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A New Game Plan
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Principal Harold Steele stood behind the podium in Lecture Center 1B and looked down at the boys in the seats in front of them. They all wore their letterman jackets with pride, and their coach stood behind them, glaring at the principal with his arms crossed.
“This had better be good, Steele,” he growled, trying to stare down the principal as if he could make him melt into a puddle with the force of his anger alone.
“Oh, it is good, Torkelson, I assure you,” Steele replied, perfectly at ease in his suit and tie. A cool smile played across his lips, and the coach had a minor flutter of apprehension in his chest.
‘What the hell is his game,’ Torkelson wondered, ‘and how the hell does he think he has any cards to play? We’re the best chance this school ever had to win the championship. And he can’t possibly have any proof about us and the Vincent kid. The little fag didn’t see anyone’s face.’
“Gentlemen,” Steele said, the smile widening slightly, “and I used the term loosely, I know you’re responsible for what happened to Mindy Vincent, the TG student who started attending school as herself last week. I’ve suspected you’ve been behind the recent violent attacks against members of the school community who are gay, lesbian, or transgendered, but until last week, I had no way to prove it. Now I do, and I’m here to tell you that the attacks stop now.”
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” the coach said, his arms folded across his chest.
“Oh?” Steele held up a remote in his hand. “Let me refresh your memory.”
From the speakers around the perimeter of the room, the coach’s voice rang out.
“Another of those girly boy queers has ‘come out,’ boys.” The sneer in his voice made his hatred plain. “I think it’s time for another lesson in how real men deal with faggots who don’t know how to stay in the shadows. You still got the hockey masks, Jimmy?”
“Yes, coach.” Jimmy Lynch squirmed in the audience, hearing the satisfied tone in his own voice. “And Joey’s bringing the baseball bats from the community center.”
“I got some hockey sticks from the peewee league, too, coach.” Pete Cooper said proudly. “And Freddie’s ‘borrowing’ the lacrosse sticks from Central’s outside storage.”
“Good. Since none of that gear belongs to us, they can’t trace anything back to us. We should dig up a tennis racquet or somethin’ for him to defend himself with, don’t you think? Gotta be be sportsmanlike, after all.”
Everyone laughed, and started talking among themselves. All of the team incriminated themselves on the tape in different ways, and the boys sitting there realized that jail time waited in their future.
Steele pressed a button on the remote again, and the room went silent.
“You can’t use that, Steele,” Torkelson shouted. “Recording somebody without them knowing about it is illegal. They’d throw it out of court.”
“Absolutely,” the principal replied, “if I had recorded you all without a warrant. Fortunately, I’m not that stupid. Judge Newman is a good friend of mine, and when I explained that I thought you were responsible for the recent attacks, he was more than happy to provide official sanction for my bugging the locker room.”
His voice grew cold. “I only wish I would have heard that recording in time to stop you. But you won’t be doing it to anyone else. Not anymore. Not on my watch.”
The coach was stunned. He looked over his shoulder, wondering where the cops were.
“Oh, no, coach,” Steele said, his voice hard and empty. “No police here. I have to admit that having you arrested was my first thought. But putting you all in jail wouldn’t solve my ongoing problems with the harassment my LGBT students are receiving. After all, your team is just a reflection of the attitudes of the town. If I put you down, others would come along and take your place.”
He took a deep breath. “No, I have another goal in mind. I’m going to offer you a choice. You’re all going to help me bring this town into the twenty-first century. Or face the consequences of your actions.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s simple. I want you to act as examples to the community. Your players — all of them — are going to embrace diversity and inclusiveness. You’re going to publicly befriend every gay, lesbian, transgendered and bisexual student in this school and keep them all from being harmed. You’re going to make damned sure everyone in Gregson knows how supportive you all are — yourself included, coach. I think that will go a long way towards helping the rest of the town be a little more inclusive, don’t you think?”
“And if we don’t?”
“Well, if you don’t agree to my proposal, I’ll send you all to jail, of course.” Steele pursed his lips. “And, of course, if you pretend to agree and then break our agreement, or tell anyone what’s really going on, you'll all go to jail and be branded as hypocrites. Part of me thinks jail would be a good way for you all to broaden your horizons, see what it feels like to be a victim. After all, some of you boys are pretty enough to do real well there, one you’ve ... settled in.”
The team all shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, and Steele smiled.
“Still, I’d rather hold jail as a last resort.”
The coach’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because I don’t like you, Torkelson. Any of you.” The principal’s voice dripped scorn. “I want to make you all suffer the way you’ve made others suffer. Besides, there are so many other things I could do that would make your lives way more interesting — besides actually turning you over to the police, I mean.”
“Like what?”
“For example, if you break our agreement, I could just ... well, out your entire team.”
“WHAT?” The coach’s eyes bugged out, and half the team stood up, shouting. Steele waited until they quieted down, and picked up a second remote.
“Do you remember when the attacks started? We held diversity training sessions for everyone in the school, but when we came to the football team, we added a little extra something, just in case my suspicions about you all were right.”
He pressed play. The screen lit up behind him and a video came on.
“It takes a lot of courage to come out to your parents and other students,” an offscreen voice said, as Jimmy Lynch fidgeted uncomfortably in front of the camera. “Try to put yourself in the place of a gay student in that position. What would you say to your parents if you wanted to tell them the truth about yourself?”
“Are you kidding?” The onscreen Jimmy shook his head, and seemed to look right at the camera. “My Dad would kill me if I told him I was gay.”
“What if you felt you had to,” the voice persisted gently. “Think about it. Suppose you didn’t want to live the lie anymore? What do you think you’d say?”
The football player said nothing, and the voice sighed, “Jimmy, you’re not going to be able to play ball if you don’t complete this class.”
Jimmy looked down for a second, thinking hard, then looked back up into the camera.
“Dad, I know you ain’t gonna like it, but I’m ... I’m gay. I like guys. It doesn’t mean I’m any different from the son you always knew, but I hope you understand that this is who I am, and ... and ... shit! Forget it, man. This ain’t gonna happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I was stupid enough to tell him I’m gay, he’d kill me!”
“Please,” the voice insisted, “try again.”
“No!” Jimmy stood up quickly, knocking the chair down behind him. “I’m done. No more.”
The onscreen Jimmy walked out of camera range, and Steele pressed the stop button. Jimmy kept staring at the screen.
“The camera was hidden, of course,” the principal said, “and each of you had your time in front of it.”
“So?” The coach said. “It’s all ‘what ifs!’ There’s nothing incriminating about it.”
“Except that no other students were asked these questions as part of the diversity program, and there were never any video cameras in the room during any of the other classes.” Steele looked down at Jimmy. “As for ‘what ifs’ ... let me show you what some judicious editing can accomplish.”
He pushed a few more buttons, then pressed PLAY again.
“It takes a lot of courage to come out to your parents and other students,” an offscreen voice said, as Jimmy Lynch fidgeted uncomfortably in front of the camera. “I know it’s going to be hard for you, too. What will you say to your parents when you tell them the truth about yourself?”
“Are you kidding?” The onscreen Jimmy shook his head, and seemed to look right at the camera. “My Dad would kill me if I told him I was gay.”
“We both know you want to,” the voice persisted gently. “Think about it. I know you don’t want to live the lie anymore. What do you think you’ll say?”
The football player said nothing, and the voice sighed, “Jimmy, you came to me to help you make this video. Please ... give it a try.”
Jimmy looked down for a second, thinking hard, then looked back up into the camera.
“Dad, I know you ain’t gonna like it, but I’m ... I’m gay. I like ... I like guys. It doesn’t mean I’m any different from the son you always knew ... but I hope you understand that this is who I am, and ... and ... shit! Forget it, man. This ain’t gonna happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I was stupid enough to tell him I’m gay, he’d kill me! And I ain’t that stupid!”
“Please,” the voice insisted, “you’re so close to telling him the truth.”
“No!” Jimmy stood up quickly, knocking the chair down behind him. “I’m done. This bites.”
The onscreen Jimmy walked away, and Steele pressed the stop button again.
“All of you made videos, just like that,” he said softly. “Oh, some variations, like telling your buddies instead of your parents, or letting your Mom know you always felt like a girl trapped in a boy’s body. Enough variation to be an authentic spread for a group your size, but all of you confessing on cameras that you were secretly ... not what you appeared to be.”
He put down the remote and picked up a folder.
“This is the PR campaign I paid for. We’ll release the videos with bios of all of you, and how you finally had the courage to come out as a team. Myself and Guidance Counselor Cooper will do a press conference announcing how you all wanted to come out together, and how we helped you make the videos so it would be easier for you to avoid telling your friends and family in person. The PR firm thinks the story could go national. Once it’s out, it will spread, and no one in the media will check with you first when it could mean they’re the last to get the story out. Once it’s done, you can deny it all you want. But we’ll swear this whole thing was your idea, and the videos will back us up.”
“But that’s not all. I know some of you have scouts watching you, and you might have the chance for college scholarships ... maybe even to play pro ball someday. It’s going to be awfully hard to get into the NFL if everyone thinks you’re gay or transgendered ... and if you cross me, I’m going to make damned sure that for the rest of the season, nobody will be able to forget it.”
He reached down and held up a paper.
“This, gentleman, is copy of a letter from the school board. It holds every member’s signature, and gives me the right to arbitrarily change the names of the school’s football team whenever I like.” He put the paper down and picked up a second one. “This is a copy of another letter from the school board, again signed by everyone, authorizing me to change the official school colors, and there’s also a third giving me budget to change all the uniforms and signage on my say-so.”
Steele put down the second paper, and smiled.
“So once you’re officially outed, the name of your football team will instantly become the Gregson Gay Pride. Your uniform colors will be fuchsia and lavender, and the school sports bus will be repainted in those colors with a new rainbow logo to match.” He grinned. “I like the new team motto: GO GAY!!!”
He clicked the remote, and a picture of the new uniform and a mock-up of the sports bus appeared on the big screen behind him. The players stared up at the principal with shock, and he looked back at them impassively.
“You will play every game wearing those uniforms, and every team in the division will take every opportunity to ridicule and abuse you, on and off the field. Oh, by the way, we’ll be replacing those jackets you’re wearing, too, just so everyone you meet will see you’re out and proud.” He pressed a button, turning off the projector, then put down the remote.
“The best part of this option is that, if you do try to deny it and someone eventually believes you, I can still send you all to jail. And no one there will think too hard about whether any member of the Gregson Gay Pride is really gay or not. They’re all practical men. They’ll ... see for themselves, won’t they?”
He smiled again, but the smile never reached his eyes.
“So, that’s your choice,” Steele said. “Stand up and support diversity, or be arrested. Protect those you attacked or be outed yourselves, and wear the proud lavender and fuchsia of Gregson’s first openly gay football team. Your coach will bring me your decision before homeroom tomorrow. Of course, if your answer to my proposal is no, this conversation never took place, the locker room tapes go to the police, and you should all be in jail by lunchtime.”
“That’s blackmail!” The coach roared.
Steele looked over at him with contempt. “Yes, Mr. Torkelson, it is. I bow to your recognition of the obvious ... and hopefully of the inevitable.”
“Of course, if you try to implicate me, the DA will insist he had the evidence for a while, and was just looking for the right way to charge you all as adults and make sure the charges stick.”
The principal picked up his papers and looked over at the team and its coach.
“By the way, if you are thinking about killing me, which I’m sure is how your minds work, you should know that this entire conversation has been recorded, and will go with the sealed recordings from the locker room directly to the DA in the event of my death. He will edit out any mention of his own involvement, of course. But since I’ll be dead at that point, I won’t be worrying about prosecution, after all.”
Torkelson stood in the center of the team, his fists clenched and arms trembling. “You’re playing a dangerous game here, Steele.”
“Am I? I don’t think so. But even if I am, what of it? As you’re so fond of saying, Coach ... no risk, no reward.” The principal held Torkelson’s eyes. “What you don’t understand is that you’re playing my game, and no matter which game plan you choose tomorrow morning, you’ve already lost. And I already know which option I'm rooting for.”
He looked back at the team, and he grinned.
“Go, GAY!” he said, and walked out the door to pick up his niece Mindy from the hospital.
Overtime
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by Randalynn
And in the end, we were just outplayed." — Brendan Nagel
Tessa Stuart stood outside the school next to her unmarked cruiser, a cold cup of Starbucks in her hand. Between pauses to use her cruiser’s radio to deploy her officers, she listened to the feed from the mikes in the lecture hall on a separate handheld system, relayed from the surveillance van. It sounded like a madhouse in there, as it had for the thirty seconds it took for Principal Steele to get from there to his own car parked next to hers.
“Hey, Allen,” she said, pausing to throw him a smile. “You sounded like you enjoyed yourself in there just now.”
“That’s ‘cause I did,” he replied, smiling back. “After what he did to Mindy, I enjoyed letting him and the team feel like the whole world was closing in on them. They need to know what it means to feel trapped and alone.”
“Well, you put on a good show, but I’m looking forward to a bit more,” Tess said with just a hint of sarcasm. “Aside from making you feel all righteous and powerful, I’m hoping it will give us more evidence to lock things down. You only managed to get the single bit about Mindy’s attack from the locker room tap, but there were two more attacks prior to that, and they could skate on those without more for the DA.”
“I need to pick up Mindy from the hospital soon, so I hope we get what we need quickly. I'd really like to bring her some good news. I'm not too worried, though. As PT Barnum or HL Mencken once said, ‘You will never go broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public.’” The principal sighed. “I’m hoping to amend that statement to include the coach and his team, but time will tell.”
The detective put up her hand and raised the volume on the handheld.
“Coach! What are we gonna do?”
“Yeah, we can’t go to jail! I’ve got a college scout ready to hand me a check for a full ride at State.”
“Maybe you shoulda thought about that before putting on a mask, Lynch.”
“Maybe you should shut your mouth before I fill it with my fist, Cooper!”
The room erupted in chaos again, and Tessa shook her head. Steele just smiled, and then the coach overpowered everyone.
“Shut up, all of you! We need to think, not start ripping each other to pieces. We’re a team, damn it! Act like one!”
“Sorry, coach.”
“Yeah, you are and you should be. Be quiet for a minute and let me think.”
The room was almost completely quiet, and then Torkelson spoke.
“Stop acting like a bunch of wusses. First, all Steele’s got is that locker room tape from before we beat up the Vincent fag. Nothing else. It makes us look bad, but we could all say we were just joking ...”
“Until they go check that equipment we borrowed, coach.” Joey DeNiro piped up. “They’ll go all CSI on it and find blood and skin and shit.”
Torkelson thought for a minute. Steele imagined the smoke coming out of his ears from the effort. “Well, then, the first thing we do is ‘borrow it’ all again and trash it. Replace it with new stuff so nobody knows it’s gone missing.”
Jimmy Lynch spoke again. “And how do we pay for that, Coach?”
“We put some cash together and do it in Hadleyville, next state over.”
Pete Cooper wailed, “That’s gonna cost a lot!”
The coach cut through his complaint with a shout. “Not nearly as much as jail time, or having everybody think you’re queer. This is crunch time, Cooper. We buy new equipment or we wind up being the most popular ‘ladies’ in the State Pen. Do you read me?”
“Yes, coach.”
“Now, as I was saying, he’s got nothing on the other two fags we beat on, and if we’re careful, we can walk on those too. Without the equipment, there’s nothing to link us to those at all.”
“Znaniecki’s in a bad way, coach. He still hasn’t woken up. What if he croaks?”
“What if he does?”
“Cops hate murder more than just beating on someone.” Cooper again. Torkelson sighs loud enough for the mikes to pick up.
“Geezus, listen to you. You think cops are gonna care about some homo dying? They’re just like us. They know one less fag ain’t gonna hurt the planet any. The other pussy we hit, Kelly ... he won’t even talk to the police ‘cause he’s so damned afraid we’re gonna come back and finish him off, and that they’ll even help us when we do. Maybe when the heat is off, we will. As long as we stick together, as a team, we can get through this.”
Steele nods, his smile growing, and Tessa smiles back. She picks up the mike for the cruiser’s radio. “All units, prepare to move in on my command.”
“What about those DVDs, coach? The principal can still do a lot of damage, even if we dodge the charges on the Vincent kid.”
“Leave him to me.” Torkelson’s voice held a grim satisfaction. “You know I ain’t gonna let him hurt my boys. Sometime tonight, he’s gonna find himself in a room alone with me, and I won’t leave until I know where those recordings are — and until he can’t cause us any more trouble.”
Everybody went quiet.
“You’re ... you’re gonna ... kill him, coach?” Pete Cooper again, his voice hushed in disbelief.
Tessa spoke into her mike. “Hold up, everyone. Wait for my signal.”
“Don’t have much of a choice, boys. It’s him or us. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’d rather it was him.”
There was a stunned silence, then Jimmy Lynch shouted.
“Are you nuts?”
And the whole team erupted.
“Kill Principal Steele? What the fuck is your problem?”
“Bad enough Znaniecki’s in a coma, that was an accident, but this is crazy!”
Torkelson roars. “Cut me some slack. I’m not gonna just leave a body around for someone to find!”
“That’s not it at all,” Cooper shouted back. “You can’t just kill the guy. I like the principal!”
“What the hell are you talking about? He just put your balls in a vise!”
There was a pause.
“Yeah,” Pete replied slowly, “and maybe that’s right where they belong. I never should have gone along with any of this. I grew up with Tom Kelly. He was an okay guy, and even when he turned homo, he never tried anything with anybody I knew.”
“He’s a fag!”
“Yeah, well maybe that ain’t as important as you keep saying it is. He never hurt anybody, and we all beat on him for something that wasn’t a problem until we made it one.”
“Pete’s right, coach,” Jimmy fired back. “Mark Vincent was just some quiet dweeb, too. Never hurt anybody, kept to himself. He decides to be a girl and suddenly he’s a threat?”
There was the scrape of a chair against the floor, and Joey DeNiro spoke.
“They’re right, coach. I mean, come on, kill the principal? He’s always been okay in my book, and he caught us fair, ‘cause he was smart and we were stupid. Stupid? We were idiots! A gang instead of a team. We should just turn ourselves in, guys. We did wrong, and we gotta make it right. We should never have hurt those kids. What the hell were we thinking?”
“But if he’s gone —“
“If he’s gone, what?” Stan Purdy shouted, and you could hear him stand up, too. “You think this is all going to go away? He’s working with a judge and the DA, and you don’t think anybody’s gonna come after us like the wrath of freaking God when he just disappears?”
Jimmy spoke up. “Joey’s right. We gotta turn ourselves in. We gotta make this right.”
Pete followed. “Maybe Officer Trumbull’s still in the security office.”
A whole bunch of chairs scraped the floor and Tessa and Steele heard the footsteps as the entire team headed for the door.
“Wait! What if Steele decides to let those videos loose? You’ll never be able to raise your head in a locker room again!”
There was a long silence, then Jimmy Lynch spoke.
“Steele’s always been a good guy. He told us nothing would happen if we turned ourselves in, and I believe him. And even if I didn’t, maybe we deserve some payback for beating on a bunch of defenseless kids, just ‘cause you said so. Shit, coach, what the hell were you thinking?”
Another silence, and Tessa and Steele could hear somebody spit. Pete Cooper spoke.
“He wasn’t, Jimmy. And neither were we. Let’s go, team.”
Tessa spoke into the mike. “All units, let the boys come out and take ‘em, one at a time. Be gentle, they aren’t gonna resist. They decided to surrender.”
Steele shook his head. “I guess they were better men than I gave ‘em credit for. Except for Torkelson.”
Suddenly Tessa keyed the mike and shouted. “ Units three and four, rush the lecture hall and take the coach. He threatened to murder the principal — no kid gloves for him. Take him down!”
There was a pause, then a burst of static. “Unit Three, the room’s empty. Torkelson’s gone.”
Tessa cursed, then keyed the radio again. “Everybody not involved with the team spread out. I want all outside doors guarded and a room to room search until we get him.”
There was a whistling sound, and suddenly Steele’s right shoulder flared with pain. He fell forward into the side of the police cruiser, and reached up with his left hand to find an arrow lodged in the area between the back and shoulder.
“Get down,” Tessa shouted, and pushed him to the ground between the vehicles. She unholstered her gun and raised herself high enough to see the coach stalking towards them both with a bow and arrow in his hands. He already had another arrow notched.
“Police! Put the weapon down NOW.” Her voice echoed across the empty schoolyard. “The whole school is surrounded, we have a recording of you planning to kill the principal, and you just shot the man with a freaking arrow while he was standing next to the detective in charge. Torkelson, you are so screwed, your legs might as well be threaded clear up to your ass. So put the bow down, or I swear to God I will put you down. NOW.”
Steele’s shoulder felt numb, then hot. He felt rather than saw Tessa stand up, and turned his head to see the arrow bury itself in the side of the cruiser. The detective fired a single shot, and he heard the coach cry out. Then she ran over to him and started reading him his rights, and the principal drifted into the black.
He opened his eyes and found himself lying on a wheeled stretcher in the parking lot. His shoulder hurt, but it felt like it was bandaged, and even thinking about moving his arm caused a spike of pain.
“This whole scheme of yours showed how much of a cowboy you are, Allen,” Tessa said, moving into his field of view. She was smiling. “No wonder you got taken down by an arrow.”
“Yippee kai-ay,” he replied, groaning. “Bruce Willis, I’m not.”
“Thank God for that. Have you seen him lately?” She smiled and put her hand on his other shoulder. “They’re going to take you to County for X-rays and scans. They want to look for any hidden damage, see if the arrow did anything more than what they could see here.”
“And Torkelson?”
“I winged him, made him drop the bow. He’s not saying a word, but he doesn’t have to, We got what we needed from the lecture hall, and from the boys on the team.”
The detective looked down at him, and Steele fidgeted slightly.
“You know,” she said softly, “you never mentioned those edited confessions or the PR campaign before. Suddenly, there they are, and you’re threatening the team with being exposed as something they aren’t.”
Allen nodded, and Tessa bent closer.
“You must have planned that part way before this sting in order to have ‘em for today,” she whispered. He nodded again, and she sighed. “Why?”
“Because I wanted them to suffer,” Steele replied, looking into her eyes. “I wanted everyone to see them and act towards them the way they were acting towards Mindy and others like her. I wanted them to hurt the way those kids hurt every day, because bigots can’t keep their damned mouths shut or their fists to themselves.”
“What happened?”
He shrugged, then winced. “I made the plans, but I was never going to go through with it. I just pulled them out today to add fuel to the fire.”
The EMTs lifted the stretcher and pushed it into the ambulance. Tessa leaned forward.
“Why did you do it ... or rather, why didn’t you? Why go to the trouble to load the gun and not pull the trigger?”
“Well, once I had the recordings and the plans in my hand, I stepped back and took a long look at myself, and then I remembered something very important.”
“Remembered what?”
“I’m not Torkelson,” he said, giving her a crooked grin.
“Damn straight,” she replied, smiling back. “Let’s keep it that way, okay?”
Steele nodded, still grinning, and she closed the ambulance door.
A Singular Honor
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and some have greatness thrust upon them ... whether they want it or not.
When he first started waking up, he was a little disoriented. It looked like fluorescent lights overhead, but his head felt so thick, like it was hard to think. Everything was so fuzzy, and he felt warm all over. His mouth felt a little weird, too, and there seemed to be something around his eyes. Bandages? No, whatever it was, it was too thin and wispy for that.
Then his mom moved into view.
“Hello, baby,” she said, and the happy tone in her voice made him feel instantly better. “I know this might be a little strange for you, but you received an honor from the town while you were in here for your blood tests ... you know, for rescuing that little girl in the park?”
He nodded, and tried to speak, but his throat felt dry, and all he could manage was a thin raspy bark.
“Don’t try to talk, Jackie. You’re just waking up, and there are things you don’t know just yet.”
‘Things I don’t know?’ His mind started moving at 100 miles per hour.
“Everyone in town really loves you, sweetie, and wants to show you by giving you the most important role in the February Winter’s Turn Festival.” She smiled wider. “The whole family is just thrilled that you’re so well-loved, and we’re really anxious to make this all work. So there will be a lot of studying for you over the next few months as you learn your role ... all sorts of new experiences for you. You’ll really have to live the part. That means you’ll miss Thanksgiving and Christmas with the family, but no recognition comes without sacrifices, don’t you think?”
‘Studying? Winter’s Turn Festival?’ It was still so hard to think. The only Winter’s Turn Festival he knew ... there was a Grand Master, of course, but that always went to one of the town elders ...
“Your costume for the Festival is truly state-of-the-art ... bionic, really. Almost a living machine all by itself. It’s so tied up with you physically, we had to surgically bond it to your flesh, so you’ll actually be living your role for the next few months. I know, it’s going to be cold outside this winter — it always is — but the costume will keep you warm. Besides, I know how much you always enjoyed roughing it with your Dad.”
‘Roughing it? Winter camping? I’m going to be outside for MONTHS?’
“Ssshhh,” his mom whispered, patting him on his tummy and rubbing affectionately. “Don’t worry. You won’t be going outside for a while. We’ve still got to help you learn your role, and get used to your new food, and how your costume will affect how you move and even with computer enhancement, how you think, too. Don’t worry, you’re going to be the star of the festival!”
‘The star???’ He stopped, not believing what she was saying. ‘The star??? She can’t mean ...’
She read his thoughts from the look in his eyes, and she laughed.
“Don’t worry, honey. Phil’s fine, but the town wanted to honor you, so you’ll be taking his place at the Festival. He’ll still be keeping you company in the burrow for the next few months, though.”
‘BURROW?’
Someone came up beside Mom with a rolling mirror. It was Doc Stackpole, the town vet.
“That’s right, son,” Doc said. “We’ve enlarged the burrow a bit, since you’re a touch bigger than the usual occupant. Here, take a look at your new self.” The vet pushed the mirror over above him, blocking out the lights but providing a reflection that revealed his new form.
‘No! It can’t be ...’
He tried to yell, but the noise came out a shrill panicked whistle, and his mouth wouldn’t close enough to form words, or his lips wouldn’t work, or something, but he couldn’t talk. Which wasn’t surprising, after all since ...
He was a groundhog.
The Doc went on, oblivious to the boy’s panic. “Phil will be hibernating for most of the winter, but he’d want his wife with him, even if he’s not quite awake.”
‘WIFE??’ He looked over at his Mom, and she nodded.
“Well, we wouldn’t want to be sexist, dear, now would we? And it’s been so long since a girl groundhog got the chance to see her shadow. So you’re going to be Punxsutawney Phyllis, Phil’s new mate! Won’t that be wonderful?”
He stared up at the mirror, and followed the line of his new body to where his genitals once were. Were they gone? Underneath this suit? His eyes found nipples, six of them, three on each side. He raised his hands to find they were paws now, with strong claws that were apparently blunted, as he remembered Phil’s were to prevent injury when he was handled. His legs were twisted by the suit to mirror a groundhog's, and he was sure he'd have to move the same way.
“When Phil wakes up, he might be anxious to ... claim you, sweetie. You know, because you make such a pretty ... groundhoggette.” She giggled. “So we might have to talk about the birds and the bees again from the girl’s point of view ... well, girl groundhog anyway.”
He whistled again and wiggled all over, but he was tied down somehow. His mother noticed his distress, and patted him again. “Oh, don’t worry, Phyllis. You can’t have babies ... the suit isn’t THAT advanced ... but you will definitely be ... attractive to Phil, and boys will be boys, after all.”
He stopped moving, and just stared up at his reflection and his mother’s face.
“But when you come out of the burrow in February, leaving your new husband behind, television cameras from around the world will be watching to see if you see your shadow. You’ll be world-famous!”
He breathed hard, and his eyes filled with tears. His mother looked into his new furry face and smiled, turning to the assembled townspeople.
“Look! He’s crying tears of joy!"
Everyone started yelling and applauding, and his mother turned back to him with tears of her own.
"Oh, I’m so glad you’re happy, Phyllis. We can’t disappoint the town, after all. And now that you’re a girl, it’s okay to cry ... even if you’re just a groundhog.”
He closed his eyes and turned his head away, before mercifully deciding to faint.
A Winter of Discontent
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Do clothes really make the man ... or woman? An invitation to a night on the town becomes an object lesson in what it means to be a friend.
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.”
— Richard III, Act 1 scene 1, lines 1-4
“I can’t believe Jeannie’s finally going clubbing with us again tonight,” Angie said, the excitement in her voice echoing in the lobby of the office building.
“I can’t believe Gene agreed to let her go.” Lisa looked over at the elevators, then back at her watch. “He’s been dead set against the idea for weeks, ever since the last time she went out with us.”
“Well, Gene’s just a stick in the mud,” Carla grinned, then did an impromptu dance step followed by a twirl. “Let Jeannie out to play, and watch out, girl! We are SO going to have fun tonight.”
“I bet Gene’s not so bad,” Angie watched as Carla’s smile became a frown. “You just don’t want to know him. In fact, you don’t seem to like men very much at all.”
“Oh, I like ‘em, honey,” Carla replied. “As long as they’re buying me drinks and keeping their hands off, I like ‘em just fine. Anyway, I don’t see you getting too close to Gene. What’s your problem?”
Angie sighed and didn’t reply. Sometimes she really didn’t like Carla at all.
As the last stragglers wandered out of the elevators and out into the street, the lobby grew silent.
“Jeannie sure takes a while to get ready,” Lisa said, looking at her watch again.
Carla nodded. “Yes, but she’s a real knockout when she’s finished. No matter what we’re up to, the guys always line up to show her a good time.”
“Not to mention the rest of us.” Lisa grinned. “I wish Jeannie could come out with us every night!”
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. All three women turned towards the elevator, happy smiles on their faces.
Then Gene York stepped out, his briefcase in one hand and a large suitcase in the other. He turned, hands full, and saw the trio waiting. He walked over to them, placed the suitcase carefully on the floor in front of him, and smiled.
"You wanted to go clubbing with Jeannie tonight," he said with a smile, then waved a hand at the suitcase on the lobby floor. "There she is. Have fun!"
"But ... but you're Jeannie!" Lisa seemed offended, as well as surprised.
"No, I’m not. I'm Gene." He pointed at the bag. "That's Jeannie." Then he tapped his head. "Well, a little bit of her is in here, but none of you seem to care about that part."
