"It is like this, Ronnie… I'm trans."

Ronnie cursed under her breath.

“I wondered what it was that you were hiding.”

"I'm sorry, but when you told me about your dogs, I sort of freaked out."

"That's understandable, but they won't touch you."

“But… you said?”

"It is testosterone that they hate. I take it that you are fully transitioned or taking blockers?”

Saskia nodded her head.

“Something triggered that hatred back to when they were just puppies. I took them from a rescue centre. No one else could get anywhere near them."

Saskia breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"If that is the case, then thanks for the offer. I'll accept it."

Saskia quickly packed a bag with a few clothes, collected up all her notes and laptop in another and joined Ronnie in her car.

She’d was just about to shut the passenger door when she stopped.

“I forgot to lock up the house. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Saskia dashed back inside to shut the windows and doors. As she closed the door that opened out onto the beach, she stopped. There he was again.

He was just standing there. He didn't move an inch. He was looking at the house and waiting for her to react against him. Saskia shrieked.

“Is that him?” said a voice from behind her.

Saskia almost jumped out of her skin. Then she saw that it was Ronnie and relaxed.

“That’s him.”

Ronnie kept in the shadows and pulled out her phone.

"Sam? Just listen. A man is standing on the beachside of Millers Cottage. He is a stalker. An ex who won't let go."

“Just enough to make him understand that he is not welcome here.”

"Yes, Sam. Now!"

After finishing the call, she said to Saskia,
“A couple of friends of mine will be here shortly. Your problem might not be one for much longer. In the meantime, you need to be seen to be going about your business and ignoring him. Are you good with that?”

Saskia nodded her head.

“What about your car?”

“It is hidden by the house from where he is at the moment. We have to hope that he does not move before my friends arrive.”

Saskia felt a lot calmer now that she was not alone.

“I’ll sit down with my back to him. He hates being ignored. That’s when he’d start on me with his fists. If I carried on, he’d start kicking me.”

Saskia picked up a book and sat down with her back to him. Ronnie remained in the shadows. The more she looked at him, the more he reminded him of one of her former partners.

"What is it with men, eh? Do they have to take it out on us, eh?”

“Perhaps it is an instinctive hatred of not being top dog all the time?”

“Amongst other things.”

"He loved his fast cars. His dick, on the other hand, was not that impressive," said Saskia.

“How did you come to be shacked up with him then?”

"Money. He funded my transition but would not let me go when we were over as a couple. He could sleep around but if I even so much as looked at another person then I’d get a verbal rollocking in public. That migrated to his fists towards the end."

“Forgive me for asking, but was he your pimp?”

Saskia laughed.

“Nope. That was not his thing. He wanted some arm candy that he could fuck the living daylights out of and not get her pregnant. That was before he became bored with me.”

“That’s one take on it I suppose.”

Saskia giggled.
"Don't get me wrong, but I loved getting laid, but…?"

“Something went wrong then? Was that what made him go over the edge?”

“Yeah. He had a dose of testicular cancer. So, he goes off and donates a load of sperm only to find that he's been shooting blanks all the time. His ego was shot to hell."

"After that, you became the punchbag?"

“Yeah. I tried to leave but had no money. I worked as a teaching assistant in what you call Kindergarten. Then I sort of fell into an affair. I say fell because it was a setup. The affair turned out to be with a friend of his, and he knew all along. It was just a way of getting out of the marriage without a blemish on his character. The rub was that he had to pay me maintenance because he earned about ten times what I did. He complained and fought it but, in the end, he had to pay when it came out that he’d been complicit in the affair that I’d had.”

“Serves him right.”

"Once I'd got myself sorted out in a tiny one-bed flat, I entered a short story competition and came second. That spurred me on to get my novel out of mothballs and finish it. Spurred on by the short story, I went to a literary festival and took part in something like an open mic but for writers. I read a part of the novel, and a few days later, this publisher contacted me, and the rest is history. Things were good for a while until he found out that I'd published a novel and had some money of my own. He beat me up and ranted that it was his money, not mine. It wasn't entirely true that I'd had it published. The novel was in the last phase of editing, so I had no money worth speaking of at the time.”

