This is a fan fiction, using Elrod's Bikini Beach universe.

English is not my native language - please do not beat me too badly over its quality. :)

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"Water pump, mister." The mechanic pulled from under the RV. "When did it started leaking?"

"Yesterday. Today increased."

"Seeping water just to refill to the bare minimum, to minimize the loss?" A blackened with grease finger knocked on the five-gallon plastic tank, tied over the engine and connected with a piece of garden hose to the cooler.

"Yes. Kept me going to here"

"Clever. Hey, Mike! Check for water pump for Winnebago LeSharo, price and availability... This baby's pretty old, mister. Spare parts are hard to get."

"Just like me."

The mechanic quickly glanced at the driver's wrinkled hands.

"You look in a good shape. Oughta have a lot ahead..."

A thin and short boy, probably about sixteen or seventeen, came from a side door and handled him a printout.

"Thanks, Mike... I'm afraid that won't be easy, mister. The work will be a Franklin, but the pump is four ones. And it comes from France, that will take about a week."

"No problem, have the money. Where I can park the car until then?"

"To the left of the building, it's our place."

"Okay. Add twenty to the bill for this."

"It's free--"

"I'll pay or won't use it."

"Hm... Thanks. Mike will give you a grid power cable. Is there anything else I can be of use with?"

"I'll look for some job while waiting. If you hear of something, please tell me..."

After parking the camper, the old man moved on the wide bed in the back and idly stared through the window. The last rays of the sunset were coloring everything in almost surreal way, ordinary and at the same time incredibly, painfully beautiful. He silently savored the view until the only thing that disturbed the darkness were the street lights.

Five hundred would be most of the money he had, and a job for a week could replace some of that. The camper was old and broke often, but with a bit of luck would last another couple of years. He probably wouldn't need it longer.

Suddenly a movement caught his eye. It was almost dark outside, but he noticed something moving in the bush behind the car, just a yard from the back window. He quietly reached for the steel rod next to the bed.

In a couple of seconds there was movement again, this time near the side window. The branches parted a little and through them peeked the face of a kid, probably no more than seven. The old man relaxed.

The child looked quickly around, then jumped out of the bush and ran to the trash containers across the street. Climbed into one of them, then to the other. Then ran back, holding a pizza box, apparently with some of the contents still in, and a half-eaten burger.

Few seconds later the old man noticed slight movement behind the camper again. He came to the back window and, hidden by the darkness inside the car, tried to distinguish something on the light of the waning moon. A couple of times he glimpsed between the leaves the kid, sitting on the ground and hungrily devouring the discarded food.

It was strange to see a homeless child right here. Not somewhere in Africa or even Mexico, but in a good American town. Was that a runaway? Abandoned by some poor family? Illegal immigrant?...

Whatever. The child protection folks would surely find the kid soon. He would be glad to help, but couldn't risk an involvement.

He took off his clothes, lay on the bed and quickly slipped into his usual troubled dreams.

* * *

The sun was showing its tip above the horizon when the old man came out of the camper and carefully locked it. Usually he would sit down for ten minutes and enjoy the morning, but the time was short - he had to find a job for this week.

Suddenly he felt someone watching him. Very carefully. From the direction of the bush.

That kid. Probably hungry again.

He thought for a couple of seconds, then unlocked the RV and entered it. In the fridge there were an almost full pack of milk, a half-eaten can of beef and a loaf of bread. He took these and, after a moment of thinking, added a plastic water bottle.

The back of the camper was just a foot from the bush. He put the food between them, so that the kid could get it without being seen. Locked the camper again and went for the front of the building. The mechanic was already there, talking to a client:

"It can't be mended, you need a new tire. See this bulge? The cord inside is ripped... Good morning, mister. Holly, do you have some job for a week at the water park? This gentleman could use one."

The green eyes of the girl glanced towards the old man.

"I think yes. The eastern side of the fence needs a re-paint. Usually Jenny would do that, but she is busy these days, and I overheard the Boss saying we might need to hire someone. Can you do it, sir?"

The eyes of the man narrowed:

"What is the name of your water park?"

"Bikini Beach. It is down there, near the sea..."

His eyes narrowed further.

"I'll consider it. Thank you."

* * *

He returned in the evening with a small bag. The food and the water he had left behind the RV had disappeared. He took out of the bag half a pizza and another water bottle, put them at the same place and entered the camper.

The only job he could find was mowing the lawn of some retired colonel. Twenty dollars. No one else appeared interested in hiring him, especially since he was frank about his past. For a briefest moment he had considered to not always start with that, but quickly pushed the thought down, as always. His principles were not to be changed for convenience.

There was probably no choice but to ask for that job at the park. Not that he believed that driver about it, but...

He didn't noticed when the sleep claimed him. Suddenly the camper disappeared and he was again in the cell, bent in two by the powerful arms of Foster. The huge skinhead was holding him helpless, while the other prisoners were taking their daily turn. He was screaming, but there was no one to hear him, to help him...

* * *

The ground around the camper was wet - it had rained during the night. The sun was just casting its first rays, and the greenery around filled the air with a mix of fresh smells. One of those morning when the beauty of the world almost makes you cry... But he had to hurry. The park could find another worker.

The food he had left behind the RV was gone again, and near its place there was a print of a small shoe in the wet dirt. He bent and looked at it, and a tiny sound startled him.

He knelt and glanced under the camper. The kid was crouched there, probably hidden from the rain, weeping in her sleep.

The man stood motionless for a couple of seconds. Then very silently got up, entered the RV and came out again, this time with a can of tuna, a piece of bread and a bottle of Coke, and put them in the usual place.

The park turned out to be about half an hour's walk away. And still closed - he was an hour early, judging by the business hours sign. Plenty of time to wait.

What if that drunk was speaking the truth, no matter how unbelievable it sounded? The old man had a sharp eye for tall tales, rumors and lies, even coming out of sober and smart people. What had surprised him then was that every word sounded completely sincere and truthful, and the man was too drunk to lie convincingly. His reasoning dismissed all of it, but his instincts were telling him to be wary of the park. And he had learned many times how important is to trust your instincts...

Suddenly a clear voice broke him out of his thoughts:

"Do you need something, sir?"

A brunette, probably just over twenty, was standing at the park door with keys in hand.

"I was told that you need someone to paint your fence."

She regarded him with some doubt.

"Do you have experience with painting?"

"Yes. My name is Mark Jameson."

"I am called Anya."

"And I'm a convicted rapist."

Her eyes appeared to unfocus for an instant. Then suddenly grew wide:

"You...!"

"If you are afraid of me, I'll go away."

She quickly shook her head.

"Then what?" A suspicion gripped him. If that was true…

"You lived through all that, the trial, the prison and ever since, and never told anyone that you didn’t--"

He quickly interrupted her:

"Did you read my mind?"

After an almost unnoticeable delay, she answered:

"I don't mean bad. Thus I could see that you aren't--"

"I told you what you need to know. My mind is private." He felt cold sweat running down his back.

"I did it for your own good--"

"What if I spy on your bedroom for your own good? Lest you hurt yourself? Minds are more private than bedrooms!" He was almost yelling.

"But--"

He stood up and headed for the street above the park. The eyes of Anya flashed with offense for a brief moment, then the fire in them suddenly died and she called after him:

"Mr Jameson, come back, please!... I will not do it anymore! Please!"

He turned back, steaming with anger:

"How can I trust you? You believe that peeping is your birthright!"

"I promise... I trust you. Please, have trust in me too."

He stood there for a moment or two, fighting the emotion. Finally snorted and calmed a bit. If she had learned something about him, hopefully she had learned also what a trust should mean. And her apology sounded sincere.

"If you would have me do it, I'll need a sandblaster to remove the old paint and the rust. Or an electric brush with a sleeve, this will decrease the noise and the dust. A sprayer for the primer and the paint, and a high ladder or lift..."

* * *

Despite his age the man worked with surprising speed and dexterity. Shortly after the park opened, he had brushed about twenty yards of the fence length. It turned out that the park had a big electric brush, and a mobile lift could be rented just a few blocks away. He strapped the brush to the top of the lift and easily scrubbed the fence by simply moving the lift.

It was crazy to believe that someone can read minds, but this girl had done exactly that. No one except him and Doug knew what had really happened, and Doug was probably half a continent away and silent like hell on it. And she appeared to not know the truth at the first moment. Crazy as it sounds, there was no other explanation... Let's see if the other crazy things that drunk had said could be true.