The women were stunned into silence. His smile faded a little bit, and Gene pushed the bag towards them with his foot. “Time’s a’wasting! Off you go, then!”
"But ... but you’re our friend!"
Gene shook his head. “Hardly. When I first joined the company, I tried to reach out and get to know people. But it was pretty clear no one wanted to know me, and getting rejected or ignored day after day got old really fast. After a while, I figured there was no percentage to chasing after folks, so I decided to keep mostly to myself. I did my job, and went home alone. I was lonely as hell, but it was what it was, and I didn’t see it changing any time soon.”
“Then I heard Lisa talking in the kitchen about how she thought no guy could ever pass as a convincing girl, and I thought, ‘Hey, this is a way to get them to finally notice me.’ I’d done it before as part of an acting class, in college, and I thought it could break the ice between us. It did ... up to a point. I went along with it for a while — until I realized what was really happening.”
“I figured out that Jeannie was your friend, not me. You made her feel welcome and cared for, even loved. Just us ‘girls,’ after all. But when I took off the dress and the make-up and went back to being Gene, everybody treated me like dirt. No smiles, no friendly words ... hell, everyone was so cold, it was like I was stuck in the middle of my own personal winter. It was worse than before. Almost like you blamed me for taking your friend away."
"What do you mean?” Lisa tooka step towards him, clearly confused. ‘We love you!"
Gene shook his head. "No, you don't. You could care less about me. You love her — the wig and the clothes and the attitude. So I brought her — well, minus the attitude. That part is mine, but I can’t seem to fit it in the bag with everything else. I hope that’s enough.”
The three women stared at the suitcase, unsure of what to do next. Gene sighed.
"Look, it’s simple. You only seem to want to be my friend if I pretend to be Jeannie. And you’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t think much of who I really am without all the trimmings. Since I happen to like me, and you love Jeannie, I guess she and I have come to a parting of the ways.” He grinned. “I hope you and she will be very happy together."
“She's a bit smaller than she used to be, without ... you know, me,” he continued, “but I don't think you'll mind. Trust me, since you're going to have to carry her from club to club, smaller and lighter is better. Just don't expect a lot of conversation. Without me around, Jeannie tends to be a bit ... shallow."
Carla stepped forward. “Wait! You ... you had fun. I know you did.”
Gene nodded. “Oh, yes, I did. I hated being lonely. It felt great to be a part of something again, to be wanted by somebody. I enjoyed it all.”
“So why stop?” Angie spoke softly, and he looked at her and tilted his head, just a little.
“Because it was a lie.” His voice was also soft, almost as if he was reluctant to finally put a stop to the closest thing he’d had to friendship in months. “I’m not Jeannie. I can never be her. And even if I could be, I wouldn’t. I’m not a woman inside, and I won’t pretend to be one just to chase being popular. I can’t. As Shakespeare once said, ‘To thine own self be true.’” He shrugged. “In the end, I guess that works for me. Even if my self goes home alone.”
There was a long silence, and finally Gene picked up his briefcase.
“You all have a good time tonight,” he said with just a hint of a smile in his voice. “Have a nice weekend, and I’ll see you on Monday.”
He moved past the three women to the revolving door, hesitating a moment to catch it at the right point, then went through it out to the sidewalk. He didn’t look back.
‘That went well,’ Gene thought as he walked away. ‘They’ve got Jeannie and I’ve got me. Still, I’m not looking forward to being alone again.’
“Hey ... Gene?”
He stopped and turned. It was Angie, standing halfway between him and the door to the office building. She fidgeted a bit, then spoke quickly.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry for the way we all treated you. It wasn’t right, and a part of me knew that.” Angie sighed. “I’ve had a lot of bad experiences with guys, and even though you seemed nice, you’re still ... well, still a guy. And I was afraid of getting too close to you, because I didn’t want to get hurt again. When you were Jeannie, I could be your friend without worrying about the guy thing at all. And when you were Gene, you reminded me that Jeannie wasn’t real — and I needed her to be real, so much.”
“And now?”
“Maybe I just realized that a guy who could walk a mile in a woman’s shoes without getting bent out of shape about it — well, he might not be the kind of guy who could hurt a woman the way I’d been hurt before. And what you did just now made me want to get to know you better. If it’s not too late to try.”
“What about Jeannie?”
“I’m starting to think the best part of her is standing in front of me now.” Angie looked into his eyes and gave him a small smile. “So ... are you free for dinner?”
He looked at her for a moment, then smiled back and nodded. “Strangely enough, there’s this huge opening in my social calendar. What do you like?”
“You choose,” she replied, stepping forward to stand beside him. “I’m thinking making choices is something you’re good at.”
They started walking together.
“I have my moments,” Gene said, his smile becoming a grin.
“I think maybe I do, too,” Angie replied with a grin of her own, and put her arm in his.
Another story made me wonder how people who claim to love you in one guise could treat you so badly in another, all without seeing the inherent contradiction in their own behavior. Still, since so much of human nature remains a mystery, I decided to give my hero a chance at redefining himself while putting that particular conceit to rest ... after a gentle scolding and without supper. *grin* Hope you enjoyed it! -- Randalynn
Bewitched
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Pigs fly, hell freezes over ... and Darrin and Endora discover common ground in a two-bit strip club in Bayonne, New Jersey.
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Bewitched
by Randalynn
Darla Derwood (also known as "Double-D" to her fans) walked into the dressing room she shared with three other strippers and sighed. She wore nothing but a G-string, four-inch heels, and a small frown as she dumped the thin wisps of fabric she called a costume on the make-up table when she entered.
She lifted a red silk robe off a hanger on the back of the door and pushed it closed with her hips. Her full round DD breasts bounced and shifted as she slipped the robe on and tied it shut around her tiny waist. The fabric clung to her generous hips as the rest of the robe slithered down over her legs on its way to the floor.
Without thinking, she pulled her long curly red hair out from the back of the robe and let it fall across her shoulders. Then she slid gracefully into the director's chair in front of her make-up mirror, looked at herself in the glass, and stuck out her tongue.
This is going to have to stop, she thought. All of it. It has gone on too long already. Time to pull the curtain.
Bewitched: A Meeting of the Minds at the Pussywillow Lounge
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Pigs fly, hell freezes over ... and Darrin and Endora discover common ground in a two-bit strip club in Bayonne, New Jersey.
Bewitched: A Meeting of the Minds at the Pussywillow Lounge
by Randalynn
Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf on Friday 05-05-2006 at 09:59:17 pm, this retro classic was pulled out of the closet, and re-presented for our newer readers. ~Sephrena
Darla Derwood (also known as "Double-D" to her fans) walked into the dressing room she shared with three other strippers and sighed. She wore nothing but a G-string, four-inch heels, and a small frown as she dumped the thin wisps of fabric she called a costume on the make-up table when she entered.
She lifted a red silk robe off a hanger on the back of the door and pushed it closed with her hips. Her full round DD breasts bounced and shifted as she slipped the robe on and tied it shut around her tiny waist. The fabric clung to her generous hips as the rest of the robe slithered down over her legs on its way to the floor.
Without thinking, she pulled her long curly red hair out from the back of the robe and let it fall across her shoulders. Then she slid gracefully into the director's chair in front of her make-up mirror, looked at herself in the glass, and stuck out her tongue.
This is going to have to stop, she thought. All of it. It has gone on too long already. Time to pull the curtain.
"Endora?" Her voice was sweet, soft, and musical. "Are you there?"
Silence.
She sighed again and glanced at the clock. Her next turn on the stage wasn't for another twenty minutes, but she had nothing else to do but sit here and stare at the woman she had become only a few short days ago. Samantha and the children had been going away for a week to visit with her father, and Darrin had told her not to worry. He'd be perfectly okay alone. After all, he was a grown man. Sam smiled, gave him a quick kiss, and she was gone.
But Endora had wasted no time. One minute he was stepping out of the shower, soon after his family had gone, and the next she was stepping onstage here at the Pussywillow Lounge, peeling off her clothes to an overpowering disco beat and trying very hard to smile instead of cry.
Three days of stripping and lap dances, and the manager's wandering hands. Three days of simulated sex with a pole, baring everything to drunken men with money to spend. And smiling, always smiling, like it had always been her dream to take her clothes off in front of frustrated husbands in Bayonne, New Jersey.
And always just on the edge of tears. Until this morning. Until she realized that nothing would change between her and Endora unless she MADE it change.
Starting now.
"You rang, Darla?" A sharp voice voice drifted down from above. Darla looked up into the overly made-up eyes of her mother-in-law, the witch who had tormented her male self nearly non-stop for almost seven years. She sat on nothing, suspended in mid-air just below the ceiling, wearing brightly colored silks and a big smile. She looked very happy.
"Did you call to threaten me? To bluster and to huff and puff, like you always do? As if that would change my mind. It never has, you know." Her smile grew. "Given your current state, maybe you should 'throw a hissy' or pull my hair instead. Maybe threaten to scratch my eyes out. Although just between us girls, that won't help either."
Darla just looked at her. Endora let the silence grow, until she realized suddenly that the former Darrin was not playing his part in the script, as he had always done. Her eyes narrowed.
"All right, Darwin, I'll bite. What's going on?"
Darla bowed her head, almost a nod, then raised it to look in Endora's eyes.
"I want to talk with you."
The witch wrinkled her nose. "Talk?"
"Yes, talk." The red-haired woman waved to a nearby chair. Endora remained where she was. "Over the years, we’ve shouted, snapped, bickered, growled, traded insults, or ignored each other. Maybe it's time we tried to talk for a change. Because the rest of that is getting us nowhere."
Endora's lip twitched. "Oh, I don't know. It's got you here, doing five shows a night while men drool and stuff good money into your G-string." Darla looked back at her, impassively. Like a stone statue in flesh tones and shades of red, the witch realized. Sterner stuff than Dilbert had shown her before. Endora sniffed, and looked away. "Besides, what could the two of us possibly have to talk about?"
"The one thing we two share, above all else," Darla answered. "Our love for Samantha."
Endora's eyes flashed. "How dare you compare my love to yours! Mortal love is a pale shadow of what we witches can feel."
Darla shrugged, and didn't raise her voice a hair. "I'll have to take your word for it, since I'm not a witch. But I know Samantha loves me, and I can feel how strong that is. You're probably right."
"She doesn't love you," Endora insisted, derision in every word. "She can't. She's infatuated, that's all. Nothing more."
"She loved me enough to agree not to use her magic so we could be together." Darla reached up and closed her robe with her hand, covering her cleavage without taking her eyes off of her mother-in-law. "She loved me enough to bear two children ... our children ... your grandchildren. And to hold tight to our marriage despite your disapproval and ... hatred of me. You raised a smart and beautiful daughter. She's not mistaken, or misguided, or wrong. Samantha loves me. And I love her."
Endora jerked her head in dismissal. It was Darla's turn to be angry.
"If I didn't love her ..." she said hotly, "if I were truly weak, I would have run the first time you threatened me. Or the first time you changed me into something else. Or the second, Or the third. Or the two hundredth." Darla turned and looked into the mirror -- into those deep green eyes Endora had given her. "And I never begged you to stop. Never pleaded for mercy. Never ran from you, either, no matter how much I could see you despised me. I held onto my love for her, and put up a brave front whenever we fought. I had to be strong. For her." She turned back to Endora and her eyes flashed. "I think I've proven my love, by what I've had to put up with for the past seven years."
"What I've done to you in the past is nothing compared to what I could do!" Endora raged above her. Darla became calm again.
"Oh, yes," she said. "What you've done to me this time shows there are depths you still haven't explored. The humiliation of having me parade and ... debase out there for those ... men. Trapping me like this ... in this body. In this life." Darla shivered. "Without even the flimsy excuses you've given yourself in the past. This time, I didn't argue with you, or insult you, at all. With Sam and the children gone, I thought I wouldn't have to see you at all. A nice quiet week for everyone. But then, out of nowhere, without a reason, you do this to me. The husband of your daughter. The father of your grandchildren. Turned into a cheap stripper and turned out on display. This isn't even a sham of justice, Endora. It's just hateful. And wrong."
The witch gasped. "You dare ...?"
Darla nodded. "I dare. Because this time is different. This little adventure will end one of two ways. I will endure this for the remainder of the week, and Sam will come home and realize I'm gone. She will discover the truth of what you've done to me and be horrified, and demand you return me to my male self. You will play at refusing, as you always do. But eventually, you'll give in. Because you love her. You always bend because you love her, and you know I make her happy. Because as much as you hate it, she loves me. And she loves you too, which is why she'll be angry at you for a time, but she'll let it go. Because she loves you."
Darla turned back to the mirror. "The other way this ends turns out differently. Maybe this time, you don't bend. Because you hate me so much, you did this to me out of spite -- just to hurt me, because you can. Maybe you don't care if you hurt her, too, or my children. I don't know. Maybe deep down, you don't really care about anyone but yourself. Why should you? You can do whatever you want ... have whatever you desire. Certainly you didn't mind the hours of aggravation and heartache you've caused my wife in the past because of your hatred for me."
"But if you choose the second course ... if you don't bend ... she will still come home and find me gone. And if you don't return me to her, she will hate you. The children too, when they realize you've taken their Dad away forever. As strong as a witch's love can be, I know the depth of a witch's hate. Because I've felt yours, Endora. And Samantha is still your daughter." Darla shivered. "You'll lose her. Forever."
Endora thought about it, and realized Dustbin was right. She would have to give in or lose her daughter and her grandchildren. Still, it galled her. "It isn't right, what you've done to her in the name of love. Stolen her heritage away, her magic. Made her a shadow of the witch she was."
Darla nodded and looked at Endora in the mirror. "You're right."
Endora's eyes widened. "I'm ..."
"I said, you're right. I've been thinking about this for a long time. I was wrong to insist she cut herself off from her past, her people. Her birthright. Just to satisfy my need to earn what I make, on my own? That's my business, not hers. When she returns, the ban ends. She can do what she likes. I only ask to be consulted on matters pertaining to myself and the children, but she is free to use as much or as little magic as she chooses. If you agree to my proposal."
"Proposal? Are you bargaining with me, mortal?"
"No," Darla said with a shrug that set her breasts quivering. "If you leave me like this, or worse, I will have no power over what Samantha does or doesn't do. It won't matter to Darla whether Sam uses her magic or not. Oh, I could call her, but you could make it impossible for me to reach her. You could make me so stupid I wouldn't be able to figure out how to use a telephone. Or you could send me somewhere else, too far away to reach her. But if we agree, and I am returned to my family, then Samantha is free to do as she wishes with her magic."
Endora considered the red-haired stripper before her. "What do you propose?"
"Détente." Darla's voice was flat. "You let me be, and at least try to be civil with me in front of Sam and the children. In turn, I will do the same with you. Samantha has her magic, and we can both move on."
"How does this benefit me?" Endora sounded suspicious.
"In three very important ways," Darla replied, looking at the clock and picking up her brush. She continued speaking as she fixed her hair. "First, you make Samantha happy, because you love her and she will be overjoyed that we're actually getting along. Second, you make your grandchildren happy, because you aren't hurting their Dad anymore. And finally, because you will eventually realize that time is on your side, and you will win in the end."
"What does that mean?"
"You said it yourself a few minutes ago. You called me mortal, and mortal I am. You and Samantha and the children will live thousands of years. You will see the future, as you have seen the past. But in forty years or so, I'll be gone. Dead and buried. And you will have Samantha and the children all to yourself. Without me." She put down the brush. A hint of sadness crept into her voice. "You'll have thousands of years with her, Endora. With them. Can't you spare me the rest of my short human life? Just to make your only daughter happy?"
There was a chime, and Darla looked up. Endora was gone. The new woman sighed again. She had hoped she had finally gotten through to her mother-in-law -- that maybe there was a shred of decency buried under all that self-interest. Darla leaned over to touch up her make up. A few more days until Sam and the children get home, she thought sadly. Then we'll see. I can do this until then. I have to.
She felt a hand squeeze her bottom and then slap her hip. She jumped and squealed in spite of herself.
"Stop primping, girl!" It was the stage manager, an aging lech with a leer that seemed permanently fixed on his face. "You look just fine to me. And you're on in thirty seconds anyway. So go shake your money maker and make the customers happy." He stood back and watched as Darla shrugged off the robe and hung it behind the door as she left the room. She glided quickly across the backstage wing, draping her skimpy costume across her curves as she walked.
When Darla was ready, she nodded to the DJ. The music began, and she stepped through the curtains ...
... and he found himself back in the bathroom at home, a towel in one hand and Darla's "come hither" look plastered across his very male face in the mirror above the sink. Darrin smiled his own smile and leaned over to wipe some fog off the glass for a closer look. Instead, he found himself looking at Endora's face instead. He took a step backward and covered himself with the towel.
"Very well ... Darrin," she said with a reluctant smile. "For the sake of Samantha and the children, you'll have your life together." She shook her head and looked down. "And you're right. I did ... go too far, this time. Nothing I've ever done to you before could shake you. Could make you leave my daughter and run. I became ... frustrated."
"I don't know if I'll ever ... like you, but after all this time, I have to respect you ... " Her eyes narrowed. "... a little. And you must really love her to put up with all this for so long. She certainly loves you." She shrugged. "So the games end now, forever. Have your time, and treat her and my grandchildren well. Because if you ever hurt them, remember ... there is always an empty seat in the dressing room at the Pussywillow Lounge." For a moment, the reflection wavered to show a shocked stripper staring back at Darrin. "And I know just the shapely bottom to fill it ... dear."
There was a chime, and the reflection vanished. Endora returned, threw her hands in the air, and disappeared.
And after a long moment staring at his old self in the mirror, Darrin laughed, and once again wished for the end of the week to arrive ... just so he could hug his kids, and hold his wife in his arms again.
"Wish granted," Endora's voice purred. There was another chime, and he could hear Samantha's key in the door, and the voices of his children outside.
"Be right there!" he called. Only it came out in Darla's voice. He heard her laughter again, and turned to see her standing in the doorway to the bathroom
"Endora! You promised!" He felt a twist in his throat, and knew his own voice had returned.
"Old habits, Derwood," she said sweetly. "Last trick, witch's honor!" Endora held out her hand. "Truce ... Darrin?"
He had to smile. "Truce," he said, and shook her hand.
Maybe ... finally ... things were going to change.
And after seven years, it was about time.
NOTE: Gwen's earlier story in the Witchyverse prompted my own frustrations with Bewitched to come forward and demand attention. The story just sort of wrote itself. And I guess, in the end, I think love can conquer hate ... or at least hold it at bay to keep the ones you truly love happy. It's a start for Darrin and Endora, and that's all anyone can ask.
*hugs*
Randalynn
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2006-05-05 21:59:17 -0400
Bewitched: An Empty Seat
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An epilogue to the story, Bewitched: A Meeting of the Minds at the Pussywillow Lounge. It's forty years later, and Darrin's time is near ...
All the goodbyes had been said. Samantha, Tabitha, and Adam had waited with him for days, watching over him and holding his hand while the minutes between Darrin and death shrank to a precious few. After Darrin descended into a deep sleep, his family decided to go across the street to a diner for dinner. The staff had Samantha's cell phone number and swore they would call when Darrin woke up.
Although the looks the doctors and nurses gave each other made it clear they thought "if" was a more appropriate word than "when."
As soon as it was quiet in Darrin's room, there was a chiming sound. Endora appeared next to the bed. She hadn't changed a bit in the years since the incident that had so completely altered her relationship with her daughter's mortal husband.
Not changed physically, at any rate.
She looked down at the frail form lying there.
So fragile, she thought sadly, and sighed. I am sorry now, for everything I did to him ... before. I really didn't understand mortals then. To be fair, I didn't really want to. Now I see there is more to them than I thought. Because once we stopped sniping at each other, I could see that he really was a good husband, and a good father. A good ... man.
"Darrin?" Endora whispered, touching his cheek. He started and opened his eyes to see her standing beside him. Then he smiled.
"It seems I'll never get used to you using my real name," he whispered.
"I could call you 'Dustbin' if it would make you feel better," she replied with a wink.
"I don't think anything could make me feel better at this point." Darrin looked over at all the machinery helping to keep him alive, and the morphine drip to cut the pain. "But I appreciate the sentiment ... I think."
She took his hand and squeezed.
"You'll have them all to yourself soon, Endora," he said with a little smile. "I envy you the future. But I thank you for the past. For the time you allowed me to have."
"I should thank you," Endora whispered. "For making me see that mortals have their good points. Even ones who marry my daughter." Darrin smiled and squeezed her hand in return. He closed his eyes.
There was a long companionable silence, but finally, it was broken ... by Endora.
"I was thinking back to the incident that changed things between us, and I believe I know why you were able to endure what I did to you, and make peace between us."
Darrin's eyes popped open. Endora smiled.
"No secrets between us, 'Darla,'" she said, and Darrin seemed to relax in the bed. "The truth is, my little trick backfired. You actually enjoyed being 'Double-D,' didn't you?" Darrin seemed to turn inward and think. After a time, Endora pressed further. "Didn't you?"
Darrin nodded. "No more secrets. I did like it ... some of it, anyway. Not all. Not the powerlessness of being a piece of meat for the club owner or the backstage manager ... of letting them touch me whether I wanted it or not. But when I was Darla, I was twenty years old again, healthy and alive. The girls stuck together and helped each other out, like sisters. And when I stepped out on the stage, every man in that room wanted me. For all of the things I've done as Darrin ... for everything I've ever accomplished ... I have never felt so ... desired ... since those three day so long ago."
Endora nodded. "I remember being wanted that way. Intoxicating. How the men would flock. That feeling of being precious ... of being the center of a man's universe, even for a short while."
Darrin nodded back. "I didn't want to stay Darla, because of Sam and the children," he went on. "They needed me. I had a home, and a family, and a life. But when you turned me into Darla without a reason, I knew how badly you wanted to punish and humiliate me. My time in Darla's heels was time for me to think, and I realized we couldn't keep going at each other like that, or both of us would lose the woman we loved."
Endora bowed her head, just a nod, her eyes closed.
"I wish I could give you immortality," she said softly. "I wish I could make you ... one of us. I think witches could learn a lot from mortals, if we ever got past the prejudice for the non-magical. But I can't even heal you, Darrin. It is forbidden by the Witches Council." He sighed, and nodded. She opened her eyes and looked down at him. "There is ... something I can do for you. One gift I can give. If you truly want it."
Darrin looked at her confused.
"Remember when we made our truce? I said you should behave yourself, or 'there is always an empty seat in the dressing room at the Pussywillow Lounge, waiting to be filled.'" His eyes widened. She nodded. "I kept that seat open since that night, more out of nostalgia than anything else. It's still waiting ... for you. Darla."
"Sam ..."
She interrupted him. "Samantha can't know, Darrin. Not ever. I'm taking advantage of a loophole no one knows is there, and I'm just barely within the rules as it is. If Sam knows and they find out, they'll assume she was in it with me, and punish us both."
Endora looked deep into his eyes. "This isn't an extension of your old life. It's a whole new one to live. If you choose. You've always been proud of making your own way. Here's your chance to start again, and build a better life. For Darla. And for you."
Suddenly, Darrin's heart monitor began to beep irregularly. He gasped from the pain, then looked at the machine, and back at Endora. She nodded, and smiled, and squeezed his hand again.
"Say yes, mortal," she whispered. "Say yes, and live a while longer. For me."
Darrin nodded, and closed his eyes. His heart stopped.
Darrin Stevens died that night and was buried in a private service. Samantha and the children grieved for their lost loved one, then disappeared from the mortal realm soon after -- Sam to finally take her place on the Witches Council, and the children to explore their heritage with their grandmother.
And Darla? She appeared back in the Pussywillow Lounge forty years earlier, just in time for her midnight slot on the night she left, so long ago. She stayed on there for a few years as a dancer, eventually becoming the headliner. She made enough money to buy the place outright, and surprised everyone with her business acumen. Her knack for advertising and promotion turned "Darla's Place" into a Bayonne institution -- and kept customers coming back, night after night.
Darla was a wonderful boss. She paid the women who danced there well and treated them like family. Even after she became the owner, Darla kept dancing, and eventually found a man who didn't care what she did on stage, as long as she came back to their bed every night.
Sometimes, the other women in the club would see her drift off into memory, and watch a wistful smile slip onto her face. Even so, she never missed an entrance. She enjoyed every minute in the spotlight. And she was always there for a friend.
Because no matter where she'd been before, she knew where she was now. And Darla Derwood was happy.
"Double-D" was home.
NOTE: I just had to bring Double-D home. When I realized I'd left a loophole, I couldn't let it rest. It was too good an opportunity to miss. *grins* I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.
*hugs*
Randalynn
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Bishop: Genesis
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Join master thief Bishop on a strange pilgrimage as an encounter with a beautiful woman, an inventive blackmailer, and a magical artifact change his world forever.
Bishop: Born Again
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Bishop sits in a strip club, alone in a crowd and wondering what comes next. It's three fifteen a.m. on a rainy night in Bay City; he catches his reflection in the mirror over the bar and wonders how events conspired to find him warming a barstool in a place like this. A friend once said that his smile made it seem like he saw the whole world as a joke to which only he knew the punch line.
And it’s true. Until yesterday, Bishop’s life was everything he could hope for, and the smile was his way of acknowledging how things had always seemed to fall his way. But not tonight. The grin is gone, the joke has fallen flat, and our hero is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because they always do.
“Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things. The honest thief,
the tender murderer, the superstitious atheist.” - Robert Browning
“We hope that even a thief has a heart.” - Dave Navarro
###
Bishop sits in a strip club, alone in a crowd and wondering what comes next. It's three fifteen a.m. on a rainy night in Bay City; he catches his reflection in the mirror over the bar and wonders how events conspired to find him warming a barstool in a place like this.
Twenty nine years old, looking good enough to catch a woman when he wants one, but not handsome enough for one to want to catch him permanently. Tall with muscles like a swimmer, wearing black slacks, a black shirt, and a blacker attitude. Dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a troubled frown replacing the hint of a smile that usually touched his face. A friend once said that smile made it seem like he saw the whole world as a joke to which only he knew the punch line.
And it’s true. Until yesterday, Bishop’s life was everything he could hope for, and the smile was his way of acknowledging how things had always seemed to fall his way.
But not tonight. The grin is gone, the joke has fallen flat, and our hero is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because they always do.
Bishop sips his overpriced drink and uses the mirror over the bar to watch the other patrons. He knows he doesn't belong here, surrounded by the husks of men so empty only the power of their lust seems to keep them . . . erect. His smile returns, banishing the frown just for an instant. But circumstances send the smile away, and he takes another sip of his drink.
Because someone summoned him here with a threat he could not ignore, and he hates being told what to do by anyone.
He doesn't want to be here, our intrepid hero, oh, no. Bishop knows places like this drain souls dry, turning something basic and primal and natural into nothing more than dollars and cents; leaving nothing behind but stale cigarette smoke and the vague feeling of something lost.
Bishop turns his attention to the woman on stage, still using the mirror above the bar. She is physically magnificent — surprisingly pretty, with deep green eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and full sensuous lips. Her skin is unblemished and golden — everywhere, it seems, as his eyes wander down her totally naked form. A natural blonde, with a toned, fit body, her breasts sit high and proud on her rib cage, obviously unenhanced but with not a hint of sag. Her waist is tight with a hint of muscle tone that speaks of exercise and care, and her hips are round and full but exactly right for her body. Her legs are long and shapely, and they carry her well on stage. For all of that, her dancing is a trifle mechanical. She is sure-footed and graceful, but the spark is gone.
’That’s it,’ he thinks, looking up at her face. ‘That’s what’s missing. She’s totally naked, completely exposed, but empty. She’s just going through the motions.’
And its true. Her pretty green eyes hold nothing, as if she turns herself off at the beginning of each performance, and stays disconnected until she leaves the stage. If that really is the case, Bishop isn’t surprised. In fact, he wonders if she’s a kindred spirit.
Because if he had to perform on command, he’d turn himself off, too.
'Maybe it's love that's gone missing,' he tells his reflection. 'Maybe the woman on stage gave up on believing she should save her body to share with someone who loved her. She sold it for a paycheck and a place in the spotlight, never realizing she'd miss what she lost until it was long gone, with no way to get it back.'
His eyes scanned the crowd, and the frown became a grimace. 'Maybe the men in the audience made a similar choice. They grew tired of chasing the "One True Love" and abandoned the concept of wife, help mate, lover after too many lonely nights. They chose to feed their lust in places like this, and sold their sense of woman as people in exchange for a few moments of fantasy. They found out way too late that lust without love is just a shadow, and shadows are a thin meal to feed a hunger like desire.'
'No wonder they're all empty,' he whispers in his head. 'Chasing shadows every night, and going home alone when the light chases the shadows away. '
“Are you there, Your Eminence?” A voice with a slight Belfast accent bellows inside his head. The receiver is surgically embedded in his mastoid bone, and there is no volume control, so Bishop winces slightly before responding.
“Yes, Finn,” he replies, speaking into his glass to hide his lip movements. “Lower the gain before you make me deaf.”
“Sorry, Your Grace.” There is a trace of sarcasm in the tone, but Finn complies. “Is that better?”
“Much. Still no contact yet, but you’d know that if you were listening.”
There’s a microphone embedded in the roof of his mouth, and a second in his throat, but enunciating without moving his lips has never been one of his strong points, and Bishop doesn’t use the throat mike much. He needs to carry a transmitter on him so the signal can reach his support team in the van, but it doesn’t have to look like much — a pen, a belt buckle, whatever is appropriate. The transmitter has a microphone too, for ambient noise, but it’s usually off unless needed.
“Well, who can hear anything worthwhile over that white noise?” Finn grumbles. Bishop stifles a grin, since he’s heard it all before.
“Anything new on the club?”
“It’s mobbed up, to be sure, but what else is new in Bay City? So many holding companies holding other companies, it’s like a corporate orgy. And the trail only goes so far, but far enough to know you’re sitting in the middle of enemy territory.” His voice holds a note of disgust. “And I can hear that damned high-tech caterwauling every time you open your mouth, thank you very much.”
The thief can’t help but smile. “Sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
The music stops, and the naked blonde freezes in place, half wrapped around the pole to one side of the stage.
“Thank Christ,” Finn mutters through the link.
