Matthew Jones is the only son of Randy Jones, honored deacon of the Church of Genetic Purity. He and his girlfriend, Amy Cox, have been taught from birth that MORFS is a symptom of moral depravity. While they had quietly questioned that doctrine, they were not prepared for the opportunity to find out for themselves.

sex: 1/10
violence: 7/10
profanity: 3/10

Categories: Male to Female, PSI

Timeline: 2060

---

Chapter One: Ruminations

Sometimes, I want to ask 'Why me?' If I think too much about it, I start to feel the whine rising in my throat. I get ready to throw a pity party for myself. Even as the tears start to come, I realize that a pity party is the most expensive party that one can throw.

But that was then and this is now. When the brown smelly stuff starts to hit the fan, you can either curl up and feel sorry for yourself, or you can grit your teeth and do something about it. It actually hurts more when you curl up and whine, but the urge seduces you.

It is said that trials lead to growth, and that has been well proven to me. I have finally come to the conclusion that feeling the pain without growing from it is wasteful -- like paying for some great treasure, but failing to collect it.

But that's not what I was taught by my so-called spiritual leaders. They didn't speak of a loving God who chastens and teaches his children. They taught me about a punitive God who curses those who displease him by marking them and turning them into animals. They taught me to fear the God who can condemn my soul and mark my body for ridicule. They taught me to ridicule those who have been thusly marked.

But that was then and this is now. That was when I was Matthew Jones, the only son of Randy and Sue Jones. I can't say that I had a happy and care-free life. It was more a case of ignorance being bliss. I really didn't know any better.

We, the family of Randy Jones, honored deacon at the Church of Genetic Purity, sat in the front; in an area reserved for the families of the church officials. We got to see the preacher up close and personal as he assured us that we were the only true people of God, and that it is our job to defeat the horde of Satan-spawned gene scum. There is an official Bible study guide that uses the Bible to back up the teachings of the church. While we were not actually discouraged from reading the Bible, we were told that we must always have the official guide at hand -- lest Satan trick us into misreading God's word. It is the job of the learned elders of the church to properly interpret the scriptures.

I didn't realize it at the time, but this contrasts sharply with the attitude of the other major churches. The first time I visited a different church, I was shocked to see so many people carrying a Bible, rather than the official study guide. I later learned that one of the characteristics of a cult is that they insist that their members blindly follow the leadership rather than thinking for themselves.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I was blithely going through life, proud to be the son of the most honored Randy Jones, deacon. I was happy to be dating Amy, the daughter of the most honored Mark Cox, deacon. Our fathers encouraged us to sit together in church, and attend all church functions together. They encouraged their children to date within the church.

We saw each other at school, too. With all the stuffy decorum, we were able to do a little more than hold hands and talk to each other about church-approved subjects. At school, we could steal away to play a little kissy-face. At school, our conversations weren't monitored by the thought police. We could discuss whatever pleased our hearts.

School was also the source of some confusion. At church, they taught us well about the evils of MORFS. At school, we saw a number of our friends change. I was supposed to to reject them and believe that they had turned into something evil, but I couldn't ignore the fact that they were the same people inside. Even the ones who picked up some real animal characteristics remained the same inside. Oh, sure, some of them looked different or got extra strength, and a couple even got some minor powers. Still, they were the same people.

This confused me.

At school, we were told to accept MORFS survivors (as the school encouraged us to call them). We were reminded that it could happen to any of us. The church spoke differently, but it wasn't lost to me that some of my friends at church had disappeared in the past couple years. We were told that our purity and righteousness protected us, but those who disappeared didn't appear to be any less pure or righteous than the rest of us. We were to accept that God's judgment is correct. Of course, we were never told what happened to those who disappeared. Sometimes, the family disappeared with them. They were never spoken of again.

I was shocked and saddened when Amy disappeared from school. It was rumored that she was sick, and would return in a few days. Still, I worried. This is how some of my other friends at church had disappeared.