He raised the lift to the fence top and started spraying the primer on the shining metal, but his eyes drifted towards the entrance and the alley that lead from it to the lockers. Soon a slender young man emerged from the internal side of the entrance and quickly entered the smaller lockers. And several minutes later out of them came a very well-endowed blonde girl in a red bikini and with a baffled expression. Apart from her hair color, she could be a sister of the guy who came in.

The old man raised a brow. Men didn’t transform into women, did they? But on the other hand, mind reading had to be impossible too. And he was very much used to believe his own eyes, and them only.

Before he had to lower the lift and the fence hid from him the park interior, two more men had entered the lockers, and instead of them out came girls, very attractive and at the same time very similar in appearance to the men... The world definitely appeared to contain stranger things than he had seen before.

After about a hour and half all of the brushed surface was coated with primer. It would have to dry for at least a day before the paint could be put over it. Two days, if the weather is not good. He moved the lift and started brushing again. From the top he noticed the blonde girl, playing volleyball in a shallow pool with some other girls. The baffled look was replaced by childish happiness. He noticed that she doesn't ogle the other girls.

After he had almost finished with the next section of the fence, he heard below the voice of Anya:

"Mr. Jameson, would you like to eat?"

He nodded, came down and took the tray from her hands.

"Thank you."

Couple of seconds they just stood in an uneasy silence. She broke it first:

"Please accept my apology. I didn't meant anything bad, really. It's just that there is so much injustice in the world, locked in the people minds... I will not read yours without your permission anymore."

He sat down on the lift step and gestured towards the box from the brush:

"Sit down, please. I apologize too, for giving up to the emotion... But also have a request. Tell me about the park's magic."

"Um..."

"You read my mind and learned things about me. It's only fair to tell me some things."

Anya looked down and kept silent, but his expression didn't changed. For some time she was just sitting and glancing to him from time to time. Finally she spoke with a lot of effort:

"My grandmother is a magic user. She had suffered a lot from men. Bitter from it, she created this park as a refuge for women. A place where they could rest without being ogled and harassed... And since men would want to come too, she put a magic on the men lockers. The water from the taps there changes any man into a woman of the type he thinks about. My grandmother believed that this is both just and educating. You won’t believe the number of sex-crazed bimbos we had... How did you learned about this?"

"About an year ago I came across a driver whose car had broken in the middle of a Nevada route. Towed him to the nearest town. He treated me to a dinner, got drunk and told some things about his experience with the park... How long the changes last?"

"Men enter the park by obtaining guest passes with validity from a day to life. The change reverses about midnight after the pass expires... Are you satisfied?"

"Yes. Thank you for trusting me." He put the empty tray next to the crumpled packaging from the primer and climbed into the lift.

Anya silently sighed.

* * *

The old man stopped working only when it became too dark to see. The sunset had been clouded and it probably was going to rain again. He had better to hurry up to finish the repainting in time.

The first heavy drops hit the ground when he was about a hundred yards from his camper. When he reached it, the rain was already thick and very cold. A stormy night was coming.

While unlocking the door, he suddenly felt eyes upon himself again, from the direction of the bush. The kid was probably waiting for him to enter, in order to hide under the car again. As if its underside would be a decent shelter during a storm...

He opened wide the door of the camper, stood on the step, turned to the bush and said in a strong voice, to be beat the rising wind:

"Hey there. This night will be really bad. Come and shelter inside. Don't be afraid of me. I am the one who left food for you. Will not hurt you."

For about a minute the only thing that moved the green branches were the wind gusts, but he stood patiently under the cold rain and waited. Finally, something other than wind moved in them and a high voice asked:

"Are you with the police?"

"No. Can't stand them."

"Or the child protection services?"

"Can't stand them, too. I trust only myself."

After a few seconds the voice asked with some hesitation:

"Promise you won't hurt me? Or give me to them? And that you will let me go in the morning?"

"Promise."

"Umm... Will you keep your promise?"

"I always keep my promises. No matter what."

The leaves parted and the kid stepped out, not daring to come closer. He retreated inside the camper. The kid again hesitated for a moment, then followed. Probably a girl, though he was not sure, with the amount of dirt and mud on her clothes, hands and face, and the unisex haircut.

"My name is Mark Jameson."

"I... I am Amy."

"Nice to meet you... Your clothes appear wet. Take this, it will warm you... Are you hungry?"

She nodded and wrapped herself in the blanket he pulled from under one of the seats that served as his bed.

He lifted another seat and took from under it couple of cans. Opened them and passed one to the girl, together with a plastic spoon from a cupboard. Both ate silently, using the top of the fridge as a table, and drinking hot tea he made on the small propane burner.

When the food disappeared, the old man stood up:

"Let's make a bed for you."

He moved to the front of the RV, pulled the passenger seat as forward as possible and reclined its back until it was horizontal, at the same level as the seat behind it. The makeshift bed was too short for an adult, but would suffice for the kid. A thick wool blanket, folded in two, covered the seats as an improvised mattress. He thought for a moment, then handled to the girl one of his own blankets.

"Not much, but better than sleeping under the camper. Cover with this blanket. The one around you is wet from your clothes - put it over this, or else it will keep you cold. If you want, you might take off your clothes under the blankets and put them on top of all to dry... Have a good night."

He slipped in his bed without undressing and listened in the darkness her turning and seeking a comfortable position on the seat. Soon that stopped and the only thing heard were the gushes of the wind and the splatting of the rain outside.

When he was almost drifting into sleep, suddenly he heard in a moment of silence between the gushes of the storm the whisper of the girl:

"Thank you."

* * *

He had leaned uncomfortably against the cold wall of the sweatbox. Put there officially as a punishment for disrupting the order in the cell. Unofficially, to keep him from killing himself, or maybe some of the other prisoners. Death of a prisoner meant investigation or other disruption of the comfort of the wardens.

He closed his eyes and desperately held to the dream that was supporting him already two years. Of coming out of the prison after the end of the sentence. Being a free man again.

Never anymore trusting anyone in the world. Anyone. No friends anymore, ever. No girlfriends, wives, anyone. None close enough to him to betray his trust, ever. None to take advantage on him.

No employers, colleagues or employees. Ever. He could work for himself... No mortgages or loans too - he would not depend on anyone or anything, person, company or bank. No house or property to keep him tied to one place. Not even pets. Only freedom. Precious, dearest of all, never ending, never fully sating the soul.

There are so many beautiful things in the world that never betray you, nor deny your freedom. Sunsets and sunrises. Mountain streams and sea waves. Woods in spring green and autumn gold. Cleansing rains and sparkling dew on the grass. Silent and tender snows, softer and more beautiful than any woman. All that he was denied here, in this walled hell...

Suddenly the walls of the box disappeared, and he was again in the cell, all the others around him, looking at him eagerly. He screamed from horror, but someone already had grabbed him from behind, two others were twisting his arms and yet others were pulling his pants down. And none would hear him or help him, none would save him from what they ironically called "prison justice"...

"Wake up! Mister, wake up!"

The cell disappeared in an instant, and he was sitting in his bed, drenched in cold sweat.

"W-w-what? What's up?"

There was the silhouette of the girl, illuminated only by the dim light from the street lamps, coming through the front window.

"You were screaming in your sleep. And crying."

He took a deep breath.

"Just a bad dream. Sorry for waking you up."

She hesitated, then came a step closer:

"What did you dreamed?"

"Umm... I have been in a prison before, and dreamed some things I was through there."

For a moment he wondered to himself. Why he was telling this kid things he wouldn't even think of discussing with other people?

"Were those things bad? You were screaming for help. And begging someone to stop."

"Yes."

"Why did you were there?"

"They say I have done a very bad thing."

She sat on the bed, her profile visible in the street light, and regarded him incredulously.

"You don't look like someone who does very bad things. Did you really?"

"No, but they said I did and put me there."

"Police?"

"Police and court."

The girl thought for a while.

"I have bad dreams too."

"Do you want me to wake you up, if I hear you scream and cry in your sleep?", he asked.

"Yes! Please!"

"Okay, I will... Thanks for waking me up, too."

