Fear, confusion and fraud. These were the three words, which had dominated my existence since I died in a car accident. Through cosmic happenstance, I emerged from a coma in the body of Lucy Maya. My second chance at life, so to speak, was not one of wonderment at the miracle of being given another crack at life, as one would expect.

Quite the opposite. I tip toed through this life fearful more people would discover my secret (like the bus driver Arnie Williamson had) wishing to destroy me as an abomination to the laws of God.

I feared being discovered as a fraud from those who may not realize I was once Craig Morton. I do realize my story of losing my memory in the coma is deeply flawed, being full of holes - much like my immoral manipulative boss Kirk Baron had. I lived in the confusion caused by being thrown into someone else's life in progress with nothing but a very sketchy map to guide me, and finding - as was the case of Janet and her mother Betty - that I am in the middle of some quite complex relationships.

Adding to this all, I had also lost the close friendship of my brother. Whether this was permanent or temporary was to be seen. By believing me when I told him I was Craig moving about in the shell of Lucy, he alone made my first couple of weeks livable. However, the weight of the impossible, and the strangeness, sexual and psychic, of my being a woman wore on him until he declared he needed time off.

Then, of course, there was womanhood itself. Up until very recently, I treated this vessel I was in with great unease and distrust. It felt more complicated and worrisome than my male body. This was especially in the vaginal area. I went through great pains to deal with it as minimally as hygiene would allow. Even the few times I allowed myself to feel a wave of pleasure from outside stimuli, or even pleasured myself, I felt strange and dirty. It was as though I was going too far. This area was private to Lucy. Using it for my own purpose, whether in this body or not, felt voyeuristic at best, a violation of Lucy at worse.

Because of all of this, my ventures into the unknown of masturbation was rare, tentative, and guilt laden. Even so, I was finding, over time, that I was able to become more efficient at increasing the pleasure. Sitting there, just on the outside of my capabilities at this point, was the orgasm. It was something I had approached, had a partial taste of, but was not able to fully experience. With the ambivalence I had toward the entire process, it was no wonder. It was no secret that some women go their entire lives without reaching the orgasmic state, even those not harboring the baggage that I carried.

Nevertheless, with this matter, as with all the matters of my life, I was determined to start living. I may never be comfortable in this existence as it was handed to me, but I was never going to get through it shrinking through life.

And if there was anything I needed to get through to do it, my meeting with Arnie Williamson and his mysterious clergy sidekick would be it.

I had decided to meet Arnie Williamson and his friend mid day Saturday afternoon at a miniature golf course fairly close to Lucy's apartment. I had yet to determine if they presented an immediate threat or even a threat at all. I took the precaution of being in an open, outdoor, crowded place in broad daylight.

Before arriving, I changed several times trying to decide what felt right. Should I appear serious and daunting in the face of solemn accusation? On the other hand, casual and calm to brush off what, I would pretend, was obviously nonsense?

In the end, I thought it through and went for casual. I opted for a simple sundress and low heeled sandals. Being clothed this way made me more aware of my feminine body, and would help me in the role. I needed to play this firmly between a woman who was grateful for the care the bus driver showed me when I was in a coma, as well as someone who was slightly spooked and concerned about supernatural ramblings involving her.

Arnie and the clergy were both there when I arrived, judging from the nearly finished sodas, perhaps sometime before. Arnie looked even thinner than when I last saw him. He seemed to be forming sleepless bags underneath his eyes, bringing the focus to his spectacle branding nose and making his already pointed face look more so. He shook my hand politely, introducing me to Father McCormick, but never taking his eyes off me.

Father McCormick was a tall man who looked to be in his mid-sixties. Although it was difficult to tell, he was athletic and took great care of himself. His eyes were pleasant and open, but carried a knowingness behind them. Upon being introduced, he simply responded with a half bow of the head, pointing to the booth to purchase a round of golf, said, "Shall we?"

I glanced at Arnie, who looked beleaguered and distracted. I felt a pang of guilt as I assumed his state of disarray and visible lack of rest could be attributed to my actuality. I looked away quickly. Father McCormick, placed his hand on Arnie's back as if to guide him. This was a father and son like relationship, it was easy to see, that had been forged over many years.

Arnie was quiet, but the priest and I exchanged small talk on the way to the first hole as if we were about to embark upon a picnic instead of speculate on otherworldly, universe altering, topics.

Arnie who obviously had no patience for the small talk, launched right into the subject at hand, "I told Father McCormick about my feeling ... no, not feeling ... experience, that the wrong spirit is in that body of yours, Miss. I filled him in about the literature you had all over your home about mind transfers, reincarnation and all other forms of godless body swaps." His light Southern tinge took on a hard edge.

I eyed Arnie as casually as I could as he laid out the insane, but accurate evidence, trying to glance at Father McCormick to see how he was taking this. As I had decided before, I needed to play this with a gentle incredulousness, as one would a disturbed relative whom you have an affection for.

"And what do you think of this, Father McCormick?" I asked.

"Well, I can't think much of it, until you deny it or not," he replied.

I raised an eyebrow at the clergy, "So you believe in mind transfers after death and other sorts of body hopping business? I don't know too much about the Catholic Church having been raised -" I paused as my mind could not recall at that moment Lucy was a Presbyterian, but seamlessly continued, "in another faith, but I can't imagine you condone such beliefs."

He was pleasant, almost amused, "Well, you still haven't answered the question, yet I believe in a great many things. Almost all of them solidly sanctioned by the Church, yes." Deciding to go first, he placed his ball on the indented tee and putted around the large metal triangle situated in the center of the first green. He had a nice follow through.

