stairs. Let’s synchronize our watches.”

I get up off my knees. “I’m all for synchronizing, but why waste it on our watches. Don’t be long.” I walk to the kitchen as he watches me go, making sure to add an extra wiggle to each step.

I check the door and windows when I get there. Everything is closed and locked tight. The security indicators switch from red to green. Michael did the security system himself and it’s what the state of the art will be five years from now. We both can check on whatever is happening in the house or yard any time of day, wherever we are, with our cells. By the time I get back to the stairs, he’s waiting for me. He reaches out with his right hand and I take it. We tenderly kiss as he slips his arm around my waist and we walk upstairs, side by side. I pause when we reach the top.

“Wait” I say quietly. “I want to check on Sam.” I creep over to her door and slowly open it. I can see her lying on her side, tightly gripping her stuffed dinosaur, Terry. She’s not sucking her thumb, which is a pleasant change. I lean over her bed, kiss her cheek and tuck the blanket around her. Michael comes up behind me, reaches around to cradle my tummy, then nuzzles my neck when I straighten up. I put my hands over his and settle back against him, sighing.

“She looks more like you every day, you know” he whispers in my ear.

“I know, that’s what scares me.”

“She’s fine Deb. You’re fine and she’s fine.”

“But what if that changes?”

“How’s that make us any different than any other family babe? There are no guarantees in life.”

“That’s certainly comforting.”

He kisses my ear. “Sorry, that’s the way of the world, which you know better than most. Come on; let’s go scratch your itch.” He goes back to nuzzling my neck. I stifle a giggle and let him lead me to our bedroom.

Once inside, I turn on the built-in baby monitor and close the door behind us. It swooshes shut like the door of a walk-in freezer. The bedroom is another of Michael’s “special” renovations. Extra thick walls and door makes it pretty much sound proof. It’s also a Safe Room. We can hear what’s going on in Samantha’s room, but she can’t hear what’s going on in ours’, unless we want her to. On its face, it looks like a completely normal bedroom but he put in extra storage space and carefully concealed the unique equipment we occasionally use when we’re feeling extra frisky. We’re not likely to need any of that tonight though, it is a little late and I have to be up early for a 7:30 class and he has a teleconference at 8:00. I watch as Michael strips off his shirt.

Hhhhmmm, nice, very nice. Strong shoulders, well defined muscles across his chest and back, bulging arms, the hint of a six-pack. Up until I became pregnant with the twins, we’d exercise every morning in our gym, mostly weights and a bike on a windtrainer, treadmill or rowing machine but also a lot of martial arts. Michael’s taught me a great deal in the last couple of years. I’m not nearly as good as he is, but I’m more than capable of taking care of myself under normal circumstances. We still exercise, just not as strenuously, for obvious reasons. I’m still in really good shape for a pregnant woman in her first trimester, but nothing like I was three months ago. Then I was probably in the best shape of my life, which is saying a lot for me. Michael’s body has changed from kinda fatty and undefined to nicely chiseled. Not like weight lifters, just on the right side of babaliscious. As he approaches me, I snap out of my fixation on his chest. He sits me on the bed, bends down, removes my cross-trainers and begins to massage my feet. I fall back onto my elbows, letting the sensations spread up my body.

“Ooowww, that’s good. You always know just what I need ... why is that?” He keeps working on my feet and ankles.

“I just pay attention. You seemed to be walking kinda gingerly so I assumed your feet were sore. Plus, you have been pregnant before so we’ve been down this road. How are your ankles?”

“A little swollen ... uuuhhhh, yesss.”

After a couple of minutes, he stops and tugs at the legs of my yoga pants and I help him pull them off, lifting my hips off the bed. He tosses them on the chair next to the bed, then starts to massage my calves, working up to my thighs. By the time he gets to my waist, I’ve pulled off my hoodie and removed my bra, adding them to the pants on the chair.

Michael kisses his way up my body, giving special attention to my slightly bulging tummy. When he reaches my boobs, he stops. They have gotten more sensitive recently and right now, less is more. He gently caresses them, flicking the swollen nipples with his thumbs. If he does this for another minute or two, I’m gonna cum just from the feelings from my tits. He’s got a wicked smile on his face, so he knows it too. Just as I get near the edge, he backs off and moves to my shoulders.

