You meant it for evil - 20 by Maeryn Lamonte CAUTION: The ending of this chapter may be disturbing to some readers. Please exercise caution and, if in doubt, wait until the next chapter is published before reading beyond the red -oOo- divider. Thanks to Cyclist for input regarding UK police response. Another orderly hurried over and a doctor brandishing a syringe. “No, I. Please no. I'm her, she's me. This isn't right. Emily why are you doing this?” I felt a sharp stab in my arm and the last thing I saw was Mike and Emily, and even Charley, looking at me with a mixture of fear and pity. Emily, clinging to Mike's arm as if for support, allowed herself the vaguest hint of a smile then the world faded into darkness

-oOo-
When I came to, I was lying on a bed wearing a white lace nightie with my ankles and wrists held in padded restraints. I could barely move and knew better than to try and struggle. I looked around the room, hoping to find a nurse or orderly sitting with me, but I was alone. The door was closed and, again, I knew better than to shout out.

How had I been so stupid, so gullible? Emily had seemed so genuine, and every little request, taking her just a little bit closer to taking over my identity. Like boiling a frog. Increase the water temperature slowly enough and it doesn't notice, sits there quite happily unaware that it's being cooked alive by slow degrees.

Then when she'd sprung her trap, or rather I'd sprung it I suppose, I'd panicked. There had been so many things I could have done, could have said, that would have sorted the matter out, but those cold tendrils of fear had crept through me and strangled off any coherent thought processes.

Shit, she was out there with Mike now. He'd realise soon enough, when she didn't know the way home or something. What would she do to him when he found out?

I looked frantically around for some way to get someone's attention. I even tried calling out, but when no response came, I stopped. These cells were sound proofed and I knew I'd be wasting my time. I blinked back tears of frustration, tried futilely to find some weakness in my restraints, checked the room again for cameras, anything. There was nothing. Nothing I could do but wait and brood.

At the back of my mind a familiar voice returned.

“I told you they were mine. And now you are too.”

“No. You don't know how to do anything but lie. You have no power here.”

“I don't know if you noticed, but neither do you.”

“That'll change. Do your worst, I'm not listening to you.”

The voice quietened, leaving the ghost of an echo of eerie laughter reverberating around my skull. It was right, I was powerless here. But not for long, not forever.

No windows, no way of telling how long I'd been under, or how long I'd been awake. It had to be Saturday afternoon still; I just wasn't hungry enough to have missed a meal. Which meant at the very least someone would be coming soon to feed me if nothing else. If I played my cards right I could hopefully persuade them of who I was. With nothing else to do, I lay back and started thinking through my options. What did I know that might help prove who I was?

Time drags when you have no way of measuring it. My estimate put it at a couple of hours — but it could as easily have been minutes or even days — before the door swung open and an orderly came in carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and bread roll. He put the tray to one side and pressed a switch to raise the upper part of the bed and put me in a sitting position.

“Please, I need to talk to Doctor Marston.”

“It's Saturday Emily. You know he took today off for his daughter's birthday party. He'll be in on Monday, you can talk to him then.”

“Another doctor then. Whoever's supposed to look after me while Doctor Marston's away. It's really important.”

“Yes it always is. Come on have some soup.”

I turned my head away from the proffered spoon.

“Listen please. I'm not Emily. I'm Liz. Emily persuaded me to change clothes to see if we could trick my fiancé. I know it was stupid, but she's clever and persuasive.”

“Yes, like you're being right now. Come on, you need to eat.”

The spoon made a dash for my mouth. I let it in, not wishing to risk my teeth against hard metal. Pea soup. Not my favourite. I swallowed it down and spoke again before he could feed me another mouthful of the revolting stuff.

“Look, Emily tried to commit suicide earlier in the week. She tried to slit her wrists on the bed frame. Look at my wrists. Why don't I have any scars?”

He paused for a moment then let out a chuckle.

“You really are devious aren't you? If your sister had been Emily in disguise she would have had scars on her wrists.”

“She did, does. I covered them over with foundation. A bit like my face. I had an accident in my car last weekend, caught a face full of airbag. If you wipe the makeup off my face, you'll see something of the bruising still around my eyes and nose. Please I'm not making this up and it would only take a second to check. Just look at my wrists please, then call the doctor.”