* * *

The first gray daylight was seeping through the old man's eyelids. The rest of the night had spared him the nightmares. He quietly sat on the bed and looked at the front seat. The girl was there, wrapped in the blankets, sleeping peacefully.

He lifted up the seat and carefully fished out two more cans. There were over a hundred of them, his chosen payment for fixing a small store's automatic door that had defied the local technicians. Past their best before, thus at half the price, but still safe to eat. The man put one in his pocket, quietly opened the other one and put it on the fridge top, together with his last bottle of Coke. For a moment considered the idea to wake up the girl, get her out of the camper and lock it, but then decided against that. There wasn't much to steal anyway, and the poor kid deserved some sleep in a sheltered space.

The rain had stopped. There were still puffy white clouds here and there on the sky, scattered like sheep on a deep blue meadow, but the day promised to be good. The man would have probably to wait a bit until the fence dries enough to brush well, but could work today, too. He opened the can and started eating while walking to the park.

He had to buy fresh milk. And some veggies. Canned meat only is not good for a child. He probably wouldn't host her for long, but still, children deserve better than eating from the trash cans.

Why he had told her about the prison? He couldn't imagine speaking about this with anyone. Why he had done it with the least appropriate person, a kid?

Could it be because she was avoiding authorities and trying to be independent, like him? Or because she appeared to not be in position to betray him in any way?...

When Anya arrived and brought out the brush, the primer and the lift keys, he had to wait about half an hour for the fence to dry well. After that, however, he worked with his usual speed. If he could keep that, the brushing and the primer would be ready about the middle of the next day. The paint would take another day and a half. He would finish just in time.

People were flowing to the park - pulling from the road, parking their cars, coming in. Most were women. A few were men. When the lift was high enough, he could see these entering the lockers and coming out as women. Some of the newly minted girls looked uncomfortable and embarrassed, others were more or less at ease. All were young and unbelievably attractive. Thinking of this, some of the women that were coming appeared to match the rule - maybe some of them were actually men, too. Ones who have bought a pass with validity for more than a day, probably.

At midday Anya arrived with some food. Looked appreciatively at his work, then asked:

"Why are you only brushing today? Because of the rain this night?"

"Yes. The fence must dry completely before laying the primer. Otherwise the metal will rust under it and it will peel together with the paint." He took the tray. "Thank you."

She sat near him and hesitated for a while, probably not daring to speak without checking his thoughts before that. Finally she said:

"You work very well. Could I hire you to paint the internal side of the fence? It is as bad as the outer side, if not even worse."

"Would that require me to... get a pass?"

"It will be for free--"

"No." There was a definite resolve in his voice.

She hesitated again.

"It is only temporary, just for the work time. No one will know about it except us two, or even believe it. And... It is not that bad, trust me."

He scrutinized her for a moment.

"Thank you for trying to help me. However, I will not use your magic."

"I promise that everything will be OK. And you will be younger and healthier during this time... Are you afraid of being a woman for several days?"

He shook his head.

"I have lived through worse than changing sex."

"Then why?"

"I noticed from up there that when men turn into women, they behave differently. So there must be some personality change, too. In a sense, this will not be me anymore - and the only thing what I truly have is me."

"I promise that you will change only in appearance."

"No. Thank you again for trying to help me, but I can't accept it."

He sighed again and started climbing the ladder. The fence was already dry. An hour of brushing, and he could start with the primer...
Suddenly he felt again being watched from below, and glanced down. Anya was standing there, looking at him, and her face was so worried that she appeared ten years older.

Could she had read his mind again, without his permission?... And if she did, was there anything he could do about that?... She appeared nice and helpful, but he had principles, forged in the hell. And didn't had an entire life before him, to make worth reconsidering them.

* * *

When he entered the camper, the girl was not there. Her makeshift bed was left in disarray, but there were no traces of fight or searching. The food and the Coke had disappeared from the fridge top. He put on it the groceries bag he was carrying and went back to the door.

Nothing moved in the bush. He waited for some time, and when was almost ready to give up and get inside, noticed a slight movement of the branches.

"If you want, be welcome again. There is some fresh food for a dinner. And if you decide to stay for the night, you will sleep better than outside."

The girl hesitated for several seconds, but then came out and followed him inside the camper. He put on the fridge a box of milk, two styrofoam cups with hot soup, some bread and a plastic bowl with green salad:

"Help yourself. If you eat all of your dinner, there will be ice cream after that."

When the dinner was over, she sat on her bed and regarded him with interest for some time.

"That ice cream was great."

"I liked it too... How old are you, if not a secret?"

"Eight. Or nine. Dunno exactly."

"And where do you live?"

"Nowhere."

"Um... Did you lived anywhere before that?"

"Yes. With Dad and Mom, in a camper like yours..." Her eyes suddenly filled up with tears, but she said nothing.

The old man waited for a while. Then silently asked:

"Did something bad happened to them?"

"They... they..." The girl suddenly burst into crying.

Without thinking, he moved next to her and hugged her without saying anything. Some time passed before she calmed down.

"They were drinking brandy this evening. And took some pills too. I went to sleep, and woke up choking with smoke. Everything around was burning and I could see nothing. Opened the back door, my bed is next to it, and crawled out. And puked several times. Then tried to come in and look for them... The entire car was burning, so hot that I couldn't come close. I ran to find water and something to carry it, and the car went behind me BOOOM and pieces of it flew everywhere and everything around burned..."

She started sobbing again.

"After the fire went out, I came and looked for them, and they were nowhere. I looked and looked and cried and called them, but they were gone..."

She had been lucky to not see them, the old man thought. Or maybe she did, but they had burned beyond recognition... Poor kid.

"I also lost my mother at three, and then my father at twelve. A grand-aunt raised me, but at nineteen lost her, too."

The sobbing slowly subsided. Then she looked at him with big eyes:

"Really?"

He nodded.

"Do you have other relatives? Grandparents, aunts, uncles?"

"Dunno... You will not give me to the police, do you?"

"No, I will not... Why you are so afraid of police?"

"Dad and Mom said that police are very bad people. They get you and put you into jail. Like they did with you. And that there are many others like them, child protection, orphanage people, mayors, sheriffs, clerics... They warned me to watch out and never be seen by them. If they catch me, to run away from them at any chance, as many times as it takes to hide from them so that they will not find me."

"Hm... What Dad and Mom did for living?"

"They took things that people don't need anymore and sold them. I helped them, too."

"What things? And where they took these from?"

"If people don't live in a house, they don't need it, it is abandoned. Anything inside it, too. So we were going somewhere, and during the night entered such houses and took the things from them. If the people have locked the house, Dad breaks a window and puts me through it, and I go and open the door from the inside. And help searching for the things in the house. Sometimes they even sent me to do everything alone, and I did it just great, most times--"

She suddenly broke at mid-word and looked at him with scared eyes.

"Why you are looking at me like this? Is it bad?"

"Ummm... "

If she had little contact with anyone but her parents, saying that they were thieves could ruin her trust in him. And she would run away, again hide from everyone, live under open sky and eat from the trash, regretting that she trusted someone... Could he do this to a child? In the name of the truth?

"Sometimes it is, but surely your Dad and Mom chose only houses people really didn't need anything from. I am sure that you never did something bad."

The girl said nothing, but he could feel her tension receding.

"Did you went to school?"

"No. Mom said once that it might be good to send me to a school, but Dad said that it is too risky, and they will learn about me. And it they learn about me, police and like will come for me."

"Can you read?"

"Yes! Mom taught me. And I taught myself to write."

"Really? You alone did it?"

"It is not hard. If you can read, you know how the letters look, just go and draw them."

"Can you write your name? All of it?"

The girl took the pen and the piece of paper he offered and carefully drew with capital, surprisingly even letters:

AMANDA ELIZABETH MARANGOZO

"When I tried it first, I didn't knew that 'Elizabeth" is written like this. Learned it after read it in a piece of newspaper. It was about some Elizabeth Taylor, she has been an actress while she was not gone. Like in a movie on TV. There was a photo too..."

Great. These burglars never registered their child anywhere, filled her head with garbage, denied her schooling and friends, just to be able to use her... And the kid is bright. Few people learn to write on their own initiative.

She had no chances for a future. No relatives to care for her. If she runs from the CPS a couple of times, her life in the orphanage system will not be pleasant at all. She would come out of it broken, in one way or another. He had seen what happens there with those who run at every opportunity...