So I prayed for her, as I had been taught. They taught us about prayer at church, but my mother is the one who taught me to pray for others. The soft and heart-felt entreaties for others, and the humble thanks for our blessings contrasted sharply with the prideful prayers at church. At church, we thanked God for making us the chosen righteous, above all others, and asked for his judgment upon the heathens.

Unbeknownst to Father, I had been praying for the MORFS survivors at school. I prayed for my friends, and asked God for understanding of why they were stricken. As Mom had taught me, I asked to be an instrument to my friends' salvation. I asked for wisdom and understanding. The contrast between what I was taught at church and what I was taught at school really preyed upon my mind.

I had been irritable all week. I was so concerned about Amy that it was affecting me physically. I felt run-down and nauseous.

When Amy failed to show up by the end of the week, I really started to worry. I had hoped to see her at church, but she wasn't there. Her mother and father were both there, but they had very closed expressions and were unapproachable.

Meanwhile, I was feeling worse. I expected the worst.

After the service, Father took me aside and informed me that it was time for me to be initiated into the inner circle. I would be going to a secret gathering place with the deacons and other church officials. I was filled with unease, but also felt pride that I would now be a part of the chosen few. Mostly, I was confused. It just didn't feel right.

Chapter Two: Secret meeting in the woods

I was wedged between father and another deacon in the back of a van. I really couldn't see where we were going, except that we were going out of town. After a long while, we were driving down a fire lane in the woods.

We got out and walked for a space. We soon came upon a clearing. In the center of the clearing, a small hooded figure was huddled, chained up like an animal. The deacons were standing nearby. Father led me over to join the rest of the deacons. As one, we faced the captive.

"We begin now," said the preacher. He opened his Bible and read.

If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son, which will not obey the voice of his father, or the voice of his mother, and that, when they have chastened him, will not hearken unto them: Then shall his father and his mother lay hold on him, and bring him out unto the elders of his city, and unto the gate of his place; And they shall say unto the elders of his city, This our son is stubborn and rebellious, he will not obey our voice; he is a glutton, and a drunkard. And all the men of his city shall stone him with stones, that he die: so shalt thou put evil away from among you; and all Israel shall hear, and fear.

"One of our own has been smitten. May God have mercy upon her soul. We must now cast evil from among us."

One of the deacons pulled the hood from the figure. I stared in shock. It was Amy!

"Let he who is without sin cast the first stone!" she yelled. The deacon slapped her. I could almost feel the pain and humiliation on my own face. Her hair and eyes were bright violet, and her face was subtly different. Still, I could tell that it was her. She looked at each deacon in turn -- staring intently. Each turned away, as if in shame. I was standing behind father, so I managed to avoid her gaze.

Father pressed a large jagged chunk of granite in my hand and pushed me forward. "You know what must be done, son. You have the honor of casting the first stone."

Amy looked so pitiful as she stared at me. I could see the pain and betrayal on her face.

Father growled at me. "Go ahead! What are you waiting for? Do your duty!"

I hung my head. I just couldn't do it.

I heard Amy's voice in my head. *You must get away! I can see the blackness of their souls. Yours will follow if you stay with them. Throw the stone, go home, then escape!*

Aloud, she said, "You stiff-necked and uncircumcised in heart and ears, you always resist the Holy Spirit! As your fathers did, so you do."

"Heathen!" someone yelled.

I straightened up, lifted the stone, and cast it in her direction. I came close -- way too close. But, I missed.

My father cursed at me and slapped me hard in the face. I fell to the ground and tasted dirt. Father cast a rock. I heard Amy's cry of pain. I started crying.

*You have done no wrong.*

Another rock hit her. I heard another cry of pain.

*Matthew! Your life is in danger if you don't play along! My life is over, so you must promise me that you'll live yours as best you can.*

"I promise," I said softly. Nobody could hear me, but Amy somehow did.

*I hold you to your promise! Go find another love. Teach your children about love instead of hate. Escape! Escape!*

Another rock hit her. She crumpled to her knees. "Behold, I see the heavens opened, and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!"

"Heretic!" Father spat as he hurled another rock. She fell to the ground.