There is applause from the audience, but she doesn’t acknowledge it at all. In fact, she doesn’t even pick up the few scraps of clothing she wore onto the stage. Instead, she exits forward, down the steps leading to the floor in front of the stage, still totally bare except for the sheen of sweat from the exertion and the hot lights. She sweeps past the throng of empty men, right through the center of them all. They are way too stunned to react, let alone reach out to touch the goddess who was unreachable only seconds before.
“Something’s happening,” Bishop whispers into his drink. “Switch on the ambient mike.”
She stalks through the center of the club and stops directly behind Bishop’s barstool. He looks up at her reflection in the mirror.
“You are wanted,” she says, her voice at once both sensual and businesslike.
“Nice to know,” he replies. “By you?”
She shakes her head gently. “No, Mister Bishop. By the man waiting in my dressing room.”
“Pity.” Bishop rises and throws a few bills on the table, then spins on the barstool until he is facing her. “I’d much rather be wanted by you. But truth be told, I’d rather get this over now with than spend another minute watching you play at being seductive when all you truly are is bored.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “Not many men notice.”
“Not many men care,” he replies. “Most here only want to see your body, and think about what they would do with it if they had the chance. I’m more interested in the woman inside.”
“Then you are a most unusual man.”
Bishop shrugs. “Flesh is flesh, even when it is as beautiful as yours. It has its pleasures, but I’ve always felt people are far more interesting than skin ... don’t you think?”
“Depends on the skin,” she says, tilting her head. “And the people.”
He looks back, unafraid. “If I survive this meeting, we should talk more.”
She eyes him critically for a few seconds, and Bishop waits for her to finish.
“If you survive this meeting, we should do more than talk.” A smile grows on her lips, but before Bishop can do more than notice, she spins and walks back the way she came, those perfect hips rolling as she stalks through the crowd like a jungle cat. He follows her, his eyes more on the clientele than on her bottom. He really does want this over, and interruptions from the empty patrons are not welcome. Not now.
As they step through the curtains into the back of the club, a new act slips by them both. It’s a small brunette with large breasts in a bikini too sizes too small to hold them, hurrying to fill the stage before the audience recovers from the blonde’s unexpected stunt. As the awful dance music begins again, Bishop hears Finn cursing over the link and smothers a grin.
They continue through the mirrored length of the common area, where the rest of the strippers make up or wait for their turn to bare all in the service of whoever owns this place. It is strangely empty, although Bishop suspects that the reason he’s here may have something to do with the lack of traffic. There are a few doors in the rear wall, next to a long corridor where Bishop is sure bathrooms and a rear exit are close at hand.
“Just so you know, the back door is unlocked and he’s waiting for you there.” Finn again. “Just in case you need him. I’m sending the ambient feed his way, so he might come in whether you want him or not.” The hacker pauses for an instant, then sighs. “Not my idea, Your Holiness. He insisted.”
Bishop uses the simple tone transmitter at the back of his jaw to send a single beep acknowledging Finn’s message. Sometimes, words aren’t necessary.
She reaches a dark green door. A handwritten placard on the outside reads “Moira” in a feminine scrawl, and Bishop is surprised when she actually knocks.
He raises an eyebrow. “It’s your dressing room, isn’t it?”
She shrugs. “What’s mine is his, when he wants it to be. Right now, the room is his. So I knock.”
Bishop touches her arm, and she turns.
“Are you his?” His voice is soft.
“Come.” A single word, spoken clearly from inside, but with an unfamiliar accent.
“For now,” she replies, looking into his eyes. “But not by choice.”
Then she smiles, and it warms his heart, just a little. “And nothing lasts forever.”
He smiles back. “So I’ve noticed.”
Moira turns the knob and the door swings open to reveal a surprisingly spacious dressing room. Still naked, she motions for Bishop to enter before her, which he does, albeit slowly.
In a director’s chair at the make-up mirror, turned to face the door, a large man sits. He wears a dark Armani suit that almost but not quite hides his size. His dark hair is carefully arranged above a nondescript face that could belong to any one of a thousand men sitting in front of cafés in a hundred Middle Eastern capitals.
“Mister Bishop!” He smiles and rises to his feet. ‘So nice of you to come.”
“Your invitation was so compelling, it was too hard to resist.” Bishop steps to one side to allow Moira to enter. She moves quickly across the room to stand beside the mirror against the wall, and pulls a silk robe from the hook there. She starts to put it on.
“Leave it off.” The dark man says, his attention not wavering an instant from Bishop’s face. Moira looks at the back of his head and continues putting the robe on before standing with her back to the wall. She looks at Bishop, her emotionless mask back in place.
“Magnificent, isn’t she?” The dark man peers into Bishop’s eyes as if searching for his soul. “Perfection personified. More ...willful than I like a woman to be, but still a living monument to feminine beauty. Don’t you agree?”
Bishop inclines his head. “She is beautiful, that’s true. But a woman is always more than she appears, and for me, that’s always been part of the fun ... finding the beauty within.”
The dark man frowns, then gives him a curious look. “A philosopher, I see. Well, perhaps you have a feminine side of your own, Mister Bishop. Or should I say ... Magdalene?”
Bishop shrugs. “Misdirection is part of a thief’s stock and trade, Mister ...?”
“Call me Khaleel.”
“Mister Khaleel.” Bishop shakes his head. “No hidden desires here. Magdalene is just a name, after all. I enjoyed the religious connotations, and the fact that according to scripture, she had her demons, as we all do. And I must admit to enjoying the confusion it might cause to those who might try to find the woman instead of the man. But in the end, it is just a name.”
“It is a name you have hidden behind for many years, Mark Allen Bishop.” Khaleel wags his finger at his guest. “Magdalene, the great master thief, who only takes the jobs he wishes to take and is as picky with his clients as he is with his targets. Your refusal to work for so many members of the criminal community has left many bitter and angry men, who have lost many opportunities when you refused to steal for them.”
“My skills, my choice,” the thief replies.
“Perhaps. Still, they would very much like to find you and teach you respect.” Khaleel grins. “Or kill you. Perhaps both, given enough time. But I think you know all this, which is why you come here now, to meet with me.”
Bishop looks around the room, then back at his blackmailer. He sighs.
“You know, this is a terrible place for this particular meeting.” The thief’s voice is almost conversational. “I mean, metaphorically speaking, a strip club is a disaster. After all, I can hardly ‘bare all’ for you, now that you know my secrets.”
“Hardly all of them, sir.” The other man smiles. “I’m sure you still have many. But I’ll have those soon enough as well. Or rest assured, others will have you.”
“A brothel might have made more sense.” Bishop ignored the interruption. “Given what you do know, I’m sure you plan to turn me into your whore and sell my talents for your own profit.”
Khaleel raises both hands, palms forward, and shakes his head. “Nothing so crude as that. I was thinking more of a partnership.”
“The thing about a partnership is that partners are usually equal, and threats are seldom part of the mix.” Bishop shakes his head. “No, given how you have chosen to approach me, I’m thinking I’m not going to be given too much of a choice. Like Moira there, I’m sure I’m to be expected to do what I’m told.”
Khaleel smiles widely, his teeth bright white in the darkened room.
“Someone must always lead, Mister Bishop,” he purrs, putting his hands in his pockets. “You failed to hide who you were well enough, and I have discovered your true name. In many legends, that alone gives me the power to command you. But here and now, it is my ability to turn you over to those who would skin you alive that gives me the upper hand. I am the winner of our little game, so I have earned the right to lead.”
“I’m afraid I disagree,” the thief replies. “The game is not over yet, and I have no intention of giving up my freedom, to you or anyone else.”
The other man purses his lips and sighs. “You will die, then, at the hands of one of those who would make you suffer. In fact, I will see to it personally, if you refuse to cooperate. Isn’t that what blackmailers usually do?”
“I wouldn't know,” Bishop replies with a smile. “In any case, they, and you, will have to catch me first. And I am very good at what I do. As you well know.”
“But in the end, they will still catch you. There are too many of them, and as good as you are, you will die.” The dark man looks at him, and sighs heavily. “I am sorry, Mister Bishop, but I cannot let you run. Your skills are too valuable. I need you.”
He pulls his hand from his pockets, and in the palm of his right is a pale green gem that glows with its own internal light.
“I had not wished to do this,” he says softly, fingering the jewel. “I had hoped you would see reason. But I cannot afford to lose you to your own pride. I must catch you in such a way that you cannot run without losing yourself.”
“What is that?” Bishop says, both to Finn and Khaleel.
“My insurance,” Khaleel replies. “One way or another, I will have you.”
He spins with a grace that belies his bulk, and presses the glowing gem against Moira’s forehead. Her eyes widen as the jewel glows brightly, covering all of her in an unearthly shine. She gasps once, and then her entire body seems to dissolve and collapse into a pile of dust at the dark man’s feet. There is the sound of a distant chime, and Khaleel snatches the gem from the air before it can fall.
Shocked, Bishop takes a step back, his eyes dropping to the floor where Moira had been standing.
“What did you do to her?”
Khaleel smiles. “That is not what you should be asking, thief. What you should be asking is, what will I do to you?”
Bishop takes another step backward, but finds himself pressed against the door. Khaleel lunges forward and plants the gem firmly on the thief’s forehead.
For a timeless instant, Bishop feels his whole body shimmer and shift, then realign in a radically different configuration. Khaleel snatches the jewel away and steps back, and the thief looks down to find the most perfect breasts he’s ever seen filling out the black shirt that had covered his own chest moments ago.
He looks up, into the mirror behind the dark man, and sees Moira looking back at him, wearing his oversized clothing and a shocked and confused look on her oh-so-perfect face.
“What have you done?” She whispers, her hand wandering up to touch her face. Her eyes narrow, and her sweet voice becomes a snarl. “What did you do?”
“I have taken your body, your life, and your sex hostage,” Khaleel crows, tossing the jewel up in the air over and over again. “If you ever want to be a man again, you will do as I say, steal what I tell you to steal, and be a dutiful, respectful, and obediant woman until I decide whether or not to give you your manhood back.”
Bishop lunges forward, but she trips over her own shoes and stumbles past the dark man to brace herself on the dressing table. Laughing, Khaleel slaps her bottom hard as she passes, then turns to stand by the door, holding the jewel above his head.
“Careful, thief!” He grins. “All that you were is inside this jewel now.”
“If that were true,” Bishop growls, Moira’s musical voice now bitter and hard, “you could just find yourself another man and make him ‘all that I was.’ You need my skills, and they still reside here.”
She puts her hand on her chest and feels the softness there shift, just a little, at her touch. It makes her pause, and Khaleel sees her hesitation and smiles.
“Ah, but you see, your physical form is locked in here.” He holds out the gem, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “If I should lose it, or drop it, or crush it under my heel, your hopes for ever becoming the man you were again will disappear.”
“And her?” Bishop asks, her voice suddenly soft and unsure. “What did you do with Moira?”
“She is gone.” Khaleel grins. “The Janus jewel was empty before I used it on her. When I stole her shape, I started the chain, freed her from her body, and thrust you into it. Now your form is stored here, until I return it. Or destroy it. And what I choose to do is totally up to you.”
Bishop feels cold inside, thinking of the rare glimpses of the true Moira she had been given, and how easily the dark man threw her away. The cold gives way to an anger that will not be so easily dismissed, but the thief holds it at bay.
This is too dangerous a game to let emotions have their sway. Yet.
“Your Holiness?” The Finn’s voice echoes in her head. Still connected, after all.
“Yeah, Finn, I’m here.” She lets a bit of tiredness creep into her voice. “So to speak.”
“Shit! It’s for real?”
Khaleel cocks his head at Bishop. “Who are you talking to?”
“One of those secrets of mine you said you’d find out about,” the thief replies, baring her teeth in a savage grin. “The other one should be along right about ... now.”
The door slams open, catching Khaleel from behind and catapulting him forward. Bishop lunges for the jewel, but the dark man lurches backward —
-- directly into the arms of a scowling giant. With a squawk, the dark man finds himself picked up by the back of his neck and hoisted into the air.
After a few seconds, the huge man filling the doorway gives the thief a once-over, then gives the extortionist a shake.
“So it’s true. I heard it, but dared not believe it.” The disgust drips from his voice with a casual distain that only a Frenchman can deliver, and he shakes his head. “I am sorry, my friend. God is truly a cruel joker, to bring such magic into the world and then let it fall into the hands of scum like this.”
“Khaleel, meet Bateau. Bateau, meet Khaleel.” Bishop grins, but there is no joy in it. “That’s the man who made a new woman of me.”
“Let me go!” Khaleel shouts, waving his legs in the air.
“Not likely,” Bateau responds, and shakes him again. “Unless you would care to restore my friend?”
“If you do not put me down, you will regret it,” the dark man says, his voice shaking with anger.
“If I put you down, I will regret it more,” The giant hisses into the extortionist’s ear with a grin. “No, no, my juicy worm. I like you just where you are. Dangling on my hook, alone and powerless.”
“I am not quite as powerless as your man-mountain might think, thief.” Khaleel looks at his watch, then back down at Bishop. “I was prepared for your ... resourcefulness, and I made certain arrangements. If I don’t call my associates in two minutes, they will release your secret on the Internet, and all the hounds of hell will start chasing you. You will never be able to return to the man you were.”
He looks down at the transformed man. “So you should tell your oaf to let me go, now. Or there will be nothing awaiting you but pain and death, should I ever choose to restore what you once were.”
Bishop walks up to the pair and eyes Khaleel thoughtfully. Seconds pass, and finally the thief speaks.
“That is, of course, assuming you ever planned to restore me in the first place,” she says slowly.
The dark man squirms and looks away, and she nods. “That’s what I thought. You were planning to keep me like this all along, weren’t you?”
Bateau looks at Bishop. “He wanted you like that? From the start?”
She nods, her eyes never leaving Khaleel’s face.
“But why?”
“Because this way, he gets the best of both worlds.” She turned her attention back to Khaleel. “At first, you acted reluctant to use the jewel’s power, but that’s all it was — an act. That’s really why you chose this club, isn’t it? That’s why Moira was here at all, just so you could steal her form and trap me in it. Once you had me where you wanted me, I would become the perfect ... companion ... for you. You would have the world’s most talented thief when you wanted something taken ... and the perfect woman whenever you wanted to take me.”
The thief sighs. “In your mind, there would be no possibility of my escape or release. And how could I ever refuse you anything? After all, you would have two holds over me — your threat to expose my real identity, and my real form held hostage.”
“I might have changed you back.” The dark man seems almost defensive. Bishop gives him the same skeptical look.
“Don’t be stupid. Once you had me, you would never have let me go. And why should you? Having the great Magdalene steal for you and be your bitch, trapped the body of a goddess?” He shakes his head. “I have seen your type before. I know you would enjoy having me in your power too much to ever set me free.”
A small redheaded man peeks in the open door behind Bateau, and his jaw drops. It is, of course, Finn, and he is shocked by what he sees.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God” he says in a thickening brogue.
Bishop shakes his head. “Nope. Just me.”
The hacker slips around the giant and gawks at Bishop’s new form. “Your Grace ... is that really you?”
The woman nods. “In the flesh, Finn. Even if it did used to belong to somebody else.”
Khaleel looks at his watch and grins.
“Your time is up, thief, in more ways than one. You have lost who you were, and Mark Allen Bishop is now a wanted man.”
The thief shrugs. “I expected no less. Your phone call was just an empty bluff anyway. After all, you wanted me to stay like this. What better incentive than to make it impossible for me to ever be me again?”
Bateau growls and raises Khaleel higher, banging his head into the ceiling. The dark man winces, and looks down at the thief.
“As I said, your time is up.” The dark man shrugs. “Of course, my time is up, too, but I knew the risks when I started the game. I understand that every race has its ending ... although it seems yours is about to begin.”
He laughs out loud, and suddenly tosses the gem at Bishop, who snatches it out of the air with a delicate hand. She looks at it curiously, then back up at him.
“You see? I can be unpredictable, too.” Khaleel laughs again, although this time it takes on a ragged edge. “Now you are the victor, thief. The game is yours. So take the gem! Take back your body, and run for your life, what little there is left of it.”
His face contorts with a snarl. “Now that I am in your power, I can’t imagine you will set me free either, oh no. I know your trained ape will snap my neck at your command, and I will die. But as my soul leaves my body, I will have the satisfaction of knowing you will die too, and soon. You will be brought down by the very hounds I set upon you tonight, even if I won’t be there to watch.”
“So go ahead! Restore yourself, thief, and let the hunt begin! I welcome it! Kill me first, and I will save you a seat in Hell.”
Bishop looks at the dark man dangling in the air above her and sighs.
“If you knew anything about me ... about us ... you’d know we don’t kill people. That’s one of the reasons I was so picky about who I stole for. And why everyone you gave my name to seems to be the sort who like to make people die.”
She holds up the jewel and peers at him through it. It pulses green, just once — almost as if it approved of what the thief is thinking. Bishop wonders if she approves of what she’s thinking, too.
‘Still,” she mutters, “a good thief recognizes an opportunity when he — she sees one.”
Bishop looks over at the giant. “Put him down, Bateau. Gently.”
As the Frenchman began to lower Khaleel, the thief adds, “Then knock him out, if you please.”
Bateau grins. “Oh, I please.”
The instant the dark man’s feet hit the floor, the rest of him follows.
Khaleel opens his eyes slowly, but remains quite still, unable to believe his good fortune. He stares up at the ceiling, surprised to find he is still alive. It is hard to fathom why the thief would have spared him, but his continuing to breathe pleases him in some absurd way, since his immense ego makes it difficult for him to imagine the world without him in it.
There is a sense of time having passed, but Khaleel is unworried. Bishop probably wanted a head start before the hounds could catch his scent, not realizing how futile it was for him to even think about escaping. Unfortunately for the thief, Bishop’s Bay City location was part of the information put out on the Net along with his real name, long before that desperate ruse he tried when the oaf dangled him in the air. The dark man knew that every exit from the city was already being watched, one way or another. He almost feels sorry for Bishop.
Almost.
Turning his head, the dark man sees what’s left of the Janus crystal crushed into green dust only inches from his face.
‘It was a useful tool, and part of a masterful plan,’ he thinks, ‘but ultimately futile when faced with a man of Bishop’s determination. No wonder he chose to regain his manhood and try to outsmart those who would kill him. After all, what else would a real man do?’
Although he is not quite sure why, Khaleel is content that somehow, the fates had conspired to save him, presumably for better things. This contentment lasts for all of the ten seconds it takes for him to rise to a seated position on the hardwood floor and look at the floor-length mirror on the back of the door.
Bishop’s face stares back.
The dark man’s blood runs cold. As he rises quickly to his feet, he realizes that he is wearing the other man’s clothes along with his body. For the first time in years, he has energy to spare, along with all of Bishop’s physical conditioning, and his youthful vigor.
And Khaleel will keep them and use them well ... until the very first of the hounds finds him, bares its teeth, and lunges for his throat.
His throat ... it feels strange. Constricted somehow. He reaches up and massages it gently, then tries to speak. Nothing. Moving over to the mirror on the door, he looks closer, and sees two small needle marks on either side of his larynx. Numbed, possibly permanently.
Now he can’t even try to talk his way out of this. As if the hounds would listen.
The dark man begins to feel the first stirrings of panic, and his hands start to shake. He turns away from the door, looking for a way out, or a weapon ... anything to stop the nightmare before it begins.
And sees the message written in lipstick on the make-up mirror.
YOU WANTED A HUNT? ENJOY IT WHILE IT LASTS.”
No one else in his organization knew of the Janus gem, or his plans for Moira and Bishop. As far as they know, Khaleel is Bishop. And without the jewel or another like it for evidence, he has no way to prove he’s not.
The dark man with Bishop’s face barely has time to realize he’s screwed before he hears the sound of his own men running through the strip club . . . and wonders how far he will get before the first bullet takes him down.
He won’t have to wonder for long.
The beautiful blonde leans over towards the driver’s side of the van, her low-cut black mini-dress artfully exposing the soft round upper curves of her well-shaped breasts while the cool night air makes her erect nipples show clearly through the fabric. She places a delicate hand on the driver’s arm to steady herself, and flashes a brilliant, perfect smile at the state trooper at the roadblock.
“Is there a problem, officer?” she asks sweetly.
“Not at all, miss,” he replies with a smile of his own. “We’re just looking for an escaped fugitive and wondering if you might have seen him.”
The trooper holds up a picture of Mark Allen Bishop, a candid photo taken from a distance with a telephoto lens. Both the driver, a dark-haired giant of a man, and his stunning companion study it intently.
“I’m afraid I’ve never seen him,” the woman says wistfully, her voice almost a sigh. “I am sorry, too. He’s quite ... handsome, wouldn’t you say, Henri?”
The driver shakes his head. “Listen to you, petit. Asking me to judge if another man is handsome. I should be all the man you need.”
She blushes and turns away, and the man turns back to the trooper with a grin that seems to imply he will be proving to her later just how little she needs another man, no matter how handsome he might be.
Turning back to the two of them, the woman hesitates, then speaks.
“What has he done, this man?” Her voice trembles, just a bit. “Is he ... dangerous?”
“Oh, no, miss.” The trooper smiles again. “He’s just a thief, that’s all. We’ll catch him, don’t you worry. You hang onto that picture, and if you see him, call the number on the back and we’ll be right there to help.”
She returns his smile and winks. “I feel safer already, knowing you’re just a phone call away.”
“Thank you, miss.” She could almost see his chest expand from her flattery. “Please move along now, and thank you for your cooperation.”
The driver grins at the trooper, shifts into gear, and pulls away from the checkpoint.
“And if he’s a state policeman, then I am Johnny Cash,” Bateau mutters, his eye on the rearview mirror. “Every crime syndicate on the planet must have this city surrounded. And to make these flyers in the time they’ve had? Khaleel obviously let the information slip long before you met. You made a good call, mon ami. As yourself, you would never have left the city alive.”
Bishop holds herself up for a few seconds more before collapsing in her seat, knees slightly apart. She pulls at the front of her dress, tugging down the hem and then pulling up the top. trying to cover herself more and failing miserably.
“Please ... could you find us a hotel sometime soon? If I have to spend another minute dressed like this ...” Words fail her, and she falls silent.
“I will try, but it might be more than a few minutes, I am afraid,” Bateau shoots a glance at his friend. “We need more distance between Bay City and us, oui? Do not let your ... northern exposure ... blind you to how close we are to the hunters, even if they do not see you as their prey anymore.”
Bishop nods wearily, realizing she might still be call upon to play the seductress. She sits up straight once more, throws her shoulder back and brings her knees together.
“When we can, my friend,” she whispers, looking out the window. “When it’s safe.”
“Here!” Finn lurches forward from the back of the van, steadying himself with one hand on the driver’s seat. He hands Bishop his old black leather jacket. “Cover yourself before you catch your death.”
“Thanks, ‘mother.’” She throws him a smile, realizing that it’s his way of showing her he cares, even though he’s uncomfortable with the way things have changed. Bishop slips her arms into the jacket, only to find it’s now two sizes too big for her. She sighs and wraps it tight around her unfamiliar form — both for warmth, and to hide what she has become.
As if she could hide it from herself.
“How the hell did you get so good at ... at ... at what you just did back there?”
The thief sighs. “Misdirection is part of a thief’s stock and trade, Finn. Moira’s body is enough to make any man lose his ability to think in a straight line. All I had to do was smile, be sweet to the man, and let his libido do the rest.”
Finn gives her a small smile. “Well, you did good. He’s gonna have himself a fine time telling the other fake troopers about the blonde beauty in the white van, and thinking of you is going to keep him awake tonight.”
Her eyes close, and as she leans back in her chair once more. “Terrific. Now I’m a schoolboy fantasy for a hired thug and all his friends, and something for him to wank off to in the days to come.”
Her voice betrays how tired she is ... and more. Bateau and Finn exchange glances, confused and unsure of what to say. The silence makes her open her eyes, and she turns her head to find Finn staring at her, and Bateau trying to watch her and the road at the same time. She sighs.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “Both of you. I’m being bitchy, I know. But since I’m a woman now, maybe that’s ... appropriate somehow.”
Bishop sits up in her seat and turns to face the pair. In spite of the danger, Bateau slows down and pulls over to the side of the road. He cuts the engine, and the three listen to it ticking as it cools for a moment before Bateau turns and gives Bishop his total attention.
Whatever is coming next, it’s too important, to all of them, for him to drive and listen at the same time.
The thief sighs.
“I know you think it was the right call, Bateau, my staying like this. I did, too, at the time. I could have used the jewel to give Moira’s body to Khaleel, but I just couldn’t stomach the thought. It wouldn’t be right to her, somehow, to give him the beauty he killed her for, just so he could force me to be his whore. And strategically, my staying this way got us all out of Dodge without any of us having to die, and I still think that’s a good thing.”
She leans forward, and her voice catches in her throat. She has to start again.
“But now that we’re free, I’m just starting to realize that ... well, I’m not. Free, I mean. Not really. The life I saved isn’t a life I particularly want to live. What I did to that fake trooper just now made it painfully clear that things have changed for me, in ways I didn’t have a chance to think about until now.”
“Being a woman ... being this woman ... it scares me. It defines me, looking like this. Being this. I’ve been trying hard not to think about it, but look at me. As a man, I wasn’t anything special to look at. I could hide in plain sight if I had to. That’s not an option anymore. Hell, looking like this, all I want to do is hide. I know I won’t be able to walk down a street anywhere in the world without propositions and catcalls chasing me into the shadows.”
“And trying to just live? Like this?” She laughs, and it is bitter and empty. “Every man who sees me will spend less time talking to me as a person, and more time asking himself how big my tits really are, and whether they’re real or fake, whether I like them sucked or bitten when I fuck, and what I sound like when I cum ... and worst of all, how the hell can he get me into bed right now so he can find out all the answers for himself.”
Her voice trails off, and she sighs again. “In the meantime, here I am, and all I keep thinking is, ‘this is my life now? In the wrong body, with the wrong plumbing, and with everyone and his brother wanting to take me for a ride? Because let me tell you, boys, I am soooo not interested in being ridden. Not ever.”
She stops, and there is a long silence in the van. For some reason, Bishop is fighting to hold back tears, when the man she used to be hadn’t cried since his father had died when he was in high school. A few escape anyway, slipping down her cheeks. She hangs her head, using her hair to hide her hand as she brushes them away.
Then Bateau rises, but only long enough to go down on one knee before her. Of course, being a giant, his head still rises almost to the level of her own, and she finds herself looking into his eyes. There is such tenderness there ... such care ... that it takes her totally by surprise. He surprises her again by taking her hand in his, so gently, as if it were a frightened bird.
Then he speaks.
“Bishop,” he says softly. “You are a fool.”
Her eyes widen, and Bateau smiles. “Do not mistake me. You are not a fool because of how you feel, my friend. If I were in your pretty shoes, the wailing and gnashing of teeth would not be mine alone. Every women I have ever known from here to Marseilles would be wearing black, and I would be joining them in mourning the man I was, and would never be again.”
“But I am not you, and you are a fool, nonetheless, because you have forgotten who you are. Even now, in that magnificent body, as a woman men would gladly die for if you only said their names in a whisper ... even now, you are still the man you were. Still the man I fell in love with, all those years ago when we first met.”
She gasps softly, and the giant shrugs.
“This should come as no surprise to you, mon ami. As you know, I am a man who has always loved women. But since the very beginning of our partnership, I have loved you as only a Frenchman can love another man, with the deepest respect and admiration. The Bishop I fell in love with ... he lived each moment as he wished and chose how each moment was lived. He defined himself not by how others saw him, but by how he lived, and by the choices he made.”
“When I first saw you, when we first met for dinner in that restaurant in Monaco, you walked in as if you owned the place. I was impressed. But when you made the maitre de and the entire staff believe it, too? Well, I thought to myself, this is a man who makes the world what he wishes it to be. This is a man with more to teach me than how to pick a lock or steal a painting. This is a man from whom I can learn how to live.”
The tears Bishop tried so hard to stop finally begin to fall, one after the next, and she lets them. Bateau reaches up and touches one as it slides down the thief’s cheek, wiping it aside gently with his thumb.
“But now, you are confused. Ripped from your own body and from the life you knew, you have forgotten ... yourself. You have forgotten how you have lived.” He lifts her chin and looks into her eyes.
“So let me remind you, yes? Let the student become the teacher, just this once?”
Bishop nods, her eyes not leaving his. Bateau nods back.
“You are a woman now? So be it. Do not live in the past. Do as you did in that restaurant so long ago! Embrace it and make it your own. You are beautiful and desired? Use it to get what you desire, as you did tonight when your beauty and his lust won us our freedom. You do not wish to be defined by those who lust for you? Then define yourself as you always have, and let them live in their childish fantasies. What others think does not matter, and never has. What you think does.”
“And if you do not wish to be ridden?” Bateau grins. “Then no one will ride you, not ever. Because you will not allow it. Those men who would burn for you with such overwhelming passion? Let them die frustrated and alone, with your name lingering on their lips, because you said no.”
The giant leans forward and kisses the tears away, first from one cheek, then another. Bishop closes her eyes and lets him. He feels the Frenchman lean forward, and whisper in his ear.
“And you will not have to spend your life alone, my friend. There is a world full of women who would happily share their beds and their lives with you, just as you are. Again, your choice and theirs, as it has always been.”
Bateau pulls away and looks into her eyes once more. “And if somehow, the man I know you are finds it truly impossible to be the woman you have become? Well, you are living proof that there is magic in the world. There may be other jewels out there, or genies, or talismans, or a thousand other flavors of sorcery that will make you the man you were, or someone totally new — if you choose to find them.”
“You felt like your world was ending?” The Frenchman shakes his head. “This world is yours, mon ami, as it has always been. And Finn and I will be where we always will be, right beside you and behind you, watching you take your life wherever you want it to go. Because we love you, and there is nowhere else we would want to be but by your side.”
He smiles then, wide and welcoming, and opens his arms. Suddenly Bishop finds herself lurching forward with a wordless cry. She is surrounded by his warmth, pressed against this bear of a man and not sure how she got there, but not giving a damn, because there is nothing about this closeness that is the slightest bit sexual.
It’s just friendship, and caring. And love.
She looks over Bateau’s shoulder into her tech wizard’s bright red face and grins.