"But I'll tell you a little story," he continued as Arnie teed up, managing to still watch me closely and gauge my reactions, "What are you? Twenty-four, twenty-five?" It was close enough, I nodded, "Well, back in the 1970's, before your time it appears, there was a film called 'The Exorcist'."

"I've seen it. Scary stuff," I added.

"Well you may not remember, the movie, and the book for that matter, took the country by storm. Though not necessarily in a good way. Like UFO sightings, possessions, real and imagined seemed to come out of the woodwork. Quietly, plus under the firm denial by the Church, many of us investigated them. Not because we were going to perform an exorcism mind you, yet because a great number of us are mental health professionals, the 'possessed' insisted on seeing a priest. What you find out quickly in this business is that a great deal of the problems you see as a priest require God's help in tandem with psychiatric assistance." Smiling, he said the last part as if delivering a punch line of a joke.

Arnie, visibly agitated, putted directly into the center of the triangle, bouncing his ball nearly back to the starting point. I gave him a look indicating "too bad" placing my ball on the tee-pad to putt. I wondered silently how any women could perfect a swing with breasts that are this size. My swing, while not perfect, adequately compensated, and the ball managed to be close enough to the hole to probably make the par two.

Father McCormick approached his shot, putting the ball in as he spoke. It occurred to me watching his golf course polished clinical expertise that he was probably quite glad to have a chance to brush up on his short game. "I saw quite a few things. Most of them had mental illness. However, I did see a few things, which defied my understanding of how the mind works. To make a long story short, I've seen a lot and I don't dismiss anything. At the end of my life's journey, God will make it clear. Now tell me," he asked again, "Are you a spirit, which found its way into the wrong body?" I was slightly unnerved at how casually he approached this.

"And if you are not," added the bus driver, "why are you delving into such literature, and what was it I felt?"

I felt myself shudder, hoping neither man detected it. I covered it up by putting the ball into the hole as easily as Father McCormick had. I then smiled as winningly as I could, hoping the falseness did not leak onto my face, and answered flippantly, "The short answer is 'no'. The long answer would also be, 'no'," nevertheless to add something for them to chew on, lowering my voice, I said in a confessional tone, "but I have felt strange from time to time as if something were trying to reach me from ... from I don't know where. But I can promise you that I am, body and soul, who I am supposed to be."

I watched them to see how my attempt to cloud the facts sat with them. Arnie looked unimpressed, though Father McCormick seemed intrigued. "Was this feeling of trying to be reached," the priest questioned, "from your dreams?" Perhaps I had taken the right tack, I felt he wanted to believe me.

"Dreams?" I asked.

"Yes, Arnold's feeling about you came from his initial encounter but persisted through dreams he had. More so as time has gone on. You came to him and explained that your body had been hijacked," He called the bus driver 'Arnold' in the manner of an elder who refused to except the existence of nick names - not even ones that make it to official Metro Transit employee name tags. As if to emphasize his elder role, Father McCormick made a hand movement indicating that Arnie should play the hole before we backed up the course, "And once Arnold had come to me with his worries about you, I too began having similar dreams."

"Really, how odd," I said as my mind began chewing over what was being said. I did remember Arnie mentioning something about dreams when he first arrived at my apartment. Wasn't it a dream of having sex with Lucy Maya, and his inability to deal with it, which isolated me from my brother?

Could these be connected? Could they be connected to the fact that I occasionally woke from sleep inexplicably able to know something, or perform a task, that I couldn't the day before?

"My cycle," I said softly in revelation. I was trying to understand how I had awakened one morning knowing both when my period was about to start and how to deal with it so efficiently. Why should I be able to do and know that, when I had no concept of something like, say, putting makeup on?

"Excuse me?" Arnie asked. He seemed displeased that the father had let me in on the dreams.

"My dream cycle," I covered up then adding truthfully, "I can't seem to remember my dreams any more." Uncertain as to why I added the last bit of truth I clouded the issue with a bit of fiction, "I think something might be trying to take me over from my dreams. It feels like a deceiver with great ability." I wasn't sure where I was going with this, but it seemed to be the right direction.

Father McCormick nodded. I guessed despite his having seen the unexplainable, he wanted the status quo to exist after all. Still Arnie was clearly not game, "That is not what is happening. You are the usurper, the deceiver, not the other way around. I could feel that the wrong spirit is in your body. No amount of double talk changes that."

Arnie was not going to be easy to shake. I needed time. I needed to look more carefully into this dream business. I would for now, pretend to play by their rules. I turned to the more reasonable of the two, the clergyman. Dreams or no dreams, I suspected was here out of support and long friendship for Arnie, not quite fully committed to his cause, "Father. Listen. I know who I am, I am who I've always been. Therefore, I have treated Arnie's claims as, truthfully, a bit off. Nevertheless, I can't dismiss this whole cloth. Not with all three of us having dreams. If you could give me your card, I will give you a call after I look into some things. All of this, as you can imagine, has upset me. I really don't think I can continue to play golf. I'm sorry."

Father McCormick gave me his card and wished my "good luck" as he turned to nod assuringly at Arnie. Good. In the priest's mind at least, we were all on the same team. Arnie, who knew what he had felt, was not thrown off by my soft-shoe act. He scowled as I left and whispered intensely into Father McCormick's ear.

"Well, in fact I have. I keep having several different versions of a dream where you come to me and I give my daughter to you ... sexually ... in exchange for our ... being together. I know you're not up to anything. I thank you for helping with the fashion issues. I guess the whole breasts focus with my sixteen year old probably weirded me out more than I thought. I mean look...," Betty gestured to her chest. After taking me for a breast woman, she had begun wearing padded bras and falsies daily.