So that’s how it’s going to be tonight, start and stop. A game I can play with the best of them. When he moves behind me to massage my shoulders, I give him a few seconds, then turn and push him back onto the bed, straddle his legs and start to remove his pants. Michael lets me undo his belt, unzip his fly and work both his pants and underwear down his legs. When the clothes reach his ankles, I roll off and go to the foot of the bed to remove his shoes and socks, then finish taking off his pants.

His legs and thighs are just as developed as his chest and arms. I can’t wait to touch them, feel the muscles flex. I start to kiss my way up his body, repeating what he did to me. When I get to his chest, I suckle on his nipples. His breath catches in his throat. Guys aren’t supposed to enjoy their own breasts but it’s still an erogenous zone, man or woman. Those taboo feelings can be very erotic. His pulsing cock tells me I’m right. I switch back and forth, sucking one nipple while lightly pinching the other, whatever feels good to me, I do to him. Unfortunately, this alone won’t get him to cum, but his occasional moan tells me I’m on the right track. After five minutes, I sit up and fall back, my head level with his crotch, my body at about a forty five degree angle across the bed. I reach out and take his engorged cock in my left hand, stroking it, while rolling his balls in the palm of my right hand.

I love the feel of his cock, in my hand, my mouth, my pussy ... and my ass. It took some time, but we came to an understanding about anal sex. He could do me ... if I got to do him first. Fucking Michael in the ass with a strap-on was as close as I would ever get to being a guy again, not that I missed it. He thought that I was kidding but changed his mind when I got a harness and double ended dildo through the mail. It took a lot of beer and some Anal-eze, but he eventually did it. I was slow and careful, two things my clients didn’t do when I was butt fucked at the club. He didn’t like it exactly, but he didn’t hate it either. Then it was his turn to do me and he was just as slow and careful. Over time, we both came to enjoy it as an occasional ... diversion. Not tonight though. Tonight, I’m going to suck his balls dry ... eventually.

His cock is hard and hot in my hand. I scoot closer and take the tip into my mouth, enjoying its velvet-like texture. I swirl my tongue first around the head and then the shaft as I work my way down towards his crotch, bobbing up and down as I go. He shifts his body until it is parallel with mine. I feel has hands at my cunt, pulling my thong aside, and then his tongue, licking my clit. We are lying on our sides, in the classic 69 position. Michael is trying to catch up to me but I’ve had a head start on his cock. I can already feel it throbbing. His balls pull up and he is just about ready to spurt so I stop, letting his cock slip from my mouth.

Now we’re even.

I keep stroking his cock, keeping him near his peak. I don’t want to have to start from scratch when he finishes teasing my pussy with his mouth and fingers. My orgasm is building quickly. Michael really does know what buttons to push. My hips are starting to twitch, grinding my cunt into his face, sending thrilling sensations shooting up my spine right to my brain. I’m getting near the edge now, he’s cutting it close.

“OK ... You’ve made your ... point ... you ... can ... ssttoppp ... mmmmm ... anytime ... OH GOD!”

The orgasm hits hard and fast. He never intended to stop. My hips are bucking uncontrollably, Michael gripping my ass and keeping his face buried in my crotch, trying to keep contact with my clit, extending my orgasm. Another wave hits, taking my breath away. I lose my grip on his cock, my body a mass of muscle spasms. The room spins around me. When I come down from my orgasmic peak, Michael has switched around so that we are face to face, my thong dangling from his hand. I lightly smack his chest.

“You bastard! I thought we were teasing and stopping.”

“I changed my mind. You upset?”

“No, course not. I just had a great blow job going ... it was great wasn’t it?”

“Deb, you are the finest cocksucker the world has ever known.” I blush. Not the kind of compliment a woman normally seeks, but he does mean it as a compliment. It was a hard earned skill, honed through a lot of unpleasant practice, but I’m happy to put it to good use now.

“Anyhow, I had a good one going and now I have to start from the beginning.”

Michael rolls me over on my side so that he is behind me. “Save it for later babe.”

He rubs his still hard cock along my labia, covering it with his saliva and my juices, then slowly enters my cunt from behind. He pulls my body back towards his with his left arm, which is wrapped around my waist from underneath, just below my baby bump. As he rocks his hips back and forth, he drapes his right arm up over my ribs, playing with my tits and nipples. He increases his pace and my boobs begin to bounce wildly. He is doing his usual wonderful job of fucking me senseless. I cry out between breathes.