“How about it, Finn,” she whispers through the smile and the tears. “Do you love me, too?”
He fidgets for an instant, then sighs.
“Must’ve,” he mutters, looking away, “to put up with you all these years.”
She reaches out and touches his arm, and Finn throws her a slightly embarrassed sideways glance before slipping through the curtains into the back of the van.
“Whenever you two are finished,” his voice floats back with a touch of sarcasm, “I was thinkin’ we might want to be getting’ on with that narrow escape we were in the middle of a while ago?” There is a long pause, and a heavy sigh. “Just a thought, mind you. Lots of nasty chatter on the radio. Miles to go and all that.”
Bishop pulls back to look into the giant’s eyes.
“Thank you,” she says. Bateau nods once, still smiling, and opens his arms slowly.
She takes her time moving away. He watches her with a tiny smile as she makes it back to her seat and struggles a little with tucking the short skirt under her before she lowers herself gracefully and buckles in.
As she fiddles with the shoulder strap, trying to make it fall properly across her chest, the Frenchman imagines he sees a bit of the man he knew rising to the surface of the woman she has become. His small smile becomes a grin, and he looks away to hide it from her.
‘Soon,’ he thinks as he starts the van again. ‘She will see that life as a woman can be whatever she makes it. And I will have the Bishop I knew back again. Well, almost.’
He steals a glance at her as she crosses her beautiful legs at the knee, and gives his head a shake.
‘And maybe someday, she might want to see what it is like to be ... ridden ... after all, by someone who truly loves her.’ He shrugs. ‘Or not. As always, the choice is hers.’
Bateau pulls out on the highway. ‘No matter what she decides, I will protect her as I have always done, and keep her safe. Because that is who I am. And what I do.’
Bishop looks out the window, thinking about what Bateau said. She glances down at her old face on the front of the flyer, and catches a glimpse of Moira in the right side mirror. The woman there raises an eyebrow, and her bemused smile reflects the one in Bishop’s heart.
“I’m still in here,” she whispers, so that only she can hear. “Still me where it counts. And still alive. And where there’s life ...”
‘There’s hope,’ Moira’s voice echoes in her mind.
‘There is,’ Bishop thinks, ‘And maybe sometimes, hope is enough.’
She thinks for a minute, then opens her window. Extending her hand, she holds the flyer out by her fingertips, hanging on for a few seconds before letting the wind snatch it away. The thief watches in the mirror as it flutters and falls by the side of the road, until it is swallowed by distance and the vanishing darkness.
It’s getting light.
Damned if they aren’t driving east, and the sun is just starting to color the sky ahead.
“Almost dawn,” she says to Bateau. “A new day.”
“Oh, Christ on a crutch, Your Eminence,” Finn bellows from the back. “If you use the sunrise as a fucking metaphor, I swear by all that’s holy I’ll come up there and kill you myself.”
The thief laughs aloud, surprised at how musical it sounds, and even that she’s laughing at all. Bateau smiles to himself and keeps driving.
“His Eminence is dead, you crazy Mick,” she yells back, the smile still on her lips. She stops to think a minute, then grins. “Call me Maggie! And find us a hotel up ahead soon so I can change, or I swear by all that's holy I’ll make you wear this dress.”
Finn pokes his head through the curtains and gives her a look.
“I’d like to see you try, you dizzy bitch!” He growls. But there’s a smile on his face when he says it, and he ducks back behind the curtain to do as she says.
Maggie smiles to herself and looks at her reflection once more. This time, instead of Moira, the one looking back is her. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing, after all.
‘Yes,’ she thought. ‘Maybe sometimes, hope is all you need.’
Bishop: Baptism
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Bishop slices through the water with an ease she finds more than a little disturbing. Her new body moves far too well through the warm, chlorinated wetness of the hotel pool. Lap after lap, all alone in her black one-piece from the pricey ladies shop in the lobby, her world growing smaller and smaller with each passing moment until it feels like she’s the only person in the universe. It’s just her and the warmth and the sounds muted by the water in her ears, and it feels so good to be alone in the here and now. Without company. Without context.
Without the world trying to label her and put her in what it thinks is her place.
“Change is the only constant. Hanging on is the only sin." - Denise McCluggage
“Just when I think I have learned the way to live, life changes." - Hugh Prather
###
Bishop slices through the water with an ease she finds more than a little disturbing. Her new body moves far too well through the warm, chlorinated wetness of the hotel pool. Lap after lap, all alone in her black one-piece from the pricey ladies shop in the lobby, her world growing smaller and smaller with each passing moment until it feels like she’s the only person in the universe. It’s just her and the warmth and the sounds muted by the water in her ears, and it feels so good to be alone in the here and now. Without company. Without context.
Without the world trying to label her and put her in what it thinks is her place.
She wonders briefly about running away ... or if she even could run. Could she just take her soul and go, leaving Moira’s perfect body behind? Would it just keep going through the motions without her? Would there be nothing left but an empty shell, moving back and forth across the pool as mechanically as any music-box ballerina?
She knows it’s stupid to think that way. Running doesn’t solve anything, really. It only gives trouble that much more time to catch up with you, and if you run, it will meet you on its terms, not yours. For better or worse, she and what’s left of Moira are wedded, until death do we part. And she loves life too much to even think about leaving early.
‘I will get through this,’ she thinks as she starts another lap. ‘As awkward as it sometimes feels, being a woman beats being dead. Besides, I owe Moira. I need to give her a good life in exchange for the one she lost — something she can be proud of, if a thief’s life is anything to boast about.’
Moira’s life was taken from her by a man named Khaleel. He killed Moira and stole her form with a mystical jewel, then used that jewel to change Bishop into her twin, exactly as he had planned. He wanted to trap Bishop into becoming his pet thief and unwilling mistress.
Unfortunately for him, his plan backfired. To force Bishop to be his woman, Khaleel had released photos of Bishop’s true form to people who wanted him dead. To save himself, Bishop used the jewel to trap Khaleel in a copy of his original body, and gave up his chance to return to the man he used to be. Alone and on the run, the blackmailer found himself hunted to extinction by his own men.
Leaving Bishop stuck in the body of the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.
The woman Bishop has become moves easily from one side of the pool to the other, over and over, in a ritual as pointless as most other ways to stay fit. Water flows over and around her new curves, and it feels so easy that it scares her a little. It almost seems as if the pool is making room for her, accepting her intrusion as if she belongs there. It’s almost effortless, and every time she thinks about it, it confuses her that she’s so damned good at making this body do what she wants. It doesn’t make sense at all.
‘What happened to me shouldn’t make doing anything easier,’ Bishop thinks, her body on automatic as she spins and pushes off for another lap. ‘This body is so different from the one I grew up with, I should be stumbling from place to place like a drunk with half a liquor store in his ... her veins. I shouldn’t even be able to walk across a room, let alone pull off a runway strut.’
But no. When Bishop received Moira’s beauty, her grace came along for the ride. Her movements are as swift and sure— and strangely enough, just as feminine as they were when it had been Moira behind these eyes instead of Bishop. This body feels as much like home to her as her old one did before it was stolen. And to Bishop, that feels ... wrong, somehow.
Not for the first time, Bishop wonders just how much of the man she used to be actually survived what she’s become?
Turning away from that thought for the moment, Bishop changes direction and heads for the closest ladder. The pool is on the ground floor of the hotel, and this late in the season, it’s pretty well deserted. Still, she climbs out of the water to find a huge dark-haired man waiting for her in the chlorine-soaked humidity. She smiles and takes a towel from his hands.
He is Bateau, and he is her friend. And one of her partners in crime.
“A good swim?” The Frenchman stands a few feet away as Bishop dries her hair first, then pats the rest of her dry and hands the towel back to him.
“I don’t think I’m capable of having a bad one anymore,” she replies, putting on a white terrycloth robe over her suit and slipping her feet into her sandals. “It’s like the water welcomes this body, embraces it and carries it across the pool as a favor. It hardly feels like exercise.”
“Moira took good care of herself, mon ami, just as you did.” They walk towards the door, and Bateau throws the towel into a hamper as they pass. “As a dancer, that would be expected. But Finn looked into her past, and apparently, her ambitions went far beyond dance.”
“Oh?” Bishop turns her head as they move into the hall.
Bateau shrugs. “Growing up in one foster home after another, she learned to be independent. Then she reached womanhood and discovered the power that being young and beautiful could bring.”
They wait for the elevator. “But from what Finn found and what you told us about her, I think she did not want to rely on her looks to get what she needed. Moira wanted to make her own way, to earn what she received from life, not ride to success on the coattails of her beauty. She was studying at the Montfleur School of the Arts, learning to be an actress. According to Finn, her grades were excellent, and with a little skill and talent on top of her appearance, nothing could have stopped her. Unfortunately, her tuition payments were more than she could afford, and she turned to exotic dancing to make up the difference.”
“She wound up having to rely on her body after all. God, that must have hurt.” The Frenchman nods. The doors open and they step inside. Bishop presses the button for their floor. “And that’s where Khaleel found her?”
“The timing seems right. She only started working in the club a short time ago. We believe Khaleel saw her dancing, but she refused his advances and sent him packing. Being a blackmailer, he dug into her life until he discovered her secret. Then he used her fear of her reputation being ruined at the school to blackmail her into letting him use her room at the strip club for your meeting.”
Bishop thinks about what the last few days of Moira’s life must have been like. All of her hopes for the future, suddenly trapped under Khaleel’s thumb; the surprise when the jewel that stole her body touched her, followed by the brief realization that all her dreams were about to die in a cheap strip club, right before she dissolved into dust. Tears fill Bishop’s eyes and she blinks them away, letting anger replace the sadness before she realizes where her mind is going and tries to pull it back.
She fails, and shakes her head.
“I hate to admit it, Bateau, but sometimes ... I think he died too quickly.”
She feels his hand on her shoulder, and he squeezes gently.
“I think we all feel the same, my friend. Even though we do not invite death to be a part of what we do, there is no shame in wishing it upon those we think deserve it. With what he did to her, and what he did to you, I cannot think of anyone who deserved it more.”
The doors open once more. Bishop reaches up and put her hand on his. She pauses a few seconds before breaking contact and stepping off the elevator, and they walk to the suite in silence.
The hotel Finn had found for them to hide in was way more than a Comfort Inn but still less than a Park Plaza. The Presidential suite took up most of the top floor, and provided more than a little living space for all three to spread out and get comfortable. They needed a place to lay low while the Bay City manhunt for Bishop dissolved and drifted away, and this had exactly what they wanted.
It was close enough to Bay City to reach in a few hours, but far enough away to be out of consideration for someplace Bishop might have run to, if anyone decided to keep looking after they found Khaleel in Bishop’s stolen form. It was also high-end to the point where high-speed Net access was a given, and low enough to think that someone paying on a gold draft from a Swiss consortium had a right to privacy usually reserved for the mega-rich.
Bateau had presented himself to the hotel’s manager as the executive assistant of an Italian Contessa who was looking for a place to avoid the press for a few days. He made sure the manager understood the need for absolute secrecy, and several hundred dollars of the trio’s ill-gotten gains wound up in his pocket once he assured them that no one would breathe a word.
When Bishop and Bateau enter the room, they find it to be several degrees cooler than the temperature in the hall, probably because Finn likes to keep the AC on a few degrees lower than normal. Bishop wonders if its because of the time he spent learning the ins and outs of mainframe systems, since the older ones needed to be kept in temperature-controlled environments.
‘Or it could be he just likes it cold,’ she thinks, wrapping the damp robe around her tighter as exposed skin rises in goosebumps. She feels her new nipples grow hard against the built-in bra of the swimsuit. ‘Finn is ... well, Finn.’
The Finn in question sits at the dining room table, hunched over his laptop. Two projectors hooked into the computer put enlarged views of separate screens of information up on the expanse of white wall in front of him. His hands move in a strangely precise ballet, from keyboard to mouse to trackpad, playing his custom software like a master musician. At times he looks like a conductor in front of a symphony, but there are moments when he breaks from the graceful sweeps to dart in like a hungry insect, hunting data instead of dinner.
“Got a nice bunch of ruffians leaving Bay City, now that everyone thinks you’re dead,” Finn says without looking away from the screens. “Khaleel rang one hell of a dinner bell when he tried to serve you up. Representatives of the Five Families here in the States, three branches of the Yakuza, some Russian Mobsters, scattered minor crime lords from Africa, South America, and ... “ He hits a few keys and reads “... a group of thugs from New Zealand.”
“Phil McFeeley.” Bateau’s voice drips with disgust. “I thought we had seen the last of him years ago.”
“Some people hold a grudge so tight, they’ll never let it drop.” Finn keeps working the system while he speaks. “He really wanted that didgeridoo from the Sydney Opera House, and was kinda put out when we went and said no.”
“That particular instrument was full of charitable contributions,” Bishop says as she walks across to her bedroom. “Hundreds of thousands of dollars for children in need. We don’t steal from children.”
“That wasn’t a problem for Mr. McFeeley ... until he couldn’t get you to steal it for him.” Bateau flashes the master thief a grin. “I think he still misses the twenty thousand he put up as an advance when he hired the other thief to try.”
“Oh, yes.” Bishop smiles back. “The one who got caught almost immediately, if I remember correctly?”
“You do. It truly was a job only you could pull off, and you refused.”
She shrugs and opens her door.
“We refused, Bateau,” she says, “and with good reason. Professionals have ethics, and standards. Most people on our side of the law believe that whatever they want belongs to them. We prefer to pick and choose what we want to steal, who we steal it from, and why. That’s why we’re a team.”
“Amen to that.” Finn’s eyes never move from the screens, and his voice takes on an edge. “Good to know some things never change.”
Bishop smiles uneasily and slips into her room to change. Bateau stands behind Finn and watches as he hesitates for an instant, then suddenly attacks the keys with his fingertips, shoulders tense.
As if anger and frustration are battling for his soul.
Bishop and Bateau walk into the hotel’s restaurant, Bateau in a dark gray Italian suit, and Bishop once again in the dress she wore when they left Bay City. Strangely enough, it doesn’t affect her the way it did that first night, and that fact alone bothers her. It’s as if she is becoming acclimated to the thought of walking around wearing less fabric than you’d find in a couple of pillowcases.
It’s the standard issue little black dress, form-fitting with a short skirt and a scoop neck. Underneath she wears a black demi bra, a black thong, and black stockings. A black choker with a silver cat’s head cameo accents her throat, with echoes of silver all over her body in earrings and bracelets and belt. Her understated make-up only shows how little her new face needs enhancement.
Her new body balances so well on her three-inch heels, she almost looks like she’s walking barefoot on a beach. Even so, the shoes add a pronounced rolling to her perfect hips that draws every male eye (and a few female ones) to follow her progress as she and Bateau reach the maá®tre d' to confirm their reservation, and are shown to a table for two by the window.
Suddenly, she feels almost naked as she crosses the restaurant. The thought chills her and excites her at the same time, and fear rises inside her at the thought she might start enjoying dressing like this. At the same time, a part of her whispers, ‘would it really be that bad?’
The waiter holds Bishop’s chair for her, and she gives him a smile and a nod as she sweeps her skirt under her and sits. Bateau lowers himself into the seat across from her, and their server pauses long enough to light the candle in the center of the table before hustling off to find menus, leaving the two of them to stare at each other across the flame.
“Oh, my,” Bishop says softly, a half smile on her lips. “A candle. How romantic!”
“Ah, but you are with me, mon ami,” Bateau replies, responding to her smile with a grin of his own. “How could a dinner with me be anything but romantic?”
“Oh, yes! How true! Remember that time a few years ago, in the museum in Prague?” He tilts his head, slightly confused. Bishop rises her eyebrows, surprised. “No? We camped out in a storeroom for eighteen hours while Finn sat in the van outside in the snow and hacked the security system. We shared army-surplus MREs and stale Polish chocolate bars while we waited, looking into each other’s eyes and feeling desire wash over us like a tidal wave. It was magical.”
Bateau laughs, an infectious sound that carries across the restaurant and makes Bishop’s smile widen.
“Indeed it was, even if our desire was for the Rembrandt masterpieces we planned to steal.” He accepts the menu from the waiter whose eyes widen slightly at the word ‘steal.’
Bishop takes the menu from the waiter and smiles up at him. “My friend is just playing with you,” she says, as his eyes slip past hers to trace the contours of her chest. “Only a joke.”
“Of course, Miss.” Bishop raises the menu, more to cover her cleavage than to peruse its contents, and the waiter gracefully slips away.
“There is something to be said for stealing stolen paintings,” the Frenchman continues, peering at the menu. “Especially from someone who must have known how his father ... acquired them during World War II.”
“Herr Gruenwald must have been positively livid when they disappeared — especially from a closed, heavily guarded museum in the middle of a blizzard,” she replies, lowering her menu enough to look at what the kitchen is offering. “And I must say I enjoyed selling them in secret to the Israel Museum in Jerusalem, even if we received only a fraction of what they were worth.”
“Ah, yes. But as we both know, money isn’t everything. And the irony alone was priceless, don’t you think?” Their eyes meet over the tops of the menus, and they share a smile and a memory before turning their attention to the dinner yet to come.
Bateau watches as Bishop uses precise, meticulous motions to cut a small piece from her petite New York strip steak. She conveys it to her mouth without so much as an unsure moment, then plucks the piece from her fork gracefully, using only her teeth to avoid ruining her lipstick. He shakes his head in admiration.
“You do that very well,” he says, his own meal forgotten.
Bishop waits until she swallows, then shrugs.
“It’s not like I have a choice,” she replies. “Like the swimming, the skill seems to have come along with Moira’s body. Muscle memory, I think. Like the way I sit, or move in heels.”
“You truly are a pleasure to watch.”
“Thank you, I think.” Placing her utensils down, she picks up her wine and sips daintily, then stops and looks at her thin fingers cradling the glass. “I have to admit that having my body tell me how it expects me to behave is a little annoying sometimes. It’s like, every time I sit down to eat, I feel a little frustrated. The ‘me’ I used to be still wants to take big bites, but in my new body, even a smallish steak seems to take forever. I’ve tried to ‘chow down’ a few times, and I can do it if I make the effort, but it just doesn’t feel right anymore.”
The thief takes another small sip and places the glass down beside her plate. “Truth is, I’m torn. Part of me wants to fight how easily Moira’s body takes over, as if I’m losing a bit of myself every time I let it tell me what to do. The other part wonders why I feel the need to fight what I can’t help but become. After all, this would be so much harder without these ... hints. It’s almost like Moira is giving me a legacy. She’s helping me deal with being her by making the simple stuff a done deal. I’m hoping that, once I settle into it and make it a part of me ... well, maybe it will lighten up a little.”
There is silence for a moment before Bishop looks up from his plate and into Bateau’s eyes.
“Finn didn’t join us,” she says softly. “This could be a problem.”
“He said he had something things to do, and he would grab room service later.” The Frenchman ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “You know how he gets when he’s deep in his machines.”
She shakes her head, feeling her hair caress her bare shoulders.
“It’s more than that. He didn’t want to come along, He went out of his way not to join us. I could feel him trying to come up with an excuse.” Bateau looks at her, then shrugs. She sighs.
“I’m pretty sure part of it is that he’s still trying to work through what happened.” Bishop picks up her glass, sips her wine, and lowers it to the table. “For all his creativity with computers, his world is rigidly logical. Magic has no place in it. But here I am, the Bishop he knew, suddenly and most definitely female, with no rational cause in sight. I’m impossible. But I’m here. And I’m not going away.”
Bateau nods. “That is part of it, yes. But only a part. The other part is that you are a woman now, and for Finn, that creates all sorts of problems.”
Bishop tilts her head. “How so?”
“Have you ever noticed how Finn gets along with women?” The thief shakes her head again and Bateau responds with a small, sad smile. “That’s because he doesn’t. He hasn’t got a clue how to relate to women as people. I have seen it, time and time again, whenever we’ve gone out together, he and I. Put him in a social situation where a woman is involved, and he tries to find a hole to hide in.”
“Why? God knows he’s not the shy, retiring type.” She grins, and Bateau’s smile grows for an instant to join hers, only to shrink again as he continues.
“Oh, it isn’t about being shy. Not at all. I think it is about desire, and control. Sometimes I think that is why he became a hacker. Finn likes being the master of his fate, and hates it when anyone tells him what to do. If he wants a woman, he fears her because he wants her.”
“That’s ... that’s ridiculous.”
“He’s a man, cher. Desire is not logical. You know that. It is primal, and uncontrollable, and Finn hates it because he can’t turn it off. Now here you are, beautiful and always there, and he has no clue how to deal with you as you are now.”
“But I’m still me!” Bishop sits up straight, and Bateau reaches across and takes her hand.
“Ah, but that’s another part of the problem. Finn knows it’s still you, so his first impulse is to treat you as if nothing has changed. You are Bishop, the master thief he follows and respects, and even loves in his own way. But then he sees you and wants you, as a man wants a beautiful woman. And suddenly, everything in his head goes straight to Hell.”
He leans forward. “Finn can’t really stop wanting you, because after all, he is a man and you are an uncommonly beautiful woman. But you still treat him as Finn, a friend, and that will not change. So the fire that drives him to want you will never go out. He will continue to be desire’s puppet. So even though he loves you, part of him also fears you, because you take the control he values above all else away from him and leave him with nothing but the hunger nature gave him — one that will never be sated.”
“Finally, of course, Finn has a touch of homophobia, which complicates things even more. You are both the man he knew and a beautiful woman he desires, and his reaction to you becomes just that much more confused.”
Bishop tries hard to take in everything Bateau has said, and he watches her as his fingers rest on hers. The back of her mind feels his touch and is strangely comforted by it. Finally, she looks into his eyes.
“How do you know all this?”
He shrugs. “Because I am Bateau.”
She makes a face he recognizes as uniquely female — a combination of skepticism and an acknowledgement of the fact that he is a man, and as such is expected to think of himself as more than he truly is. It is a face other women have used on him in the past, and that one look alone shuts down his attempt at pretention as completely as if he was doused with ice cold water.
Bateau grins, surprised at just how much of a woman Bishop has become already, then shakes his head and smiles.
“All right, mon ami, you caught me. The truth is more complex, if also more mundane.” He looks down at his glass of wine, looking for the right way to explain. “If you remember, before I met you, I was a grifter. To be a successful grifter, you need to be able to read people, to see them both as they are and how they want to be seen. So I have always been very good at knowing people ... inside. And because we have all been together for quite some time, I know both you and Finn, certainly better than either of you know yourselves.”
He picks up his wine glass and takes a small sip.
“Sadly, I believe you’ve become his worst nightmare — a strong, capable woman he respects, desires, and can never have. And when he remembers that the woman he is lusting after used to be the one man he respected above all others? Before you were changed, he came as close to loving you as he could ever come when thinking about another man. Now you frighten him on so many levels, all at once, that he doesn’t know what to do. At the same time, he’s still trying to cling to the relationship we all had while dealing with the destruction of all he thought he knew.”
Bishop thinks for a moment, then looks over at her friend.
“So how do we fix it?” she asks softly. Bateau shakes his head.
“I’m not sure we can, my friend,” he replies. “In the end, the only person who can fix how he feels ... is Finn.”
The thief looks across the table, then lifts her napkin, touches it to her lips, and rises to her feet.
“Not an option,” she says, picking up her clutch and tucking it under one elbow as if she’d done it all her life. “He’s hurting, and he’s family. I’m going to talk him through this. You wait here.”
“Is that wise, cher? To go alone? After all, in his mind, you are the problem.”
“That’s why I have to be the one to talk to him ... and why I have to do it alone.” She sees his hesitation, and reaches out to touch his hand. “This can’t become us versus him, Bateau. It has to stay between him and me. If you get involved, he’ll only feel more like an outsider.”
He feels the warmth of her fingertips, and looks up at her.
“If he becomes violent ...”
The thief shakes his head. “He won’t. He’s not angry with me. He’s afraid.”
“Men strike out from fear as well as anger.”
She shrugs. “If he does, I’ll do my best to avoid him without hurting him.”
Bateau’s eyes narrow. “Unacceptable. You haven’t seen what this is doing to him inside. There is deep emotion there, and it has nowhere to go. I know you care for him, as I do, but I would not see you hurt just because you wished to protect him from his own stupidity.”
“You don’t understand.” Her voice is soft, and he can see the pain in her eyes. “If I hurt him, Bateau ... if I hurt him at all, then there will be no coming back from this. He will leave us. And I can’t allow that. After all the years we’ve been together, Finn is family — maybe the only family we have, now. And I’m not about to lose him because of this. I can’t let it happen. I WON’T.”
Her voice grows rough with emotion. “Especially not with everything else I’ve lost.”
Bateau looks up at her, sees all of the pain of this unwanted transformation still lingering in her eyes, and realizes that this fight means more to her than even keeping the family together.
It’s keeping her together as well.
He turns his hand over, then gently wraps her fingers with his own, giving them a soft squeeze.
“I understand, cher,” the Frenchman says. “Go bring our brother back to us. I will wait for your call.” He smiles. “After all, I still have coffee to finish, yes?”
Finn stares at the laptop and his projection screens without seeing a thing. He knows it was stupid not to go to dinner with them. Of course they knew something wasn’t right — not that they couldn’t see it before. He was never very good at hiding anything from either of them.
Not that he ever wanted to hide anything this big from them before.
He hears the lock click, and the door swings open. He turns to find her standing there in that dress, silhouetted again the light from the hall. Bishop takes a step forward, and lets the door close behind her, shrouding her in the darkness.
Lit by the glow of the projection screens, she looks uneasy. Almost frightened. He looks into her eyes, and sees something he never saw in Bishop’s eyes before. Fear.
He says nothing. The silence is deafening.
“We missed you at dinner.”
Finn musters up a half grin. “Things to do, Your Eminence,” he says, the old honorific popping out before he could stop it. “We can’t all be kitted out in Sunday’s best, wining and dining when there’s work to be done.”
“It could have waited.” She fidgets slightly on her heels, and he wonders what’s going on inside her head that she should leave Bateau and come up here. She sighs. “We both miss you, Finn. I miss you. I can feel you avoiding me, and I hate it.”
He looks down at the laptop, not wanting her to see his eyes. Not wanting her to look inside him. More silence, and then he sighs, and begins to speak.
“I hate it, too. I wanted to go with you, I really did.” He whispers, his voice trembling. “I want it to be like ... like it was with us. But then you came outta your room, lookin’ like that. And I just couldn’t.”
Bishop shakes her head, confused. “Like what?”
“Like ... like that. You walked out in that dress, and you looked like the first woman God made when the world was young, before he realized perfection was a curse and not a blessin’.” Finn sighs, and his whole body sags as his anger fades. “How could I sit across from you, looking the way you do, and act like things are the same as they were before?”
She reaches out and touches his arm. He looks up, surprised.
“It’s still me in here, Finn,” she says softly. “I haven’t changed.”
His eyes fill with doubt and then pointedly drop to focus on her chest. Bishop blushes and looks away.
“Well, not where it counts,” she replies eventually.
“Oh, for the love of — “ He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “Have you looked in a mirror lately? Or are you just so blind that you can’t see yourself anymore?”
“You’re unbelievable!” Bishop shakes her head, clearly frustrated. “You know what I look like doesn’t define who I am. No matter what I look like, I’m still me, damn it — now and always!”
“You don’t understand!” Finn lets his own frustration slip out. “It’s not the same!”
From inside her, a whiteness grows that she doesn’t realize is rage until it fills her vision and by the time that happens, it’s too late. She tries to pull it back as best she can, but some of it spills through her eyes, and Finn takes a step back from the force of it.
“Oh, really?” Her voice drips sarcasm, and she leans forward, her hands on her hips, eyes narrow with anger. “You think I don’t understand it’s not the same? I don’t have to ‘see myself’ to know how different things are now, Finn. I feel it, all the time. Hell, I LIVE it! I used to sleep on my stomach. Not anymore, for obvious reasons. I wake up with hair in my eyes and mouth every single morning. Every shower is an adventure in being forcibly reminded of how my life has changed. And whenever I step out in public, men run their eyes over me like the one thing that would make their lives complete would be to memorize every inch of my body ... by touch. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a stranger. So don’t you dare tell me I don’t know it’s not the same!”
Finn still looks away, and Bishop watches him from behind. She takes a deep breath, letting her arms fall to her sides.
“You know, I never treated a woman like an object in my life,” she says, “and I resent the hell out of being treated like one now. But the worst thing about this is that I never expected to be treated that way by you — especially by you. Damn it, Finn, you’ve known me for years, and yet you can’t seem to get past what I look like. And now you’re acting like what you feel is somehow my fault! That’s like blaming a rape victim because she wore a short skirt. ‘Oh, she was so asking for it!’”
She could see the back of Finn’s neck turn red. “That’s not true!”
“Of course it is! I didn’t ask to look like this, and you know it. It was the best of a bunch of bad choices, and it kept us alive.”
There is a long silence, and Finn thinks for a moment. He looks down and sighs. “You’re right, Your Worship. I’m being stupid. And I’m sorry. ”
Bishop feels a weight lifting from her shoulders. “Thank you.”
“It’s just ... it’s so hard, getting past it all. And you have changed ... not just on the outside, but inside, too.” Bishop looks at him, surprised, and Finn looks back. “Look, I know you didn’t ask for it, but you don’t seem to mind it so much as you did. Not anymore.”
The hacker looked away again. “Four days ago, just wearing that dress in the van made you crazy. You wanted to risk everything to take ‘it off. Now the dress, the heels, the makeup ... you wear ‘em like it’s nothing.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” She steps towards him and puts her hand on his arm. “It’s only been a few days, but what am I supposed to do, Finn? For better or worse, this is what I am now. Should I fight it for as long as I can and then surrender, kicking and screaming? Or should I just get on with my life as best I can?” He looks away, chewing his lip. Her voice softens. “Tell the truth, now. Do you really want me to be miserable, Michael?”
He fidgets, then shakes his head. “No. No, I don’t.”
“Then what do you want from me?” She lowers herself onto the sofa, her eyes never leaving his. “I’m trying to move forward, and in the van, when we were driving away from Bay City, I almost lost it. You and Bateau helped me see I could get through this. Together, you made me feel that nothing had really changed between us. You seemed a little awkward then, but somehow now ... what I’ve become is ... well, it’s hurting you, and I want to help.”