"I'm not even sure what this bra thing's about...." But we both knew what that was about. Betty shifted with embarrassment as she continued, "but, again, I know that you're only helping, I mean with Janet." Betty was uncomfortable, and a little unsure of herself, but she was a woman who never saw a truth too big to take head on.

"These dreams, are they vivid, or strange like normal dreams? Or do they seem to have an overriding clarity?" I asked, taking in another bite of salad.

Betty waited for her mouthful to finish before continuing to answer, "Pretty damn vivid. Crazy vivid actually. Why the sudden interest in dreams Lucy?" The kitchen flooded with the sound of the dishwasher changing cycles. I wondered silently what kind of person did their dishes before they finished eating.

"I've been having dreams myself. I'm trying to figure out if its something we're both eating. Maybe it's the pasta sauce." At this Betty simply smiled.

"Listen. When you've figured it out enough to tell me the truth, then I'll wait for it. But no one's buying the look of concern on your face that food causing us to dream vividly."

She scooted her chair closer, continuing to speak, "About those dreams I've been having. Have you thought about ... maybe....?" Leaning in closer, she rubbed one of her highly padded breasts against my arm.

For some reason, I could not reject her advances. They felt, as they were, the longing of a former lover who sees an opening to get back in. I could not re-open that wound, not now. Especially now that Alex was out of the picture, she was the only friend I had. We ended up a tangle, naked, sweaty mass in her bedroom, and I tried to please her the best I could. With patience and understanding, she guided to her ultimate pleasure even as I experienced mine for the first time.

Lying here with her body against mine, sated and relaxed, I felt as I hadn't in a long time. I wanted to believe that it was simply the female stereotype of the body and emotion being connected to whomever they have sex with, and mistaking it for love. However, despite my rationalizations, there had been a connection made, it did feel strong and emotional. Real. I wasn't sure what was happening, though after a while I decided not to fight it as I have everything else since becoming a woman. If I'm falling in love, so be it.

For most of working America, Monday's were tough. So much so, that many comic strip writers have made comfortable livings from noting just that. Except Monday's for a man trying to pretend to be someone else while in the body of a woman, coupled with the ever increasing wrath and vengeance of the boss slowly coming down, well ... no comic strip could quite describe how tough that was. Even by my newly harsh standards, I figured this day was going to be a day of rough sledding.

I was barely in my office, when my secretary Andrea came in shutting the door behind you. Her face was scrunched with anxiety that I well recognized: she was debating whether or not to deliver bad news.

"Go ahead," I told her in a near mind reading fashion, "I can see you're ready to tell me something I don't like. You're quitting? All the coffee machines on all the floors are broken? Earthquake?" My tone belied a levity I did not feel.

"It's you," she dipped her toe in the conversational waters, pulled out, and restarted, "I like you. You're a great boss and good for your team. I think it's best you know what's going on." She held her hands tightly clasped together expectantly like a schoolgirl who had forgotten her homework, now waiting to see what I was going to do next.

I sat on my desk, crossing my legs. I held up my hand, gesturing for her to let me take a crack at it, "Let's see, there are rumors flying around about me. Probably about how I got this job. Perhaps something about my memory."

She nodded her head. The anxiety of telling me the news was giving away to pure curiosity. In this business rumors were like the ever-present white noise of the office air conditioners, but rarely were they acknowledge and tackled head on.

However I had been thinking about how to tackle this since I noticed the sideways glances growing more frequent, which was saying something for the oft discussed girl-with-nomemory. I wasn't sure how I going to approach it, still before me was an audience who, at least now, was enough on my side to be predisposed to what I had to say.

"Let be more precise to see if what I have matches what is in the rumor mill," I took a deep breath, "I slept my way into this position. Most likely with a high, unnamed, mucky-muck. Further, there is some stuff about how I'm probably faking my way through this amnesia thing, because certain facts just don't add up. I remember everything about how to do the job for instance, but nothing about my past. This is further evidenced through Kirk's going through great trouble to get a therapist specializing memory retrieval covered by our health plan, which up until this point I have utterly refused to use. And why, would a woman who can't, say, even remember her mother's maiden name, avoid such treatment?" I looked at her waiting, "Any of this ring a bell?"

She was more than relieved to be in a position of talking about it without having to break it to me. The door was open, so she asked, "Unfortunately, all of it rings a bell." She replied, "Since we are being honest about it, why are you avoiding the past?"

Avoiding the past. Exactly, I thought - avoiding the past.

"I'll explain it to you, and the entire team for that matter. Call a meeting for four o'clock. Make sure the HR Director, Kirk, and.... who is it again that oversees Kirk accounts?"

"Strickland."

"Yes, see if Strickland can make it."

My entire team as well as the human resources director Melinda Jones, my boss Kirk Baron, and his boss, the intimidating Mr. Strickland, all sat around the conference room table. There was an air of expectancy. Calling a meeting of this kind was rare enough, but bringing in such inexplicable players as Jones or Strickland was unheard of.

When everyone settled, I acknowledged the obvious. "This is an unusual meeting at best, and before I am done, it is going to get more so," Everyone's eyes were upon me. The silence was so pervasive the cars could be heard on the street fourteen floors below. Even Strickland's perpetually bored too-busy-to-care visage showed sparks of interest.

"I like this agency and I like this job. That is why I am here, to shine a little light on some things which I feel are harming our team," Okay, I thought to myself, enough preamble, time to get on with it, "Generally, addressing rumors is not done in such a forum. However, these rumors will directly effect whether the agency will be looking for a new team leader on this account or not.