Unless he tries to support her for some time. The medics had told him that he probably has an year, maybe two with some luck. For a child this is a very long time.

"... and I want to be like her. To play in movies. Do you think I can?"

He snapped back to the reality.

"Of course. I am sure that you will make a great actress."

"Mom said it too. Sometimes we pretended to be different people, dressed differently and with other names. Dad and Mom might be brother and sister, and I might be niece of one of them. Sometimes I even was a boy, and Mom said that she couldn't believe her eyes, so well I pretended to be one..." She yawned.

"Do you want to sleep?"

"M-hm..."

The sleep wouldn't come - her story had shaken him. He was desperately trying to tell himself that it is just the similarity between them, of their loneliness, that had stirred up his desire to help her. To trust her, contrary to all of his rules.

It wasn't fair of the life to show him in such an unceremonious way that he needs friendship and caring for someone just like everything else. Just like he did before the jail... But it was not honest to stand for his principles when it was at a child's expense, too.

Suddenly he noticed her silhouette on the background of the street lights, silently sitting up on her improvised bed and looking at him. He almost closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

For some time she did nothing. Then quietly rose up and sneaked to his bed. Carefully climbed over it, and cuddled next to him. And started crying, without any sound, so violently that the bed was shaking.

A lot of time passed before the crying subsided, little by little. She carefully slid from his bed and went to hers. Soon all he could hear was her even and peaceful breathing.

Only then he silently brushed off his own stinging tears.

* * *

"Mr Jameson, would you like to eat something?"

He looked down. It was the green-eyed girl he saw at the auto repairs who had brought him the food this time. Holly, if he recalled the name correctly.

"Just a moment, to lower the lift... Thanks."

He expected her to go away, but she didn't. After some hesitation she spoke:

"Anya asked me if I'd like to tell you something. About how the things actually are."

He regarded her over the tray.

"That you have been a man before, but are glad and happy this way?"

She almost jumped.

"Is is that obvious?!"

"Very few natural women look so beautiful, and they would not be water park workers. And I know what Anya wants to convince me to."

Holly sighed with some relief.

"Actually, I'm not really happy this way."

He raised a brow without saying anything.

"Couple of months ago I broke at the park with some friends to try the rides and badly damaged some. The Boss agreed to not press charges against me if I work off the damage. The park water had turned me into a girl, and the Boss left it this way, so I could work in the park and pay my debt... To your question, I really miss being a man and do not plan to remain this way. However, being a woman also has some advantages. It is not as macho, but is definitely an acceptable life."

"How do you remember yourself before that - as male or as female?"

"Both, and I have no problem distinguishing between them. My memories of growing up as a girl look as real as the real ones, but I know that they are just a result of the magic. Apart from having learned how women see and feel the things, I am on the inside the same man as before."

"If you were different, would you know it?"

"Hm... I don't know. But my personality fits really well with my boy memories. It is my girl memories who are less consistent with it. So, I must be still myself."

"Holly, could you please help Marta with the trails?" Anya had approached without them noticing her.

When the girl disappeared behind the park entrance, the old man wiped his mouth:

"Thank you again for the offer, but no."

"I didn't came to talk about the job."

"What then?"

She hesitated for a moment.

"Two weeks ago, a rich client paid for a life pass, despite that we warned him that he might reconsider, and that the sum will not be refundable... Today he told us that he has reconsidered."

"Didn't he wanted his money back?"

"Yes, but he was very clearly and explicitly warned before paying, so we refused. And the perspective to sue us for not turning him magically into a woman..."

"I see." The man chuckled.

"If the pass was already issued, he would have to became a woman despite not wanting it anymore, and we would be unable to change him back. Mind reading helps us prevent such casualties. Contrary to what you might think, we do not like to turn men into women... In short, we have a life pass that is paid for but not issued yet. And I think that you could make use of it. Have a clean slate, be healthy and young..."

The old man sat and looked at her for some time. Then quietly asked:

"If you don't like turning men into women, why are you seeking ways to put me through this?"

Anya sighed deeply.

"You are a good man--"

"No, I am not."

"Trust me to know this!"

He carefully put the empty tray down.

"The girls who called the police to say that they might have been raped while unconscious, they are good people. They protected themselves and the other girls around, right?... The police who came and arrested me, they are also good people - they protect the society against rapists. The same about the prosecutor who pressed charges against me, he does the same--"

"You didn't deserved to be punished, but Doug more than did!"

"Doug is a good man, too. No, listen to me first. He was protecting his family and friends from the stigma of being related to a rapist--"

"He put the roofie in the drinks of the girls without telling you! You had to stop him by force from raping them! And he made you promise that you will never tell anyone - a promise you still keep! Even after he broke his own promise and framed you!" The eyes of Anya blazed.

The old man waited a moment.

"If you could lay your hands on him, would you change him into a woman?"

"He would be a disgrace for every woman in existence! However, this is a good way to give him his own medicine. To see what is to be raped..."

"To be raped for just trying to do it. You probably consider yourself a good person?"

Anya gulped. Then slowly lowered her head. Nearly a minute passed before she spoke again:

"Why did you admitted being guilty?!"

"Because keeping my promises to him is not about what he is, but about what I am. I am a man who keeps his word, no matter what. Don't want to become one who doesn't. Like him... And I had no relatives and almost no friends who would suffer, while he had a lot of relatives and friends who would, most of them very decent people. So he did good by getting himself out at my expense."

The brunette shook her head in disagreement, but he continued:

"The jurors who declared me guilty, the judge who sentenced me, the wardens who kept me in the jail, the prisoners who were showing me every day what the rapists deserve, the rich father of one of the girls who paid them to do that - they are good people too. Every one of them... However, if they are good people, then I am not a good man. There is no way both them and me can be on the same side of the fence."

An understanding started to emerge in the eyes of Anya, but she only nodded silently.

"I held to the society criteria and rules, but they failed me. So I decided to have my own and keep to them only. To do what I deem good, right and just, regardless of anything. To trust only myself. To never depend on anyone or rely on anyone. To be always myself, no matter what... Making me young and free of criminal record will be a gift that I cannot accept. I can't repay for it, so it will take a part of my independence away."

"If you see someone so wronged by the life, would you just sit idle and leave them suffer? Especially if it is easy for you to help?"

"I probably wouldn't, but wouldn't force them to accept my help too. And... you didn't answered me why do you seek to turn me into a woman."

"Because this is the only way I can use to give you a fresh start. Have I been able to do it without a gender change, I would never offer you one, even if this way would be much harder for me!... Sometimes we can't help perfectly, but still have to do the best we can. If we want to be ourselves."

He sat for a while, unmoving like the wall behind him. Then slowly raised up and turned to the ladder:

"Now I see. Thank you for the explanation and for caring, but I can't accept. You did everything you could, do not burden yourself with a guilt you don't deserve."

* * *

The RV was looking like new on the inside. There was not a single speck of dust on any surface, nor a grain of dirt on the floor. The blankets were folded neatly on the beds. Amy was sitting on his bed and reading one of the books he kept in one of the cupboards.

"Hi! Do you like how I have cleaned up?"

"This can't be my camper! Have you secretly changed it for a new one?" He couldn't stop smiling. This was the best surprise he had had in many years. Or the dearest, at least. "Thank you, with all of my heart!"

"May I call you Uncle Mark?"

"Of course. I will be delighted to."

Is that what feels like having a child, he wondered. Being happy to care for her? And to trust her?

"Uncle Mark, why this captain Ahab hated so much Moby Dick?" She showed him the book.

He nearly jumped with surprise.

"Ummm... Because Moby Disk bited off his leg. Imagine someone leaving you without a leg--"

"Yes, but Moby Dick did that while Ahab was trying to kill him. And he didn't kill Ahab in return, only bit off his leg. Maybe Ahab was not right to hate him so much... Was there something else that hurt Ahab, so that he will hate Moby Dick for it too?"

Uh-oh. This comes from a child raised as a thief and kept away from school, friends and nearly any normal person. He looked at the page the book was opened at.

"Where you started to read the book from?"

"The beginning. Otherwise I can't understand the story."

"And you read almost three hundred pages today? Given that cleaning the camper probably took most of the time?"

"I read while cleaning too... Why you are looking at me so strangely? Is it bad to read much? Dad was always saying that it's no use, but the books are so interesting. I read every book we had, and sometimes took from the abandoned houses books secretly from Dad, and read them..."