“You helped me then, and now it’s my turn.” Bishop reaches over and takes the hacker’s hand, then pats the cushion next to her. “Look, whatever is tying you in knots inside, we can work it out. Come on, Finn. Sit down and talk to me. Please?”
Finn sits slowly, not believing he’s actually doing it until it’s already done. His eyes are still locked on hers, and as he looks deep into them, he sees the man he used to know looking back at him. He sees the worry, the fear that somehow, some part of his pain is her fault. And finally, Finn stops seeing the woman, and starts seeing something he’d almost forgotten is there.
His friend.
Bishop looks up at the complex of buildings in front of her and sighs.
“I’m not sure I can do this, Bateau,” she says softly. “It’s too much, too soon. I’m not ready.”
“Oh, come now, mon ami. You’ve done things in the past that put this small task to shame. This? This is nothing.” Bateau puts his arm around her and gives her a squeeze. “A simple thing, no? Just another step forward.”
She turns and looks at him. “But ... shopping?”
“You must, cher,” Bateau replies. “Moira only had so much with her at the strip club, and precious little at her apartment, considering the state of her finances. You cannot wear those things forever. You need a larger wardrobe, and you won’t get it by hiding in the van and wishing. I cannot buy them for you, and Finn would run screaming into the next county before he would even attempt it.”
From the back of the van comes a muffled protest. “Hey! I heard that!”
“You were meant to.” Bateau grins at Bishop, and she throws him a reluctant smile back.
“You could, of course, shop for clothing on the Internet,” he says, ignoring the flash of hope he sees in her eyes. “And, of course, given how we live our lives, there will be times you must. But not today. Today is not about finding something to preserve your modesty. This is about finding a style ... a way to show the world who you are. Oh, as Mark Allen Bishop, you wore what the situation required, and occasionally dressed to make a certain statement. But as a woman, as Maggie, everything you wear now is a statement. You need to think more about what each piece of clothing ... each ensemble ... says about the kind of woman you are — or how you wish others to see the woman you are, now.”
Bishop looks at the giant, his arm still around her, then looks away as she shakes her head. Bateau reaches over and touches her chin gently. She looks back at him, surprised.
“Think of them as tools, my friend,” he says softly. “As you have always been fond of saying, misdirection is part of a thief’s stock and trade. You make people see what you want them to see, or what you want them not to see, yes?” She nods once, and Bateau lights up, his happiness apparent.
“So, to continue to be the magnificent thief we all know you are, you need to see your new clothing exactly as you saw the things you used to wear — as a costume, meant only to establish character. So that when we are on a job, people will look at the beautiful woman you have become and see exactly what you want them to see ... or not see. You see?”
She nods again, and he watches as some of the tension leaves her shoulders. Encouraged, he presses on.
“The only difference between dressing as a man and dressing as a woman is that, even for every day, you must think about how what you wear affects the impression you make. For example, I know that, as a man, you chose your daily wear for some measure of anonymity. Your choices were simple, and that made being invisible an easy goal to achieve. But as a beautiful woman, trying to avoid calling attention to yourself would make you stand out even more than you already do. You would present a mystery to both men and women, trying to hide your beauty and failing. You need to walk that fine line between showing people who you are and showing them who you think they should see.”
The side door of the van slides open, and Finn’s head pops out.
“In all our years of workin’ together, I never thought I’d say this to you, Your Holiness.” He smiles tentatively, a black leather something in his hand, and holds it out at arm’s length as if it’s going to bite him. “But you forgot your purse.”
With a small smile in return, Bishop takes the bag and throws its strap over her shoulder. Her blouse is so thin, her bra strap easily holds the purse’s strap in place through the fabric.
“It’s all there,” the Irishman mutters, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Your ID and credit cards in your new name, plus a lot of other stuff Bateau claims belongs in a woman’s bag. Myself, now, I wouldn’t know, and I’m damned if I know how he knows.
Bishop fishes a long black wallet from the shoulder bag, and opens it. Moira’s picture stares back at her from a California driver’s license, with the thief’s new name putting another nail in the coffin of her old one.
Margaret Anne Bishop.
Bateau sees the emotions as they move across Bishop’s face, and his hand rises to touch her chin again. She turns to face him, confused.
“It is your name, mon ami,” the giant whispers, looking into Bishop’s eyes. “Nothing more. There are many Bishops in the world, after all, and you are still you, inside. Why not hold tight to at least that much of your past?”
“I appreciate the gesture.” The thief looks down at the license, and her finger brushes the cheek of the woman in the picture softly. She looks back up at Bateau. “It’s good to hang on to something. And being Maggie really isn’t the problem. I’ve got to be somebody now that the man I was is dead. But Finn changed Moira’s records to put Maggie in the system. I may be Maggie now, but all that Moira was is gone. In a way, we just helped the ones who stole her body erase her from existence. That feels ... wrong, in too many ways to count.”
Her voice takes on an edge of anger. “And the ones who helped steal my old life? They’re still around, celebrating my ‘death’ at their hands. Hell, they probably plan to use my execution as an club, to force other people to do what they say, ‘or else.’”
“I want to show them Magdalene is alive and well, and still doing as he ... as she pleases. I want to publicly rub their noses in the fact that they took a shot at me and missed. I want to take that club away and beat them over the head with it.” She looks towards the mall and sighs. “Instead ... I’m going shopping. For clothes.”
Bateau moves to stand behind her. “We spoke of this, remember? We are all agreed. But first, we find a suitable target for your skills. Finn is already working on that. Once a target is found, you will plan the theft and I will obtain any materials you need and provide any physical backup you require. That is how it has always worked. We show the world they lied about your death, by doing something only Magdalene can do.”
The giant leans forward, whispering in her ear to keep Finn from hearing. “But before we can do anything, my friend, you must be able to function in the world just as you are. And a good start would be being able to shop for and wear what a woman would wear without feeling like you’re about to climb Mount Everest, yes?”
Bishop nods and closes her eyes, oddly happy to feel Bateau so close behind her. Then she takes a deep breath and nods again.
“Right! Off I go!” She looks towards the mall, straightens her shoulders, and turns to look up into his eyes. “Oh, look! The sign says it’s BARGAIN day! I love a good sale! I’ll be smiling for days!”
The giant grins. “Oh, mon ami, you used to be such an excellent liar!”
Bishop turns and starts off across the parking lot. Bateau and Finn watch her go.
“You seem better,” Bateau says softly. Finn shrugs.
“I was an idiot. I let myself get all tangled up in what she looks like, and what that does to me. I thought too much about me instead of thinking about what it must be like for her. When she came up to the room the other night ... when she reached out to me, and I looked into her eyes, I remembered why I joined up with you two all those years ago. Because of who he was. Because of how he made me feel — like I could do the impossible.”
Bateau nods. “He had more confidence than any man I had ever known — and a heart as big as his ego. He could do anything he put his mind to, but he still knew the value of things other men would toss aside to get what they thought they wanted. Loyalty. Honor. Friendship. We have to get that confidence back.”
Finn watches the woman walk into the shopping mall. “I forgot he was still in there, Bateau. Doing the best he can, trying to get past havin’ his whole life ripped apart and gettin’ stuck lookin’ like that. And there I was dumping my own shit on her, making it harder.” He shakes his head. “Stupid.”
“Yes, you were.” Finn turns to look at him, and Bateau shrugs. “But we’re all stupid once in a while, my friend. That’s how we know we’re still human.”
“Best way to get her back to herself is with a job, and I think I found one.” The Irishman opens the door on the side of the van and jumps back inside. His voice becomes slightly muffled. “Something that might get the attention of the ones who think Magdalene is dead. Something she might find ... fun.”
Bateau raises an eyebrow. Finn sticks his head back out the door and smiles slowly.
“Harlan Straker is in the states,” he says, and Bateau’s smile grows to match Finn’s. “And he brought his whole collection with him. He’s hosting a big party in Miami to show off his latest acquisition, the Perenchio Emerald. And you know how Her Eminence feels about Straker after he bulldozed those orphanages in Veracruz. He shoved all those kids out into the streets just so he could build a chain of strip clubs and brothels.”
“She has been looking for a chance to take something pretty away from him for quite some time.” Bateau started thinking about how they could find a way past Straker’s legendary security, and then grins and shakes his head. “Oh, this is so perfect, in so many ways.”
“Why?” Finn asks, and the Frenchman looks into Finn’s eyes.
“Because jewels aren’t the only pretty things Straker likes to collect, my friend. And maybe this is just what Maggie needs to see that being a beautiful woman might make some things easier for a thief as talented as she is.”
He looks back at the mall as if watching Bishop’s progress through the walls.
“Bon chance, cher,” he whispers, as Finn heads back into the van. “You’ve come so far, with so far to go. But we will get there yet, all three of us. Soon the world will know ... Magdalene is back.”
Bishop: Keeping The Faith
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Bishop stands just outside the food court in the Renaissance Mall. Two hours have passed, and she’s frustrated and just a bit angry about how totally wasted those hours turned out to be. She’s wandered through six women’s clothing stores plus an upscale department store, and so far she’s managed to come up empty.
‘Not for lack of trying,’ she thinks bitterly. ‘Or of choice. How many different kinds of clothes do women wear, anyway? It’s crazy. And when I did take something to the dressing room to try it on, it didn’t look right. It all looked too old, or too young. Some of this stuff makes me feel like a clown. Worse, some of it makes me look like I’m for sale. God, I HATE this. I feel so helpless ... useless. Bateau said I used to walk into a room like I owned it. Now I can’t even pick my own clothes?’
However, Bishop: Baptism is a sequel to Bishop: Born Again.
So if you want to go all the way back to the beginning, click here.
equanimity that would be scarcely conceivable in a world
lit only by reason.” - Sam Harris
“Faith is not belief. Belief is passive. Faith is active.” - Edith Hamilton
“Without faith, nothing is possible. With it, nothing is impossible.” - Mary McLeod Bethune
###
Lou Rossi sits at his extremely expensive oak desk and looks over a mountain of paper at Donnie “Three Fingers” DeLuca. Donnie, no stranger to Rossi’s cold stare, looks back at his boss for a while, then shrugs and waves a hand at the desktop.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Lou,” he says, “but I can’t change what’s what. I sure as hell don’t want you pissed at me, but you told me to check, and I did. It’s not my fault the answer isn’t what you wanted.”
DeLuca points to the stacks on the desk. “I got reports from a dozen tame PIs, three police departments, Interpol, and two federal agencies. They all say what you don’t wanna hear. The Arab was a lying scumbag, and that the guy the boss put in the ground isn’t who Khaleel said he was. It isn’t my fault we got conned, but if you want to beat on somebody about it ...” Donnie shrugs again.
Rossi looks at him a second, then waves a hand and shakes his head.
“I know you’re not the problem, Donnie,” he says. “After all, you just did what I told you to do. It isn’t your fault you had to tell me somethin’ I didn’t want to hear. I know Gino isn’t gonna want to hear it, either — not with all the bragging he’s been doing, talking about how he finally took down the one guy who crossed him and made him look stupid.”
“Fucking Magdalene,” Donnie says aloud, like the entire phrase is a name. Rossi nods. They’d heard it all before.
He picks up an 8x10 photo of the man Khaleel sold them, something shot with a telephoto, of a guy crossing the street. He was supposed to be the thief everybody wanted dead. Mark Allen Bishop.
“He didn’t look like much, this Bishop guy,” Rossi thinks out loud. “Not bad looking, built like a swimmer. Broads like that. Probably got his share of babes and then some.” He looks up at Donnie. “Still, a guy could pass him on the street every day and never look twice. But Khaleel said he was Magdalene, and he had proof. So people listened.”
“You and the boss weren’t the only ones he conned, Lou,” Donnie says. “He showed everybody proof that Bishop was in Marseilles at the same time that painting disappeared. Videos and everything.”
The older man grunts and stares at the picture some more. When Fiorentino’s Deposition disappeared from Nicolas Gaultier’s high-security vault in the basement of his mansion, nobody doubted it was Magdalene at work. Once the painting was gone, the thief set off the off-premises alarm at the local police headquarters. They responded quickly, with at least three cars arriving at Gaultier’s mansion above the vault. The thief kept the alarm from going off in the mansion itself, so their arrival took Gaultier completely by surprise.
The theft gave them the right to search his premises, supposedly for the thieves. But instead of villains, they found victims -- two young children naked and handcuffed in the French mobster’s bedroom. The torture implements spread out on the dresser along with Gaultier’s extensive collection of videos of past “playtimes,” made the theft a secondary priority as far as the police were concerned, and further searching uncovered evidence of years of criminal activity, resulting in a wave of arrests of Gaultier’s associates.
“The Arab said Bishop was there the same time Magdalene was.” Rossi tosses the photo on top of the pile of papers. “And it was definitely Magdalene who fucked up Gaultier. Hell, Donnie, it’s what he does when he pulls a job -- makes a profit and a point at the same time. Like some kind of freaking avenger. He finds out Gaultier tortures kids for kicks, and the thief ripped him up while he ripped him off. Tore him apart and took his empire with him.”
“Just like with the boss,” Donnie says slowly. Rossi’s eyes narrow and Donnie raises both hands. “Hey! I’m just sayin’ it’s how the guy works. I mean, when he robbed that casino, he musta known that was where the boss shacked up with his teenaged bimbo on Tuesday nights. But setting it up so his wife and the cops found him on top of a sixteen-year-old at the same time? Man, the balls this guy musta had.”
“Still has, if what you found is right.” Rossi takes a cigar out of the humidor on his desk and lights it.
“Well, what Khaleel had was pretty solid, or so we thought.” Donnie lowers his hands and sticks them in his pockets. “Bishop really had no business being in Marseilles. He was some kind of consultant, and he didn’t know anybody in France. Yet the photos showed him there, and Khaleel had airline and passport records to prove it.”
“Only they aren’t there anymore. If they ever were.”
Donnie nods. “When I looked at the airline and passport records — the ones still sitting on the company and state department computers, they said Bishop never left the country. He was home the whole time. All the PIs say the same thing — that Bishop was just another guy, going about his business, and that according to phone, Internet, credit card and video records, he never went anywhere.”
“So either what Khaleel showed everybody was fake, or somebody went through all those secure databases and rewrote everything to take Bishop out of ‘em. And why would anybody do that, when the guy is stone cold dead? It isn’t like they’re protecting him or nothin’.”
“So Khaleel gets this guy to come to Bay City.” Lou taps the photo with his fingertip. “And everybody decides to go hunting. Gino gets a hair up his butt, and when the dust clears, it’s Gino’s guys who track this Bishop guy down and shoot him stone dead in the back of some strip club in Bay City. The guy’s heart barely stops beating, and suddenly everybody and his brother starts hearing from the boss about how he took down ‘Fuckin’ Magdalene,’ the annoying bastard who had caused everybody so much grief for so long. Magdalene is dead. Long live Gino ‘the Bear’ Brunetti.”
Donnie smiles slowly. “And anybody trying to push back on Gino gets told to shut up, or he’ll wind up just as dead as Magdalene. At least, that’s how he’s telling it, and damn if some of his friends are starting to tell their people the same thing, just to keep ‘em in line.”
“Only now, you’re finding things that make us both think it isn’t true.”
Rossi rubs his eyes and turns his custom-made desk chair towards the windows behind him. As usual this time of day, the Dallas skyline cuts an angular chunk out of a deep blue sky, but Rossi doesn’t see any of it. All he sees is Donnie’s reflection staring at him, and that same damned pile of reports.
“Records could be faked,” Lou says, to both Dallas and Donnie. “Both the ones Khaleel showed us and the ones you just found. But the thing that throws the whole thing over for me is that Khaleel goes missing right about the same time Bishop gets dead. The Arab’s people don’t know where he is. Nobody knows where he is.”
“Khaleel earned some serious green for turning over somebody like Magdalene.” Donnie walks over to stand beside Rossi’s chair. “You think maybe it was a setup?”
Rossi nods. “That’s what it’s startin’ to look like. The Arab gave us Bishop for his own reasons, whatever the hell they were, and it’s starting to look like he wanted someone else to pull the trigger on the guy. So he set it up so that Brunetti and everybody else who was hunting Magdalene did the dirty work, while he cut and run with the cash.”
“But Gino isn’t the only guy who got suckered by this stunt, Lou. Everybody looks bad.”
Brunetti’s lieutenant shakes his head.
“I don’t have to worry about the reputations of every other clown Khaleel conned. All I got to worry about is Brunetti’s. But with Gino shooting his mouth off everywhere about taking out Magdalene, that’s more than enough.”
He turns his head and looks up at Donnie. “Nobody else knows about this, right?”
“Just you and me, Lou.”
Rossi lets himself relax, just a little.
“Let’s keep it that way. Maybe in a little while, this’ll all go away.”
“You know, there is one guy who would benefit if all Khaleel’s evidence turns out to be fake.”
Lou looks at Donnie and makes a face like he’s just bitten into a lemon. “Magdalene.”
Donnie nods. “Khaleel rigs up some evidence and makes it look legit, and then Gino kills Bishop. If Bishop wasn’t who the Arab said he was, the real Magdalene might want to make Gino look bad for claiming he killed Magdalene when he didn’t. So he erases what Khaleel rigged up and leaves Gino looking like a fool.” He thinks about it some, and shakes his head. ‘Hell, maybe he’s just pissed off because Brunetti’s running around claiming he’s dead when he’s not.’
Lou chews on his cigar and thinks, and after a while, it begins to make a little more sense.
“It could be somebody else trying to paint Gino as a peacock, but we’re not at war with anybody, and there isn’t anyone else out there with a grudge against Gino. And Magdalene is the kind of guy who would take the death of some innocent mook kinda personal, right?” Rossi sighs. “It’s gotta be Magdalene, if he isn’t dead. And that’s just what I need.”
Lou looks out over the Texas town and wishes he was in Vegas, or Chicago. Even Atlantic City. Gino came out here to start over after the bimbo thing, and Rossi came along because he’d been Gino’s right hand for longer than he liked to remember. And even though they’d been in Dallas for more than a year, it still feels wrong to him, somehow. It’s always felt off. It’s the rhythm of the place, maybe. Whatever it is, it makes Rossi’s skin crawl. Because to feel a threat coming, you have to know what your city feels like, so you can sense what doesn’t belong. In Dallas, it’s Brunetti, and Rossi, and all the crew that doesn’t belong.
So how the hell can Lou protect everything and everyone without being able to feel what’s coming?
‘If Bishop wasn’t Magdalene, then Magdalene is still alive, and pissed as Hell about what Gino’s sayin’,’ Rossi thinks, looking back to the piles of paper on his desk. ‘He isn’t gonna let it slide. For all we know, he’s the one who made Khaleel disappear for trying to use him to con ... well, everybody. He’s gonna come for Gino, somehow. I know it. But when? What’s his plan? What the hell is he gonna do?’
“Where IS he?” Lou mutters out loud, taking Donnie by surprise. “Damn it, you bastard. Where the hell are you, right now?”
Bishop stands just outside the food court in the Renaissance Mall. Two hours have passed, and she’s frustrated and just a bit angry about how totally wasted those hours turned out to be. She’s wandered through six women’s clothing stores plus an upscale department store, and so far she’s managed to come up empty.
‘Not for lack of trying,’ she thinks bitterly. ‘Or of choice. How many different kinds of clothes do women wear, anyway? It’s crazy. And when I did take something to the dressing room to try it on, it didn’t look right. It all looked too old, or too young. I looked like I was wearing my Mom’s clothes, or my baby sister’s. Some of this stuff makes me feel like a clown. Worse, some of it makes me look like I’m for sale. God, I HATE this. I feel so helpless ... useless. Bateau said I used to walk into a room like I owned it. Now I can’t even pick my own clothes?’
Bishop walks over to an open chair in the food court and sits down, noting with the back of her mind how gracefully Moira’s body does it. The amazing thing is, even sitting like this, posture perfect, shoulders back and knees together, she’s almost as comfortable as she would be collapsing on a sofa back at the hotel.
‘Still driving, I see,’ she thinks, then gives herself a half-smile that quickly becomes a frown. ‘You’d think I’d be happy not to have to learn how to move and sit the way a woman should. But every time my body does something I know it shouldn’t, I feel less and less like I’m me. I keep wondering how much of the man I used to be will still be around in a week, or two, or three.’
‘I wonder how much of the old me is still here now. If there’s anything’s left.’
Bishop blinks her eyes quickly, to keep the tears that rise from falling. Part of her is still working on closing the gap between the man she was and the woman she sees in the mirror, but another part still resists and she knows the reason why. As much as she knows she has to, she doesn’t want to give up the man she was, and the perfectly feminine movements and mannerisms that came with Moira’s body seem to make holding onto who she was harder. Whenever her new body takes over, she feels anything but empowered, and not at all like herself.
Of course, this trip to the mall isn’t helping at all. She’s walked for a few hours around the shops since Bateau dropped her off, and the more she moves, the more comfortable this body becomes — and the harder it is to take back control.
To remember how things used to be.
‘Another part of me gone. And damn it, I LIKED me.’ Bishop frowns and shakes her head. She almost puts her shoulder bag on the table before she realizes what a temptation it would be to a thief.
‘Well, another thief,’ she amends quickly. The smile grows before she can stop it, and she shakes her head again, leaving the strap around her body. ‘Thank God I can still laugh.’
“That’s the first real smile I’ve seen on your face since you walked in here.”
She looks up into the eyes of a tall slim black woman, standing near her table holding two tall paper cups of coffee from a nearby coffee shop.
“I swear, I have never seen anyone have less fun shopping in my life.” The woman smiles, and it’s full of warmth. “I mean, I’ve seen men dragged in by their girlfriends for an afternoon enjoy themselves more than you did, and that’s saying something.”
“You’ve been following me?” Bishop curses inside, wondering why she didn’t pick up on it. At the same time, part of her is oddly flattered by the attention, and wonders why this woman would want to follow her.
“Sort of.” The woman seems a little embarrassed. “I was making my rounds this morning, checking out all the stores for new acquisitions. Soon after I started, you showed up, and for a while there, we were heading in the same direction and visiting the same stores. You looked lost and a little confused, but you turned people away when they asked if you needed help. And in every store, you looked more depressed than the last. Anyway, I figured if anyone could use a latte right about now, it would be you.”
She holds out the cup and Bishop takes it, their fingers touching for a brief instant. That one touch sends a spark of ... something ... to her very core, and the thief brings the cup to her lips and takes a sip, trying to hide her body’s reaction.
Of course, she doesn’t count on her body having another reaction, this time to the latte. She never liked lattes before, but this time the smooth sweetness sweeps over her taste buds like an invading army, and she closes her eyes and feels herself shudder from the attack. Part of her hates how her new body reacts, but the rest of her clings to any pleasure she can get from being who she is now ... and thinks of how it felt when they touched ....
Bishop opens her eyes to find the other woman looking at her with a touch of a smile on her lips.
“That good?”
“Oh, yes,” the thief replies, her tongue darting out quickly to capture an errant bit of foam on her lips. She removes the plastic top and takes a longer sip. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The other woman holds out her free hand. “Amy Tilton.”
Bishop reaches up and takes her hand, remembering at the last second to be gentle. “Maggie Bishop.”
“Pleased to meet you, Maggie. May I join you?”
Bishop only hesitates an instant, then waves Amy to the seat across from her. “God, yes. Please do.”
Amy lowers herself onto the seat, leans over the table, and brings her coffee to her lips for a quick sip before looking Bishop in the eye.
“Before we go any further, I have a confession to make.”
Maggie feels her lip twitch, and looks up at Amy through her eyelashes. “Well, I am a Bishop, so I guess that’s okay, then. Hardly a father, though, but I guess in a shopping mall, you take what you can get.” She dips her finger in the latte and makes an abbreviated sign of the cross in the air in Amy’s general direction. “Okay, ‘my child.’ Confess away!”
Amy lets a small smile cross her lips, then holds her cup with both hands and sighs. “When I brought you the tasty coffee beverage, I had hoped to get you to tell me … what was bothering you earlier.”
The thief cocks her head to one side.
“You didn’t need to bribe me for that, although I’m grateful for the attempt,” she says, a touch of a smile in her voice. “But why are you so interested in a frustrated stranger?”
“Partly because I’m hoping I might be able to help,” Amy replies. She takes a sip from her cup, her eyes still fixed on Bishop’s. “When I saw you shopping ... well, I couldn’t turn away. You were so frustrated, but you looked so lost, so alone. Oh, you were trying to hide it, but I could feel it in you. As you moved from store to store, it almost seemed you were always just a few seconds from crying, even though you were trying to put a good face on.”
Amy sees the shock and surprise in the other woman’s eyes, even as Maggie struggles to bring her response under control.
“I was ... drawn to you, somehow.” Amy looks down, and Bishop wonders why. “I could feel you hurting. It’s like you’re fighting something inside you, all the time, and I just ... I couldn’t let it go on. I know it’s weird, but ... I just needed to make it all better.”
She looks back into Maggie’s eyes, then reaches out and touches her hand. The warmth of it spreads clear through them both, and Bishop gasps in surprise.
“Truth is, I have a good feeling about you, Maggie Bishop. I’ve always been a good judge of people, and I can tell you’ve got a good heart under all that hurt.”
The thief blushes and looks away.
“I’d like to think so,” she whispers.
“I can’t stop myself from wanting to help. I don’t want to stop myself.” Amy pauses, and then wraps her fingers around Bishop’s and gives a soft squeeze. “What I do want is to get to know you better, if you’d let me. I’d like to help if I can. I think you could use a friend, and I’d like to be one ... if that’s okay?”
She looks down at her hand in Amy’s, and suddenly her insides feel like she’s melting. At the same time, her thoughts spin too quickly to catch and hold. The Mark still inside her screams that this is all wrong, it’s happening too fast, while the Maggie she’s becoming wants nothing more than to reach over and hug this woman until the mall closes.
Or is that the Moira she was?
‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ She screams inside.
At first, there’s nothing. And she hears it. Almost a whisper, almost an echo. Moira’s voice fills her head.
‘Nothing and everything. You need to trust yourself again, or you’ll never be the man you were — or the woman you could be.’
Then it’s gone, and Bishop is alone once more.
Alone with a beautiful woman holding her hand, and asking her to be her friend.
“It’s ... it’s the weirdest thing,” Bishop whispers, looking up at Amy’s face while a tear slips down her own. “I feel like ... like we’ve been friends for years. But that makes no sense at all. Does it?”
Amy laughs, and reaches up with her other hand to touch the tear away.
“Girl, friendship is about as logical as love,” she says softly. “When two people click, they know it. Friends or lovers, it happens or it doesn’t. And sometimes, when it happens, it runs a lot deeper than you ever would have expected. You just feel the click, and something inside you knows it’s right.”
Bishop nods, thinking of the two friends she already has ... and the one she just acquired.
‘I’ve got to trust my instincts,’ she thinks, ‘and now’s as good a time as any. If I can’t make this kind of judgment anymore, I need to know now, before I get all of us caught, or killed.’
“Friends, then,” she says with a smile, taking Amy’s other hand in hers and squeezing them both.
Amy smiles and squeezes back, and Bishop instantly feels just a little better.
“So tell me, Maggie,” she says, letting go of both hands and picking up her coffee. “What’s twisting my best girl up inside?”
The thief stares down at her own cup, wrapping her hands around it and thinking hard. If Amy is a friend, she deserves the truth. But the truth is unbelievable, and even if it wasn’t, it could put Bateau and Finn in danger if her feelings about Amy have led her to trust someone she shouldn’t.
So how much truth can she share ... without lying?
She takes a deep breath.
“I was ... attacked, last week,” she says slowly. Amy stiffens, not expecting such a revelation. Bishop looks up at her, into her eyes. “This man ... he stole my life from me. He ... took my body like it belonged to him. I feel like everything that made me who I was, he stole. Well, almost everything. I mean, I’m still here, right?” Bishop smiles, but it’s fragile, and Amy doesn’t know how to respond. “But when he was done, he left me ... broken. I’m not right inside. It’s like I don’t know who I am anymore ... like the woman who bought the outfit I’m wearing doesn’t exist.”
She feels her voice start to shake, and realizes she’s letting out more truth than she had wanted to — or even that she thought she knew. “And I feel like an imposter trying to replace her.”
Maggie pauses, and she sighs. “That’s why I was frustrated earlier. I’m living out of a suitcase. It’s all I have left of who I was. But I can’t shop for clothes to replace what I lost, because I lost so much more than clothes. I mean, where do I begin? I wander through the stores and try things on, but I don’t know what’s right or wrong for me, because I don’t know who ‘me’ is now. The things I still have, the pieces of who I was? They scare me, too. I do things without knowing why or how, and it scares me. Like sitting in a short skirt, or walking in four-inch heels, or putting on make-up. My hands and fingers pick and choose and paint and draw, but I couldn’t tell you how my face wound up looking like this to save my life. I just ...”
She trails off, and shakes her head again.
“Honestly, Amy, I don’t know how you could help me.” Bishop lifts her cup and takes a drink, then looks down at the lipstick barely staining the rim. “But please don’t take it personally. I don’t know how anyone could help me.”
There is a silence, and the two women share it for a moment. Then Amy speaks.
“Maggie,” she says, then stops for a second before continuing. “I can’t begin to understand what you’ve been through. But I think … I think maybe there is something I could do, if you’re willing to let me try.”
The thief’s sculpted eyebrows rise, and she sits up a little straighter. “Oh?”
“Well, the reason I was wandering around the stores this morning is because ... I’m a personal shopper.” Maggie looks confused, and Amy realizes that the woman in front of her has absolutely no idea what a personal shopper is. She takes a deep breath and tries again. “What I do is, people, mostly women, come to me to, well, figure out who they are, really. Most people wander through their lives and sort of stumble into a personal style without really thinking it through. But when someone comes to me, we work together to find out who they really are and what sorts of clothes are right for them. Once we work that out, I help them choose outfits that bring their real selves forward.”
The thief just stares, and Amy sighs. “Do you get it? You can’t shop because you’ve lost the woman you used to be. I’ll just ... find the real you ... just like I find her for any other customer. I can try, anyway.”
“It can’t be as simple as all that. Can it?” Bishop’s tone is slightly confused, but Amy hears a note of hope. She smiles and shrugs.