Many of you are beginning to believe, because of planted whispers, that I may not have actually lost my memory. That there is something else nefarious going on behind my actions. Perhaps, as the rumor mill is spewing, I slept with someone to get this job and the memory loss is just an elaborate subterfuge to obscure the truth or give me a clean start. All of these rumors seem backed up by the fact that I won't see some sort of hypno-therapist to pull my memories back. What kind of person doesn't want their memory back? Perhaps I'm afraid the therapist will call me out as a fraud."

I paused to steel my nerves driving on, "Well the truth is, I did sleep with someone to get this job. I don't remember this, honestly, but the person has made no bones about reminding me. Constantly. The truth is, I did lose my memory, not all of it, just personal recollections.

The brain is a mysterious organ. I think while some of it is physical, I think some of it is psychological. You see, while I may be good at my job, I am not ... correction ... was not a very good person. I think the reason I am avoiding regaining my memories through the therapist, is I am scared of what I will find our about myself. What other harm have I done? What other under handed methods have I used to get ahead?"

I let the rhetorical question sit for a moment, "I don't know if you can understand this, or put yourself in my shoes, but try. Imagine you have nothing, nothing but your job. No past, no friends, no memory. Now imagine that you find out that you are a murderer? Or a thief? Or have slept your way into a job? It is devastating. So you ask yourself, do I hide from it? No one will probably know in addition to I am not that person any more. Or do you face up to it in front of everyone and take whatever lumps you may be handed. Well, obviously I chose the latter."

All eyes were upon me, I could detect some sympathy emanating from the boardroom, although some were still in a state of disbelief. It was time to wrap up my point; "I am going to leave for the day. I am hoping you will make a decision. Whether you believe me, wanting to keep me on, or whether you think this is all a big rouse and I should be let go. I will respect any decision."

I began walking out to leave them with their ethical dilemma. But I couldn't help but get in one more thing, "Oh, and the person I slept with, at least according to his repeated attempts to bed me again, was Kirk Baron." There was an actual gasp as I closed the boardroom door.

As I spoke, I put my stocking feet up on my bedroom desk at home. I don't know when this habit started, perhaps it was the odd feeling having my them encased in nylon for hours at a time, and somewhere along the line, I became a toe wiggler. I watched this feminine trait in wonder, as if it were happening to someone else. I guess, that in a manner of speaking, it was.

It had been quite a few days since that I had spoken to Alex in some detail, I caught him up on all of the events that had passed. He seemed to approve of my handling of the events at work. He was more than a little surprised at my confession of sleeping with Betty, but mused, "I guess it would make sense that you would fall for a woman. Breasts notwithstanding, you are a guy after all. I wonder how that fits in to biological theories that women are born lesbian?"

He was most intrigued about my conversations with Father McCormick, Arnie Williamson and later that night, Betty. "Dreams, huh?" He asked, "You know that fucked up dream I had about ... Lucy ... was extremely vivid as well. One of the reasons it screwed with me is it wouldn't recede like most dreams always do. It was as palpable three days later as it was when I was having it."

"And that seems normal to you?" I asked.

"No, of course not. Still do I have to tell you, of all people, that normal has been put on hold for awhile? Yet, you are right, I do find the dream link to be odd even by the standards of this brave new world of body exchanging." He paused. I could hear the explosions of video games in the background. I assumed he had his son over.

"Maybe Lucy is trapped in a dreamworld of some kind. She could be trying to communicate with those around you."

"Yes, well, if that is the case, she is going about it poorly. Every person she comes into contact with feels a lot worse about me than before. Like you for instance. There's a good chance that your dreams weren't selfinspire. You actually don't harbor any latent physical feelings toward Lucy. You may have been manipulated for whatever reason she is manipulating others. And if that's the case ... well, it would be great to have you back around."

Whatever game his son was playing, it was loud. The game now sounded as though rockets were flying close to the phone. Even over this noise, I could almost hear Alex considering what I have said.

With out alerting me of his jump in thought he said as much to me as to himself, "The hypno-therapist..."

"What of him?"

"They can guide you through the subconscious and dreams can't they? Maybe you can go digging around and find out what Lucy is up to. It is probably no coincidence that you can't remember dreams, when everyone else can remember them all too well."

"Well that will depend, of course, if I keep my job and my health plan." I laughed despite the seriousness of that situation.

"Yep, it will. I know you are afraid of them finding out the truth, but even if a therapist does, will he actually believe what he uncovers? Will any one else? I think he may attribute it to at worse, your being completely nuts. The one thing you seem to have forgotten is patient-doctor confidentiality. Even, on the off chance he believes the impossible, he can't tell a soul.... excuse me Craig -" Alex yelled for his son to turn down the volume on the video game, "Listen. I'm going to go. I didn't bring him all the way over here so he can sit in front of the video screen. However, with therapist I say go for it. Find out what's going on in that dream land of yours. Take care."

I had an unexpected surprise entering my office on Tuesday. Standing around my desk were twelve women, nearly the entire female population of the floor, all who applauded upon my entrance. Melinda Jones, the director of human resources approached me and shook my hand.

"That was a brave thing you did last night. It took real courage to admit what you did."

"So I take it then Melinda, that I kept my job?" I asked tentatively.

"Your circumstances are extremely unusual you understand. Off the record," she smiled, "as if anything in front of thirteen women could be, but off the record. We are working out a form of written reprimand which takes into account your reform and admission, with that, for all practical purposes, it was another person who committed that grievous moral infraction. It's not that we want to, but something has to be noted."

"Of course. Thank you. I am grateful for your reasonable approach."