"Um... No, of course it is not bad. Maybe Dad happened to have read some books that are of no use, and got his opinion from these. Most books are very useful... Do you like fried chicken and beans soup?"

"Never tried beans soup." She lifted the lid of one of the soup cups. "Is that it? Smells mmmmm!" Her eyes lit.

After the dinner the old man tried to teach the girl some basic math. To his surprise, she could count to one hundred, and to add and subtract within that range, entirely in her head. Writing the numbers to calculate was new to her.

"Uncle Mark, can one count to more than a hundred? Like one hundred and one, one hundred and two, and so on?"

"Of course. Ten hundreds make a thousand."

"And there are ten thousands, hundred thousands and thousand thousands? And a thousand thousands thousands? And more? If you can say it, then you can count to it?"

"Exactly."

"And there is no end? Because no matter how big a number can be, there can always be that number and one, that number and two...?"

Was this kid some genius? Or just an ordinary child with the ingenuity all of them have before we castrate it? Having no experience with children, he couldn't tell.

"You are a really smart young lady. Do you want to sleep now?"

"May I sleep in here tonight too?"

"Of course."

She hesitated before asking the next question:

"May I sleep next to you?"

He felt cold shiver going down his spine.

"Why?"

Her eyes started filling with tears, but her voice held:

"When I woke up in the burning car, I wanted to drag Dad and Mom out, but couldn't see them through the smoke. If they were close enough, I could just grab them... I don't want to lose you too. If your car starts burning, I want to be close and drag you out."

He had to turn aside to hide the tears and the swallowing.

"Yes, of course."

He arranged the bed for them to be covered with separate blankets and not touch each other. The girl, however, just nestled to his side and was asleep in an eyeblink.

He carefully wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, surprised by his own warmth, and smiled in the darkness. No principles, even forged in hell, were worth anything, if they left a child without the care she needed.

They both slept without nightmares.

* * *

"Thank you, Miss Anya." He sat on the step of the lift and took a potato with the fork.

"Just Anya, please." She sat on the box of the brush near him.

"Are you still thinking how to help me?"

"I'm trying to understand you... Secret for a secret? If you don't think mine is worth yours, just don't give it."

He thought for a moment, then nodded.

"The magic that does the transformation was made by my grandmother when the park was built, many years ago. Back then, she wouldn't think twice before changing a man into a woman against his will, if he did something bad. She had suffered too much from the hands of men... But with the time we learned to be responsible. We made mistakes, but also learned from them. Issuing passes of any duration costs absolutely nothing to us, we could do it by thousands. However, we will never issue one unless we are thoroughly convinced that this is the right thing to do."

"I see. The gift you offer me costs nothing to you, so I shouldn't feel indebted for it?"

Anya slightly blushed and said nothing.

"Thank you, but I won't... And now you will want in exchange to know why I refuse that? You have read in my mind that I'm not into the women-are-inferior mentality, so why?"

She sighed and nodded. He thought for a moment, then slowly rolled his sleeve up:

"See this scar here? Doesn't look good, right?... I have plenty of them, all over my body. Without them I would look much better. But this wouldn't be me... Same with my personality. If you saved me from the scars left by what I was through, I would not be the same person anymore. Maybe would be better, but wouldn't be myself."

"I promise that you will preserve every bit of your memories, and will know that they are the true ones. There will just be another set in addition, barely enough to give you the knowledge who you are in this new reality and how to deal with it."

He hesitated for a moment, thinking. For a moment shivered slightly, then shook his head.

"Knowing a life without my sentence, clean and nice, sheltered from what I have been through, might be enough to change me. Preferences, values, principles... Do you think that without my prison time I would be even remotely similar to what I am now?... If I have a set of memories without these, I might cease to be what I am now. Probably not right away, but with the time the change will come."

"Because you will become what you were before this! The real you!"

"The real me is what I am now. This is the only me that exists. I don't want to die."

Anya swallowed a couple of times, then very silently said:

"You know that you will die within an year or two. Your cancer is a slow, but progressing and inoperable type. As a woman you won't have a prostate, so you will never develop it. If you don't want to die, why?..."

"Better in an year or two than right now... Thank you really for caring about me, I value it more than I show. But my choice is this."

He stood up, took the can with the paint and climbed into the lift. Anya remained seating, deep in thought. When he reached the top and started painting, he noticed her entering the park, walking slowly, head down.

He sighed and turned again to the fence.

* * *

In the camper he was met with a new surprise. The laundry he had collected in a cupboard and planned to drive to a laundromat after the repairs waited for him on the bed, clean and well folded. The clothes of Amy were also clean, as well as her face and hair.

"Uncle Mark, why Moby Dick sank the entire ship, if Ahab had already drowned? Did he thought that the other people on the ship want to kill him, too? That all people are bad, and they all only want to kill you?"

"I don't know, sweetie. Maybe he did. Who can tell what a whale thinks?"

"Ummm... Once we stayed for a week deep in the woods, far from any road. I became friends with a squirrel. He was coming to us every morning, I was tossing him bread or sweets and he liked them very much. When we finally started moving out, I saw him following us through the trees, to say farewell to me. If I had been bad to him, he would hate me and wouldn't come..." She went silent for a while.

"And?"

"So, animals probably think like us. Tell good from bad and are good with the good people and bad with the bad ones. How else they could live together in the wood and not quarrel all the time? Or in the sea?.. So probably Moby Dick thinks like us, too... Uncle Mark, the book says that the rest of the people on the ship are not like Ahab. Starbuck even told him several times to abandon this pursuit. Was Moby Dick wrong? Thinking that all people are really bad?"

"Maybe yes, dear. If he had seen only Ahab, and just guessed about the other people on the ship, he would probably think that they all are like Ahab. That they all want only to kill him... Would you like a dinner? We have Chinese rice with chicken and orange juice. And how did you washed all this?"

"I wanted to wash my clothes, they were very dirty. Waited for lunch time, when the people who fix cars there stop working and gather inside to eat. Picked a moment no one was passing near and quickly searched the trash bins." She pointed to the containers across the street. "Gathered several packages from washing powder. Some had a little still in. Found the bucket under this seat here, filled it with water from the pump outside without being noticed. Got in the car and washed my clothes and myself. Got a shirt of yours to wear while my clothes dried over the bush there, it is hot today and they did in no time. Then washed the shirt and the other dirty clothes I found while searching for it." She proudly looked up at him and dug her fingers in the rice.

"Thank you for the help. Really."

"Wur nuffin." She swallowed. "You give me what to eat and where to live. It is honest that I do something for you. Dad was always saying that if I don't do my part of the work, there is no reason for me to be born at all."

"Why did you stayed in the woods where you met the squirrel?"

"Dunno. I heard Mom say that we had to wait for the hornet's nest to calm down, but I saw no hornet's nest around. The previous night we had been in an abandoned house and took many things from it, all three of us barely carried all to the car. Maybe the nest was there somewhere, in some of the rooms Mom or Dad checked."

"Um-hum... Maybe it was there. Hornets make nests anywhere they can find a quiet place, like a house where lives no one, and are very angered if someone disturbs them. That is why you should never go to abandoned house and take things from it, unless you are with Mom and Dad. Without them you could be stung so much that you would bloat and become more wide than tall." He illustrated the words with funny gestures to show that he is joking.

"Ouch!" She smiled too. "And this would probably ache a lot? The previous summer a bee stung me, and it ached a bit."

"Surely!... Do you want us to try writing after the dinner?"

"I can write!"

"You write in what is called printed letters. When people write by hand, they use handwritten letters, they look a bit different and are easier to write. Do you want me to show them to you?"

"Yes!..."

It took her about an hour to memorize how the handwritten letters are drawn, but the drawing itself wasn't so easy. They spent another two hours with little progress.

"These are harder to write, Uncle Mark! Why do people use them?"

"It takes some exercise to get used to them. In the beginning it is a bit hard, but if you keep trying, it becomes much easier. You will see... It's time now to sleep, sweetie."

She said nothing, but her face became worried. Few children like to go to bed, but the old man felt that there is something else.

"What's up?"

"Uncle Mark... I heard the people there talking about your car. One said that your pump comes tomorrow morning, and by the evening you will be ready to go."