Apparently I could be persuasive too. The orderly put down the bowl and spoon and moved to check my wrists. I tried to help by pushing my arms down through the leather cuffs so that more of my wrists showed. He rubbed the part where the scars should have been, then licked his hand and rubbed again.

“For heaven's sake man, you'd have felt them even if you couldn't see them.”

“Shit.”

He looked at me for a second, genuinely scared, then sprinted from the room.

It took only a couple of minutes for him to return with the on call doctor, who examined my wrists then my face, wiping off enough makeup to reveal the last of the bruising. He looked at me, still not willing to believe.

“Look, when I came here the first time last Saturday, I was given a safety word. Phoenix it was, but I forget what the challenge word was. Evanescence or effervescence or something like that. I came back again on Thursday morning, but because Emily was in restraints and Charley had changed his appearance so much, I guess they felt they could forgo doing it again. Nobody thought about it today, myself included, but then I never guessed Emily could be this devious.

“You want further proof, go and talk to Charlie. Ask what gift I brought him today. He's probably still got it stuffed down the front of his PJs.”

It still took time, protocols to be followed and all that. Calls were made and eventually Doctor Marston turned up looking upset at having his weekend messed up. I didn't have a lot of sympathy given the way my own was going. I started to give him a description of what had happened and my proofs of who I was, but he was already doing his own examination. I barely had a chance to begin before he made up his own mind and removed the restraints.

“I need a phone. I have to call Mike.”

The doctor took me to his office and waved at the instrument.

“Nine for an outside line.”

I punched in the relevant numbers. The clock on the wall said it was seven thirty. He wouldn't be happy, but there was no helping this. The phone was answered on the seventh ring.

“Mike's place.”

“James hi, it's Liz. Is Mike there?”

“Yes but very busy at the moment, can you call back later?”

“This can't wait James, I'm sorry.”

There were a few moments of muffled conversation then Mike came on the line.

“Liz this really isn't a good time.”

“Oh thank God you're ok.”

“What’s happened? What’s the matter?”

“Mike, that really was Emily you took away from the institute with you this afternoon.”

“What? Shit!”

“I was afraid she'd do something to you after you figured it out, but you didn’t did you?. I don't understand how you didn't realise it wasn't me.”

“I thought something was off, but just put it down to you being upset about how things had gone with Emily. I mean... Oh sod it. You, that is she, said she was too upset to drive, gave me the keys. I drove her to your flat and left her there. I just thought you... she... were... was bothered about how the visit had ended. I mean sure I noticed a difference, but I never twigged it wasn’t you. Shit, I am so sorry. Are you alright?”

“I am now. I was terrified for a while, but things are getting sorted out. I'm more scared for Emily now, and I'm glad you're alright. Sorry to interrupt you at your busiest love, but I had to know you were ok. Go back to what you're doing, I'll call you later when I get home.”

“Ok, you're sure you're alright? You don't need me to come out to you or anything?”

“I'll be fine. Have a word with Doctor Marston, he'll tell you.”

The doctor took the phone for the brief moments it took to reassure him then handed it back to me.

“Like I said I'll call you. Get back to your cooking before you burn something. I promise I'll call later.”

I put the phone down and turned to the doctor. With Mike's safety assured, there was something else I had to sort out; something which, the more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

“Thank-you doctor. Now perhaps you'll help me find out what happened to my engagement ring?”

He blanched visibly. The implications and ramifications of that particular oversight could go a long way.

“SOP to remove any sharp objects from disturbed patients. Should be able to find out what happened to it easily enough. Mystery is why the hell nobody questioned what it was doing on your finger.”

“Recriminations can wait Doctor. I'm going back to Emily's room to find some clothes to wear. That should take me about ten minutes. Any chance I can have my property returned to me by then?”

“Rest assured, but then need to find your sister. Dangerous, to herself and others right now.”

“Well Mike dropped her off at my flat a few hours ago, but she probably won't have stayed there. Still it's a starting point.”

“Where would she go?”

It didn't take much thinking

“Home. The phone call she made on Thursday was to her mother.”

“Her mother?”

Oh shit that should have been our mother, but then I couldn’t go down that route. This was going to get complicated. Think Liz. He's off balance now because of what happened to me, but if I give him reason to believe that I'm nuts he might just arrange for me to have a permanent bed here. I don't think he's that self-serving, but I've already badly misjudged one person so far today. I improvised madly.