Melinda flashed a wicked, wry smile, "But even more important than all of that, is that the incident caused these women who have been hounded by Kirk Baron to step up. Before, each one sat silently knowing it would be a case of 'he said, she said' against a major player. After you pointed the finger, they realized they were not the only one. As they say, there's power in numbers."

"Kirk harassed all of these women? Not that I'm surprised, but..."

"These, and from what they are telling me, probably a few more."

"So, what happens to Kirk? Does he get fired?"

"Oh, I don't think so, as much as we would like that to happen. He's slick and never really goes so far over the line that we can just say 'gotcha' hard enough to dismiss him. Truthfully, he brings the agency major income, making it that much tougher. What it will do is put Mr. Baron on notice. I would think his snake belly days are over."

"Well fantastic," I said. Then taking the opportunity to create more false honesty and goodwill I added, "I think I'm ready to face up to what I've done. I'm going to go to the therapist after all."

The women all clapped again, some hugged me, and others wept. Despite myself, my male brain laughed silently as I looked around and thought, what a fantastic "Oprah moment" this would have made.

In the dreamscape it was winter. Temperatureless snow covered the ground, and the sky was a seamless gray. Where the dreamscape was once a fantastically large living room, able to house the large field mimicking the one in which I died in a car accident so many weeks ago, it was now no living room at all. It was now simply a field spanning as far as the eye could see. However, unlike my previous visits here, it was brighter and clearer. The edges of the dreamscape, usually obscured by blurring, were in sharp focus. The light, which always seemed diffuse and uncentered (emanating from every where at once) now came from a single orb perched in the sky.

I held up my hands against the horizon, I was shocked to find that they were large and slightly hairy - the hands of Craig Morton. It had been so many weeks since I seen them, I just studied them with curiosity. Somehow, looking at them, I knew I was more in control. To test my theory, I stuck one of my hands in the snow and thought silently, "snow is cold". I immediately yanked it back out as my hands were consumed by the feeling of frost. Testing it again, I jutted my hand back in telling my self "it has no temperature". This time nothing. Therefore, I was right, entering the dreamworld this way, I did have a little control.

Lucy Maya walked toward me in the distance, her footsteps sunk deeply in the ankle high snow, yet leaving no footprints behind her. "It's an odd world, this dreamscape," she began without feeling the need of greeting, "it is a mixture of life and death, dreams and reality, the past and the future. I can always feel what is happening in your life, through waves of feelings, the texture of the dreamscape, although I am not always sure of the specifics."

She sat down in front of me, situating herself in the snow. Even knowing everything here was symbolic or completely unreal. It was still a strange sight to see a woman in a short skirted business suit lying so comfortably in drift of snow.

Lucy examined me carefully. "You're different. Yet not just because you are in the form of Craig. You seem more ... more ... solid."

"I'm different because I am completely lucid for a change. Somewhere out there," I pointed toward the sky to indicate the outside of my subconscious state, "there's a woman, my hypno-therapist, guiding me through this dream state. Even as I speak to you now, I am narrating this aloud in her office." I laughed with very little humor, "She will be quite surprised to find that my head contains the cusp between ... how did you put it ... dreams, death, the past future, life and the forever after. Well, something like that."

It was Lucy's turn to laugh dryly. "Yes, something like that. So Craig Morton, it appears you will emerge from this hypnosis, for the first time remembering all that has happened here."

I pushed some snow into a pile to make an arm rest, leaning backward comfortably cutting straight to the chase, "Tell me something Lucy," I asked, "why is it that you were helping me at all? You talked me out of suicide when I was feeling overwhelmed by the mind transfer, telling me I needed to live your life to complete some yet unfulfilled purpose. You warned me of an upcoming danger in my life. You even helped me with things like telling me when I was to have my period to keep me from going into too much trauma." I moved around on the home made snow lounge and settled in more. Removed of its coldness, snow was actually quite comfortable.

"Yet," I continued, "yet you move about in other people's dreams specifically to do me harm. Why is that Lucy?"

She laughed bitterly, "Why indeed. Do the math you low wattage moron. You stole my life. I am stuck on the plane of the dead, wandering eternally with the souls of the misguided and the partially damned, while you whoop it up in my body. I can't begin to tell you what amounts of hate I harbor for you."

"I wouldn't call what I've been doing 'whooping it up'. But, why the deception then? Why pretend to be on my side at all?"

Again, the bitter laugh, "Your mind is tiny even by the standards of the living," she spat this out as if it were a curse, "I don't care about you, but I need for you to stay alive. What you don't understand is that there are infinite mysteries out here. Time out here is fluid not relevant, but to simplify it for you, in what you call a day, I learn four hundred lifetimes worth of knowledge having only scratched the surface. I need for you to stay alive because I may just learn the secret to regaining my life, my body back."

"But in the mean time you are going to torture me and my friends, just enough to pay me back for accidentally falling into your shell, but not enough to push me over the edge? That's not fair. In fact, it's insane."

"Fair? Oh how very amusing. I think you've walked in my shoes long enough to know that I never cared a thing about fair. Fair will not get you what you need. Fair will get a woman stepped on."

"Possibly, but the game is up. You've already noted that in this hypnotic guided state, I am going to remember this whole dream for once - not only this, but all the times I've been here. "

"The game is far from up. I am more powerful than you think. Though I will say, it's going to make it so much nicer for me not to have to pretend not to despise you any more."

I stood up, and despite myself, brushed off the snow, "I think we've said enough for now." For no particular reason, for direction was meaningless as time was here, I looked toward the sky to contact my link with the conscious world, "Dr. Felder! Dr. Felder! Take me out of here!"