*Don't cry for me, Matthew. The pain is gone. I'm going home. Don't ever lose your faith! You are a good person.*

There was a loud crack as a rock hit her in the head. She jerked once, then was silent and still. Rocks continued to pummel her broken body.

Father looked down at me with disdain. "It is always hard the first time, but you must remember that it is your duty to stamp out the evil ones."

I said a silent prayer for Amy -- and for myself.

"What are you praying about, boy?"

"I'm praying that the evil here will be cast into captivity, and that what is left of Amy will be purified and welcomed by the Lord." Father didn't look very happy, but he couldn't argue with me.

I couldn't look at the broken figure on the ground as I was led away. I was too upset even for tears. When I got home, I collapsed on my bed; not even bothering to get undressed. I was numb -- too numb to feel anything. My body ached and I wanted to throw up, but my mind was overloaded. It just shut down.

Chapter Three: Not feeling better

I felt even worse when I got up. According to the clock, my alarm would be going off in ten minutes. I sullenly stripped off yesterday's clothes and went into the shower. Try as I might, I couldn't scrub off the filth of yesterday's experience.

Have you ever wanted to pray, but couldn't find the right words? "How could you allow this to happen?" I cried in my anguish, but there was no answer.

Somehow, wordlessly, comfort came. I don't know how, but I was comforted.

I finished my shower, dried off, and started to get ready for school. Instead of feeling better and more awake as I prepared for school, I felt worse. I chalked it up to yesterday's activities, and nervousness. What was I going to say to my friends when they ask about Amy? Do I lie? I can't see telling them the story about how she was... murdered.

Yes, murdered. There is no other word for it.

I heard father leave for work. I expected to feel better, but I didn't. Finally, I staggered down to the kitchen for breakfast. Mom looked shocked when I walked in. "You look horrible! Why did you even bother getting ready for school?" She sent me upstairs to put my books away and change into sweats. On my way back down, I took a detour to the bathroom and lost my breakfast. She was just hanging up the phone as I plodded back downstairs. We silently rode to the doctor's office.

I went through the whole process in a daze. I was poked and prodded and perforated. The nurse put a drop of my blood into a special machine. It only took a few seconds, but it seemed like forever. Presently, the display lit up, pronouncing my sentence.

MORFS.

I sat there in a daze, wondering how much it will hurt when the rocks strike my body. Tears welled up in my eyes and Mom pulled me to her. "They're going to kill me," I whispered to her.

"No, they won't," she replied with quiet determination. "You're not going home. Your Aunt Lori is taking you in, and those self-righteous pharisees at the church will never find you."

"Aunt Lori?"

"You never met her," Mom replied. "She's your great aunt -- your grandpa's sister. She never liked your father, and has avoided us since before you were born. He probably doesn't even remember her, which is a good thing. He won't know where to look for you."

I sagged against her with relief, burying my face in her hair. Grief, sadness, guilt, and relief all mingled together leaving me numb and unable to even cry. I had lots of questions, but I was physically and emotionally exhausted.

We did end up stopping at home briefly. Mom grabbed my school stuff, tablet, computer, and all my personal stuff. She grabbed some basic clothes, but left most of them behind. Who knows what new shape I'll wear in a few days? Besides, she didn't want to make it too obvious that I was moving out.

I looked at the house as Mom packed everything that I owned into the back of the car. It was the only home I had ever had, and I would never be going back. There is no place in my father's house for gene scum.

The trip to Aunt Lori's was a fever-filled nightmare. Twice, I had to use the barf bag that Mom had given me. Finally, I felt the car come to a stop. I heard Mom speaking softly with someone else. I felt strong arms pick me up, and looked up into the furry face of my Uncle Mark. He, at least, won't judge me for coming down with MORFS.

Mom put another stim pack cartridge into the portable IV that the doctor had affixed to my left forearm. She pushed the 'go to sleep' button and the machine injected a sedative. Lights out.