“It was one of our neighbours when we were growing up. Em never could talk to Mum, or Dad about anything so she made friends with a lady across the street. They hit it off so well we used to call her Em's other mum. Emily told me she tried to call her on Thursday. It didn't go well and I think may have kicked off her suicide attempt.”

“Do you have an address?”

“No, but don't you have call logs? Can't you get the number from them? Trace the address from the number?”

He sat down at his desk and tapped away at his computer for a minute, then picked up the phone and dialled.

“Hello? Mrs... Bailey. Mrs Bailey, my name is Doctor Marston, I'm a clinical psychologist. One of my patients managed to get out of the institute earlier today. Have reason to believe she might be coming to you. Name of Emily Raeburn.”

Shit this was about to get complicated again. The doctor looked up at me confused.

“Says she doesn't know anyone by that name. How come?”

I indicated for him to give me the phone, which he reluctantly did.

“Hello Mrs Bailey?”

“Speaking.”

“I'm sorry to disturb you Mrs Bailey. My name's Liz Raeburn, you may remember me?”

“From the telly a few weeks back?”

“Yes that's right. This is sort of complicated to explain, but my twin sister, Emily, is a little bit disturbed and has been staying in a mental institution for the past few weeks. She managed to get out todays and we believe she may be on her way to you right now.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She was friends with your son.”

I hated lying, and this felt like walking a tightrope, trying to say what I needed to to Paul’s mother without giving away that I had never met her. By the look on Doctor Marston’s face, I wasn't doing that good a job. Time to cut things short.

“Mrs Bailey, it would be helpful if we could come and see you. Would you mind giving me your address?”

The doctor handed me a pen and paper and I wrote down an address in Grays, just the other side of the Thames. A moment's Google later and we had the route and an estimated travel time.

“Mrs Bailey, it looks like it will take us about half an hour to get to you, would it be alright if we came to see you?”

“Just one moment dear, that was the door.”

There was a clunk as she put the phone down and a muffled conversation followed. I couldn't be certain, but one of the voices sounded like...

“Hello? Are you still there? I'm sorry I'm going to have to hang up now, I have a visitor.”

“Mrs Bailey, is Emily with you at the moment?”

“Yes that's right dear.”

I hissed the news to Doctor Marston who snatched the phone from my hands

“Mr's Bailey. No need to worry. Emily isn't dangerous, but may say some things you find disturbing. Please try to keep calm. Will alert the police to come to you as soon as possible. May take a little time, but if you can keep calm, things will work out for the best within the next hour.”

He listened to her response and nodded in approval before hanging the phone up then stabbing the keypad three times with his finger. My missing ring seemed insignificant compared to what was going on twenty miles away. He asked for the police and gave his name and the name of the institution, adding that there was an escaped patient. He was put through to someone very swiftly indeed.

He spoke in his typical terse manner, passing across the who, what, when, where and why of Emily as far as we knew, then stated his intention of driving up to take custody. Again a nod and the phone was back in its cradle.

“Police on their way now. Unless things get unpleasant in the house, they shouldn’t interfere until we get there or they have a negotiator on site. We should be able to beat them. I'm assuming you want to come with?”

“As long as I can go and get dressed first.”

“Ten minutes you said. I'll see what I can find out about your property in the meantime.”

I left, with orderly in tow, back to Emily's room where I put on the same powder blue dress from earlier. My tights were balled up in the bin, showing evidence of having been removed none too carefully. I put on a new pair from Emily’s wardrobe, slipped my feet into her flats and headed back to the doctor's office where he was holding up my precious diamond and sapphires.

“In the safe, logged with paperwork. Will be asking a few pointed questions on Monday. Heads will roll. Wouldn't blame you if you took us to court over this.”

“Let that be Monday’s problem. Right now we have to get to Emily.”

“Car's waiting outside. Sure you're going to be warm enough in that?”

The dress was backless with a halter top and Em had taken my own jacket when she left with Mike. My long hair would protect most of my back but, since I hadn't thought to buy Em a jacket or even so much as a cardigan, I'd have to cope with the bare arms.

“I don't have many options here Doctor, but I should be alright as long as you don't have a daft soft topped sports car like mine.”

He exchanged his white coat for something more appropriate to the outdoors and even managed to borrow a light jacket for me. It wouldn't win me any fashion awards — not good ones at least — but at least I was warmer. In the end I needn't have worried about the doctor’s car as he had a top of the range Lexus, the high tech aircon bringing the car up to comfortable temperature in next to no time.