My eyes opened to find myself sitting in Dr. Felder's wood paneled office. It felt as though I had been on the dreamscape for mere moments, but the clock on the wall had gone far over an hour and a half. My session was up over thirty minutes ago, yet Dr. Felder let me go on.

I quickly saw why. Dr. Felder could barely contain her shocked excitement. I felt her examining me visually, trying to see through me as she turned over in her mind what had transpired through my hypnotic induced narrative. I was quite certain, in her mind, that she was already writing her prize winning Psychiatric Journal article on the most unusual, vivid case of dream induced split personality ever seen.

"What do you think?" I asked.

She composed herself, re-assuming her professional manner, "It is going to take more than a single session for me to determine what is going on in your head, of course. That was like no other narrative I have ever heard, quite frankly - quite detailed, almost logically, almost real. In any case, it seemed more real than a dream to you. Now whether it is a manifestation of something that occurred during the coma. The head trauma of the accident or something else. It is impossible to say. But make no mistake, there is definitely a distinct and combative, separate, personality in your subconscious on some level."

"But, you would agree with me that while I may or may not have a personality disorder, I am definitely not being hounded in a supernatural manner?"

She stopped and looked at me carefully, "No," she said slowly, "I would not say that there is anything supernatural going on. Again, what is happening, however, will take some time to discern."

After witnessing what she had, my question had obviously alarmed her. I am quite certain she felt my sanity hung by a thread and wondered how I functioned at all.

"I ask this because there are some people, specifically a Catholic priest, that believes my loss of memory and some ... alterations in my personality since coming out of the coma. He believes it may be a sign of some sort of supernatural shenanigans," I pulled Father McCormick's card from my purse, "I know this is unusual, but if you could call this man now, and explain that this has everything to do with the mind, I would appreciate it. He won't believe it coming from me and will need to hear it from a professional who has seen me. Despite that, he is, by the way, a trained therapist as well, so feel free to be as technical and detailed as you want."

I confirmed my next appointment, and got up to leave. She resisted my request to make the call, it was not what therapists do she explained, yet I insisted at some length before she finally gave in. She would call the clergy, I assumed, this would get him off of my back. Whether or not the psychological explanation would appease Arnie Williamson remained to be seen. I only half cared about that right now, I had much larger problems to contend with: a woman on the dreamscape of the dead trying to destroy my life.

"Jesus Christ," Alex said. He settled on my couch as we both sipped the home made beers he had brought from home. It was good to finally see him after our weeks apart.

"Yes, Jesus Christ indeed. That was one hell of a session. I think my doctor crapped herself. I don't think she was sure what the hell was going on."

"Well, we know what is going on, which is good. Still it looks like there's a war on your hands with someone just on the other side of life. Not a battle I want to fight."

"However, you are fighting it. I would think, for the huge capacity for malice that Lucy holds that everyone in my life should prepare for that battle. She seems to have the ability to visit dreams at will."

"What about the girl and her mother? What are you going to do about them?"

"Well, I was considering telling them the truth. A version of the truth, in any case. I'm just not sure how to go about it and how much to let on. Unlike you, there are no secret memories to prove who I am."

"And even then, there were times I would slide backward and doubt you. Even with all the evidence laid out in front of me."

"Exactly," I said, "I am honestly stumped on this one. But with Lucy gearing up to do heaven knows what, I can't in good conscious leave them to be victims of her wrath."

"Don't take this the wrong way, because I love you bro' ... but, man it sucks to be you." He smiled as he said it meaning for it to lighten my load. I could see, he too, was glad to be back around, even if the situation could turn dire.

"Yes, yes it does." And despite myself, I smiled as well.

"But if you want my opinion, if you have to do it, I say go for the whole truth. The whole thing is so absolutely crazy that there are no degrees really. They're either going to be on board or out."

"You're probably right." I acknowledged.

"Betty," I explained, "I know I caught you off guard with my call, and am making a big to-do about my 'confession', but you'll understand soon enough why." I was sipping the second of Alex's home made beers that I had brought over. I was nervous. I called earlier to explain I had something big to tell my daughter and mother neighbors. I wanted to speak to Betty alone first. Janet joined Alex in my apartment, while both waited for me to call them over.

"When they come back, I'm about to tell you a tale," I continued, "so large and so fantastic that you will question my very sanity. Truthfully, I don't know how you or Janet are going to believe a word I will say. But ... I have to be truthful, because it's going to get complex very soon." I sighed and braced myself for the first of the two confessions of the night, "I have to be truthful with you especially, because I think I am falling for you Betty. I want to be with you, spend time with you, and be in love with you. I am not so sure you will want me after this."

Before she could say a word, I flipped open my cell phone calling Alex, bringing Janet over from my apartment. The four of us sat around uncomfortably in anticipation. I chose their place because I wanted to talk to the women in an environment in which they were comfortable. I also figured it was much easier psychologically for them to get up and leave my apartment, than it would be to ask me to leave theirs. I wanted them to hear this all the way out.

Once settled, I launched right into it. Raising an open palm in Alex's direction I said, "This ... despite everything you may have understood to the contrary ... this man is actually my brother."

Not waiting for a reaction, and with Alex adding detail and confirmation, I told the story of my existence. I started immediately before the accident, continuing through to this very moment. I explained everything slowly, carefully and loaded with detail. Betty and her daughter's moods shifted from irritation, to dismay, to anger, to genuine concern for my mental state as the tale unwound. I could see Betty was coming to the end of her patience. However, as I bore into the details of the last dreamscape they both became intrigued.

Having sat with her arms crossed the entire time, like a someone stuck in a film that they find offensive and can not wait to be over, Betty's demeanor changed quickly to that of puzzlement. Janet too, shifted excitedly in her chair.