“Did you contact the Police then?”

“No. I only had a few hundred pounds in the bank from my job at that point. He took me to a cash point and made me withdraw it. That was the last I saw of him for three days. I used him as the basis for the villain in my second book. That was my big break. The deal was that my publisher would keep my royalties and not pay them into my bank. He had my pin and checked it every week.”

"I'm guessing here, but something went wrong?"

“Yeah. It did big time. A new accounts clerk started at the Publisher and saw a load of money that was earmarked for me and bingo.”

“Fuck!” exclaimed Ronnie.

"Yeah. Thankfully, he could only take £250 a day from my account, but he came at me big time. Fists and feet and head. I ended up in the hospital for a week. I had a bad concussion, three broken ribs and some internal bleeding. The Police were called by the Hospital and, things went downhill from there. When I came around, I made a statement to the Police. They got the bank to freeze my account. He came to the hospital looking for me when the cash machine swallowed my bank card. It took three nurses to pull him off me. He was arrested and taken away."

“Did you press charges?”

"I had no option. The rules of the hospital. Any violence towards staff or patients is prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Besides, it was all on CCTV. After an acrimonious trial where he made out that it was my fault, he went down for six months. That allowed me to escape. That was two… no nearly three years ago. Since then, I have moved five times. Each time, he has found me as he has now.”

Then Saskia said,
“Is he still there?”

“Yeah. He’s just staring at the house,” replied Ronnie.

"I took out what you guys call a restraining order on him. I served it personally while he was in Prison. I thought that it was the safest place to do it. He was not a happy bunny, but I thought that it was the only way for him to understand that it was over for good.”

“That was a smart move,” said Ronnie.

"Didn't do me much good though. I went right off the grid and rented a cottage in the middle of Wales. It took him a week to find me. That’s when I came over here.”

"He still found you here?"

"I don't know how he did it. I left all my electronic gear back home. I arrived at Logan without a phone or a laptop. The phone I'm using here was bought here and is what you guys call a burner. The laptop I have been using was borrowed from my local publisher. I've only emailed my UK publisher using an old Gmail account once or twice a week. I never let on where I was but somehow, he found me… Again!"

“That is a question for another day. My friends are here,” said Ronnie.

Saskia resisted the urge to turn around.

“What’s happening?”

“Just wait a moment.”

Fifteen long seconds passed before Ronnie said,

“Take a look for yourself?”

Saskia turned around to see her ex being marched away in handcuffs.

“What the hell just happened?” she asked.

“I’ll find out in a minute.”

“Who are your so-called friends?”

“Saskia, please be patient a little longer. Then I’ll explain everything. I’m on your side here.”

Saskia looked at this woman who was bossing her around just like her ex did. At the moment, she didn’t have much choice in the matter so she remained silent.

Ronnie’s phone bleeped. Saskia assumed that it was a text message arriving.

She came over to where Saskia was standing.
"The man that you say was your ex is now in custody. The passport he had on him was in the name of Shaun Mansfield. Is that correct?”

"No. That is not correct. His real name or, at least the name I knew him by was Shaun Thompson. That was the name that was used at his trial and the one I took when we were married.

"Thanks. I'll pass it on to my friends."

“Who are they? They didn’t look like the local cops?”

Ronnie smiled before answering.

“You are very observant Saskia. They are from Customs and Border Protection.”

“Eh? I don’t understand.”

“I’m a CI… confidential informant for them. I live here and… well blend in with the natives and the summer visitors. Because Cape Cod sticks out into the ocean, we get all sorts of things going on just out there. Ships that are crossing the ocean can drop off illicit cargos without really deviating from their course. The department tracks vessels all over the ocean so any deviation from their expected course, sends the alarm bells ringing. Two other agents work in uniform and are based with the State Police. Those are the two who have detained your ex. That is not for spreading around. I’d rather not be outed as I’ve kinda grown to like this place."

“But why did you get involved?”

“Because I’m a local and undercover. I’ve helped a few other women who have been on the run from violent partners. That’s why the local cops called me. They know that I do right by the victims and it is one less thing for them to have to bother with. It is rather fortunate that you are an Alien. My friends will do a thorough check on him and his background.”