I woke up when my bladder woke me up. Mom was there, and guided me to the bathroom. I didn't have the strength to be embarrassed when she helped me unzip so that I could empty my bladder. Then, it was back to bed. I lost track of the number of times that I repeated the cycle. Sometimes, my aunt Lori would help me. Other times, it was Uncle Mark. I vaguely remember being curious about how I would turn out. I had no clue. I was too tired and sore to inspect myself, and there were no mirrors.

The next time I woke up, it was night. The room was well lit by a night light and the moonlight streaming in through the open window. Somehow, it seemed to be a whole lot brighter than it should have been. I could see Aunt Lori sleeping on a comfortable chair in the corner of the room, so I padded quietly about.

I had heard enough stories from my friends about what it's like to wake up from MORFS, so I was somewhat prepared. Still, it's impossible to prepare yourself for the sensation of breasts jiggling on your chest and the feel of a soft, silky nightie.

I noticed that there was a full-length mirror on the back of the door. Why didn't I notice that before? Probably because the door was always open when I was assisted to the bathroom.

I slipped the nightie off and looked at myself. I had definitely lost some weight. The muscles I had worked so hard to earn were gone. Instead of an angular, masculine frame, I wore a lithe curvy feminine body. The male that still inhabited my head was very attracted. I was totally hairless from the eyeballs down. What was there was bright blue -- even my eye brows and lashes. My eyes were big and innocent and the same color as my hair. My features were fine and feminine and elven. I even had pointy ears. I sighed heavily and put my nightie back on. No sense rebelling against girly clothes.

"You look quite beautiful, Cara."

My Aunt Lori pulled herself up out of her chair and came over to me.

"Cara?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Your mother would have named you Cara if you had been born a girl."

"Thanks for everything," I said to Aunt Lori. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

She enfolded me into a warm hug. Then, her nose wrinkled.

"It was the least I could do, dear." She took my hand. "I think that too many days of fever has left you a bit the worse for wear. You'll feel better after a hot shower."

And so I got my first hands-on lesson in feminine hygiene. Oh, sure, they now teach it to everyone in health class. There is a big difference between learning it and actually doing it, though.

Thankfully, Aunt Lori isn't one of those gung-ho ladies who believe that you have to indoctrinate new girls into the girly arts by tossing them into the deep end and making them wear all the frilly stuff on day one. Instead, she gave me some ordinary white socks, cotton panties that weren't too different from my old briefs, and an ordinary set of sweats. The only thing that gave me reason to balk was the bra, but that item is really necessary even for my petite elf-like B cup bust.

She gave me the nickel tour of the house, then fed me an early breakfast in the kitchen. She suggested that I get more sleep, but I had been sleeping enough. I could see the sun just starting to rise in the East. I found my tablet on the desk, so I checked up on my email. There was an email from Amy that was dated on the Saturday before she was murdered.

This time, the tears did come. Maybe girls are better at crying.

After I was done, I thought about some of the things she had said to the deacons who were stoning her. They sounded like Bible quotes to me.

Amy and I used to study the Bible together when we 'officially' courted (with a church-approved chaperon, of course). We always had our study guide, but we tended to ignore it and see what the Bible had to say to us without someone else's interpretation.

Let's see... what was that about casting the first stone?

I found it at the beginning of Matthew chapter eight. I found out later that the story is very well known among most Christians, but the Genetic Purity Church tends to not address it.

A woman is accused of adultery -- a sin punishable by stoning according to the old law. When she was brought before Jesus, he told her accusers, "He who is without sin among you, let him throw the first stone at her." After that, he drew in the sand. There is some speculation that he was writing the sins of her accusers in the sand.

Is that what Amy was doing? Did she read their minds the way she apparently read mine? Did she tell their sins to them the way she sent advice and encouragement to me? Is that why Father shoved me to the front to cast the first stone? What a coward!

In the story, her accusers walked away one by one. When they were gone, Jesus asked her, "Woman, where are your accusers? Did no one condemn you?"

The woman replied, "No one, Lord."

Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you. Go your way. From now on, sin no more."

If only it had worked that way for my Amy! Apparently, the most honored deacons at the Genetic Purity Church have less honor and humility than the scribes and pharisees.