“Oh God! ... Fuck me! ... Please FUCK ME BOB! ... OH ... OH ... Damn ... Fuck my pussy Bob! ... OH GOD! HARDER ... UHHH ... HHUUHH ... OH ... BOB! ... GOD I’M CUMMING!”

The combination of the sensations from my cunt and tits have me ready to orgasm again. Michael is breathing hard on my neck. I think he is almost there himself so I try to hold up, waiting for him. As my orgasm breaks free, Michael drives his cock deep into my pussy and shoots me full of his cum in two, three, then four separate ejaculations. He holds me tight against his body as my orgasm surges through me, then kisses the back of my neck and caresses my tits until my breathing returns to normal. I feel his cock soften and shrink.

I always enjoy that sensation. It means that he’s cared enough to stay close to me after the sex is done. At the club, no one ever stayed, not that I would have wanted them to, it was just sex. It’s not just sex with us.

It’s love. A complete, total commitment to each other and our growing family. He would do anything for me and I would do anything for him, and we would do absolutely anything for Samantha. No questions asked.

I roll towards him and lay my head on his shoulder. His arm is under me and on my back, holding me tight against him. My left hand is slowly, lightly rubbing his chest, our legs intertwined.

“I’m sorry” I quietly say.

“About what?”

“You know ... the ‘Bob’ thing.”

“Don’t worry sweetheart, it happens.”

“But it shouldn’t. I try hard to remember, I really do, but ... sometimes, when my concentration slips ... I just blurt it out.” He strokes my hair. I love it when he does that.

“I know you’re trying. The only time you slip up now is when we are making love, and usually it’s just us, so there’s no harm. Besides, that’s why I chose ‘Robert” as my middle name, just in case. Fortunately for me, if I screw up and call you ‘Honey’, it sounds just like ‘Babe’ or “Sweetheart’ or ‘Dear’, just another term of affection.”

“But you never screw up. I don’t know how you keep it all straight. You’ve had like eight or nine different identities in your life. I’ve only had three.”

“It helps to be crazy.”

“Don’t say that! You are not crazy! We’ve spent so much time with Susan, working both separately and together. You’ve just got an extraordinary brain, so ... compartmentalized? Is that it?”

“Yep, I kept each one in its own mental file and pulled out whichever one I needed for the particular assignment. Thankfully, I had to start from scratch when I decided to ditch them all and create ‘Michael Robert Nelson’. Besides, they were all middle aged by now and I didn’t want to be accused of robbing the cradle when you agreed to be my girlfriend. It gave me a chance to create an identity that matched the changes in my life.”

“Speaking of changes, does Susan have any better idea why your test results no longer fit the profile of “Borderline Sociopathic Personality Disorder?”

“Not really. She’s assuming that I had some kind of subtle childhood brain damage, maybe in the womb from my birth mother’s drug and alcohol abuse. Hanson’s treatments eventually repaired that damage. Her intensive therapy since then has helped me overcome the years of neglect to my emotional development.”

“I guess that’s as good an explanation as any. The important thing is that you stay cured.”

“That’s what Susan says.” He reaches over and tips my face towards his. “I have it easy this time. All my prior ‘lives’ were chosen for me. ‘Bob James’, ‘Richard Johnson’, the others, they each had particular aspects which made them good covers and helped me do my job. I had to bend to fit them. This time, I created the legend to fit how I felt, what I liked, to finally be the person I’ve always wanted to be” he kisses me deeply “to be with who I want to be with. This is my ideal life. You’re the one with the hard job. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t train for years to switch identities at the drop of a hat. You’re the one stuck with a life you didn’t ask for.”

“Doesn’t mean that I don’t want it.”

He looks stunned. “In all our sessions with Susan, you never once said you wanted this. You accepted it, thanked us for helping you through it, for saving you from Hanson, but never actually wanted it. What happened?”

I snuggle closer to him. “I realized it this evening, talking to Sherry Boyd when she stopped by. She was saying how lucky she was to have found Larry, how happy she was to be a wife and mother, then she said “But I don’t have to tell you, look at all you have”. After they left, I sat down and thought about what she had said. I decided that she was right. I live in a lovely home, good neighbors and friends, getting ready to graduate from college, after actually going to class and earning my grades this time. I have a bright and beautiful daughter with two sons on the way ...” I reach out and place the palm of my hand on his cheek “... and finally, I have a handsome, brilliant and witty husband who I dearly love, and I think that he loves me too.”