He wanted to say something, anything, but his mouth was dry as dust and wouldn't open.

"Uncle Mark... would you... would you take me with you?"

She was trying to fight back the tears, but couldn't. They were streaming down her face. The old man quickly stepped forward and hugged her, both to calm her and to hide his own tears.

"I can be of use, Uncle Mark! I can clean and wash, and cook a little, and a lot of other things! I can pretend to be anyone, so well that nobody will know it's me! I know how to find in a house everything the people don't need, and where it can be sold! Please, please take me! You will never be sorry!"

"I will." His voice was rasping like a file on wood. "Don't cry, Amy. I will... And I am absolutely sure that I will never be sorry for this. I swear I will never be..."

Without saying a word, she hugged and squeezed him as strongly as she could. He could feel her sobbing.

"Don't cry. I will take you. I promise."

"And you will not give me to the police? Or the child protection and the others?"

"Never."

"Will you... will you really keep that promise? No matter what?"

"I always do. No matter what."

He was understanding now why even not very decent men are ready to die for their children. Since the prison he had always had freedom, but never happiness. For almost fifty years... Now he had it. For an year or two, as long as he lasts.

She would still need support and care after he died, but that could be arranged somehow. An year is a lot of time for a child. He would work to gradually change her opinion about the officials. Would try and seek for her relatives. In one way or another, he would find someone decent to pass her to.

Until then, she could live with him. The small RV wasn't much of a home, but she was used to living in one. He was skilled in a lot of things, and now would be even more motivated to work than before, so she would never starve or freeze. Maybe would even be able to save some money for her. After work and during the weekends they would study - she had to catch up with the kids her age, to start going to a school as soon as possible...

He suddenly noticed that she is asleep in his arms. Carefully carried her to the bed and covered her with the blanket. Then quietly crouched next to her and closed his eyes. Some deep and warm feeling was telling him that for as long as she is with him, the nightmares will be gone.

* * *

"Excellent job, Mr Jameson. Can't I convince you somehow to paint the inside too?... I know, just have to ask. Don't be angry at me, please."

"No problems. I'd like to help, but you know what I'm avoiding."

Anya looked at the freshly painted fence and sighed. She would prefer to have this talk in her office, but the old man refused to enter the park, even without being changed.

"Here are your money. Deservedly earned to the last penny."

He looked at her with a raised brow. Then took the envelope, opened it and started counting the money.

"Don't you trust me?"

"I don't." He finished counting and handled her back some of the bills. "And I'm right. How do you dare to cheat me? Given that it was so obvious that you might try?" He winked.

Despite her mood, she smiled too. Then her expression darkened again.

"Cheating you to get my other offer would be the ultimate abuse of magic. If it wasn't that, however, I might have tried. Letting such a nasty injustice to continue is almost as bad as abusing magical power."

"I cannot accept it, but will always be grateful for the offer."

Anya looked like she wanted to say something, but just swallowed instead.

"Thank you for the generous payment. And I have to go now. My camper should already be OK." He glanced to the sky, red-lit by the sunset. "I plan to drive out this night."

"You will have to come with me before that", suddenly another voice said behind him.

Both turned out, surprised. A policewoman was standing there, scrutinizing him head to toe.

"Is there a problem, officer?" The man calmly returned the look. She was in her thirties, not very tall, but with athletic appearance and posture.

"Are you Mark Samuel Jameson, sixty-seven, born in Orlando, Kentucky?"

"Yes." He produced his driving license.

"Please come with me. I have questions to you."

"Excuse me, may we talk for a minute?", interjected Anya.

"You are welcome, Miss Anya. Do you have any complains about this man? Or any problems with him?"

"None at all. He did perfect work for our park, and behaved flawlessly in a sensitive environment."

"I’m glad to hear that." The policewoman appeared to calm down a bit.

"Why are you going to question him? Is he involved in something illegal?"

"Sorry, but that is between him and me. Now, Mr Jameson, let's go." She gestured to the police car at the other end of the parking.

Anya looked after them without saying a word and sighed heavily couple of times. Then her fingers and lips moved slightly, and her eyes appeared to lose focus.

* * *

When the park hid from view, the policewoman stopped the car and turned to the old man.

"I have a signal that you hide a girl in your camper. Is that true?"

"No. A girl spent the last few days mostly in my camper, but I don't hide her."

"The neighbor who spotted her said that she tried to not be noticed."

"This is not the same as me trying to hide her."

"Yes, but given your record, I have to check the things. Tell me how she got with you."

"She is a child of a couple that apparently died about two weeks ago, when their camper burned somewhere nearby. They had taught her to mistrust officials. While waiting for the RV to be fixed, I spotted her searching for food the trash bins. Left food for her several times. During the stormy night four days ago invited her to shelter inside. And so it remained since then."

She looked at him suspiciously, then called the PD by the radio. After about fifteen minutes of quick exchange she leaned back.

"Steven and Julie Marangozo. Also known under several other names. Both have convictions for robbery and thieving. For the last ten years have been suspected many times in burglarizing abandoned houses, but were never caught with evidence. During the last year at least six burglaries happened while they were in the same town, but both always had a perfect alibi. Now I guess how they did it... Died thirteen days ago when their camper burned to the bone. The forensic team found that they had a canister with gas in the cab, and both have been smokers, so probably a cigarette caused the fire. It is a miracle that the kid survived. And it is even more strange that we don't have any info about her existence."

"They avoided registering her anywhere and taught her to hide from everyone... Does she have any relatives? Given her mistrust, trying to give her to CPS might not be the best idea."

"We have no mention of relatives in their files. In fact, we are not even sure about their real names."

He hesitated for a moment.

"If this is so, I might consider the idea to take her and care for her. Maybe even to adopt her. She will live better with me than on the street... or even with her parents."

The policewoman shook her head with a sad smile.

"No court would permit it, Mr Jameson. No offense meant, but what you did is a horrible stain, even after almost fifty years of clean record... I have also to investigate the possibility that you are abusing her. Nothing personal. A written police report that this suspicion was checked and proved wrong will be in your interest."

"Okay, but please have in mind that the child is negatively inclined towards officials."

She eyed him with a bit of suspicion and hit the gas. In a couple of minutes they stopped near the Winnebago.

"Now stay here, keep silent and don't try anything without my permission", ordered the policewoman. "I'm going to talk with the kid... Hello! Is there anybody in there?"

There was no answer from the RV. The officer knocked on the door. No answer again. She opened slowly the door and looked inside.

"Mr Jameson, do you know where is the girl?"

"While you were knocking on the door, she slipped through the back window and into the bush. I would have told you if I hadn't been ordered to keep silent."

She bit her lip, but there was nothing to say. The man didn't appeared to mock her.

"Could you ask her to come, Mr Jameson? I will appreciate if you help me."

"Will try my best. However, please be very patient and diplomatic. Let's not ruin the little trust she has built... Amy! Amy, if you hear me, please come! I promise that nothing bad will happen to you!"

Half a minute they waited without success. He tried again:

"Amy, please come! I promise that nothing bad will happen to you! Promise!"

"She will take me into prison!", a high voice replied from somewhere inside the green darkness.

The woman tried to say something, but the man put a hand on her shoulder.

"She will not. I promise that it will not happen. Please come!"

After some time the branches parted and a scared face peeped between them.

"You there, police, don't come closer!"

"I won't", replied the officer soothingly. "You are Amy? My name is Susan. May I just ask you some things?"

"Ask and go!"

"Is Mr Jameson doing with you... some things? Seeing you without your clothes, or touching you?"

"No!"

"Has he offered you to do something for him?"

"No. I cleaned the car on the inside, but because I wanted. He didn't asked me to."

"How do you both undress before sleep?"

"We sleep with our clothes on."

"Do you sleep in the same bed? Or does he touch you when you go to sleep?" She glanced at the man to be sure that he is not giving some signs, and missed the almost unnoticeable delay of the girl's answer.

"No. His bed is in the back of the car, and mine is in the front. He never touched me."

The officer went inside the camper and looked around. Happily, they hadn't dismantled the makeshift bed on the passenger seat. Then came out and leaned on the police car.

"Did he taught you to be afraid of the police?"

"Dad and Mom did. You are bad!"

The woman thought for a moment.

"Amy, would you want to come with me? You will live in a real home, together with many children--"

"Is that home the orphanage?"