-oOo-

The car was almost impossibly quiet as it sped smoothly and effortlessly down the motorway. Doctor Marston glanced over at me, a shrewd, calculating look in his eye.

“A few words about what happened? Off the record?”

“Doctor, I'm not in a fit state of mind to discuss what happened right now, there's every possibility I might say something both of us are likely to regret.”

“Then don't say anything. Just listen, ok?”

I wasn't ready for this, didn't want it, but I was too tired to argue. I shrugged and nodded reluctantly. The doctor gave a few moments over to ordering his thoughts then launched.

“No two ways about this, we screwed up here big time. Well within your rights to bring a law suit against us, and if you do, what we have left after paying you won't be enough to get us through the damage to our reputation. You're angry now, and rightfully so. Shit I'm angry and some people will lose their jobs over this. Not to appease you, but because they screwed up protocol so badly. We... fuck! Can't even make myself say all the things we did wrong.

“What you decide will set the future for the institute. Usually a good judge of character, or so I'm told. Think good things of you so laying breast bare. Strike or not, your choice. Will settle out of court, anything reasonable.

“Don't answer now. Understand you're still angry. Not the best time to make decisions; respect that. Just want you to know. When you're ready, rather talk than go to the mattresses.”

He hadn't said a thing about my own bad judgement in the affair. That I had agreed to swap identities with Emily, even for a joke, was the height of stupidity on my part. The only black hat here was Emily, the institute as much a victim as I was, its staff no more guilty of bad judgement than me. I felt the anger draining away, some of the tension leaving my body. In a way it was a relief.

“Ok, we talk about it. I will want to bring someone in to represent me, but I have no immediate intention of going public.”

The fizz of tension dissipated as Doctor Marston let out a long relieved sigh. Odd how such an atmosphere can grow without your noticing and only make itself known as it leaves.

“I never understood that phrase, 'going to the matresses'. Sopranos isn't it?”

He looked at me oddly for a moment, but then realised that perhaps it was best to shift to safer, more neutral topics.

“Godfather films as well. But originates in sixteenth century Italy. Guy called Michelangelo Buonarroti. Hung mattresses from one of the towers in Florence. Protect it from cannon fire. Phrase means going to all-out war. Rather avoid that.”

“Well I think we should be able to.”

“Grateful. Was hopeful we could.”

Evidently the tension hadn't totally subsided and the next few minutes passed in silence. Something told me this was Doctor Marston's preferred mode; that the extent to which he had talked this evening was beyond his comfort zone.

It wasn't that comfortable a silence as my mind kept racing down different paths. What had I done wrong? Had there been any other indication that Emily had been playing me for a fool? Why the hell would she do this after all the progress she'd been making? What might she have done to Mike, or even Sharon had she popped across when Emily arrived home? What was Em doing now? Would the police managed to corner her? Was Paul's Mum alright? The questions kept coming, but none of the answers.

I wanted to call Mike, but Emily had my phone. I looked at my wrist only to recall that she had my watch as well. I glanced around the dashboard. Eight thirty, things'd be busy, but at a guess he would be worrying.

“Do you have a mobile phone I can borrow?”

Doctor Marston fished in his pocket and handed it over. It was one of the fancier, modern touch-screen doodads and it took me a few moments to figure out how to unlock it and bring up a keypad. Eventually I had it ringing.

“Mike's place.”

“Hi Sandy, it's Liz. Look I know you're busy, but just in case Mike's climbing a wall somewhere.”

“Hang on I'll get him.”

Barely two second later.

“Liz. Shit I'm so sorry, I should have known it wasn't you. I feel so crap.”

“Mike don't. She was a really good actress. We'll talk about it later ok?”

“I've been trying to think if she did or said anything that should have given me a clue, but... Well she seemed so upset after your outburst. I...”

“Mike.”

He stopped mid flow.

“Can we talk about this later, you know face to face? I hate using phones to do this.

“I was just calling to let you know what's going on. Emily has surfaced. The last we heard she was with her mum. You know Em called her last week just before she tried to slit her wrists? The police are involved now and will keep an eye on the house 'til we get there; I'm driving up with Doctor Marston as we speak. I don't know what time I'll be home, but I'll call you later when I can.”