And I was being sucked into that vile body.

There was another thing she said. It was something about stiff-necked and uncircumcised. It sounded vaguely familiar. It took a long time, but I finally found the story in Acts chapters six and seven. It was about the martyring of Stephen. He was an honorable man of God, but he was falsely accused of blasphemy.

Falsely accused? Like Amy?

He stood up to his accusers, giving a long speech about their history, and ending it with a good lambasting. He accused them of being stiff-necked and uncircumcised, among other things.

They stoned him.

I started crying again.

They stoned him, but he saw the glory of Heaven, his new home, before he died. I think that's what Amy was trying to tell me just before she died.

*Lord, please tell Amy that I will miss her, and that I will honor her by living well.*

Aunt Lori silently came in and looked over my shoulder. "Despite what you father has taught you, your new shape is not a curse from God."

I looked up at her. "I know that, Aunt Lori. I'm not crying for myself. I lost a friend, and I know I'm going to miss her."

She misunderstood. "If she rejects you because of MORFS, is she really a friend?"

"No, no," I said. "She hasn't rejected me. She's dead."

She said nothing. She just pulled me into her warm embrace and let me cry myself out. She led me to my bed, helped me out of my sweats, and tucked me in. She was right; I did need more sleep.

I awoke again at ten and wiped the crusted tears from my eyes. After washing my face and brushing my teeth and hair, I put my sweats back on and padded downstairs. Mom and Aunt Lori were at the table sipping coffee.

"Cara!" Mom ran to me and grabbed me in a bear hug. "You look wonderful! I'm so glad you came through all right."

I had to smile at her enthusiasm. Who knows? Maybe she always wanted a daughter. With father being the way he is, I can see why she stopped at one child. I think she moved out of his bedroom about the same time he got involved in that church.

I still didn't know what to think about my new body. Everyone else seemed to be enthusiastic about it, but I had too many other thoughts running through my head to even give it a second thought. I suppose I would have been upset about losing my girlfriend to my gender change if I hadn't already lost her to the hatred of people like my father.

Mom and Aunt Lori didn't give me time to stew about it. They dragged me off to the mall where Aunt Lori usually shops. In a few hours, I had a hair cut, a manicure and pedicure (with polish that matches my hair), a book of cloth swatches that are supposedly 'my colors', and a modest wardrobe. I just kind of went with the flow. Mom and Aunt Lori didn't comment about my lack of enthusiasm or my lack of objection. I just kind of cooperated with everything without comment.

After that, we went to the clinic for my post-MORFS check-up. I was surprised to find that I didn't lose any strength. I was all girl, though. Yeah, big surprise. The mind reader couldn't read my mind, but she could read my emotions. It would seem that I'm feeling depressed. Yeah, big surprise.

So, I'm now officially certified safe to return to school. Yippy skippy.

On the way out, we got all the government paperwork taken care of. I now have a new birth certificate addendum, state ID, and school ID.

We still don't know what we're going to do about my father and the rest of the church.

But, there is no reason to keep me out of school for even one day longer. Mom had all the information sent to the school, so they will be expecting me. We packed all my stuff, including most of my new clothes, into the car. Mom helped me lay out my clothes for tomorrow, then kissed me good night.

Chapter Four: Back to school

The next morning, we got up bright and early. It took longer to shower and take care of my hair, but I had already expected that.

Normally, it would have taken an hour to get from my aunt's house to the school. We used a route that took us around the other side of the city so that nobody watching us would be able to tell which direction we came from.

We shouldn't have bothered. We got a call from Aunt Lori telling us that there were some people from the church watching their house. One of Aunt Lori's friends had read from their minds that they got the information from an insider in the state's record center. Very soon after we had registered my new name, they tracked us down.

The upshot is that we don't have a place to live anymore. We can't go to Aunt Lori's, and we can't go home.

But I could go to school.

So, in I went. A few people guessed that I was Matthew, but most didn't. I didn't bother to reintroduce myself.