"Yes, but--"

"I'm never going there! No matter what! I will die but will not go there!"

"But--"

"You are lying! You are trying to take me and put me in there!"

"But an orphanage is not a prison--"

"Go away! I will never go there! Never! You are a liar!" The leaves moved quickly and the child was gone.

After half a second of hesitation, the officer suddenly sprinted and dove into the bush. The old man jumped out of the police car and after her, but his foot slipped and he fell heavily. Sharp pain shot through his head and an explosion of sparks drowned everything.

Several seconds passed before he could try to stand up. Had to find and somehow stop the officer. He had promised. However, his eyes still couldn't adjust and he lost balance several times. Even when he finally managed to stand up, he fell again when he tried to move.

Suddenly from the bush came Amy's shriek, and an instant later the scream of the policewoman. He tried to focus and determine the exact direction of the sounds, but they stopped immediately. After half a minute the bush parted and the officer come out of it alone, walking in small steps and with hands pressed to her face. When she came closer, he noticed streaks of blood between her fingers.

"Are you okay?"

"Just a scratch."

"Need help? I've band-aid in the car."

"Me too", she replied bitterly. "What a wildcat! Almost gouged my eyes out. And kicked me between the legs like a horse. If I was a man, I would lie there all night..."

The old man's vision and balance had returned enough to allow moving carefully. She had several deep scratches over the face. One had missed the left eye by miracle. The man helped her tend them, almost falling twice. The scratches obviously hurt, but she managed a smile:

"Now I believe that you haven't tried anything with her. The evidence would be all over your face... What's up with your head?!"

"Slipped and fell while trying to stop you. Sorry, but I promised her."

"I see. Don't worry, no grudge there. I will take any doubts off you in my report... Are you OK?"

"Yes. Was a bit dizzy, but am quickly recovering."

She regarded him with a sudden smile.

"You might really be a not bad choice for her, despite being a man. However, it is not possible. I have to notify CPS to come for her tomorrow."

"Not possible because of my past, or of being a man?" He suddenly felt a rush of anger.

"Both, to a degree. Girls need a woman to raise them, to teach them a lot of things men don't know."

She had some point, but he was too angry to give up easily.

"Boys need a man to raise them too, but I haven't heard objections about women raising them."

"And... People believe that old lonely men sometimes step over the limits of the acceptable while caring for girls."

"Very few old men do it."

"When it comes to kids, one can never be too cautious."

"Some women do it, too. Should we leave the kids without any adult around?"

Her eyes were sad.

"Mr Jameson, I do not think that your gender is bad. It's just that our society hasn't won over all prejudices yet... Do you know how hard was for me to become a police officer on active duty, just because I'm a woman? I don't want to be a bigot to anyone. Have been on the receiving end of this for quite a while. Sometimes still am, after fifteen years of work."

"You don't want to be prejudiced?" There was bitterness in his voice.

"I believe that most differences - skin color, origin, wealth etc - are no more than skin deep. Gender is not much deeper, too. Women or men, we are all humans, much more alike than we think. If only everyone could understand that... Maybe I'm not perfect too, but at least am trying."

He silently brought some water from the camper and helped her wash her hands. Then asked:

"Why did you joined the police?"

She just sat there for a minute. Then met his eyes:

"I was raped at twelve. By someone who had been in prison for rape until less than a month ago..."

"And when you heard that a girl is hiding with a convicted rapist, you decided that he must be hiding and abusing her..." He felt the anger seeping away.

She looked at her shoes.

"Everyone has their scars, Mr Jameson... Please forgive me for misjudging you."

"For nothing. I have mine too, and apologize for them."

"Don't try to drive away with her. The signal from the neighbor is registered. If I don't send it tomorrow to CPS, my colleagues will have to. And if the CPS find her and you missing, they will send every cop in the state after you... Sometimes one can do only so much. You did all you could, and did it well. No one has the right to blame you, even you."

He squeezed her hand in silence.

* * *

He looked at the stoplights of the police car until they hid behind a turn. Then slowly came inside the camper and sat down on his bed.

Amy would not return anymore, he was sure. He had betrayed her trust. Hadn't kept his promise. The small happiness that had came near the end of his life was gone. He had deserved it.

Tomorrow the officials would come for her. Maybe with the help of the police, with tracking dogs and drones. Amy would hide and give a fight, but in vain. They will catch her and put her into an orphanage. She will continue to fight there everyone and to use every opportunity to run. Would earn the hate and mock of the other children and the distrust of the personnel. Would grow up, hating everyone around and being hated in return. Her life would be ruined. And it was all his fault...

He slowly rose up, opened the door of the RV and sat on its step. Still had to try, no matter what. Maybe the kid was also hurt and would come for help. Or for food, if she was hungry...

Food! And water...

He quickly entered the RV and came out fifteen minutes later with a stuffed backpack. It would be too big for Amy, even after he had tightened the straps, but with it she would probably be able to carry about twenty pounds for miles. He put it between the camper and the bushes. Took out of his pocket a piece of paper, unfolded it, put it on the backpack and pressed it with his flashlight. Then slowly returned to the RV and sat again in the bed.

The minutes slowly dragged, one after another. No sound around. No movement in the windows... Hopefully she would come and get the backpack and the instructions before the first morning light. If that happened, he would quickly drive away, pretending that she is with him, while she is running the other way. He would get as far as possible, taking care to be noticed, creating the impression that a child travels with him. Then would hide the camper somewhere, to give the police as hard time to find him as possible. And when they do, would lie to them that she is somewhere around, to buy her another day or two...

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. He jumped from the bed, then forced himself to slow. Carefully went and opened the door.

Amy was there, in the light from the opening, dragging the backpack by the straps with one hand, the paper with the instructions in the other.

"Uncle Mark... may I come in?"

"Of course! Please, do come!" He quickly helped her lift the backpack in and closed the door behind them.

"Uncle Mark, did she hit you on the head? There is a bump there. And I noticed from the bush that you almost fell several times while helping her."

"I tripped, fell and hit my head while trying to stop her. Already feel much better. Are you okay?"

"Yes. She tried to catch me, but couldn't."

"You fought really hard. I can't believe that you escaped."

"Dad taught me. He said, if police is catching you, scratch out their eyes and kick them between the legs, as hard as you can." There was pride in her voice.

"Amy... Please forgive me. I promised that will stop her, but didn't. Please, forgive me."

She came to him and carefully touched the bump.

"Half an year ago, I went one night alone to an abandoned house. Dad thought it is abandoned, but it turned out that some man still lived in there. I had collected a lot of things and could barely carry them, and then he suddenly came in the room with a baseball bat. I dropped all and jumped out of the window and ran. Dad was angry because I returned with nothing, but Mom said it is okay, that sometimes you can't do everything, when they are after you..." Her voice trailed off.

"And what?"

"And Dad agreed. And told me that I should have to watch for myself, because if the police catch me, he won't be going against them to save me... You tried to go against the police to save me from the orphanage. Did more than Dad would. It is not your fault that you tripped."

The old man tried to control himself and speak carefully:

"You know, Amy... I have been in an orphanage when I was a child. For almost two years."

"Really? Who put you there?"

"The child protection people. However--"

"So you know how bad they are!"

"They didn't mean bad. After my father died, I had nowhere to live. So they put me to live there, until they discovered that I have a grand-aunt I didn't knew about and convinced her to take me."

"Was it bad there?"

"Well, it wasn't as good as living with parents or relatives, but was not really bad."

"Dad was often saying that the orphanage is the worst place ever. That you feel there miserable all the time, because you can't do anything good. That if he hadn't grown up in an orphanage, he would be rich. That he would have a good job, a beautiful home and that I would have brothers and sisters. And that if I get into an orphanage, I will be miserable and will never have a good life..." She thought for a moment. "Did you had a good job since you were there? Or a beautiful home, or children?"

He sighed.

"No, but--"

"You see? That is why I will never go there. You just haven't thought about how bad it is... If they catch me, I will run away. If they catch me again, I will run again, no matter what. I will rather die than live there." Her voice was full with resolve, untypical for a kid her age.

What a mountain of delusions, he thought. How could she believe all these lies so deeply?... And wasn't exactly that the reason she was so dear to him? That she was like him? Was he also believing in delusions?... However, there was something far more important in this moment.

"Okay. Did you read the instructions?" The earlier they started, the more time for her.