“Ok, any time. I'm not going to be able to sleep 'til I hear from you anyway. I love you.”

I knew he needed to hear those words from me too, but things were churning over so much inside I wasn't sure what I felt. I wasn't going to be able to say them with conviction. I looked down at my ring and blinked back tears. How much was Emily going to cost me? I tried to make light of it.

“Don't go poisoning someone on account of me will you? I'll call you later.”

I hung up before things became too awkward and handed the phone back. The good doctor gave me another of his sidelong glances.

“Shouldn't be too hard on him. She took us all in after all.”

He hadn't even been there. But then again, I guess her actions this evening had come as much of a surprise to him as to the rest of us.

“Mike should have known it wasn't me.”

“Why? Some mystical connection? She looked like you, dressed, smelt, acted like you. Why should Mike be any less taken in than the rest of us.”

Anger broached an otherwise calm surface.

“Because he knows me. Because we're in love and he should have felt something. Something not right...”

“Crap. Used to know a couple of identical twins. Swapped boyfriends all the time, then got angry with them because they didn't notice. How long have you known him? Mike?”

“A few months.”

“Five years, maybe ten, then he'd maybe pick up the subtle differences. Few months, not a chance. Don't let this ruin what you have with him.”

“How can I help what I'm feeling?”

“Forgiveness is an act of the will. Nothing to do with feelings. Decide in your mind if Mike meant to do this.”

“Well of course he bloody well didn't.”

“Then it was a mistake. Tell me you haven't made any.”

I thought back to the first evening I'd met Mike and kept my mouth shut. Doctor Marston took that as an answer and continued.

“Mistakes should be forgiven. He didn't mean to hurt you, most likely feels awful about it. Needs to know that you forgive him.”

“It's not that simple Doc.”

“Why not? Afraid he'll do it again? Afraid he's not as good a man as you first thought? Ok, if he's not good enough for you, understandable that you should drop him, but for this? Mike isn't such a failure for falling with the rest of us.”

I flashed angry eyes at him.

“Who said Mike was a failure?”

“Implied. Either he did this deliberately — you say not — or he's a big fuck up for not noticing what none of us noticed. Or this isn't such a big deal after all and you should give him a break.”

I resented being told I was wrong; all the more because I knew he was right. I was angry and I realised he was taking away my target. Well if he was volunteering.

“You know you have a real foul mouth on you Doctor.”

“Happens when I'm stressed. Apologies.”

He reached into his pocket and handed me his phone again.

“Call him again. Tell him what he needs to hear.”

“You think you're so bloody smart don't you.”

“Don't think. Know. And who's got the potty mouth now?”

I didn't care for his smirk, but he was right. I dialled the restaurant again.

“Mike's place.”

“Hi Sandy, I need to talk to Mike for thirty seconds please.”

She muffled the phone and yelled for him, then came back on.

“He's just coming. Are you guys having a fight?”

“Hopefully only for another thirty seconds.”

There was the usual muffled incoherence as the phone was passed across and Mike's voice was back on the line.

“Liz?”

“Mike. I... There's something I should have said a minute ago.”

I wrapped my mind around the words. I was still angry, still more than a little upset that he hadn't been the knight in shining armour to come and rescue me, but that was more about my expectations than him. The doctor was right and my anger did need a different target. The words felt right. I could mean them.

“Mike, I love you.”

The silence that followed stretched to the point of discomfort. I caved first.

“Mike?”

“Yeah, I'm here.”

There was something strangled about his voice.

“Are you ok? You sound...”

“I'm fine Liz. Now I'm fine. Thank-you.”

Another silence, but one of communion this time.

“I should let you get back to your customers.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Don't forget to call me later.”

“I won't. I love you.”

“Yeah, you said.”

“Just thought I should make sure.”

“I love you too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

That last was almost a whisper, and the feelings I thought had died came flooding back and leaking out through my eyes.

-oOo-

The Doctor left me to my silent, peaceful musings for a while, waited until I was palming the tears from my eyes before he spoke.

“Tissues in the glove box.”

I retrieved them gratefully then flipped the mirror down. Yes the damage was as bad as I'd thought. Bruises showing through where the foundation had been wiped away, puffy eyes and smeared rivulets where the tears had run and been wiped away. The tissues were impregnated with aloe vera, so slightly moist. I used a couple of them to wipe the worst of the mussed makeup off and a couple more to sooth my eyes. Eventually I decided I’d done the best of a bad job with limited tools and put everything away. The Doctor gave another of his thoughtful glances. I was beginning to dread them.