“We lose nothing by trying, right? Worst case, we’re back to square one. Best case, you get your ‘youness’ back. What do you say?”
Bishop looks at Amy for a moment, then turns and looks at her reflection in the glass window next to her. Moira stares back, and just for an instance, Maggie peeks out ... and smiles.
She turned back to Amy.
“I may not know who I am anymore,” she says, “but I know the kind of woman I want to be, and that’s not someone who surrenders without a fight. So I’m in ... girlfriend.”
That last endearment sort of slips out, and Amy smiles when she hears it.
“Okay, then,” the shopper responds, rising to her feet. “Come back to my office and let me show you my scrapbooks.”
Maggie rises, too, and shakes her head.
“That sounds suspiciously like an old-fashioned pick-up line,” she says, half-joking.
Amy laughs, and it touches something deep inside her. “That’s ‘cause it could be, if you want it to be. Do you?”
Maggie freezes, and Amy’s smile fades. She reaches up and touches Bishop’s cheek, and Maggie trembles, just a little. She lets her hand fall.
“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to scare you. The last thing I ever want to do is scare you.”
Bishop opens her mouth to speak but Amy holds up her hand. “How about we help you figure out who you are, and then we’ll figure out what makes you happy, okay?”
Bishop nods, and Amy grins again. “Although judging from the way your body reacted when I touched you, I think we’re halfway to figuring out the second question first, don’t you?”
Maggie blushes a deep red, and Amy takes her hand and squeezes.
“Come on, girl. Let’s get you sorted.”
Finn sits in the van outside a branch of a fast food franchise that offers free Wifi access. After he and Bateau dropped Bishop off at the mall, he had knocked out the Internet access just long enough to intercept a call to the provider for service, then came back and put his own secure wireless tap on their router before pronouncing it “fixed.” Now he has high-speed Net access over secure military radio channels, with a range that includes a fifty-mile radius from the burger palace.
The only thing that could possibly reveal his “borrowing” of official channels would be if the U.S. Navy built a base on the town reservoir and wanted their communications frequencies back for the aircraft carrier and fighter squadron they would put there.
‘Not bloody likely,’ Finn thinks with a smile. He has multiple installations like this in every town the trio has ever stayed in for more than a day or two, and some places they were just passing through if he had enough time. In a tight spot, the hacker can tag a military satellite for web access from anywhere on the planet, but the time delay from a satellite hack is usually too long for Finn to be able to do what he does best.
Which is, of course, to pick virtual locks and go where he’s not wanted.
When they had first reached the hotel the week before, Finn went back and looked for places Khaleel might have inserted “proof” that Bishop was Magdalene into established records. After all, the underworld wouldn’t just take Khaleel’s word for it, and however he found out Bishop’s true name, it wouldn’t have been enough on its own to set that kind of manhunt in motion.
Almost immediately, Finn found both the passport and airline records that said Bishop was in Marseilles during the Gaultier job, as well as the doctored video recordings. Of course, Bishop was there, but Finn would never have been so sloppy as to ever leave records like that where anyone could find them. Insulted, he removed the hacked files and made sure all was as it had been before Khaleel’s tampering.
A meticulous man is our Mister Finn.
Finn is dressed for success ... at least for his success. Comfort is his watchword, since the one thing he needs in his line of work is to be able to focus, and ill-fitting clothing would break his concentration as sure as a passing freight train. He wears one of a large collection of bright Hawaiian shirts, a pair of old blue jeans that fit like a second skin, and a vintage pair of Keds canvas sneakers. He’s worn the shoes for so long that the outline of his toes shows through the fabric at the top front of each sneaker, and years of pressure have sculpted the bottoms of his feet into the padding that separates skin from sole.
In preparation for the time they will eventually wear out someday, he has a single back-up pair in his luggage at all times ... and four more pairs just like them in a hermetically sealed vault full of inert gasses in Zurich.
A peculiar man is Finn. But very, very good at what he does. For example, let us take a look at the preparation for the job at hand ...
When Harlan Straker’s entourage arrives from London at Miami International, Finn has already hacked into the airport’s Wifi and security surveillance systems. He identifies each one of them by linking the feed from the security cameras with the information from each man’s passport as the data from its RFID chip is read into the U.S. passport control system. Within minutes, Finn has compiled detailed dossiers on each member of Straker’s crew from all of his usual sources — addresses, bank accounts, hobbies, personality quirks. The files also include the make and model of each individual’s cell phone and respective carriers.
Before they reach baggage claim, Finn hacks the cell phones of each member of the entourage and installs two programs they will never know are there. One is a locator program that will broadcast their precise location to Finn whenever he activates it, and until he tells it to stop. It is accurate to within a foot of their actual location, both vertically and horizontally, and involves a triangulation matrix Finn developed that combines military GPS signals with wifi hubs, cell towers, and sub-frequency pings off of any random radio transmitter/receiver in the area.
The other program allows Finn to listen in to every conversation the user has — not just on the phone, but also in the phone’s immediate vicinity. He can turn on the speaker phone in every unit and bug any room the phone is in instantly, without anyone being the wiser.
He hears Keene Curtis, Straker’s number one, coordinating the entourage’s arrival with the hotel manager. Finn traces the number from Curtis’s phone and discovers they are staying at the Fountainbleu, one of the grand old ladies of Miami hotels. Supposedly, it's about as secure as the box of Whitman chocolates Granny leaves in a box next to the bed when her grandchildren are in town, but there have been rumors this might be just what the hotel wants people to believe. He reaches out remotely to some sources he knows, to see if the rumors are true. Texting the phone number and length of stay to Bateau, he leaves the hotel to him for a while. Straker himself is still unaccounted for, as is the emerald and the rest of the collection.
From the conversation in the limo on the way to the hotel, Finn knows Straker is already in the States and flying into Miami from Boston later today, so he launches a sub-program to rip through the ticketing computers of every airline flying from Boston to Miami looking for Straker’s first-class ticket. When that comes up negative, he doubles back and does a flight plan search for Straker’s private jet. He takes note of its arrival in Boston last night, and checks to see if Straker had flown in to Boston to meet it yesterday.
His name shows up on the manifest for the last plane in from Denver the day before.
Finn posts a reminder to use the hacked airport security cameras to check the unloading of the private jet in Miami when it arrives. The assumption is that the private jet will hold what they’re looking for, either the whole collection or just the Perenchio Emerald, but a good hacker (and a good thief) knows better than to count on an assumption, so he will check. And check. And check again.
He hacks into Straker’s files to find the name of the company where the shipment cases for his collection were purchased, then hacks the company’s database for specs for each custom-made case sold to Harlan Straker. All to identify what, if anything, will be offloaded in Miami from the private jet.
Very thorough is our Mister Finn.
While he’s waiting for the computers to do a CGI mockup of each case for comparison, he checks the blueprints on file for the Fountainbleu hotel and reviews each electrical and security upgrade filed since the hotel was first built back in 1909. None of the rooms Straker could conceivably hold his party in has any serious electronic security, other than motion sensors and hidden cameras that could be monitored from the small guard station in the offices behind the lobby.
When there is something of value to be protected, the hotel has relied on private guards and off-duty police officers to provide physical security. Checking the records for previous events at the hotel in the security officer’s “secure” desktop system, Finn finds that the default security setup once the event is over is for the motion sensors to remain active, the cameras to be constantly monitored, and the room’s perimeter to be constantly guarded from outside. The motion sensors inside each ballroom prevents the hotel from putting security personnel inside the room unless they choose to turn the sensors off, and Finn knows that the hotel’s insurance company would have several litters of kittens and deny payment in the event of a loss if they did.
Finn sends a silent prayer to Nicholas, the patron saint of thieves, and throws a snarky thank you in the insurance company’s general direction for their blind faith in technology. After all, tricking the motion sensors is a whole lot easier than dealing with a single rent-a-cop only a few feet from the target.
To his left, Porky Pig exclaims, “Th-th-th-th-that’s all, folks!” Finn turns to see his CGI renderings of the collection’s travel cases rotating slowly for his review. The hacker checks on the progress of an earlier program, and a window opens to reveal the flight plan for Straker’s private jet, gently liberated from the secure computers at General Edward Lawrence Logan International Airport in Boston. The plane will be wheels up at approximately 12:04 p.m. and the clock on the screen says it is currently 11:47 a.m. in Miami, just like it is in Boston.
“Flight time will be ...” Finn enters a few commands and numbers fly up onto the screen. “ ... three hours and twenty five minutes.” Just enough time to take over the hotel’s security system and hack the security cameras in the hangers at the airport where Straker’s plane would most likely come to rest after its flight.
But first he’ll duck inside and grab a burger and fries ... and a Coke ... and maybe a shake and an apple pie, if there’s time.
After all, we’ve all heard tales about starving artists — and after everything he’s done this morning, you can be sure our Mister Finn is a very hungry man.
Amy Tilton’s office is in an area near the food court, one of a row of offices off of a hallway that leads out to the parking garage. It is neat and well-furnished, with a place for everything and everything in its place. When they first arrived, Maggie looked around, then looked back at Amy with a question in her eyes.
“This place doesn’t look like you at all,” she said, smiling. “Are you sure this is your office?”
“Oh, it’s mine,” Amy replied. “Don’t be fooled by what you see. An office is where you do business, and the sort of people who hire a personal shopper want someone they think is far more together and organized than they are. That’s why this place has all the personality of a model home in an upscale neighborhood.” She grins. “If you want to see the real me, go check out my apartment.”
Maggie blushed and looked away. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Now it’s two hours later, and Amy sits back with a soft sigh.
“We’ve been through the style books, and nothing jumps out at you,” she says softly. “Truth is, nothing jumps out at me either. You’re a puzzle, Maggie. You don’t seem to fit any of the established looks. No wonder you couldn’t find anything out in the mall.”
“Looks like I’m one of a kind.” Bishop smiles, but there’s no humor in it. Amy reaches out, puts her hand over Maggie’s, and gives it a squeeze.
“That’s not a bad thing, honey. It just means we have to look a little harder, that’s all.” The shopper thinks for a moment, then stands up and moves to a chair next to the sofa. “We’re going to have to try something new. Lie down, Maggie.”
Bishop looks up at her, confused, and Amy smiles back. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I want you as relaxed as you can be when I ask them. I don’t want you to think about them. Just answer them as fast as you can, as soon as I ask. Can you do that?”
Maggie nods. She senses that she’s being mothered by someone who should be a peer, and it makes her feel weaker somehow, and a little uncomfortable. But at the same time, she knows there’s no malice in it. It’s just Amy’s way of showing she cares.
With a sudden chill, Maggie realizes she’s accidentally wandered deep into unknown territory. For the first time since her transformation, she is alone with a woman ... with another woman, in that shared space that every woman knows, and where no man has ever been. In the life before her transformation, Bishop had watched women together, in pairs or groups of three or four or more, and had sensed something between them from a distance — a closeness, an easiness, that faded whenever a man entered the picture.
This was “womanland,” a place where the landscape seemed much less defined than the world she used to know. That little bit of Moira inside her whispers without words, reminding her that here, emotional barriers can be as thin as tissue paper between friends, and even the strongest woman can ask for help from someone close without feeling diminished by it.
Moira’s voice rises from her subconscious. ‘Just like you could ask Bateau or Finn for help and get it, no questions asked. You’re not as far from what you were as you think. With men, it takes longer to reach that place, that’s all.’
Maggie smiles, this time for real. Maybe being a woman isn’t quite as alien as she thought. She lies back on the sofa, folds her hands across her stomach.
“Good girl,” Amy says softly, and Maggie grins.
“Thanks, ‘Mom,’” she replies, and the other woman laughs out loud. Bishop closes her eyes and waits.
“I want you to think back, Maggie.” Amy’s voice is measured and calm. “Think back to before what happened last week. Think back to the woman you were. Can you see yourself?”
Bishop nods. “Tell me something about the woman you see.”
“She was strong, self-assured.” The thief speaks slowly, but Amy can hear the truth behind the words. She knows Maggie isn’t holding back. “She knew she was beautiful, but didn’t care. It didn’t define her. It just was. She had dreams, and plans, and she knew that she could get what she wanted, if she wanted it bad enough.”
Amy saw Maggie smile. “She was so confident and in control, she could walk naked through the middle of a crowd of men, and they wouldn’t dare touch her, or even speak to her, unless she allowed it.”
“Until one did.”
Bishop sees it all again, the look on her face when the jewel touched Moira, the glow as it traced her outline and sucked her into it. She gasps and shudders, and Amy’s hand reaches out and touches her shoulder.
“I’m here,” she whispers. “You’re safe.”
“Am I?” Bishop replies, her voice shaking. “I don’t know. How can I be safe when she’s gone, Amy? I’m here, but she’s gone. I’m gone, too, or going. Will I ever be who I was again?”
“Who was that, Maggie? Who did you used to be?”
She gives a shuddering sigh. “A friend told me, not too long ago, that I used to live each moment as I wished to live it. He said that I defined myself not by how others saw me, but by the choices I made. He told me I was someone who chose to make the world what ... what she wished it to be, and others saw that, and helped make my world real because they believed my choices.”
Bishop felt the tears start to flow, but did nothing to stop them. “But I didn’t choose this, not really. I couldn’t stop it from happening. There was one point, maybe, where I could have changed things ... but that choice was taken from me, too, because people I cared about were in danger and so I couldn’t turn back.”
“So he ... took me, and when everything was over, the part of me that felt like the world was mine was gone. I can’t choose and make other people believe in my choices anymore, because I know that control is nothing but an illusion. If he can do what he did to me, how could I ever believe I have control over anything again? I don’t believe in myself, anymore, and maybe that’s why I’m gone. And I’m still losing myself, a little bit at a time, every day, more of me disappearing into this thing I’ve become, and I can’t stop it, because there’s no way back! Oh God ... Amy, I’m lost ... I’m so lost!”
Amy kneels next to the sofa and takes Maggie in her arms as she finally lets go of her fear and frustration and cries — great body-wrenching sobs that shake Amy as well when the other woman’s arms wrap themselves around her. Eventually the crying ends, and Maggie looks up at Amy, her face streaked with tears.
“I guess we went a little farther than finding something for me to wear,” she says, her voice trembling as she blushes slightly.
“I guess we did,” Amy replies, smiling a little. “But that’s okay. We needed to. You needed to.”
“What do you mean?”
“Damn, girl, didn’t you hear yourself? It’s no wonder you can’t shop. You had such confidence before, Maggie. You believed you could do anything. It was just a part of you, and you grew up with it and lived your entire life absolutely sure you had a handle on how your world worked. Then, in an instant, everything you thought you were was ripped away, and all you had left to replace it was the knowledge that, in the end, you were as weak and powerless as everybody else. That bastard convinced you that you had no control over anything, anymore. Oh, you tried to keep going as best you could, but your mind held tight to that one damning conclusion, and you let it redefine you. Stupid girl.”
Maggie’s eyes widen, and she sits up suddenly. “What?”
“Honey, you were raped! It doesn’t matter what he did to you, but when he had power over you, you couldn’t fight him. You couldn’t take yourself back from him. You had to let it happen, whatever it was. But it’s over now. He’s gone. And he can’t really change who you are inside. Unless you let him.”
Bishop’s mind reels as she struggles to put what Amy is saying together with what happened. “No, you ... you don’t understand how it was ... what he did ...”
“The hell I don’t.” Amy stands up, and Bishop sees her eyes flash. “I’ve been there, too, Maggie. I was raped once. Bastard held a knife on me and threatened to cut me up. He used me and beat on me for hours and hours ... and then left me on the floor, sobbing, as if I was nothing. He nearly made me believe it, too. I hid away for weeks, frightened of my own shadow, until I got angry enough to see the truth.”
“The truth? What truth?”
“That if I let him define me, he would win, and I’d never be anything more than what he made me. I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t. I used my anger at him to take back my own life. Don’t you see? It’s the same for you. He took control away from you, and when he did that, he stole your confidence as well. You couldn’t choose anymore, because he made you think you had no choice ... but he only controlled you while he had you in his power. He’s gone — but you’re still here.”
Amy sits down next to Maggie. “And you were you long before you ever met him. Now that he’s gone, you can be YOU again. You have to be.”
“How?”
“You have to choose, Maggie. Redefine yourself. Choose to be the person you used to be again, or as close as you can get after what you’ve been through. Even back then, you didn’t control everything. Nobody can. But you believed in yourself enough that you could handle whatever came along. That’s why you have to believe in yourself again. Because if you don’t, you’ll be letting him tell you who you are and who you’re supposed to be, for the rest of your life.”
“You need to believe in yourself ... to know in your heart that you’re better than him, and you always have been. Because it’s true. I see the person you used to be, looking back at me through the pain. She’s afraid, but I believe in her. Because I believe in you. And even though I barely know you ... I believe in us.”
She takes Maggie’s hands in hers and looks into her eyes. “There’s something here between us, Maggie. You feel it, too. It’s strong, and I want it to go further, but only on your terms.”
“You need to believe you have control of your own life again,” she whispers. “That’s why I’m going to give you a choice. I’m going to do something now, and you can turn away, or you can let it happen. The choice is yours. I know what I want, but this has got to be your decision, because this is about us, not just me. No matter what happens next, I want you to know ... it’s entirely up to you.”
Then Amy leans forward and her eyes close oh so slowly. Bishop’s heart starts beating wildly, and her whole body suddenly warms in that timeless instant before their lips meet ...
... and in the heat of a gentleness that kicks like an exploding star, Maggie makes her choice.
The sound of the door opening causes both men to turn towards it. Neither one wanted to say it out loud, but they’d both been worried for hours, and the sound of the lock disengaging makes them both sigh an instant before it swings open.
Bishop stands framed in the doorway.
“Hey, boys,” she says, and to Bateau’s ears, it almost sounds like she’s teasing. “Miss me?”
“Hell, no, Your Worship,” Finn replies, leaning back in the sofa and crossing his legs. “We’ve been way too busy finding something interesting for us to steal ... once you’ve finished shopping, that is.”
Standing by the projection of the Fountainbleu floorplan, Bateau notices that Bishop is wearing something new — and radically different from what she had been wearing when they dropped her off that morning. Her top is a sort of understated medium blue cashmere, a very thin fabric with a wide neckline and three-quarter-length sleeves. It’s tight enough to provide an understated emphasis to her breasts but loose enough to drape just so below them. The blouse ends just above her navel, accentuating how her firm her waist is and how it narrows before it flares moves outwards to meet her hips.
She wears a pair of dark blue slacks that almost (but not quite) cling to her curves like a second skin, all the way down to a pair of ankle-high black boots that have just enough heel to notice but not nearly enough to make her hips twitch more than they should when she walks.
Silver accents are everywhere, bracelets, necklace, and earrings with just enough dangle to flash slightly when she turns her head. Her makeup is understated, but applied with a sense of how much is just enough. She catches Bateau looking, and strikes a model’s pose.
“You like?”
The Frenchman smiles slowly and nods. “Very much, mon ami. So feminine, and yet ... so you. I am impressed. Truly, I did not expect for you to find a personal style quite so quickly.”
Bishop grins and ducks her head. “I have to admit … I cheated.”
Bateau’s eyebrows raise. “Oh?”
“I followed one of my oldest rules.” She stalks over to the bar like a cat hunting prey and pours a glass of bourbon, then turns around and leans against it while she sips. “Know your limitations, and how to overcome them. When you need an expert ... find one.”
“And did you?” Finn asks, tilting his head. Bishop looks at him through her eyelashes and shakes her head.
“I did better than that,” she replies. “I found a friend. And maybe ... something more.”
Finn looks at Bateau, and he gives the hacker a tiny shake of his head.
“I seem to make a habit of that, actually.” Bishop takes another sip.
“A habit of what?” Finn turns back to Maggie, and she laughs. It’s almost musical, and takes both men by surprise.
“Finding friends when I start out looking for experts.” She looks at them both, and they can see the emotion in her eyes. “Thank you both, for standing by me through all of this. It’s got to be almost as weird for you as it is for me.”
“It’s not like we had a choice, Your Eminence,” Finn declares, standing up. “After all we’ve been through, we’re more family than friends. And family sticks together — especially the family you choose, yeah?”
“Agreed.” Bateau smiles, crosses his arms and cocks his head. “And from what I see, it is not as weird for you as it was, I think?”
“Not as,” she replies. “I’m still working on what it means to be who I am now, but I think I’m past the worst of it. I have to remember that it’s still me in here, after all. Amy helped me do that.”
“Oh? I shall have to thank this ‘Amy’ when I meet her.” Bateau notices a flash of uncertainty in Bishop’s eyes, but when Maggie realizes that Bateau saw her hesitation, she straightens her shoulders and nods.
“I think I’d like her to meet you both. In fact, I’m looking forward to it.”
The Frenchman briefly inclines his head towards Finn, who is oblivious to the interplay. “It should be ... interesting.”
“Speaking of interesting,” the thief says, putting down her glass and walking towards the floor plan projected on the wall. “What’s this I hear about a possible job?”
“Oh, it’s not much.” Finn’s grin belies his words. “It turns out Harlan Straker is throwing a shindig in Miami. He’s bringing his entire collection to town, just to show off his newest acquisition ... the Perenchio Emerald. We were talking it over, Bateau and myself, and we thought you just might — might, mind you — enjoy taking his latest pretty away from him and rubbing his nose in the fact that Magdalene is back. Interested?”
“Maybe,” she mutters, her attention drawn to the wall. “Tell me about it.”
Bishop listens carefully while she looks at all the information Finn has put up on the hotel room walls. She weighs options while Finn and Bateau lay out what they’ve found — personnel, security arrangements, and potential guest lists. Finally, the explanations run down, and the two men look at her from behind. She is focused intently on the projections, her hands on her hips, and finally Finn can’t take it anymore.
“Well, your Holiness,” he asks. “What do you think? Shall we take the Emerald to announce Magdalene’s return?”
She freezes, just for a second, then shakes her head.
“No, gentlemen,” she replies, “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that’s not nearly big enough.”
For a second they look at her in disbelief. Then she turns and gives them a smile that lights up her face.
“We’re going to have to take the whole collection. After all, Harlan went to all that trouble to bring it along. It would be a shame to leave any of it behind, don’t you think?”
Bishop: Confession
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Bishop opens her eyes slowly and sees the back of Amy's head, and one beautiful bare shoulder peeking out from under the sheet. She follows the curves of her lover's body clear down to the lavender painted toenails on her feet, remembering every inch she had massaged, caressed, and kissed only a few hours before.
And then she wonders how she managed to wind up in bed with her.
Bishop: Keeping The Faith is also a sequel to Bishop: Baptism, which can be read here.
However, Bishop: Baptism is a sequel to Bishop: Born Again.
So if you want to go all the way back to the beginning, click here.
“Confession is not betrayal. What you say or do doesn't matter;
only feelings matter. If they could make me stop loving you — that would be
the real betrayal.” ”• George Orwell, 1984
###
Bishop opens her eyes slowly and sees the back of Amy's head, and one beautiful bare shoulder peeking out from under the sheet. She follows the curves of her lover's body clear down to the lavender painted toenails on her feet, remembering every inch she had massaged, caressed, and kissed only a few hours before.
And then she wonders how she managed to wind up in bed with her.
She doesn’t wonder long. She doesn’t have to. Just looking at Amy sleeping besides her, Maggie feels warm clear through, like desire fills her and makes her dizzy with longing. There is this overwhelming urge to wiggle her way over and wrap herself around Amy, skin to skin. She wants to hold her close and kiss that bare shoulder, and whisper to her the things she had never whispered to a woman back when she had been Mark, because such whispers pushed relationships to places a master thief could never take them.
How could the man she had been ever tell a woman he loved her and mean it, when their life together would be based on lies? He would have had to be 100% sure they would always be together before he could share the secret of Magdalene with her – and sharing that part of his life would put both Bateau and Finn at risk if he made a bad call.
But last night …
Yesterday, when she and Amy had shopped, they had bought so many things that Maggie was amazed at how easy it was. Even though having Amy with her made it far less painful than it had been, she knew deep down it would never be something she enjoyed. As Mark, she had never been into acquiring things. The fact that it would seem to be a necessary qualification for a thief did not escape her notice, but upon reflection, the man she had been would have been the first to admit he had always been an extremely odd thief.
For him, it had started with money. After all, when he first decided on a life of crime, Bishop thought that’s what being a thief was supposed to be about. But after his first few multi-million dollar robberies went off without a hitch, he was surprised to discover that you actually can have too much money. In fact, he learned to his dismay that any more than “more than enough” was just wasted potential. At the same time, doing what he did without some kind of reward made it seem … pointless, and boring.
Unsure of what to do next, he found himself watching the Errol Flynn version of Robin Hood on a hotel TV in Budapest, and started to think about what he could do with what he did best. Overnight, his goals changed, and he decided to use his skills to do something more than just make himself richer. He decided to do good, by going around the rules instead of following them.
That’s when being a thief stopped being work and started being fun.
Back in the more recent past, they had the Mall’s personal services desk send her purchases back to Maggie’s hotel, although she was careful to send them to Abramo Aldafieri, Bateau’s Italian pseudonym. He was currently filling the role of the Contessa’s minder and confidant, providing that buffer between hotel management and the trio and maintaining the fiction that she required secrecy to avoid media attention. Maggie had asked Amy to get them both coffee, and the thief managed to get the clothing delivery order addressed before the personal shopper returned.
“So, plans for dinner?” Amy slipped her arm into Maggie’s and steered her towards the center of the Mall. The thief felt slightly odd, as if two women walking arm-in-arm wasn’t anything unusual at all. On the other hand, considering how little experience Maggie had as a woman, maybe it wasn't. She hesitated, just for a second, then admitted to herself that it felt nice being touched by Amy, and relaxed into it.
Amy felt her stiffen, and then relax, and smiled.
‘Bit by bit, baby,’ she thought, giving Maggie’s arm a squeeze. ‘One step at a time. We’ll tear down those walls, you’ll see.’
“No plans,” Bishop said, then paused for a second before she continued. “There is someone I should call so he doesn’t worry, but other than that ...”
“He?” Amy stopped, and Bishop turned to face her, surprised. Amy’s eyes narrowed. “Is there something I should know about, girlfriend? Or should I say, someone?”
Maggie was confused for a second, then saw where Amy’s mind had gone and laughed out loud. It was Amy’s turn to look puzzled.
“His name is Bateau. He is my friend, my business partner, and the closest thing to family I’ve ever known,” she said, smiling. The smile dimmed, just a little. “He also knows all about what happened last week, and he’s bound to worry if I don’t show up for dinner without calling first.”
“You’re not … his?” Amy stared into her eyes, and Maggie could see her concern, and a touch of jealousy. She was slightly taller than Bishop, and the thief found it a bit disorienting to have to look up at a woman.
‘Another woman,’ she thought, and held back a sigh. Instead, she took Amy’s hands in hers.
“It’s not like that,” Maggie said softly. “We’re not like that. It’s not a romance. He’s like – no, he is the brother I never had. And he’s not the only one.”
“You have another partner?”
“And friend. But we care about each other, too. We all do. We watch out for each other, like families do. You’ll see when you meet them.”
“Mags!! Do you really want to take me home to meet the family … so soon?” Amy grinned. “Wow, I’m honored!”
Bishop hadn’t been planning anything, just saying what she felt. But the realization that she was seriously thinking about introducing Amy to Bateau and Finn made her blush, and she saw Amy see it. Before she could figure out how to react, Amy leaned forward and whispered in her ear.
“Don’t freak, girl.” Her breath caressed Bishop’s neck, and the thief felt something rising inside her. “I really am honored, honest. And I’m sorry if I embarrassed you just now. But the fact you’re even thinking something like that … it just makes me feel so wonderful. You just don’t know.”
She moved closer, and pulled her head back to look down into Bishop’s eyes again.
“So, give your family a call and tell them you’re having dinner at my place tonight.” She grinned again. “Hell, Maggie … we might even eat something!”
When they reached Amy’s place, Bishop could easily see what Amy had meant when she had invited Maggie home to see the real her. The apartment was an extension of her in a way her office would never be. Vibrant colors and soft fabrics mixed with comfortable furniture, and a level of ground clutter that would have sent potential clients running if they saw it in her office at the Mall.
Dinner was Chinese take-out picked up on the way, and the two talked as they ate. Mindful of her own secrets, Bishop let Amy tell her all about her past, her family, where she went to school. The words washed over and through her and made her smile, and the sharing warmed her to the core. She could barely take her eyes off of Amy’s, and when the meal was done, Amy rose, and took her hand …
… and Maggie crossed that line between the living room and the bedroom without a thought. Without thinking of the consequences. Because she didn’t want to think about anything, except the look in Amy’s eyes when she whispered Bishop’s name, or the way her fingers felt when they touched.
Even now, Maggie can’t imagine staying this far away from her for another second. She slides over, slips one arm under Amy’s pillow and snuggles into her, laying her other arm across her lover’s tummy. Amy’s warm softness presses into her middle and she sighs.
‘Is this what love feels like?’ The thought takes her by surprise, even as she realizes it’s true. ‘It’s not lust, although that’s there too. I just need to touch her, be with her. I need to feel her there and know she’s real.’
Maggie buries her nose in Amy’s flesh and breathes her in, smelling sweat and perfume and deodorant and just a hint of the musk from the wetness that came from last night’s play. She feels Amy wake up, then roll over in bed to face her. The fingers that brought her so much pleasure last night reach over and touch Bishop’s chin so very gently, lifting her face to meet Amy’s lips as they softly touch hers. Maggie pulls back just a little and looks up to see her lover smile.
“Hey,” she whispers, and Amy hears the slight tremble in her voice.
“Hey back at you, girl,” she replies softly. “I’m really lovin’ the look in your eyes right now. Whatever you’re thinkin’, baby, hold that thought.”
She leans forward and kisses Maggie again. She is gentle as first, as if Bishop is so fragile she might break. Suddenly, Amy’s kisses become harder and deeper, full of hunger and passion, and she rolls over until she’s on top of her and both of their bodies are skin to skin. Maggie does her best to kiss her back, but Amy pushes her legs apart and rests her weight between them. She begins to rock on her gently as they kiss, her mound pressing softly into Maggie's clit over and over. The heat inside her begins to rise until she can barely think, and before she can stop herself, Bishop feels a sudden tidal wave of pleasure roll up from inside her and push her over an edge she didn’t even know was there. It’s so intense, she finds herself half-moaning and half-screaming into Amy’s mouth as she explodes inside, shuddering all over.