"Where to run and how to hide? Not gonna do that. I'm not leaving you."

"You have to--"

"If you try to lead the police away from me, they may catch you and put you in an orphanage instead. Or in a prison. I will try to save you, but am a child and maybe will not be able to. So instead I will not allow you to do that. Just like I won't leave you to burn in a car."

"But--"

"I will forgive you if you promise to always be with me. Always."

"Amy..." It was hard to speak. "You know... Maybe some day I will go away, like Mom and Dad. And Elizabeth Taylor. I am old, and old people go away when their time comes..."

She stood up and looked straight into his eyes. Hers were filled with tears.

"No, you will not. Your promises do hold no matter what. Even when you fell and struck your head, still nothing bad happened to me, I fought off the police! Would I be able to, if you hadn’t promised that she will not take me?… If you promise to stay, you will. They won't be able to take me anywhere, because you will be with me. If you promise to not go away, you will not even if your time comes... Do you promise?"

His throat was so tight that he couldn't say anything. She was ready to believe the impossible, so big was her need to not be alone, to keep the only person she trusted. And he understood her completely... Could it be that he felt the same?

"Do you promise to not leave me? To not give me to any bad people? To police, to orphanage, to prison, to anyone? To not go away, to stay no matter what? Do you promise?!..."

"I do", he managed finally to speak. "I promise. No matter what."

* * *

The room was not very big, but somehow created the impression of being spacey. The only person in it was a woman about his age, sitting behind a wooden desk.

"Excuse me, madam, I was told to seek Miss Anya here. My name is Mark Jameson--"

"And you are a wizard at painting fences", she smiled. "Sit down, please. Anya has a free day. I am her grandmother and the owner of the park. Can I help you?"

He hesitated for a moment.

"Several days ago, she offered to me a life pass for the park that was paid for, but not used by another client. I refused then, but reconsidered later. May I use the opportunity?"

"Yes. However, now it will have a price. Nothing personal, just business." She smiled again.

"How much?"

"Painting the inside of the eastern fence."

Having expected a sum far outside of his abilities, he relaxed. However...

"I might be unable to. Have to leave the town as soon as possible."

"No, you don't have to."

"But--"

"After the pass comes into effect, the reality will be changed. Susan will remember you as a female with a clean record, and will see you as a perfect choice for adopting Amy. She will reflect this in her report and in her call to CPS. You will still have to talk with them, but they will easily agree to trust the kid to you."

"How do you--"

"Anya promised to not read your mind, but I didn't. And it helped me a lot to prevent undesired developments."

"Have you guided me into accepting the pass?!"

"No. The only intervention of ours was that Anya tripped you when you tried to stop the policewoman. Otherwise you would be unable to come here now, being at this moment transported to the prison for obstructing the law enforcement. And Amy would die in a car accident a month later, while running away from the orphanage. Yes, we read not only minds, but also life lines. And use this to good means."

He waited for several seconds, until being able to control himself. An emotional move now could jeopardize the life of the child.

"Thank you. I will do the work, if I am still myself and remember my promises after the change."

"If you wouldn't, I wouldn't be talking deals now. You can keep even the bump, if you want..." She smiled again, and he found the tension receding somewhat. "I promise that you will keep your memory and your personality will remain the same. It comes from your fate, which appears harder to change than your gender and age."

"What do you mean?"

"In the reality that will come, Doug wouldn't have tried to drug and rape girls in the college, because he would have no suitable person to frame. However, he would dream of doing it and would become more and more obsessed with it. About a decade ago, he would meet a nineteen years old orphan with incredibly strong dedication to her word. He would pretend to be her friend, then would blackmail her with threats to hurt her friends and would try to rape her. However, she would manage to call the police while he uses the restroom, and to leave the phone open, for them to hear him. He would be caught red-handed, would try to deny and lie about everything, and would get two decades in prison. And she would swear to never anymore have in her life anyone she can endanger or be blackmailed with. To never have feelings for anyone, only freedom..."

Several seconds passed before the old man could assimilate everything.

"You mean that Doug planned to frame me from the beginning?"

She nodded.

"There are people who prey on the good in the others around. And even without them, those who never cut the corners don't have an easy life. However, many more people cherish the good and the honesty in the others and help them."

He hesitated for a moment.

"Do... do some of those people invent stories when they see need for it? For example, about some rich client who ordered but didn't used a park pass?"

She only smiled. Then quietly asked:

"Do you want Amy to remember you as a man? This will make the things easier for you."

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke with a visible effort:

"But probably more confusing for her. Don't worry, I can manage."

She smiled again. Then leaned forward:

"Tell Amy that handwritten letters might be hard to write, but if she persists, they will become easier. And that Ahab was tortured by something much worse than a lost leg - by the inability to forgive and to move over. And the fear and hatred that comes from it."

He thought for a minute. Then raised from the chair:

"Thank you... Thank you for doing this for me and her."

* * *

After coming out of the building, the old man leaned against its wall and looked around.

There wasn't much to see. The ticket booth and the wall of the lockers obscured the view to the park and the fence was hiding the outside world. Just several trees that grew around the sidewalk and the blue sky overhead. However, that suddenly appeared to him more beautiful than anything he had ever enjoyed. He felt like he was seeing trees and sky for first time.

Or for the last time, he thought.

Suddenly he understood that he is afraid, more than ever in his life. More than when he was standing before the court, more than while he was in the prison, more than ever since. He knew the fear of death from cancer, but it was somehow still abstract, still far away. The other fear was stronger, and was here and now.

The fear of what all this could entail to his personality. Being smaller and weaker could mean having to be defended by the others, to depend on them - he couldn't accept that. Making sex as a woman was something he couldn't even imagine doing after what he lived through in the prison. Getting pregnant would mean a lifelong care for a child, sacrificing his freedom completely...

And most of all, he was afraid of ceasing to be a man on the inside. Men were expected to keep a promise. Women were easily excused for violating one. Wouldn't turning into a woman entice him to abandon promises more easily, to surrender the core of what he was?

Logically he knew that his personality should not change easily, that he should be able to fight that off. However, his entire body was shaking, barely able to keep standing. And the fear was screaming at him that by changing he would die as a person, despite all the assurances to the contrary. A death worse than any other...

But this was the only way to keep his promise to Amy. Ironically or not, the only way to continue being himself, being a true man who always keeps his promise, was to become a woman.

He took a deep breath and, teeth squeezed and legs shaking, slowly headed for the lockers.

* * *

Couple of years later, a young and ambitious movie director decided to make a breakthrough movie by an unconventional script. About a lone father who, seeing that his daughter needs a mother, but being unable to find a woman willing to be with him, decides to get a sex change. He secured a financial sponsorship, successfully cast an A-list actor as the lead, and opened a casting for the role of the daughter. Over a thousand girls applied, but one really impressed him. Her ability to morph into all details of the character was really outstanding.

However, just a week later the financial sponsorship was withdrawn for undisclosed reasons. Learning of this, the lead actor promptly discovered having a schedule conflict and withdrew from the project. The plan was going to be a failure, when the child actress offered to recruit her mother for the lead role.

The athletic figure and the strong jaw of the mother turned out to require just a minimum of make-up and padding for the shots “before the change”, and her beauty played well in the shots “after the change”. To a big surprise of the director, she was able to convincingly adopt the walk and the mannerisms of a man. With some advice – mostly from her daughter – she even acted rather well. Still, the director decided to rework the script a bit and to make the character of the daughter the main one. Later he admitted that he accepted some input by the lead actors.

The movie was a blazing success, and the child actress became an overnight sensation. The critics couldn’t stop praising her acting. All agreed that she was the best child actress seen in several decades. Nobody doubted her bright future. Just a month after the premiere, her acting schedule was jammed full for the next two years.

Almost none of the critics paid her mother any attention. Only one article dedicated a paragraph to her:

“As the father-turned-mother, Marcia Johnson delivers mostly acceptable performance for an amateur. Sadly, all her clues about the mentality of men appear to come from the action movies and the fairy tales. It would be much more convincing if she had portrayed the father’s transition as driven by a hidden trans status. Her attempt to show it as a consequence only of keeping one’s promise however is completely unrealistic and risks jeopardizing the entire movie.”

The child actress was deeply offended by this paragraph. She could not understand why her mother found it so amusing.