He turns his head and kisses my hand. “More than life itself sweetheart, but you do know that I’m not handsome, right? You’re looking at me with love drunk eyes.”

“Sorry, no choice, they’re the only eyes I’ve got ... wait, are you saying that you accept ‘brilliant and witty’ but not handsome?”

“No one’s perfect Debbie ... except you of course.”

“Now who’s got love drunk eyes?”

“You really want this? You’re not just saying it or trying to talk yourself into it?”

“What more could a person want? I want this life, my life, and I’ll kick the ass of anyone who tries to take it from me.”

“Well Mrs. Nelson, we’re a team so I guess that means we’ll both be kicking the ass of anyone who tries to take our lives from us.”

“Including Amy Hanson?” It has always been a rarely discussed fear of mine, what if she found out about me?

“You know that is not very likely, there’s no reason to dwell on ....”

“No Michael, what if? You never walk out of this house without a primary and two back up plans. We didn’t install the home security system because you were afraid of burglars. It’s not just us anymore, there’s Samantha too. Hanson’s crazy, she’d do anything to hurt me and the best way to do that would be to hurt Sam. In a few months, they’ll be two more targets. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it ... what if she finds us?”

He strokes my hair for a few moments. “I’m convinced that she’s not looking so it’d be extremely unlikely. I also believe that she took my advice and sought professional counseling, which could help her act more rationally should she discover the truth.”

“You’re avoiding the question Michael ... you’re doing it again and you promised you wouldn’t. I know you have some kind of plan, but you haven’t told me what it is. You’ve been making decisions about our family’s future without discussing it with me. You’re right, we are a team but you aren’t treating me like a teammate. I’m being left on the sidelines. We’ve been round and round about this with Susan. If our marriage is going to work, you’ve got to include me in the decision making.”

“It’s no big deal Deb, I didn’t want you to worry about it so I just didn’t say anything.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“NO! God, of course not!”

“Do you think that I couldn't figure out on my own that Hanson might be able to find us?”

“Sure, but the odds ...”

“Screw the odds, you knew that I’d worry whether we talk about it or not ... you can’t protect me, or us, from everything Michael. I’m going to think about and worry about a lot of stuff. I’m a mother, you’re a father, we’ve got all sorts of things to worry about without Amy Hanson ... so, will we talk about this?”

Michael looks away for a moment, staring into space. He sighs and turns back towards me.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. We are a family and families make joint decisions. Even if you didn’t create the plan, you need to know what it is should we ever need to implement it, as unlikely as that is.”

“Apology accepted sweetheart. I know you’re only doing what you feel is the best for all of us. I appreciate you not wanting to upset me, but I need to feel like I have a say in my own life, our lives. So ... what’s the plan?”

“You want to talk about it now?”

“Why not? You going somewhere?”

“I guess not.”

“You tell me what it is and I’ll tell you what I think about it.” He sighs, then gets an extremely serious look on his face.

“If Amy Hanson comes after you or any of our children, she will be dead before she hits the floor. No warnings, no hesitation, no reasoning with her, no bargaining, no questions asked. I gave her a chance when I didn’t kill her five years ago because I thought she had the potential to help mankind. To my knowledge, that’s what she’s trying to do now, but if I’m wrong and she returns to her vengeful ways, I’ll put her down like a mad dog. If she sends someone else, that person is dead and then I’ll track her down and finish the job. If I catch her snooping around in our pasts or find someone else doing it on her behalf, the same thing will happen, no second chances. Nothing is more important to me than you and our family Debbie. Nothing.”

Simple, straightforward and final. It takes my breath away.

There’s Bob’s iron fist inside Michael’s velvet glove. It’s been a while since I’ve heard him talk like that, and, to be honest, it’s a little thrilling, a reminder of the powerful, unpredictable man I was first attracted to. He’s still there, underneath a veneer of civility. I don’t say anything at first, just reach down and slowly stroke his wonderful cock.

“I’ve got no problem with that.”

“None?”

“Nope.”

“Glad we had this talk ... so, if we’re a team, who’s the quarterback?”

“Both of us.”

“Don’t two quarterback systems tend to fail?”

I slide down his body and give his now hard cock a long lick. “I think we’ve pushed that analogy as far as we can, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

Time to give him that blowjob I promised. After all, we girls are always falling for the bad boys.

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