Saskia remained silent.

"I know that I seem to be playing both sides, but in the five years I have been here, it has worked."

“That name he used…” said Saskia clearly forcing the words out.

“What about it?”

“Mansfield was my name before…”
She didn’t need to say anything else.

“Nasty. At least we know that he’s here on a fake passport.”

Saskia shook her head.
“I would not have put it past him to have changed his name and that the passport is genuine. He is that controlling, that thorough.”

Ronnie nodded her head. She was getting a picture of the man, and that was not a good one.

"We'll need you to give us a formal statement. If, as you say, he has served jail time, we could probably deport him for not declaring that on his visa application."
“He’ll find some way to find me. He found me here, didn’t he?”

“I’ll have to escalate this to my bosses in Boston. We don’t have the resources here in the boonies to deal with him. One of the team there is a former FBI Interrogator. He’ll get to the bottom of why he’s here.”

“Why he’s here? That’s easy. He thinks that he owns me because he paid for my transition. I never signed anything. He offered and I said yes. That was it. Once I had transitioned, he wanted me to be his arm candy and fucking machine. After a while, all his friends and their partners were expecting so naturally, questions started coming our way. That’s when he turned against me.”

“That’s the sort of thing that you need to tell my boss. Because I saw your ex just standing there looking at the house. It is no longer just your word against his.”

“Thanks for that.”

Ronnie smiled.
“I suggest that you stay with me for at least tonight.”

“But…? He’s in custody?”

"He is, but you should not be alone tonight."

Saskia thought for a bit before nodding her head.

“Good. I’ll gather any perishable food from the fridge.”

“Why?”

Ronnie smiled.
“I was due to head to the market this afternoon so my cupboard is pretty bare.”

“Ah… I get you.”

---

[two days later at the Customs and Border Protection offices in Boston]

“How was it?” asked Ronnie after she had emerged from giving her statement to the Border Police.

“That man is nasty. He opened me up like gutting a fish.”

“That bad?”

“At least he let me speak and didn’t jump to any conclusions. I have to hope that it was enough.”

“If you were as fluent with him as you were with me the other day, then he’ll be happy.”

“That’s all I can hope for.”

"We have to decide on his status today or rather by three this afternoon. We'll know then."

“When will my ride be here?”

Ronnie looked at her watch.
“I’ll know in less than an hour. Are you ok with just disappearing until your visa runs out?”

"I think so. I certainly don't want to be around here if he gets released. There is no telling what he'd do if he found me."

"That's the plan. There are hundreds if not thousands of women like you who have violent partners or ex-partners. The people who will take good care of you can be trusted. The person who will collect you today does not know where you are going. He'll drop you off somewhere, and a new person will take you on to another place. That way, no one can use the drivers to track you down."

Saskia did not seem all that convinced.

Ronnie tried another tack
“Back in the days when the South had slaves, there was this thing called the ‘Underground Railroad’. This took escaped slaves and ferried them to the north where slaves were not legal. This is a similar thing but for mostly women who have been subject to physical and increasingly, psychological injuries by their spouses. One part of the railroad only knows where to pick up and drop off their passengers. Beyond that, they know nothing. A few very powerful people have funded this system for over thirty years. I have requested a ‘ticket’ for you. I will know within the hour when and where I am to hand you over. Where you will end up is way beyond my pay grade and honestly, the less I know, the better.”

“I will have to trust you on that,” said Saskia after some thought.

"Just to as they say on the journey, and you will be fine."

"Thanks for all your help, Ronnie. You don't know how much it means to me."

Ronnie smiled.
“Just give me a credit in your next book. That will be payment enough.”

Saskia smiled.

“I won’t forget what you have done for me. I've already drafted the backstory of a woman artist who helped abused women back in 1905. She is a lot like you but in long skirts and a suffragette.”

Ronnie laughed.
“Where is your phone?” asked Ronnie.
“You can’t take it with you. Any contacts you need to keep should be written down. You never know what apps are tracking you.”

“I gave it to your colleague. He’s going to get the lab to look at it. He’s got the laptop as well. They let me I have all my work on a flash drive, so I'm good to go once I write a few phone numbers down."