"Wait a moment," Janet said, seeming to beat her mother to the punch, "describe that dream place again."

Now that I could remember all of my visits to the dreamscape, I laid out the terrain in exquisite detail, noting everything down to its unusual change of seasons.

"I've dreamed that." Janet said. "I mean, I've had dreams where you come to me and ... do things." She left it unsaid, but chagrin still colored her smile. "All of the dreams were super vivid - I can still remember most - and they took place on this dreamscape you talk about. Just like you described. Even the change of seasons thing. There's no way you could know that."

Not knowing how it worked, I had always assumed Lucy invaded their dreams. I had no idea everything took place on the same dreamscape.

Betty looked her daughter, her face clouding with fear and wonderment as she, recalling her own dreams began to allow herself to believe the impossible. Janet, with her much younger, more flexible mind and predisposition to want to believe, was already there.

"So what do we do Lucy, about the other Lucy I mean?" The teen asked with anxiety tinged excitement. Her eyes were wide as if trying to see through my shell to my essence.

"I'm not sure. Although she can make our dream life hell, I am assuming, I don't think Lucy can hurt us, at least not yet."

I looked to Betty on the couch. She said nothing. Her eyes were hollow with shock.

I looked at the calendar on the bedroom desk realizing that I neglected to tear it off for the new month. As I removed the page, I marveled at how quickly time marches, whether you want it to or not. It had been nearly four months since I had first come out of the coma in the body of Lucy, and about half that time since I had explained to Betty and Janet who I really was.

After what we all came to call "the Revelation". They both naturally treated me much differently. Janet, who was still, obsessed enough with her breasts. She was still padding them that she looked to all the world like a 1950's sweating bursting pin up girl. She also assumed more of a guiding role in my development. Understanding that all things female were actually new to me, not just lost in memory, she took great time in teaching me the ins and outs of becoming comfortable with my body. The admiration she once held for me as a woman, who managed to understand the ways of success and sexuality, was gone, however. We both knew I was no longer that person. Our friendship was in new formative territory.

Betty, after a good amount of time passed, was able to accept who I was, but still had serious reservations. We still had feelings for each other, but the nature of those feelings had changed, and we were very tentatively moving forward. We slept together regularly, more out of lust than emotions, but many of my habits and my much of male psychological framework were tough on her.

As a lesbian, it wasn't just the body of a woman Betty was attracted to. It was the essence of and personality women had as well. I, paradoxically was becoming far more female even as I became more male. Living in this body, playing the role of Lucy naturally made me far more feminine. With Janet and Betty knowing my secret, I was able to not pretend around them to such a great degree and exhibited more "Craig" traits than they had seen before.

Even with all of the new obstacles, no less formidable than the obstacles of old, the three of us, with Alex coming by often to make four, were a nice little hybrid family of sorts.

Work too, was going well. I was still plugging away on the small car account but was getting notice throughout the agency. After my "coming clean" meeting, my work was being watched very carefully. I was doing it as expertly as someone, who was once Craig Morton, one of the youngest brightest ad execs around. On top of this, two of the larger clients, Toyota and Ford were grumbling about the staleness of the agency's work. There was talk that I may be placed on one of those major accounts to take it in a new direction to keep the car manufacturers from pulling their accounts.

Kirk Baron was still a sleaze, but far less overtly. He had, as the saying goes, "brass balls", never really stopped his harassment once the original furor of my pointing the finger died down. He was subtle enough that a simple threat of exposure, or ignoring him completely, made him very manageable. I had known these Kirks all of my life, it would take a major burning for him to change his ways.

Best of all, the Lucy which occupied the dreamscape seems to have, for reasons I do not know, disappeared completely. Since the day I sat down in Janet and Betty's living room and confessed, she had not made a single peep in our dreams. Nor could I locate her during my hypnotic induced tips to the dreamscape. Perhaps she tired of it all, moving on.

Tonight I was relaxing at my dining room table, eating crackers and reading an advertising trade paper. Smiling. Smiling was something I did a lot more of these days. I was thinking about the pasta I smelled in the hallway coming from beneath Betty's door, knowing that as soon as Janet came to get me, I would soon be eating it. This may not have been the life I was handed, but I was learning to make the best of it.

There was the light rap of knuckles against my door. Dinner time, undoubtedly. I put on my slippers and grabbed my keys so I wouldn't lock myself out of the apartment.

"Let me guess, it's lasagna." I said as I swung the door open.

However, it was not the face of Janet, which greeted me, but the grim determined visage of Arnie Williamson. He was holding something. Looking down at his hand, I noticed the gun at the same moment it fired.

"Oh, you didn't think I was going to let you live in your little happy ever after land in my body did you?" It was Lucy. She stood before me on the plains of the dreamscape, coiled with energy and malice. Without needing to look, I could feel from the bulk of my body that, I had appeared on the dreamscape as Craig again.

I looked behind me seeing another Lucy, lying wounded, near dead, with a bullet hole cleanly in the chest. Blood gushed from the open wound, but the body still emanated the warmth of life. The same feeling I detected emanating from Lucy's body the first time I encountered it on the dreamscape during the visit which changed my life.

"No, I wasn't finished with you at all," Lucy continued hissing, "While you and your little friends thought that I had gone away, I had done nothing of the kind. I have been busy entertaining a certain bus driver on our lovely dreamscape. I was convincing him further that you are a black mark against the will of God and could no longer live. We came to, what you could call, an understanding."

Lucy leaned to one side so she could see her duplicate lying on the grass behind me. "Oh, but it appears it is even better than I thought. Step aside usurper. It's time for me to reclaim what is mine."