“Go for the hat-trick?”

“What do you mean?”

“Not sure you've been completely truthful. About Emily and Charley.”

“In what way?”

“Nothing substantial. Little things you say here and there. Hints that there may be more to the story. Need honesty from you if I'm going to treat them properly.”

I looked out the window at the countryside passing in the dark. There was enough moonlight to pick out silhouettes of trees and bushes, and a few stars peeking through the light haze. How could I answer his question safely. I took my time over my deliberations and the doctor left me to my silent brooding. Eventually I had my plan of battle and marshalled my arguments.

“What would you say if I told you the truth involved magic and angels and demons, Doctor?”

He laughed.

“Not sure, are you likely to?”

“Do you dismiss out of hand that such things exist?”

“Never seen evidence to suggest that they do.”

“You could argue that the Bible is evidence. It contains historical and biographical stories that speak of angels and demons as real entities, and describes miracles if not magic.”

“Ah Christian. Explains a bit. Sorry, religious claptrap. Superstitious mumbo-jumbo.”

“And just how to you get away with justifying an opinion like that?”

“People always been interested in understanding and explaining their experiences. When faced with something they can't, tend to make something up. Elaborate stories of creatures with abilities and minds beyond our comprehension, that sort of thing. Religion is at best gullible, primitive minds trying to make sense of a world they don't understand, and at worst the writings of manipulative opportunists seeking to promote themselves in the eyes of the aforementioned.”

It was the longest sentence the doctor had ever said in my presence and had something of a pre-prepared quality about it; almost a mantra in its own way.

“Just how many religious texts have you read Doctor?”

“None. Better things to do with my time.”

“So where did your opinions come from? And just how can you expect anyone to respect them if you haven't researched the topic completely?”

“Not sure I care. My opinion derives from observations of people and of history. Personal views, so don't need to justify holding them to the world.”

“It make it hard to argue with you Doctor. Not so much because you're right — I would dispute that in any case — but you refuse to entertain any other opinion. I do feel sorry for you though.”

“Sorry? Why so?”

“The most stiff and unbending opinions are also the most brittle. They're the most painfully broken and hardest mended when they are shattered.”

The doctor shook his head.

“Not at all sure how we got here. Weren't we talking about how truthful you were being with regards to Emily and Charley?”

“Doctor what I've told you about Emily and Charley is as much truth as you can handle.”

The motorway widened into a dozen lanes feeding through toll booths. The doctor broke away from the conversation long enough to rummage through his pockets for some change. I couldn't help again since my own purse was in Emily's possession. He found the correct change and joined one of the faster moving lanes, throwing the money into a hopper and easing back into the mad rush of twelve lanes narrowing back down to four before plunging into one of two twin lane tunnels.

“Our exit is just the other side of the river Doctor. It would have been easier in the left hand tunnel.”

“We'll manage.”

The traffic was slow in the tunnel. Stopping and starting at first then easing into a gentle amble. I was favoured by yet another of the good doctor's speculative glances. Steeling myself for whatever topic he was going to raise next, I made myself a promise to think twice before sharing a car with him again.

“So what now? You and Emily I mean. How will you move on?”

There was a question and a half. How could I move on? Before this afternoon, I'd thought of Emily with affection and hope. I'd felt we were making progress, that with just a few weeks more effort, she'd be far enough along the road to recovery that we could leave the hospital and re-introduce her to the world. Now when I thought of her, all I remembered was the way she had betrayed my trust. That and the wicked, knowing smile she had given me before leaving me to her own hell.

“I really don't know doctor. I mean I still want to help her, but I can't without some level of trust, and I since she's broken what we had so completely, I don't know where we can go from here.”

“Trust is very much like love; an act of the will. Can be misplaced of course, so offer a word of advice?”

“Of course Doctor. Anything to help me sort out these feelings.”

“Situation is a little bit like you and Mike. Need to start off by deciding why she did what she did. If deliberately malicious, you need to withdraw. Back off completely because she will only abuse whatever you give her next time. Give her a chance to see that you're the best thing she has going in her life, then when she asks for you, give her a chance to rebuild the trust. When she's ready to earn it then you can decide to offer it again.