Second hour health class was interesting. There were four kitty morfies sitting in the front row. Is it common for that many people to get the same changes? In any case, they seemed happy with their bodies. I could almost see the peace and joy radiating from them.

I was surprised when the teacher introduced two of them as honored professors because they looked like teenagers. The other two were their kids, Larry and Cindy Martin. I made a note to reintroduce myself to them after class.

Professors Kim and Sara gave us a very interesting lecture about MORFS. They radiated cheer and good humor as they talked about their changes. The most interesting part was where they explained how to adapt to your new body once it's all over. I asked them a couple questions. They did their best to answer them. Actually, they did a pretty good job. They could see that I wasn't happy, though.

I talked to them after class. Right out of the blue, they invited me to their home! I couldn't believe it. I don't think they even realized how badly I needed a place to hide. As promised, the Martins met me for lunch. Also as promised, Larry and Cindy treated me as if nothing had happened. The Martins seemed to almost radiate warmth and good will. I felt safe and loved in their presence. I hated to leave when lunch was over, but I had two more classes to attend.

When the long school day was finally over, I ran straight to the study hall. I met Larry and Cindy on the way, and walked with them. They smiled at me. They actually smiled at me! Not the phony, assessing smiles of the girls, or the lust-filled smiles of the boys, but smiles that contain genuine affection. They gave smiles that welcome me for who I am.

I was surprised to see Mom when we got to the study hall. She looked calm, happy, and relieved. She opened her arms and I ran into her embrace. Matthew had never done that. She told me that she had moved everything of ours out of father's house. She's divorcing him, and we're going to move in with the Martins. I gave them a grateful smile.

We walked out to our cars. The Martins were parked on the opposite side of the lot, so we had to split up. Just as we got to our car, I felt someone grab my arm. It was one of the deacons. "No, I won't go with you!" I yelled.

They tried to shove me into their car, but I fought back. The Martins were there in a flash, and surrounded us. Mom was digging through her purse as the Martins argued with the four deacons.

I felt relief come from the Martins. They all backed up at once and I was thrown in the car. Why had they abandoned me?

But they were still there -- angry, but not worried. I felt the car surge forward, then jerk to a stop. It went backward and crashed into something. Soon, the car was surrounded by police officers. They roughly pulled the deacons out of the car. I ran to my mom and held on for dear life. There was confusion for a while as the police looked at ID cards, asked questions, and wrote things down.

Finally, we were allowed to leave. Mom followed the Martins home. She didn't let their car out of her sight. We parked in their spacious garage between their car and a pickup truck.

They led us through the living room to a separate area of the house. They explained to us that it is a flat that they used to rent to students, and that we are welcome to stay as long as we want. The apartment has its own bathroom and kitchen, so we don't have to intrude too much on the Martins' hospitality.

The professors had to teach a class, so they asked Larry and Cindy to help us get settled. With four of us doing the work, we soon had our closets filled and our personal items stowed. Once that was done, Cindy suggested that we all take a dip in the pool. She had to lend me one of her old swimsuits. I felt silly in a girl's one-piece, but I guess I'll have to get used to it.

We had a great time swimming. I found out that my swimming skills improved when I got a new body. I have the same strength, but less body to push. I couldn't believe how good the water felt. I was comfortable, truly comfortable. It was almost as if I belonged in the water as much as I belonged on land.

All too soon, it was time to go in. Mom and I went to our apartment and changed out of our wet swimsuits. Mom chose a pair of shorts and a light blouse for me. I was going to go for sweats again, but she commented that it's a bit warm for them.

We were about to go back to the living room when we heard a knock on the door. I opened it and saw Cindy standing there with a pile of clothes. She handed them to me. "I grew out of these clothes a couple years ago, and they ought to fit you pretty good." I thanked her and told her that I would meet her in the living room in a few minutes.

Mom insisted that I try a few of them on. As Cindy had claimed, they fit me well. How did she know that just based on the way the swimsuit fit? It must be a girl thing. Apparently, I have a lot to learn.