"What do you mean? I'm not doing anything until you tell me what you mean."

Her face contorted into a grimace like smile, "I took a gamble. I told him to shoot you in the chest opposite your heart. Maybe you would fall far enough from life for this to happen. It did, you are slipping away from life, your spirit has left my body. Yet as you can feel from the warmth coming from it, the body is not going to die after all. It is only waiting for a soul to reclaim it."

"Then why don't you just take it?" I asked. If it were this simple, she would have done it.

"Don't be so dense. You're dead now, think ... the answer is right there for you."

Lucy was right. I was able to access the knowledge of the after life as easily as pulling fruit from a tree. It seemed to hang in the air of the dreamscape.

I answered my own question, "It's because you can't just shove me aside to get to your old body. I am as powerful as you. More so in fact because of my proximity to life. It would take two or more of you to move me. In fact, I could destroy you completely if I wanted to."

The clouds of the dreamscape whizzed by crazily overhead like a sped up film of a weather system. The eternally large field was green and lush, full of life.

"Yes, yes you could. However, you won't. Because you already know while you could easily toss me aside, retaking my form, it would cost you. Dearly. The first time it was an accident, so you won't be punished, but this time - "

I understood with complete clarity where she was going with this. Again I finished for her, "I would be consciously committing a great crime against the balance of the Universe. I would be the dead possessing a live body."

The thought made me involuntarily think of Father McCormick, "and upon my death in the body of Lucy, I would be judged and subjected to eternal tortures."

"Keep in mind, in addition to this, I would torture you and your friends in every sleeping moment, day after day, year after year. It would only be a warm up for what would be in store for you later."

She was taking great joy in this, "Now reach out with your mind, feel how horrible those tortures would be, see how long eternity really is."

The malevolence glowed from her like a candle. My mind reached out, glimpsing the terror and pain for less than a second. A second that was nearly enough ripped my soul apart with suffering. Eternity like that would be impossible.

"Nevertheless, don't let me just threaten you. You pretend to be a moral man - do you really have a right to take away my life from me? The life that was given to me, not to you. What makes it any different than murder? You, in good conscience, cannot damn me to eternal wandering because you don't like a few choices I've made in my life. Those are and were my choices. I'm not a serial killer or someone who maims. No, I'm just someone you don't like. Now step aside!"

She was right. It wasn't my life to live. I had grown accustomed to being Lucy in some ways, fallen in love, taken on Janet as a part daughter, but that was never intended for me. None of it was. I was meant to die in a car accident months ago.

I stepped aside, while a great white tunnel formed in the sky, beckoning me to enter. Lucy, seeing it, cackled like a witch knowing she won.

"If you don't want to go into the light, stay in the dreamscape for awhile Craig. I've got big plans. I want you to feel it when I deflower that sexy sixteen-year-old with that strap-on I keep in my drawer. Maybe I'll do it in front of her mom. I am most certainly going to bed Alex. Perhaps I will take the strap-on to him as well."

I was flustered and angry, "I think you're going to find a different world waiting for you. I've made some changes."

"Nothing I can't fix."

Lucy strode confidently toward the shell of Lucy and reached down slowly, milking it out to torture me. I could feel the warmth of the body's life force begin to merge with her.

I couldn't stand it.

With a single swing of my arm I struck Lucy, driving her away from her former body. I grabbed her by her neck holding it firmly.

"I am going to rip your soul apart and scatter you about the afterlife. No more haunting! No more dreamscape! You will be finished."

"And you will be the worst kind of murderer in the Universe. One who destroys an innocent soul denying it it's guaranteed after life. Eternal tortured won't begin to describe what will happen to you."

She was smiling. She knew no one walked willingly into damnation having tasted its horror. Nevertheless, damned or not, I could not release something like her back into the world to harm my brother and those I have grown close to. I squeezed her windpipe tightly. She exploded into a flash of light! I could feel her soul wash through me as it dispersed into nothingness, much as Arnie Williamson felt it pass through him as he held her after the accident.

Realizing what I had done, I wept hot tears of shame and dread as I touched the shell of Lucy so it could return to life.

"God forgive me."

For the second time in my life, I emerged from the realm of the dead in a body, which was not mine. I was bandaged and hooked up to machines. I was not sure how much time had passed, but it had to have been a decent amount, because I had been allowed visitors. I looked around at the tear stained faces above me - Alex, Janet and Betty. I could see they were certain they had lost me.

They glanced down at me expectantly, quizzically, and it took me a moment to realize, even without being privy to the turbulent events of the dreamscape, they could not be sure who was going to come out of my unconscious state.

"Craig's still driving," I croaked out cryptically. "How long ...?"

"Fifteen hours. You lost a lot of blood, but you'll be fine," Betty informed me.

"Arnie?" I asked.

"Arrested." Alex said simply.

I fell back into unconsciousness.

I found him behind his extremely modest home. A visor protected his face from the sun as he used gloved hands to pull weeds in his back yard.

"I never expected to see you again. Especially after what happened. You're looking well, how's the arm?" His greeting was polite, but cool.

"It's pained, but it works. Gun shot wounds aren't exactly the best thing for a girl."

"No I guess they are not." He said this with sadness, almost resentment. I understandably, was not his favorite person. Nevertheless, I was betting on his infinite capacity for forgiveness. "So what can I do for you?" he asked.

"We started off on the wrong foot. I lied to you ... about everything. I've done something grievous. More grievous than you can imagine. You're the only one who may be able to help me," I looked him straight in the eye, "I need to know if I can save my soul ..."

Father McCormick's eyebrow raised with concerned interest.