Ronnie smiled at Saskia.

“When this is all over, you are more than welcome to drop by. Logan[1] is not that far away.”

"Thanks, Ronnie. I'm just relieved that he won't be able to follow me."

"How he tracked you here is a mystery but, if you go properly quiet then you will be safe."

While they waited for details of the pickup point, some news came from the techs. Saskia was told that it looked like her ex had cracked the password to her Gmail account and had been sending messages to her contacts. They thought that it was how he’d tracked her down.

Saskia used Ronnie’s phone and immediately changed the password on the account and made a mental note to enable enhanced security on it when she had the chance to get a new phone. For some reason, she had a feeling that opportunity could well be some time in the future.

Ronnie’s phone bleeped.
“That’s the pickup location. It is about half an hour away near I-95. Ready?”

Saskia nodded her head.

---

Saskia went into hiding for almost five months. The network that helped battered women disappear took over and ferried her to a safe house. Saskia soon lost track of where she was in the country. Geography wasn’t her thing but most of the time, she was ferried from place to place at night and slept during the day.

The safe house turned out to be a goat farm somewhere in the middle of Oklahoma. Her host was in Saskia’s mind more like Annie Oakley than anything else. Her companion and host always had a gun slung at her hip or not far away from herself. That unnerved Saskia but, after hearing the Coyote’s howling at night, she had a good idea why this was. After a week or so, she was able to relax and get back to something like her normal self. It was a very different place to Cape Cod. She missed the cooling sea breezes. OTOH, she even managed to get on at least semi-friendly terms with a few of the goats that she milked daily.

Four and a half months after arriving at the safe house, she received news that her ex had been deported back to the UK after an investigation confirmed that he'd lied on his visa application. He’d omitted the fact that he’d served a prison sentence of more than one month. Nevertheless, he’d fought it all the way but Saskia’s deposition had been the final nail in his case. Once he had been deported, it was made very clear to him that he was banned from the USA for 10 years at the very least as well as being put on a ‘No Fly’ list. Now that the Border people had his fingerprints and retina scan, he’d find it a lot harder to get into the USA on forged documents.

Once Saskia was settled in OK, she took stock of what had happened to her since that fateful ‘Cape Cod Morning’. She stopped writing her fifth novel and began a different story. Her next book was more of a memoir that was based upon a mix of her experiences in Cape Cod and beyond. It included the stories of some of the other women who had suffered at the hands of abusive partners of both sexes. All those who volunteered their stories had their names changed to ones of their very own choosing. She donated all the profits to several charities that help battered spouses and their children.

The book was very well received in many parts of the country. That success and her history of being abused allowed Saskia to apply for a 'green card'. Her aim was to eventually become a full citizen. She refused all requests to appear on any TV station no matter how large or small by saying that those who have suffered at the hands of a spouse know how awful it is and there is no need to glorify those experiences.

The dedication at the front of that book didn't mention Ronnie by name, but it was not hard to guess who it was if you knew the community of artists on Cape Cod.

Now that her ex was right out of the picture, Saskia was able to settle down and get on with life. She chose a small coastal community in northern Maine for her new home. Cape Cod wasn’t that far away but was a world away in the pace of life. Saskia hung a copy of the painting ‘Cape Cod Morning’ on her bedroom wall to remind her of both the good times and bad times she’d experienced just a hundred or so miles away.
Saskia’s fiction writing flourished and as a result, she became financially stable. Her only regret was not publishing her book about abused women under a pseudonym. Almost every interview she gave ended up with questions about that book. Saskia got into the habit of terminating the interview right there and then. Eventually, the media got the message which pleased Saskia no end.

Her final act was to open her home as a safe house to other battered women especially those in the trans community. It was her way of paying back at least a little of the great help that she had received from people like Ronnie and her gun-toting goat loving friend in Oklahoma. The income from her writing paid for the running costs.

[The End]

[Authors note]
This story was inspired by an exercise that was part of my Creative Writing Class. We were given the picture ‘Cape Cod Morning’ and asked to let our imagination run riot.

[1] Logan is the name of the major Airport that serves Boston, MA and the surrounding area.