Amy holds her tight as Maggie trembles and bucks under her. When Bishop seems to be coming back to herself, Amy raises herself up slowly. She looks down into her lover’s eyes …
… and is surprised when she sees fear.
“Hey, baby,” she whispers. “You look scared.”
Maggie manages a shaky smile.
“That’s because I am scared.”
“You’re afraid … of me?”
“I’m afraid of us.” Amy’s confusion makes its way to her face, and Maggie kisses her softly. “What I feel for you … what we feel … I’ve never felt this way before. It’s like you’re holding a piece of my soul, and I’ll never get it back, but that’s okay, because I don’t want it back. While you’re holding it, it feels so damned good, I don’t ever want it to end.”
Amy smiles, and touches Maggie’s nose with hers. “You don’t need to be afraid of me, not now or ever. I … I couldn’t believe how lucky I was, the day I found you, when you decided to kiss me back. I knew what I felt for you, and finding out you were open to the possibility of there being an ‘us’ was just …? Especially after what happened to you … before.”
Bishop pulls her down into a hug, and sighs as Amy’s warmth flows down through her again.
“I’ve never really let myself love anyone before,” the thief whispers into her lover’s ear. “I’ve always been so confident, so self-assured … and loving someone felt like surrendering a part of that. A part of me. Which it was, come to think of it.”
Maggie’s hands wander down Amy’s back, enjoying the feel of her skin. She buries her face in Amy’s neck, breathing in her sweet scent.
“But maybe that’s what love is.” She tilts her head back and looks into Amy’s eyes. “The men I work with … they’re my family, and I love them like brothers. I would die for them, if I had to. Just like I would for you.”
“I do love you, Maggie.” Amy leans down and kisses her softly. “I don’t know how it happened, but you caught my heart, and I don’t want you to let go, either.”
Amy sees … something come into Maggie’s eyes, a realization … and then the beginnings of tears rise up to make them glisten.
“Amy … there are things you don’t know, about me or my friends.”
“Well, tell me, silly, and then I’ll know.”
Bishop looks up at her for a few seconds, then opens her mouth, but no sounds emerge. Suddenly, the look in Maggie’s eyes becomes unbearably sad. Before Amy can utter a sound, Maggie rolls them both over until she’s on top, then slides off of Amy and rises to her feet.
“They’re … they’re not my secrets to tell.” She stands there, naked, tears rolling down her face. “And if you knew my secrets … all of our secrets … we could be in danger. All of us … and you.”
She scrambles around the room, picking up her clothes and putting them on while Amy looks on, frozen and confused. “Oh God, I am so sorry. I’ve been so selfish. Damn it, I just didn’t think. I wanted you so much, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t think about what it would mean to someone else to take what I wanted. I just … just …”
Maggie practically runs to the door, then turns and looks back.
“I am so sorry, Amy. Just … don’t look for me. I’m nothing but trouble, and you deserve better.”
The door closes behind her, and Amy, her mind spinning, finally speaks.
“I … deserve you.”
Bateau disconnects and puts down the smart phone with a muffled sigh. He has just spent well over an hour on the phone, booking half a floor in the Fountainbleu with a draft on Senor Aldafieri’s Swiss account, and impressing on the hotel manager how extremely important it was that the Contessa’s presence there remain a secret.
“It is always better to run a con like that face to face,” he says, almost to himself. “There is only so much one can do over a telephone to sell a story. In the end, I didn’t truly have him on the hook until the money from Switzerland cleared. I feel … cheated, Michael.”
“Sorry to hear that, old son,” Finn replies, his attention split between Bateau and the piece of software gently hacking its way into the Italian State Department’s server in Washington, D.C. “I know how much you like doin’ your thing in person.”
He turns and looks over at the grifter. “You know, you could have flown there and done the ‘preparing the way for Her Worshipfulness’ gig on site.”
“I know, but I did not feel I could leave. Bishop is still … fragile.” Bateau rises from the sofa and walks over to the in-suite bar. The hacker raises an eyebrow.
“She seems almost normal t’me … well, except for the makeup, and the clothes, and the fact that she’s a she.” He shrugs. “And the fact that she seems a lot more okay with the ‘being a she’ part than she used to be.”
The larger man pours a drink as he shakes his head. “This Amy person she met … whoever she is, she has done much to help her these past few days, that is true. But I believe there is still a part of Maggie that is fighting her change. I am not sure what we can do to fix that … how to lay that demon to rest.”
The front door clicks and swings open, and Bishop rushes into the suite, red-faced from crying. She runs across to her room so quickly that neither man can say a word before she pushes open the door and disappears within. The door swings shut behind her.
For a moment, all is silence. Bateau turns slowly and looks at Finn. The hacker looks back, then shakes his head.
“Sorry, friend. This one is all yours.” Bateau cocks his head slightly, and Finn shrugs. “We both know I’m an awkward bastard. Always have been. And what I don’t know about women could fill the Internet. But she’s hurting, Bateau. She needs us … well, one of us, and you know as well as I do, it’s sure as Hell not me.”
The Frenchman sighs, then nods and puts down his glass. Taking a deep breath, he walks resolutely across to her door and knocks gently.
“Mon ami?”
Silence. Bateau tries the knob and finds the door unlocked. He swings it open slowly, and sees Bishop curled into a ball on her bed.
He approaches her slowly, and sits down on the edge of the bed.
“I love her, Bateau.” Bishop’s voice, half-muffled by the bedspread, is still full of pain.
“This Amy?” She nods without raising her head.
Bateau lets a bit of music into his voice, hoping to lull her to face him. “And this is a bad thing?”
“I can’t have her.”
“Why?”
“Because she would have to know … about us.”
It is his turn to nod, even though she cannot see.
“Does she love you?” She takes a breath that makes her whole body shudder in a half-sob, and turns just a little so she can see his face. The pain in her eyes stabs his heart.
“Yes, she does. And that makes it worse. I didn’t think things through, and now both of us get to suffer.”
Bateau reaches out and puts his hand gently on her shoulder.
“Love is never about thinking,” he says softly. “And the two of you have fallen in love too fast for it to be anything but love.”
She raises her head further, clearly confused. He sighs.
“Oh, cher, there are so many ways to find love. Slow and steady, over time, or suddenly, like a lightning bolt. But love is love, and you can’t just turn it off, anymore than you can find love when love is not there to find.”
“What am I supposed to do, then?”
He pats her shoulder and stands suddenly.
“For now, rest, mon ami.” He looks down at her, a small smile on his face. “Do you trust me?”
She nods. “You know I do.”
“Then sleep. Things will be better when you wake, I promise.”
Bishop hesitates a moment, nods, and lowers her head, eyes closing. Bateau stands for a few moments, watching her as she lays there. Eventually, her breathing becomes regular, and he knows she is asleep.
‘Even though her heart was broken a few moments before, she sleeps. Why? Because she trusts me,’ he thinks, and his lip twitches, just a little. ‘She trusts me to fix this for her, because I told her I would. And so I shall.’
As quietly as he can, Bateau makes his way out of her room and closes the door behind him. He stands for a few moments, thinking. Although Finn notices him when he first comes out, he returns to his own work and leaves Bateau to do what he does best.
“Finn?”
The hacker hits a few more keys and stops, then turns to face the Frenchman. “Yeah?”
“I am about to do something that could be insanely stupid.”
“That’s not like you.” Finn looks him in the eye. “But it’s for her, isn’t it?”
“Oui.”
“Will it make her happy?”
“I believe so,” he replies. “Or possibly kill us all, in the end. There is always an element of risk, as you know. Do you trust me?”
“Do you even have ta ask?” Finn shakes his head. “With my life and all, ya daft plonker. I shouldn’t hafta say it out loud after all we’ve been through together.”
Bateau nods once, and heads for the door.
“Bateau?” He stops and turns to look at Finn. The hacker stands up. “If there’s anything you can do to make her smile again, do it. Hang the risk. Hang everything. I’ll not watch her tear herself apart again, not after seein’ her just gettin’ on with it the past few days.”
“I will hold you to that, my friend.” Bateau says, and Finn watches as the door to the suite closes behind him.
Amy wanders around the apartment, wearing a long lavender sweater and black leggings she threw on quickly when Maggie left. She had rushed outside to try and catch her before she could get too far, but she failed. In the hours since, all of Amy’s attempts to find where Maggie had disappeared to had crashed and burned.
She did manage to find out that Maggie had asked mall services to send all of their purchases from the other day to a hotel, to someone named Aldafieri. Unfortunately, the hotel refused to admit any such person was staying there, leaving her wondering just what she was supposed to do next.
She has almost convinced herself to drive over to the hotel and wait for Maggie to show up in the lobby, but a knock at the door pushes that idea from her head. Amy rushes to the door and opens it without thinking, hoping Maggie has come back on her own. Instead of the woman she loves, a huge bearded man in a dark Italian suit fills the hallway. He looks down at her with a small smile.
“Ms. Tilson? I am a friend of Maggie Bishop. My name is Bateau. May I come in?”
At the mention of Maggie’s name, Amy steps back to let the huge well-dressed man into her apartment. He smiles at her and nods his head in thanks as he steps past her, then turns and take her hand.
“You are the one who has brought Bishop back to us,” he says softly, “at least part of the way. I wanted to thank you personally for that.”
Bringing her hand up to his lips, he kisses it softly. Amy feels a warmth spread through her, just for an instant. Looking up at her, he gives her hand a small squeeze, then releases it.
Bateau turns and looks over the apartment, then motions to the sofa in the living room.
“May we sit? I feel we need to talk.”
Amy thinks for a moment, then nods and leads the way. She leaves the sofa to him and settles on a chair across from it. Bateau takes note of this, and he nods approvingly as he lowers himself onto the much softer couch.
“Very well done, Ms. Tilson. Putting some distance between the two of us, and leaving me the piece of furniture from which rising would take more time, giving you more time to flee … or fight. Of course, you have nothing to fear from me, but you don’t know that, so caution is always a wise policy.”
“Are you … Abramo Aldafieri?”
“Ah, you followed the trail back to the hotel. I begin to see what she sees in you.” He grins, and she feels an irrational need to smile back at him. Looking away, she shakes her head.
“I was very motivated. And worried.” Her tone is even and measured. “Are you Aldafieri?”
“In a way. Now and always, I am Bateau, but there are times when Senor Aldafieri has his uses. At the moment, he is a useful name to hide behind.”
“Are you hiding, Mr. Bateau?”
“We are all hiding, Ms. Tilson, Bishop included. She told you something of what happened to her?” Amy nods. “That unfortunate event has put us all in a difficult position. People are hunting for her. We did our best to make them think she is dead, but they may still be looking for her, and by extension, myself and her other associate, Mister Finn. That is why she ran from you today.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” Amy leans forward. “She knows I’m not a threat. I love her.”
He sighs. “Ah, you misunderstand. She ran because you love her, and she loves you. She believes she might become a threat, to you. Oh, at first she ran because she did not feel that she could share our secrets with you, even though she loves you. She also believed she would be putting Mister Finn and myself in danger without our consent. And she knew that, as much as she wanted to, she could not tell you what was going on without putting you in danger as well. So she left you and ripped her own heart out to protect you.”
“But that’s … that’s crazy. What the hell are you people, spies? Assassins?”
“Before I answer that question, I need you to answer one. An important one. Do you love her? I mean, truly love her.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Do you love her enough to risk all that you have to be with her?”
Bateau sees the confusion in her eyes, and reaches out to take her hand.
“I do not ask this lightly,” he says softly. “Finn and I … we love her, too. Enough to put our lives and hers in your hands, based only on the fact that she loves you. We both agreed that we would tell you everything. But if we do this … if I do this … then you will hold all of our lives in your hands. Also, knowing who we are and what we do will make you one of us, and that will put you in danger as well. There is a chance you might have to leave everything you have behind and run, at a moment’s notice. Because there are people who will want to kill you, because you are one of us. Do you understand?”
Amy nodded once, slowly.
“So … do you love her enough to risk all that you have?”
She looks down at her hand, resting gently in his, then looks back at his face, seeing only concern. “Have you ever been in love, Mr. Bateau?”
“Yes.”
She smiles. “Then you already know the answer.
Bateau returns her smile, and gives her hand a squeeze before releasing it.
“Well, then,” he says, sitting back on the sofa with a twinkle in his eye. “Welcome to our merry band, Ms. TIlson. Now … about the ‘family business.’ It all began with a movie about a noble thief in green tights, with a rather unusual mission statement …”
Bishop stares up at the ceiling, listening to the silence and wondering what to do next.
‘I can’t just lie here forever,’ she thinks. ‘As appealing as that option might be, boredom would chase me out of bed eventually. I really should do something, but that would mean committing to rejoining life as we know it, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.’
A smile touches her lips for an instant, as she thinks about the emotional roller coaster her life has become. So many years in control of her life, her destiny, reduced to this one moment in time — a beautiful woman crying her eyes out for the loss of a love she could never have had in the first place. It really was all her fault, after all. She should never have lied to herself, or thought she could really find love. It wasn’t fair to Amy, or to herself, let alone to Bateau and Finn.
She sighs. Being responsible is a bitch.
There is a knock on the door.
“Cher?”
Maggie raises her head and turns towards the voice. The door swings open slightly.
“Bateau?”
“The one and only.” He smiles briefly at her, then the smile disappears. “We must talk. Finn and I have discovered a problem with the task we have undertaken in Florida, and thus require your counsel.”
She sighs, her eyes closing for a few seconds as she decides what to do next. Shall she live again, or curl up in a ball and wait for reality to go away? She shakes her head, then rolls over and sits up at the edge of the bed.
“Give me a minute, please?”
“Of course.” Bateau withdraws and she walks to the bathroom, the sensuous glide as she walks no longer anything more than a way to move from place to place. When she realizes this, she stops, just for an instant, to consider what that means.
‘I have Amy to thank for that,’ she thinks as she brushes her hair. ‘For so much …’
For a moment, the sadness rises up, but she pushes it away.
“The job first,” she whispers to her reflection. “Grief comes later.”
When she walks into the living room of the suite, Bateau is standing by Finn, still at his keyboard.
"Do you remember our conversation the other day, about what your clothing says about you, and how important that is in what we do?"
Bishop nods, and Bateau smiles. "Now, ever since what happened to you, you have been struggling with what to wear and how to present yourself. If we are to punish Mister Straker for the things he’s done, we must make him believe you are an Italian contessa. We must move very soon, in order to arrive at his hotel a few days prior to the event. But you lack the ability to present yourself appropriately. You will need expensive European fashions, including evening wear and even swimwear, since we will be in Florida.”
Bateau steps forward and takes her gently by the shoulders. "In short, in order for you to successfully pretend to be a contessa, we will need an expert in choosing the appropriate make-up and clothing to present precisely the impression we wish to make.”
She looks up at him, and her bottom lip begins to quiver.
“How fortunate for us all … that you’ve managed to find one.” He leans down, kisses her forehead softly, and turns her towards the suite’s small kitchen.
Amy is there, arms crossed, leaning against the door jam.
“You didn’t think I’d let the woman I love run off on me, did you?” Her tone is playful, but her eyes are serious, full of an emotion that takes hold of Bishop’s heart and won’t let go. “I only just found you, baby. I’m not about to let you go, not ever. Love isn’t something you let go of without one hell of a fight.”
Time blinks, and Bishop finds herself in Amy’s arms, holding her tight. She tilts her head back and looks up to find Amy smiling down on her.
“So you’re a world-class thief with a heart of gold?” Bishop nods once, and the smile becomes a grin. “Damn, girl, that is so sexy.”
“You know … about us?”
“Hell yes, baby. Bateau came to me and told me everything.”
Bishop looks over at Bateau, and he gives her an almost imperceptible shake of the head.
‘Not quite everything,’ she thinks, and wonders if that one last lie is a good thing.
She looks back at Amy. “You know … it’s dangerous, being one of us.”
“I know.” The other woman shrugs. “So is crossing a street full of pit vipers and alligators, but I’ll risk it … if you’re on the other side.”
Maggie melts inside, just a little, and buries her face in Amy’s chest. “You say the sweetest things.”
Amy touches her chin, raising her face, and when Bishop looks into her eyes, Amy kisses her softly.
“Only because they’re true,” she replies.
Bishop raises her voice. “Finn? You’re okay with this?”
“She makes you happy, Your Holiness. I’d have ta be the king of all the fuckin’ asshats who ever lived to get between you and happiness.” She turns her head and sees him smile. “Besides, we need her as much as you do, yeah?”
“I doubt that,” the thief replies, smiling back. “But … thanks.”
“So, we have a timetable, mon ami,” Bateau says, and both Amy and Bishop turn towards him. “The party in Miami is in four days, and we must be at the hotel in two to establish our trip as unrelated. Amy, can you make our pretty partner a princess … or at least a contessa … by then?”
“Indeed I can, Mister Bateau.”
“Just Bateau, please,” he replies. “After all, we are family now.”
“Well, then, brother, this girl is on the job. We’ll hit the stores ASAP, Maggie. Some exclusive spots, high-end stuff. But first, I’m thinking somebody needs a shower.”
Bishop sighs. “I do?”
“No, honey, we both do!” She turns the thief around and pushes her towards the bathroom door. “We smell like we had a terrific time last night, which we did, but a contessa can’t stink like this and expect the best service at the local shops. Neither can her best friend and constant companion.”
“Friend?”
“Well, an Italian Contessa would have at least one woman in her entourage to pal around with, don’t you think? I can’t be seen as your lover if you’re gonna have a clear path towards seducing this Straker sleaze, if you need to.”
She slips an arm around Maggie and walks her to the bathroom while Bateau and Finn watch. “So friend I am and friend I’ll be, and more than that, always. But as your personal shopper and your friend, I really do need to tell you something.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I know that you’re supposed to be Robin Hood and all, but Mags? Seriously, green is so not your color.”
The bathroom door closes behind them both.
“Lou? I may have somethin’.”
Lou Rossi looks up from the stack of spreadsheets in his hands to see Donnie “Three Fingers” DeLuca at the door.
“What something?”
“Magdalene.”
Rossi tosses the papers onto the desk and waves DeLuca into the room. “Talk to me.”
“I’ve been lookin’ into the strip club where this Bishop guy got whacked. The Arab was there that night, a lot earlier.”
“Khaleel was there?”
“Yeah. Check this out.”
DeLuca puts a tablet on Rossi’s desk. Lou looks at it like it's a snake. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s a tablet, Lou.”
“Okay, fine, so it’s a tablet. What am I supposed to do with it?”
DeLuca sighs. “Listen, the parking lot at the strip club had cameras, in case they had problems with a customer or car thieves or whatever. Maybe whoever owned the club blackmailed the guys who came there, I don’t know. But we got access to the recordings, and I got copies on the tablet, and I’m gonna show ‘em to you, okay?”
Rossi puts up both hands. “Hey! Donnie, don’t go gettin’ pissed at me. I’m a print guy, okay? I don’t do technology. To me, a tablet is somethin’ you take when you got a headache.”
DeLuca reaches down and touches the screen. It wakes up, and he presses “Play.” Khaleel is getting out of a car in front of the building. He slams the door, bangs once in the top of the car, and it drives away. Then he turns and walks towards the back of the building. Donnie hits the “Pause” button on screen.
“The time stamp says he got there four hours before this guy Bishop gets whacked by Gino’s men. Four hours, Lou. And not only is he there early, he sends his car away instead of having his guys wait for him. What’s up with that?”
Lou stares down at the screen, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. “You think maybe a meet, Donnie?”
Donnie nods. “Maybe he was gonna meet Bishop. Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise.”
“When you looked at the video, did you see Bishop come in?”
“You remember the guy’s pic. He wants to blend in, he blends in. So when he comes in to meet Khaleel, he's just another tired regular lookin’ for a little fantasy.”
Rossi taps the screen once, is surprised as the video moves forward for an instant, then taps it again to make it stop. “Sounds about right. That would explain why Khaleel sent his car away, to keep the mook from figuring out who he is from his guys. But this Bishop, he was a nobody. Why go to all this trouble, sending the car away? Why show up so early?”
“Maybe it was blackmail.” DeLuca paces a little behind Rossi’s chair. “Maybe this Bishop guy had somethin’ he wanted, and the Arab threatened him with tellin’ everybody he’s Magdalene unless he delivered.”
“But he wasn’t Magdalene!”
“Well, yeah, we know that. But Khaleel had plenty of evidence that said he was. Maybe he showed it to him, to get him to agree to Khaleel’s terms or else.”
“But he had already showed us that stuff. Bishop was blown anyway.”
“That’s true,” Donnie counters, “but maybe Bishop didn’t know that.”
“You think he was conning the mark?”
“Hey, he screwed us, didn’t he? And if he screwed us, you think he didn’t have it in him to screw Bishop, too? Especially since Bishop would be very dead before morning if his plan worked.”
Rossi looks at DeLuca. “This ain’t looking good.”
Donnie shook his head. “It gets worse.”
He reaches down and taps the “Fast Forward” button, and the image scrolls forward. The time stamp shows minutes as seconds, and Lou watches intently as the parking lot empties, until it’s nothing but asphalt under fluorescent lights. Lou reaches out and stops the playback.
“Khaleel never left.”
“Not through that door, anyway. And we searched the place from roof to basement, and got nothin’.”
Lou swivels his chair around and looks up at Donnie. “When the Arab got there, he walked away from that door, towards the back. What’s in the back?”
“Stage door, loading dock. Fence runs around the outside, so access is limited to where the camera sees. Anything that comes and goes gets recorded. Trust me, Khaleel never left.” Donnie reaches for the tablet. “But someone else came in. Check this out.”
He runs the video back two hours, and the parking lot is still mostly full. He presses “play” and then “slow.” A large black shadow slips into view for a split second and disappears.
“What the hell was that?”
“Somebody dressed in black. Can’t see his face, but he’s a big guy. And he’s not alone. Check this out.”
Donnie hits “play” again, then “fast forward” for a few seconds before hitting “pause.” A smaller figure is frozen, running towards the back.
“Two of ‘em.” Rossi grunts and tilts his head. “Still can’t see his face. What the fuck is going on?”
“It gets better.” Donnie hits “fast forward,” and the time counter moves for a while before he punches “play” again. The speed goes back to normal as the smaller figure runs out from behind the club. A few seconds later, a white van pulls up by the side of the building, license plates not visible. The larger figure climbs in the back, still half in shadow. A second after that, someone new enters the picture at the corner of the building, and Donnie hits “pause.”
“Who’s the blonde?”
“Probably one of the strippers. We talked to the floor manager for that night. It turns out one girl cut out on her last set, and somebody else had to take her place. A blonde, stacked, named Moira. The picture’s too blurry to know for sure, but it’s a good bet that’s her.”
He hits “play” again, and she climbs awkwardly into the back of the van. The door slams shut and it drives away. Donnie picks up the tablet and shuts it down, then walks to in front of the desk and sits in one of the chairs there.
“So, Khaleel never leaves, but he’s not there when the hit goes down on Bishop. The two new guys come in and leave like they’re on a mission or somethin’, and the broad cuts out on her job and goes with them.”
Rossi sits back and looks at Donnie across the desk. “Did you try to find her?”
“Tried, and failed. She worked off the books, and Moira is the only name she gave ‘em. Some of the other girls said she kept to herself, didn’t talk a lot about life away from the club.”
DeLuca stands up. “You want me to keep looking?”
Lou stares into space for a minute, then nods slowly. “Yeah, I think you need to. She’s the only other loose end we got for the night Khaleel went into that club and didn’t come out again. She may have nothin’ to do with it, but if we think that, it buys us nothin’. So we find her.”
“On it, boss.” Donnie turns and heads for the door. Rossi turns his chair around and looks at the skyline as he hears the door close behind him.
‘I hate mysteries,’ he thinks, rerunning the video in his head. ‘But this one’s too big to ignore.”
‘I just hope solving it takes us somewhere we want to go … and that we got some answers waiting for us when we get there.’
Bishop: Sins of the Flesh
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Bishop smiled and Bateau returned her smile. “Always remember, for Francesca it is just a game, one she is very, very good at playing. He is the mouse to your cat, nothing more.”
“Lust's passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes.” — Marquis de Sade
“Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust,
like diamonds we are cut with our own dust.”
— John Webster
###
The Fountainbleu was the grand old girl of the Miami hotel trade. It was the first choice for kings, princes, and other heads of state who needed somewhere of quality to stay in Florida’s most populous city. Younger, hipper rich kids chose other luxury hotels as their stomping grounds when they headed south for the winter, but the older scions of America’s wealthier families always stayed at the Fountainbleu when the need arose.
The lobby was a monument to understated wealth, crafted from brass, wood, marble and leather. Its huge but elegant interior held many plush armchairs and sofas, covered in the softest glove leather. They were arranged in conversational groups, so meetings could be held if guests wished to do business, but far enough apart to ensure privacy. A waterfall three stories high made its way down the wall behind the front desk, to empty into a massive reflecting pool full of koi, drifting fat and lazy. And at the slightest word from an always-attentive concierge, a veritable platoon of busmen waited for the opportunity to leap into service if a guest required it.
Although the Fountainbleu lobby was often busy, it was also extremely quiet. Hushed tones were always employed by both guests and staff alike, almost as if the history of the place alone demanded that everyone involved conduct their affairs with a mixture of quiet respect and sober reverence.
Unfortunately, the afternoon it all began, the Fountainbleu and its guests would receive neither.
Harlan Straker stands by the front desk, supposedly waiting for his limo to be brought around but actually holding an impromptu press conference with the society reporters for Miami’s media outlets.
“Why hold a party for a jewel collection?” The Herald’s social editor asks, her tone curious. The question is an honest one. As a woman with too many years of experience filling the society pages, she has attended way too many social events over the years. After a while, she reached the point in her career where she wonders why anyone throws a party at all anymore.
“Why not have a party?” Straker responds, throwing her a Burt Reynolds smile that peeks out from under his mustache. “Hell, can’t a man throw a party if he wants to? I’ve got a whole lotta precious stones and a hankering to show ‘em off. If that ain’t a good enough reason, I don’t know what is.”
“Isn’t it a little dangerous?” This time, the question came from the reporter for the local NBC affiliate, a small man with thinning hair and a cameraman at his side. He holds out a microphone to Straker like he’s trying to feed bamboo to a panda, and the millionaire responds by looking down his nose at the reporter like he’s considering gutting him where he stands. The reporter looks up at him, unimpressed and unafraid, and continues. “I mean, a collection worth as much as yours is bound to attract … attention.”
“You mean thieves, don’t ya?” Straker grins so wide his dimples have dimples. “Who’d be stupid enough to try? My collection is so damned big, they’d need an armored car to get it out of the building. Besides, there’s guards and all manner of alarms … and I know the Miami police got their hands in all this somewhere. I ain’t worried, boy. Why the hell should you be?”
A few steps away, a large man in a well-tailored Italian suit is speaking urgently with the hotel manager.
“Are you insane, perhaps? Did you not understand what I told you when last we spoke?” The man’s voice begins to rise, a slight accent coloring the frustration in his voice as it grows louder. “She is due to arrive this afternoon. She specifically ordered me to keep her visit quiet.”
He raises a finger and shakes it at the manager. “I paid you good money to ensure her privacy. I paid YOU, sir. And yet, what do I find when I arrive? Media! In your lobby!”
"And what a job it was getting them there,” Finn mutters in his ear. "I had ta fake a call from Straker’s PR lady to each and every one of them, then use emails from higher-ups to get whoever was just above each of them in the food chain to give them all a push."
Bateau ignores Finn’s barely restrained bragging to continue. “This is totally unacceptable!”
“My sincerest apologies, Signor Aldafieri,” the hotel manager replies, his hands held up to try to quiet the irate Italian. “We had no idea Mister Straker was going to be holding a press conference in the lobby.”
“Really? Is this a normal thing for a five-star hotel?” Bateau blustered, finally catching the attention of a few of the outliers from Straker’s press group. “I was assured the Contessa’s presence here would be kept quiet, and yet there they are, like vultures waiting to pounce. Like jackals!”
“Please, sir, you’re attracting the very attention you wish to avoid!”
Several other members of the press pack had turned at his last outburst, and Bateau looked over his shoulder at the group, then back to the manager as he realized what he had said.
“Porca Puttanaccia! What have I done?” He looks wildly to the right and left. “It is not too late to save this. Is there another entrance we could get her to enter through? Some other place, a back door, anything!”
The hotel manager looks past his shoulder and sighs.
“Too late,” he replies. “I believe … she is here.”
Bateau spins around to find a raven-haired beauty ignoring the revolving door and entering the hotel through the standing door beside it. As a platoon of bell men unload the trunk of her waiting limo, she struts through the lobby in a Paris ensemble that hugs every curve, covering everything but leaving nothing to the imagination. She talks non-stop with the woman at her side, a tall dark-skinned beauty in a long white sleeveless dress, who smiles and nods at everything she says.
Some of the photographers and cameramen turn towards her, and flashes begin to strobe. She holds up a hand and speaks.
“Abramo!” Her tone is clear and commanding, and clearly not happy. Her voice fills the lobby. “You said you had handled everything. You said you had taken care of our privacy. Is this how they do that where you come from? By inviting the paparazzi to greet us?”
The huge man seems to wilt before her, becoming a flustered non-entity as everyone watched. “My apologies, Contessa. I am so very, very sorry. This was completely unforeseen. This gentlemen was talking to the press, and it was just coincidence it should take place now, when you were due to arrive.”
"As if," Finn snorts, and Amy suppresses a smile. Bishop doesn’t seem to even hear him, and gives Bateau a long angry scowl before softening, just a bit.
“Well, we are here,” she says, throwing him the barest hint of a smile, “and I am tired, and I know you cannot be responsible for everything — as much as I would like you to be.”
The flashes continue, and some of the reporters begin to throw questions at her. She ignores them and walks to the front desk. The crowd tries to follow, but the large man raises his arms and holds them back.
As she approaches, the hotel manager’s eyes drift to her chest, but rise upwards quickly when her palm slams down onto the desktop.