By the time we got done trying on and stashing the clothes, the professors were back. ("But just call us Kim and Sara.") I plopped down into an overstuffed chair. I looked over and saw Mom looking at me with a weird expression on her face. "OK, Mom, I know. That wasn't a lady-like way to sit, was it?"

She smirked and shook her head. "I guess I shouldn't expect perfection on your second day as a girl."

I sighed and leaned back. After all the exertion, not to mention being run through the emotional wringer, I was getting tired.

Less than two weeks ago, I was Matthew Jones; honor student, and the son of an honored deacon. I had a pretty girlfriend who was intelligent and had a great sense of humor. I was looking forward to spending my life with her. A tear leaked from my eye.

In just a few days, that was shattered. In a few more days, what was left was turned upside-down. My girlfriend has been murdered. The murderers want to murder me, too. I couldn't help Amy. Will anyone be able to help me?

Wait a minute!

The fog that had been enveloping my mind since I saw my father participate in the murder of my beloved started to lift. I have been reacting rather than acting ever since I saw Amy chained to that post like an animal. A murder has been committed! Why am I sitting on this information like an idiot?

"Ummm Mom? Kim? Sara? We need to talk."

Somehow, I managed to spill the whole story. I delivered it deadpan. It hurt to much to think, let alone feel. I looked up and saw everyone staring at me. I saw their anger as a palpable presence surrounding them. I recoiled.

"We're not angry at you, honey," my mother said gently. "We're not disappointed with you, either. If anything, I'm disappointed with myself for closing my eyes and trying to believe that this wasn't happening."

I hadn't noticed that Kim had left the room. "The police are on their way to take your statement," she said as she returned.

I put my head down. "Does that mean that I'm in trouble for waiting so long?"

"I don't think so," she answered. "It really looks to me like you came out with it just as soon as you were emotionally able to. If you cooperate fully with the police, I'm sure that they will be grateful for your help."

And so the police came. A very nice police lady with Elvin feature similar to mine introduced herself as Officer Trowbridge. Her partner, Officer Saouda, is a police telepath. Together, they gently pulled all the details from me. Officer Saouda had a very difficult time reading me, but was able to do it after she got me to relax. Apparently, I have a good shield that goes up whenever I feel threatened. When haven't I felt threatened since I changed?

The only thing they couldn't pull from me is the location of the clearing. I hadn't even seen which way we were heading as we left the city.

Officer Trowbridge asked, "Did you have anything like a cell phone or eCom with you?"

I pulled out my eCom and handed it to her. She plugged it into her tablet computer, asked my permission, then copied its contents.

She assured me that I was in no trouble, and that she greatly appreciated my cooperation. I saw a mixture of feelings. She was sad, angry, determined, and even hopeful. I'm sure she was sad and angry about the murder. Determined? Yes, I guess she should be filled with determination that they will put these murderers away for good.

But hopeful?

I asked her about it. She gave me a weird look, and the telepath was looking intently at me.

"I guess I'm hopeful that we will finally put this case to rest. We have suspected these people for a long time, but have never come this close to catching them."

"I'll be glad to take my turn on the witness stand," I assured her.

The telepath touched me on the hand. "Are you aware that you're an empath?"

I looked at her with confusion.

"You can directly detect people's emotions. That's why you found it so easy to trust the Martin family. Would you like for me to check you out for other talents?"

I nodded.

She put her hand on my head for a second. "It looks like you have some telepathic powers. I can't tell how strong it is. You might also have some telekinetic powers. Even when you cooperate, you're hard to read."

I thanked her.

She and her partner asked us if we had any questions, and gave us each their cards and told us to call if we think of anything. As they were leaving, I leaned back into the chair and closed my eyes. I felt someone softly stroking my hair. It was my mother. I could feel the sadness that she felt for Amy. I could feel the anger that bordered on hatred that she felt for father and his ilk. I could feel her worry. I could feel her gratitude for the Martins' generosity. Most of all, I could feel her love for me. I opened my eyes and smiled up at her.