“On the other hand, if today is a one off, bad day sort of thing, might be worth giving her a second chance. You keep pets Miss Raeburn?”

The non sequitur threw me for a moment.

“My neighbour has cats, but I've never been one for pets.”

“Used to have a dog once. When she grew old she developed arthritis. Had good days and bad. On the bad days she would try to bite if you came too close, on the good she was grateful for the attention; could see it in her eyes. I learned to be wary of the thing that was causing her to be vicious, but still to show her affection when I could. Wasn’t her fault she gave into weakness and outside influence.”

I looked at the doctor with renewed respect, seeing for the first time the reason he had risen to sigh in his profession.

The traffic picked up speed and we exited the tunnel. The street lights illuminated the enormous concrete pylons of the QEII Bridge taking carrying a constant stream of vehicles south across the river high above our heads. Our two lanes joined the two to our left. The doctor eased over into the left most lane just as it fed off onto a large roundabout. We drove into the maze that is Thurrock and conversation lapsed as my companion turned his attention to the directions coming from the satnav.

-oOo-
We pulled up on a narrow street of terraced houses, its pavement crowded with cars. Further down the road was a large police van and a large number of policemen in what looked like riot gear, carrying automatic rifles. We found a space and parked up. One of the policemen stood out from the others by his air of command more than anything else. Having spotted him, Doctor Marston made a beeline directly for him, leaving me to follow in his wake.

“Name's Doctor Marston. I called this situation in. What the hell are you doing here with guns?”

The man in charge turned to us and introduced himself.

“Sergeant Fenton sir. We appreciate your assistance in bringing this situation to our attention, but this is a police matter now, so if you would be so good as to stay back sir.”

“Sergeant, the young lady in that house is a patient of mine. She is not a criminal, dangerous, armed or otherwise. I intend going in there and persuading her to leave with me. I would appreciate you and your men staying back and out of sight while I do so. Miss Raeburn here is the patient's sister and she will be accompanying me into the house.”

The sudden clarity of his speech leant him a greater degree of authority. The sergeant bridled a bit at the manner of the doctor's words, but he swallowed his own response and nodded his head just once.

“You heard the man lads. Keep your eyes on points of egress and stand ready for my word. Doctor, I can't say I'm happy about this, but go right ahead.”

He ushered us through and we approached the front door of Mrs Bailey's home. The windows were clean but the paint had peeled and was worn through to bare wood in places, showing an odd mix of care and neglect. The doctor rapped smartly on the frosted glass.

An elderly lady with a vaguely bewildered expression opened the door a crack and peered through.

-oOo-

“Yes?”

“Mrs Bailey? We're here to speak to Emily. My name is Doctor Marston and this is Elizabeth Raeburn, Emily's twin sister.”

“You'd better come in.”

Somewhat trance-like, Mrs Bailey took the door off its chain and opened it wide enough for us to step in. She indicated the living room and we followed the line of her finger. Emily was sitting in an armchair with a cup of tea in her hands. The smile on her face held a boldness and confidence I hadn't seen before.

“Ah Doctor, Liz. I must say you took your time, but now you're here we can begin.”

There was something about the way she spoke that filled me with a chill. Something was very wrong here. Doctor Marston seemed oblivious.

“Emily what is this? Why run away? Why come here? You were doing so well, and now this.”

“Please sit down Doctor, I'll explain everything. Cup of tea?”

The doctor and I both shook our heads, but sat as invited. The bad feeling was getting worse.

“You see Doctor, this past few weeks have been a nightmare for me, and as I look back over them, it seems to me that the three people most responsible for my misery are you three.

“Now as luck would have it, I have been offered an opportunity, not only to escape from the horror my life has become, but to get a little bit of revenge into the bargain. Revenge on every girl who ever slighted me, and more particularly, revenge on the three of you.”

“What are you talking about Emily? What is this nonsense?”

“No nonsense Doctor as you will see in a very short while. You see, your blind inability to accept anything outside of your limited perception of the world is what kept me in your care in the first place. You took my insistence that I am really a man as an indication that I was seriously disturbed and locked me away, leaving me, at a time when I really needed someone to believe me and to help me, isolated from anyone who could. It's been brought to my attention that in your case a fitting revenge would be to see your perfect little world of logic and science shatter in the face of something you have no hope of explaining.”

It's been brought to my attention? Who by? Oh shit, he hadn't...

“Which brings me onto my dear mother.”

Emily, or Paul as it seemed now, stepped closer to the elderly lady and cupped her cheek in his hand.

“You see there are times when children need their mothers, even when they're full grown and independent. The world throws such a bizarre mix of experiences at us, and sometimes we need someone we love to accept us and comfort us.

“My own sweet mother failed to do just that. She doesn't know me even now. So don't you think a fitting response would be for her to experience the same gut wrenching changes in her own life? To be turned into something that even her family and friends wouldn't know, and to have to deal with the changes alone and uncared for?”

I had to try and stop this.

“Paul, you don't have to do this; any of this. Everything he tells you is a lie.”

Mrs Bailey looked between me and my twin.

“Why are you calling her Paul? Why do you keep calling me mother?”

“Let me show you mother dear. And you sit there, little Liz, the best is yet to come and it's all for you.”

He reached forward and planted a delicate kiss on his mother's lips.

From the outside the change looked like a cheap visual effect; a blurring of features as size and shape changed, both figures growing taller, broader.

Mrs Bailey's permed grey hair receded to a short crop with a bald area reaching across the top from her forehead. Her face grew, showing bolder bone structure and more pronounced jowls. Her lips thinned, but remained marked with a now incongruous streak of red lipstick. Her chest flattened and broadened at the same time, straining the buttons of her blouse, but not quite breaking the threads. Her hands and feet grew, as did her legs, showing hairs through her stockings, and a bulge appeared under her skirt.

“What is happening to me?”

The voice broke and deepened as she spoke. In just a few seconds, an elderly man stood where she had been a moment before, wearing the same clothes, now stretched uncomfortably tight.

A similar change had happened to Emily/Paul, only he had grown by six inches and his shoulders had widened in proportion. The delicate fabric of my once favourite dress tore as his new body grew too large to be contained by it. Emily's long auburn curls shrunk to a smart, black short back and sides with a side parting. Her once delicate, elfin features turned craggy and handsome, but twisted into ugliness by an evil grin and the intense hate in his eyes.

Doctor Marston was transfixed with horror at the impossibility of what had occurred. Everything he had been so certain about regarding the world around him, everything that made up the foundation of his understanding and belief, lay utterly shattered by the event he had just witnessed, and he sat, eyes wide and mouth slack and hanging open, staring incredulously at the two transformed people in front of him.

Mrs Bailey stood awkwardly as though she had just spilt something down her front, stunned into silence and with arms and legs held apart, she looked down at what had become of her body. Each attempt at speaking stuttered to a halt as a stranger's voice spoke her words. She caught sight of Paul's new body and stared in dumb, open mouthed disbelief at her son. Her mouth shaped his name, but no sound came out.

The person I had come to know as Emily, now most definitely Paul, turned towards me, careless of the rags now hanging off him, and moved slowly towards where I sat.

“And now the last and best of it. You wanted to change me into a girl...”

“You were a girl. I was just trying to find a way to help you adjust. I only wanted to help.”

“But you knew what could help didn't you? You said it yourself when you spoke of the voice, that it was real?”

“Nothing that voice has done has been for good. It lies. It tried to get you to kill yourself...”

“And when I decided to speak to it, to listen to it, it offered me a way out. A way that you knew about. A way that you could have suggested to me. But no, you have so embraced this becoming a girl thing in your own life, you wanted someone like yourself to share it with didn't you? That's why you brought me those dresses and skirts and things, to turn me into your cute little twin sister so that we could go shopping together and have girl's nights out, going to chick flicks, picking up boys together. That's what you wanted isn't it? To turn me into something I never wanted to be?”

“All I wanted was to help you cope with what had been done to you. I thought you could adapt, learn to live with the changes, even learn to enjoy them.”

“Well you were wrong.”

He spat the words at me, rage flaring to incandescence as he reconnected with the testosterone now flooding his body again. With some effort he calmed himself. That ugly, selfish, self-satisfied grin returned to his face.

“You were wrong, and now I have the most delicious of revenges for you. You wanted to change me into a girl against my will, now let me do the same for you. Let me turn you back into the man you once were.”

I was struck by paralysing terror as he moved in towards me, his lips parted slightly in preparation for the kiss I knew would shatter all the wonders and delights my new life had brought me.