After resting for a while, I went up to my room. I have been reacting ever since Amy was murdered. It's now time to act. I fired up my computer and searched the web for information on telepathy, telekinesis, and empathy. I read a few opinion pieces, then downloaded some free on-line courses. I read the introduction to each course, then tried to decide where to start.

Since I was already using my empathic skills, I figured it would be best to concentrate on the other two. Telepathic skills involve reading minds. That kind of an invasion of privacy made me uncomfortable, but it wouldn't be as bad if I practiced on strangers. Since I didn't want to violate the trust of anyone here, that left me with telekinesis.

I started by balancing an unsharpened pencil on its end. It didn't take much force to knock it over, so it didn't take long for me to accomplish that. I could have done the same thing by breathing hard or gently bumping the desk, but it was a thrill to do it by just concentrating.

After about half an hour, I had the pencil spinning in the air. I picked up a sharpened pencil used it to write. After a while, I just concentrated on what I was writing, rather than the mechanics of making the individual strokes. I pictured a drawing in my mind and watched in amazement as the pencil recreated that drawing. I took a break and tried to read my surroundings. I could feel Mom's presence downstairs. I could feel the Martins, but they felt different. I could only read their emotions, where I could actually feel Mom's mind. I could probably have gone further and read what she was thinking, but I had already decided to limit such things to strangers -- at least for now.

After half an hour of listening to my music and otherwise just letting my mind float, I got back to work. I picked up the pencil and spun it in the air again. I closed my eyes and 'felt' for the pencil. Pretty soon, I had a pretty clear image of it in my mind. It didn't contain any color, but I could feel the textures of the different materials. The eraser was spongy and soft. The wood was kind of, well, woody. The lead was denser, more brittle, and a bit harder. According to the course, a TK can feel his surroundings by applying a very gentle pressure and feeling the resistance. I threw some coins and dice into a box and shook it. I gently felt inside the box. I found all the objects. After some practice, I could feel the impressions on the coins and the spots on the dice. I turned each coin to 'heads' and each die to six. I don't think I'm going to be welcome in any casinos. I used my TK sense to feel around the room, exploring all the common objects so that I could get a feel for what is normal in the world around me. Then, after relaxing with my music for a while, I went back downstairs.

Kim looked up at me as I came down the stairs. "Been playing with your new powers?"

I answered by picking up one of the coffee table books and levitating it around the room. I walked to the overstuffed chair and, in a very ladylike fashion, sat down. Then, I reached upstairs, felt for the pencil and pad, and brought them downstairs. I looked carefully at Kim's smiling face. Her smile widened as the pencil, in a blur of motion, drew her face on the pad. The paper then lifted itself from the pad and flew over to her.

"Very impressive!" she said. "You seem to have control down pat. How much force can you apply?"

"I don't know," I replied. "It didn't seem like a good idea to push my limits this soon. I'm kind of tired, you know."

"Ah," said Sara, "An admirable level of restraint. But what of your other powers? I thought I felt a bit of tickling in my mind a while back."

I turned red. "When I was resting after my first session, I let my mind wander and 'look' around. I detected your emotions, but nothing else. I could actually feel Mom's mind, but I didn't try to go any further. I have already decided that I'm not going to play with my telepathic powers until I'm among strangers. I don't want to betray anyone's trust."

"But it's OK to read a stranger?" Mom asked.

"Well, I need to learn to control my power or I'm likely to accidentally read someone when I shouldn't. If I practice on strangers, the things that I find out will be nothing but anonymous facts that don't relate to anyone I know."

"It looks like someone has been doing her research," Sara said approvingly. She looked at my mother. "You must be very proud of your daughter."

I blushed. Sara walked over to me and put her hand on my shoulder. "You're not used to approval, are you?"

My eyes started to tear up. "Mom has always loved me, but I get precious little elsewhere." I couldn't stifle a sob. "Except for Amy."

Sara knelt down and pulled me to her. "It's OK to cry."

Here I go again, bawling my eyes out. These female hormones can get real old real quick. Mom and Sara led me upstairs, helped me change to a nice, silky nightie, and tucked me in. I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

(end of part 01)

---