“A typical man,” she snarls. “You fail so spectacularly at the simplest of tasks, but the first thing you do when you meet me is look at my chest. Are my breasts so magnificent that they can distract you from your failure, even now?”
“No!” Her eyes narrow and he thinks about what he said. “I mean yes … I mean —“
‘What you meant is unimportant, just like you are. And just like you, your words do not matter. Whatever you think of them, they are my breasts, and you will never touch them, not now, not ever. Even having you look at them is an insult.” He opens his mouth and she reaches up and closes it for him with a finger. “Silence. I know it is difficult for you, but try to restrain your disappointment — and your eyes — and pay attention.”
His eyebrows raise, but he listens. Her voice becomes an exquisite growl.
“You were paid to make sure this did not happen, and yet it did. Since I cannot hold Senor Aldafieri accountable, I will blame you instead, because this is your hotel, and your city. Even though you failed me, I will stay … for now. And I will give you one more chance to impress me.” She leans forward. “But if you should fail me again, in even the smallest way, know this. I shall make sure that everyone who is anyone knows of your failure, and your hotel will pay the price. No one who wants to keep their lives away from the press will ever trust you again. Do you understand?”
He nods wordlessly. In an instant, her face relaxes into a smile. She reaches up and pats his cheek softly.
“Good. We are going to our floor now. Make them all go away.”
“Allow me, miss,” A deep voice comes from behind the crowd. “All right, ladies and gents, move along. Let the lady and her friends get where they’re goin’.”
The group hesitates a second, and the voice continues. “Let me put it another way. I’m gonna start countin’. Anybody that ain’t outta here by the time I hit ten won’t be getting’ an invite to the party. You won’t get a guest list or a menu, and you sure as hell won’t get pictures. I’ll make damned sure you won’t get nothin’ from nobody. Now git. One … two … three …”
The hoard of reporters walked as quickly as they could towards the exit, with several of them getting jammed up in the revolving door before managing to untangle themselves. The woman looks up at Harlan Straker and smiles.
“At last, a man of action.” She takes a step towards him as he smiles back. “Someone who can do what needs to be done, without staring at my chest like … how do you Americans say, like a deer in the headlights?”
“Thank you,” he says, reaching out to take her hand. She places it in his, and he bends slowly as he raises it to his lips for a soft kiss.
“No, thank you.” She takes her hand away from him gently. “Do you not like my breasts, Mister …? “
“Straker, miss. Harlan Straker.” He grins at her. “And I like ‘em just fine. But it seems a mite rude to be starin’ at ‘em when we haven’t been formally introduced.”
Aldafieri steps forward.
“This is the Contessa Francesca of Monteferrat.”
She looks at him through her eyelashes and gives him a small smile. “And now we have been introduced.”
The elevator chimes and the doors slide open. Francesca’s deep brown eyes don’t move from Straker’s, and he finds himself getting lost in her gaze, just a little.
It’s an unsettling experience for him.
“Are you staying here also, Mister Straker?”
“Harlan, please. And yes, I’m stayin’ here. Holdin’ a party here day after tomorrow.”
“Do you hear that, Amelie? A party!” She places a hand on his chest. “Let me guess. Your birthday?”
He shakes his head. “Nothin’ quite like that. Just wanted to have a good time is all.”
“I like a good time, too.” She throws him an impish grin. “Maybe we could have a good time … together, yes?”
Straker clears his throat and swallows.
“Would you … like to come?”
The Contessa smiles, her white teeth flashing.
“Ooooh, Harlan,” she says softly. “I love to come.”
His brain freezes, and she covers her mouth as she tries not to laugh.
‘Did she say what I think she said??’ Thinking about whether or not she knew what she said, his eyes stray downward for a second before snapping back up to hers again. He can tell from the look in her eyes that she noticed. She gives him a mock pout.
“And here I though you had so much willpower.” She raises a finger and touches his chin. “Look at you. My man of steel, now just a man after all.”
“Contessa, please … the elevator.” Aldafieri pleads from behind her.
Francesca stands on tiptoe and whispers in his ear, her breath hot on his cheek. “Still, you resisted so well, and for so long. That must count for something.”
Smiling, she moves away and begins walking backwards towards the rest of her group. “Very well, Harlan. Amelie and I will be at your party. Tell Abramo where and when it is. Maybe you and I, we come … together, yes?” Another grin, and she pauses before she gets into the elevator.
“And maybe, just for you, I will wear something that lets you look at these as much as you want.” A finger touches her chest gently, and she smiles. “A present … for your not-birthday.”
She steps back and the doors close in front of her.
“Damn,” he says aloud, and the manager, concierge, and the rest of the bell staff all nod behind him in unison.
When all of their luggage arrives and the last of the bellmen leaves, Maggie collapses on the sofa with a groan, knees together and feet apart.
“That was incredible!” Bateau looks at her, fairly bursting with pride. “I knew that you could do it, cher, but that was absolutely inspired!”
Amy sits down next to her and hugs her gently.
“Damn, girl, you’re trembling!” She holds Maggie a little tighter, and the thief responds with a small squeal, burying her face in Amy’s chest.
The smile slowly leave Bateau’s face, and he reaches over and places his hand softly on Bishop’s shoulder.
“What is wrong, ma grande? You were perfect!”
Maggie turns her head and looks up at him.
“No, I wasn’t,” she whispers. “I was terrified. But when I walked through that door, something changed. It was like I became Francesca. Every word, every gesture … everything I did, it was all her!”
“But if it wasn’t art,” he says slowly, “then where did it all come from?”
Her lower lip begins to tremble.
“I have no idea!”
12 hours before …
Bishop knew standing alone in a motel parking just outside the Miami airport late at night was a bad idea. But she also knew she was not alone. She knew Bateau had been watching over her since the instant she left the room, and she smiled to herself as he walked up behind her.
“How is Amy holding up?” She spoke without turning around, feeling strangely comforted by having him at her back. She can almost feel him smile.
“Discovering she is fluent in French was a blessing,” he replied. “Finn has been inside the French state department computers practically since my government had computers to hack. Having her play Amelie to your Francesca will give your own role more credibility. The fact that she is such a gifted actress as well was almost too much to ask for. You chose well, mon ami.”
“Love doesn’t choose,” Bishop said, turning her head to look at her friend. “You taught me that.”
Bateau shook his head. “You already knew. I just had to remind you.”
“How are you getting used to the new look?” He touched her hair, now a deep brown, almost black.
“I’ve had to get used to a lot more than this in the past few weeks,” she said with a smile. “Hair dye, colored contacts, and a full-body skin dye hardly measures up to a Bay City makeover, don’t you think?”
The Frenchman nodded, and let his hand fall. Bishop returned to looking at the skyline, and they stood in silence together for a time before she spoke again.
“I’m afraid, Bateau.”
“That is understandable, but you need not be.” He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she turned to face him. “You have been the Italian count before, you know. Being the contessa is not so very different, is it?” Bishop nods, just a little. “After all, you have known your fair share of women just like the Francesca you must portray. Trust yourself, cher. We all do.”
“But … seducing a man?” She looks up into his eyes. “How could I … where would I begin?”
“First, you must know it doesn’t have to go any further than you wish it to.” She nodded. “If you remember that, it will be easier. Francesca enjoys the effect she has on a man. Also, both you and she know what kind of man Harlan Straker is. Do you honestly think the contessa would WANT him in her bed?”
Bishop smiled and Bateau returned her smile. “Always remember, for Francesca it is just a game, one she is very, very good at playing. He is the mouse to your cat, nothing more.”
“Now, as for the seduction itself, I want you to think back to when you were Mark. We both know that women just as alluring as you are now have tried to seduce you in the past. And you enjoyed it, I know you did, even though you never let it get past the flirting unless you wanted it to. Still, you enjoyed the dance, yes?”
The thief nodded, and Bateau smiled. “We all do, mon ami, men and women. Even though you never needed the affirmation, you enjoyed feeling desired. But just as when I taught you the art of the con, you were genuinely curious about the things women did to try and tempt you. The process of seduction itself was … seductive. And it is all there in your head, is it not?”
Maggie blushed and lowered her head, then nodded.
“Then you will have plenty of tactical approaches at your disposal, should you choose to use them. As I know you will.”
“And if I fail? What happens to the plan then?”
The Frenchman shrugged. “Then you will come up with another option, as you have always done in the past. But you won’t fail. Certainly not with someone like Straker.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because of who you are, and who he is.” Bateau touched her cheek, and Maggie looked up. “In the past, women used everything they had to bring you to bed. Not because you were so very handsome or rich, but because Mark Bishop was confident in himself. He did not need anyone to tell him who he was, because he had figured it out long ago.”
“But Harlan Straker needs everyone to agree that he is special. He is always acquiring new things and showing off his wealth. Like a little boy waving his arms and yelling ‘look at me!’ He treats every woman as nothing more than just another conquest — as just another way to show the world he can have any woman he chooses. He wants to make sure that everyone knows he is what you Americans call a ‘big shot.’ And an Italian contessa would be quite a prize indeed.”
“Maggie, in the world of men, Mark Bishop was a diamond, and he always will be, even when he is a she. But Harlan Straker has never been anything more than clay, shaped by the opinions of everyone he tries to impress. He will be putty in your hands, you will see.”
Now, the Empress Suite at the Fountainbleu
Amy strokes her hair and cuddles her.
“Maybe the woman you were isn’t as lost as you thought, baby,” she says softly, and Bishop freezes, just for an instant. “You told me you did this kind of thing before, lots of times. Maybe that part of you comes out when you need it, like when you needed to move in a skirt or wear makeup, remember?”
Maggie raises her head and looks first at Bateau, then turns to face Amy.
“You think so?”
“Best guess, Mags. For my best girl.” She kisses her gently. “What do you think, Bateau?”
“I have never seen you better, cher.” He sits down beside them both. “Maybe all of your worrying was for nothing, yes?”
“And if its true, honey, it’s something to be happy about, isn’t it?” Amy takes her hands and squeezes. “It means you’re getting better, right?”
‘Or worse,’ Bishop thinks. ‘Moira was studying to be an actress, and now I go and pull off a perfect seduction and an Italian contessa at the same time, practically in my sleep. Just how much of that was me … and how much of that was the part of her I’m still carrying with me?’
She smiles for Amy’s sake, and takes a deep breath.
“I hope so,” she says out loud. “It was just really scary, like I wasn’t in control at all.”
Finn’s voice echoes in everyone’s ears.
“I’ve been listenin’ in on Straker’s suite. He sent his limo away and came back upstairs. It sounds like he’s totally besotted with your Italian bitch queen, Your Holiness, but I think he’s more than a bit afraid of her, too … though he’s doin’ his best to hide that from his crew. He’s got some of his people checkin’ into your background, sniffin’ back on the trail I left on the airport and state department computers. But he’s also sendin’ his right hand guy, Curtis, out to talk to the manager, see what he knows.”
Bishop nods. “Makes sense. He’s already treating Francesca like a project, trying to find a way to get her where he wants her. He doesn’t like how easily she handled him in the lobby.”
“Worse, Curtis has more marchin’ orders. After the manager, he’s supposed to track down Amelie and try to get her to spill what she knows about the contessa.”
Bateau stands up and moves away, thinking on his feet.
“Then we must let him find her, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, Bateau. This wasn’t the plan, yeah? It was supposed to be him lookin’ for the contessa, and findin’ both ladies at the pool.” Finn pauses, then continues. “You were too good at being in control, Maggie. You scared him more than you were supposed to. So now he’s sendin’ the help instead of huntin’ for you himself.”
“And Mister Curtis is hunting for Amelie instead of you, mon ami.”
Bishop looks up at Bateau and shrugs. “No battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy, remember? And Amelie is more likely to let things slip if Francesca isn’t around.” She faces Amy. “How about it, girlfriend? Want to take that white bikini we bought for a spin and see what you catch?’
It’s Amy’s turn to look scared. “You want me to solo on my first flight?”
Bateau speaks from across the room. “You have nothing to fear, Amy. You are a natural. I was nothing but impressed with you the entire time we were working together.”
‘That’s not quite how I remember it.”
He smiles. “I pushed you because I wanted you to be as prepared as possible. You have never been someone else before, let alone a rich French woman with a much different history. But as I said, you have gifts you never suspected you possessed, and I have faith in you.”
He walks to Amy and puts his hand on her shoulder. “I would not send you alone to the pool to toy with Mister Curtis unless I knew you could be Amelie for as long as you need to be. And I would never send you unless I was sure you were ready. Trust me.”
Amy turns to look at Bishop. “Mags?”
“If Bateau says you can handle it, you can.” She reaches up and touches Amy’s cheek. “I have faith in you too, honey. So go tell Mister Curtis what we want him to hear, and make him believe it.”
“How?”
Maggie shrugs. “Amelie knows she’s beautiful. Men approach her all the time, wanting what she has no desire to share. So be a French goddess to the crass American. I bet when you’re through with him, he’ll be happy to get anything from you at all.”
“You’ll be awesome, Amy. I know it.” Bishop gives her a hug, then grins. “I only wish I could be there to watch!”
Curtis slips into the rooftop pool area, his eyes searching for his target. His talk with the manager was singularly unhelpful. The woman that had made his boss turn into a damned lovesick schoolboy had scared the manager so much, he could barely remember what happened. A few minutes with the lobby staff (and a few hundred dollars changing hands) got him a detailed description of what happened in the lobby, including what the countess’s girl friend looked like. Model pretty, he’d heard. The color of milk chocolate, and dressed in a white dress that hugged her body from tits to ass.
‘Any bitch who wears a dress like that wants to be noticed,’ he thinks, ‘and a man like me is exactly who she wants doin’ the noticing.’
He checks his own reflection as he passes the pool house bar window, and smiles at himself.
“Still lookin’ good,” he whispers, and the smile turns into a grin.
Curtis knows he’s never met a woman who could resist him for long. It might take a little time, but when he finds her, he’s going to unwrap this chocolate girl, and lick her until she melts.
‘She’s going to be so sweet,’ he thinks, scanning the rooftop.
‘And then she’ll tell me everything I want to know.’
He sees her on the other side of the pool, lying on a lounge chair. She is wearing sunglasses, and a white bikini that’s covers so little, he wonders why she even bothered wearing it. Curtis takes his time wandering around the perimeter of the water until he stands a few feet away.
She is everything he expected from the descriptions he’s heard, and more. Her exposed skin glistens from a coating of sunscreen and just a hint of perspiration, and the lust that rises in him is almost enough to render him speechless.
Almost.
"Hello," he says, flashing her his best smile.
She speaks without moving anything except for her lips. "Can I 'elp you?"
"Maybe you can. Isn't that what angels do?"
She shrugs, still lying down. "I do not know what other angels do. This angel wants to lie in the sun without being bothered by strange men."
“I’m not a strange man.”
The woman sighs. “All men are strange. You are just the latest in a long line of men who think having me will make their lives complete. All of them remain … disappointed. You will, too.”
“You seem so sure of that.”
“I am.” She smiles. “After all, you don’t even know me. It is my body you want, n’est pas? If I have no intention of giving it to you, you will not have it.”
He looks down at her. “Not that I’m sayin’ I’d ever,” he says slowly, “but what if someone wanted you and decided to take you … whether you wanted them to or not?”
Without looking at him, she raises the hand closest to him and twists it into a claw. Her nails are long, and painted blood red.
“He could try.” She licks her lips, just once. “Then he would be forced to learn what it would be like to live his life without being a slave to his … desires.” She closes the claw into a fist. “My grip is very strong, pretty boy. And my nails are very, very hard. Not so sharp, but that is okay. I would think sharpening them would be a mercy. Just imagine how much worse it would feel to have your testicles removed with five very dull knives, yes?”
Curtis shudders in spite of himself. “I’d rather not.”
She lowers her hand. “And I would rather not be talking to you. If you continue to bother me, we might both get our wish. After all, you are sitting very close, are you not? Well within … reach, I would say.” She smiles without an ounce of humor. “Leave me alone, or you won’t have to imagine at all.”
He doesn’t move, but he keeps quiet for a moment before continuing.
"It's a beautiful day."
"It was." She sighs. "Until you arrived."
"Oh, come on, miss, I'm not that bad. Once you get to know me ..."
"I do not wish to know you. I thought I had made that clear. And I am Amelie, not 'miss.'"
"Hello, Amelie. I'm Keene."
"You certainly seem to be. That mean eager, yes?"
"No, it's my name. Keene Curtis."
"It may be your name, but it seems to me you are also very eager.” Her lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile. “After all, you do not seem to want to leave me alone.”
He shrugs, not knowing if she can see but not caring, either. “A guy does what he has to do to make a beautiful woman notice him.”
The woman in question raises herself onto her elbows, then reaches up and pulls the sunglasses away from her eyes and gives his body a long, lingering appraisal. Finally, she looks directly into his eyes.
“Well, Keene,” she says slowly. “I will not say I am pleased to meet you, since you have been both rude and insistent the entire time I have known you. But you have also been … entertaining, in your annoying American way, and it has been a while since I met a man who tried as hard as you do to get and keep my attention. Also, you have been surprisingly brave.”
Curtis raises an eyebrow, and she purses her lips. “I did threaten your manhood with my dull, hard claws, and yet, you refused to run. Either you do not treasure it, which I doubt, or you do not fear me. If it is the latter, you are very brave, indeed.”
Her teeth flash in the sun with a sudden smile. “So, with all of this in mind, I have decided that I will let you buy me a drink. Not because I am at all taken in by your flattery or persistence, you understand, but because I am gracious beyond words, and I know you need to do something to apologize to me for being such an impolite boor. Am I correct?"
He nods once and smiles. "Oh, yes. Thank you for the … opportunity."
"Good." Amelie holds up her hand. “Then help me up, eager boy. I am thirsty.”
When Amy arrives back at the room, she is immediately wrapped in Maggie, hugging her tight.
“You were terrific!” Maggie whispers in her ear, and she finds herself smiling. A distinctive pop she recognizes as the cork escaping from a champagne bottle makes her turn her head to find a smiling Bateau, bottle in hand.
“Indeed, Amy, you were magnifique!”
“How could you know?”
“The comm set in your sunglasses, of course,” Maggie says, letting her loose and taking two glasses to Bateau to be filled. “We were all linked up the entire time. We stayed quiet because we didn’t want to break your concentration, but you were every bit the professional.”
“Right enough,” Finn adds through everyone’s comms. “Never seen Maggie do any better. Bateau’s right, you’re a natural.”
“Thank you, Finn,” Amy says, taking a glass from Bateau.
“Credit where credit is due, yeah?”
“I wish you could be here for the champagne, Michael.”
“Not part of the plan, Your Holiness. Besides, you know that’s not my style. Anyway, I got a pint of Strongbow right here, so I’ll be toasting right along with the rest of ya.”
“Not Guinness, mon frere?”
They can almost feel him shrug through the com link. “I need to pull up and check in soon. Last thing I need when I’m tryin’ to talk like a Yank is carryin’ around the weight of a pint o’ stout.”
Bateau raises his glass. “To Amy, our sister in arms!”
“To Amy!” Maggie and Finn repeat, and Amy hides behind her glass, embarrassed.
“And to crime!” Finn adds, and this time Amy joins them. “Long may it pay!”
After they touch glasses and drink, Finn interrupts. "Keene’s back in the room. Let me send it through."
There is a brief pause, then they hear the sound relayed from the hacked cellphones in Straker’s suite.
“Well, you picked yourself a winner this time, Harlan.”
“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know, son.” They could hear the smile in his voice.
“According to her friend Amelie, Francesca is a challenge and a half. She knows she’s beautiful, and she knows that men want her. In fact, she’s more than happy to let them have her — but only on her terms.”
“And those are?”
“As near as I can tell, different for every guy.”
“You’re not making me happy here, Curtis.”
“Just telling you what I know. You want me to make up something, tell me before the next time I have to climb a 100-foot wall of ice put up by a French bitch just to get you the truth.”
Maggie looks at Amy and grins. Amy shakes her head, then grins right back.
“Don’t go gettin’ all madder than a Wompus cat, son. You can’t tell me she wasn’t worth the time or effort. I seen her in the lobby, I know what you was gettin’ into.”
“She was easy on the eyes.”
“And I bet you’re gonna see her again, too, ain’t ya?”
“What makes you say that?”
“This ain’t my first rodeo, Curtis, and it sure as Hell aint yours either. I see you with women before. Just climbin’ that ice wall of hers probably earned you more than a little respect. And damn if I bet you didn’t like gettin’ past it either. Hell, son, we both know that’s why women really put them walls up anyway. So we can climb over ‘em or rip ‘em down. We both know you’re gonna get to bed her before we leave town, and that’s a fact.”
There is a long pause while Curtis thinks it over. “I suppose.”
“So stop getting’ all riled up and get back to the Contessa. What kinda man does she let into her bed?”
“Amelie says the men Francesca really likes are the ones who are … well, confident, I guess. Guys who are strong and not afraid to take charge, but still respect her.”
Straker’s snort is clearly audible. “Respect her? That’s a laugh. She ain’t nothin’ but a fine-looking rich bitch with a fancy title and an attitude. Just a well-bred heifer who needs to be tied down and taught who’s boss.”
“She may be a heifer to you, but if you want to rope and brand her, you’re gonna have to treat her like a lady … like she’s something special.”
“Oh, don’t you worry none ‘bout ol’ Harlan. She’s gonna feel like the queen of the cows, right up until I brand her. And I will brand her, Curtis. You just bet I will.”
Amy looks at Maggie. “How ‘bout it, girl? Feeling the love yet?”
Bishop looks back at her with her newly brown eyes, adopts a vacant expression, and moos. Amy grins, and Bateau shakes his head with a smile.
“So, what now?”
“We watch her, son. Hell, we watch ‘em all. We’re in the same hotel, it ain’t gonna be that hard.” Harlan’s voice is smug and self-assured. “Meet her a few times, by ‘accident,’ maybe set up a few scenes where I get to show her how strong I am, all casual-like. Set her up ta trust me, so I can make my move. But if she won’t take the bait? Well, I’ll just slip some of that stuff into her drink at the party, and she’s mine.”
Maggie and Amy lock eyes, and Bateau’s smile becomes a hard frown.
“You need some?” Curtis’s voice sounds like drugging a woman is something they do all the time.
“Naw, I still got plenty from the last time. Although if I use it on her, I’ll be out.”
“Can’t have that. I’ll take care of it. I’ve got somebody in Miami I can tap. I’ll get more.”
“That’s why you’re mah Numbah Two, Curtis. Resourceful, that’s what you are.”
“Thanks, boss. We aim to please.”
The connection goes silent for a moment.
“They’re done.” Finn’s voice holds nothing.
“And so are we.” Amy turns to Bateau, and he smiles at her.
“Not at all, dear Amy,” he replies. “What we have is not an obstacle, but an opportunity.”
Confused, Amy turns back to Maggie, and she nods.
“It's true, honey. He said he’d only use it if I didn’t ‘take the bait.’ So at the party, I shall be sure to create the impression that the one place I want to be that night is in his bed.”
“And that’s when the fun begins,” Finn says, his grin coming through loud and clear. “For us, anyway. That’s where it ends for Mr. Straker, I’m guessin’.”
“Michael,” Bishop says, grinning herself. “There’s something I want you to find for me. Better yet, have it custom-made ... and charge it to Mister Straker. For this, money is no object. After all, doesn't Harlan Straker deserve the best?”
“Oh, absolutely, Your Eminence!”
“What about Curtis?” Amy asks.
Maggie takes her hands. “Oh, once you hear my idea, I’m sure you can come up with something … appropriate.”
Bishop leans over and whispers in her ear. Amy grins slowly, and a devilish glint appears in her eyes.
“Oh yeah. I think I know just the thing.”
Standing in the office above Gino’s gambling club, Lou Rossi watches the marks playing down below. He’s in an expensive suit, in case he has to step in and handle something the floor manager can’t, and doesn’t turn around when Donnie walks up behind him. He can see his lieutenant’s reflection in the big window that mutes the sounds coming from the gaming tables.
“Any photos the club had of her are gone, Lou. The management didn’t even know they were missing until we asked for ‘em.”
“And what does that tell you?”
“That she’s what the cops call ‘a person of interest.’”
“Shit, Donnie, we already knew that.”
“We suspected. All we knew before was that she left early with a couple of guys in a white van. But the fact that they went to all the trouble of getting any pictures they had before they drove off tells me they didn’t want to leave anything behind anybody could use.”
“That means they would have had to think someone would come lookin’.”
Donnie shrugs. “It just means they’re good. The sharpest guys in our business plan for the worst and hope for the best, you know that. They took the pictures in case someone came lookin’, not cause they expected it. Whoever they are, they’re pros.”
Lou turns and walks over to a bottle on the desk. He pours himself a drink. “It’s still a mystery. And it’s not getting us any closer to Khaleel. Or Magdalene.”
“No, but I been askin’ around, and I got somethin’ else. One of our guys was pretending to be a State Trooper on one of the roadblocks outside of Bay City, lookin’ for Bishop before we found him dead. He don’t remember much, but he remembers stopping a white van with a big guy at the wheel and a blonde in a short black dress on the passenger side. He said the blonde in the video from the club coulda been the one in the van.”
‘Coulda been?”
“He wasn’t looking at her face. He said her tits was this close to poppin’ outta the top of the dress, and he didn’t want to miss it if they did.”
Rossi shakes his head, and Donnie gets a little irritated. “Whaddaya want, Lou? This guy ain’t smart. If he was, he never would have agreed to be stopping cars in the middle of the night in a Troopers uniform. Anybody bright enough to tie his own shoes would know that he was a heartbeat away from being busted for ‘impersonatin’ an officer’ the minute somebody from the local barracks tripped over him.”
Lou nods. “Okay, okay, I get it. Anything else?”
“He said the guy’s name was Barry, or Benny, or Henny. And he said the guy had an accent.”
“What kinda accent?”
“He didn’t know.”
“So now what?”
“He said the van was heading east.” Donnie shrugs again. “So we follow it and see where it leads.”
“They’re probably long gone.”
“If they’re as good as they seem to be, yeah. But we got nothin’ better. Right now, we’re just playing the percentages and hopin’ something falls our way.”
“Because we think this blonde knows somethin’?”
“Because she’s all we got, for now.”
Lou sighs, pauses, then digs into his pants pocket and hands Donnie a bunch of hundred dollar chips.
“Nice work. You’re doin’ the best you can with what you got, kid. So take a break. Go on down and grab yourself a drink or two, play a few games. We’ll pick it up tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, boss. Thanks.”
Donnie turns and leaves, and Lou turns back to the big window overlooking the casino floor.
‘Playing the percentages,’ he thinks, then shakes his head. ‘Too many damned wild cards for my taste. Better hope the house wins, though. If Magdalene makes a play, all bets are off.’
Bishop: Adoration
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Bishop lays naked in bed, her head resting on the soft warmth of Amy’s bare breast. Her lover’s fingers are wrapped around the curve of her hip, holding Maggie close, and that one tiny gesture alone makes her feel wanted and needed and loved. It’s something she’s never truly had before, and realizing what she had been missing in all the years before she found Amy almost overwhelms her. She wishes she could save this moment in time and experience it again and again in the years to come.
‘Love.’ She smiles to herself, and gives Amy’s breast a tiny kiss. ‘It’s the most precious thing in the universe.’
‘And I didn’t even have to steal it.’
”• Charlotte Brontá«, Jane Eyre
“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength,
while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”
– Lao Tzu
###
Bishop lays naked in bed, her head resting on the soft warmth of Amy’s bare breast. Her lover’s fingers are wrapped around the curve of her hip, holding Maggie close, and that one tiny gesture alone makes her feel wanted and needed and loved. It’s something she’s never truly had before, and realizing what she had been missing in all the years before she found Amy almost overwhelms her. She wishes she could save this moment in time and experience it again and again in the years to come.
‘Love.’ She smiles to herself, and gives Amy’s breast a tiny kiss. ‘It’s the most precious thing in the universe.’
‘And I didn’t even have to steal it.’
“Hey, baby … what are you thinking?”
Maggie snuggles closer. “That loving you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Amy hugs her with one arm, her hand giving Bishop’s bottom a gentle squeeze. “Well, I think you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, so it sounds like we’re doing okay.”
“Oh, we’re way better than okay. We’re magnificent.”
She feels and hears her lover’s laugh through her chest, and suddenly Bishop feels the urge to cry. She’s happy beyond the words to express it, but still the tears threaten to come, and Maggie bites her lip to keep them in. One escapes and lands on Amy’s breast.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” Bishop’s voice trembles. “I’m just so happy, I want to cry.”
“Goddess, Mags,” Amy whispers, pulling her into a hug. “Sometimes, you’re such a girl!”
Maggie stops for an instant, then begins laughing through the tears.
“Yes,” she says, through the laughter, “I guess I am. But I think that’s part of what you like about me.”
“What I love about you, woman.” She feels Amy’s lips touch the top of her head in a gentle kiss, and she buries her face in Amy’s soft skin.
They lie still for a time, cherishing the moments alone. Bateau is doing God-knows-what, and Finn is getting ready to make his entrance onto the stage, so this time is theirs alone. No need to be anything but lovers, to exist in that space where souls merge and time seems to slow to a crawl because you can’t bear to think of it moving any faster.
“Angel? Can I ask you somethin’?”
“Sure,” Maggie replies, her voice barely a whisper.
“How long have you three been doing what you do?”
“At least six years, I guess. Probably longer.” She traces little circles on Amy’s stomach with a fingertip. “It’s hard for me to say exactly. It’s been at least four years since Finn joined us, and Bateau and I worked together for a few years before that. Why?”
There is a long silence, and Maggie looks up to see her lover looking a little uncomfortable.
“It’s okay. Just ask.” Amy looks surprised, but then realizes Maggie knows her better than she thought.
“I don’t want to pry, but … how much did you three steal? And how much of it do you have left?” Amy’s tone is genuinely curious, without even a hint of greed, and Bishop smiles. She found the right woman to love, after all.
“More than I’ve ever bothered to count,” the thief replies. “And a lot more than we stole, actually. Certainly more than we’ll ever need. Bateau and Finn know to the penny. It’s their job to know — Finn because he needs to keep it all safely hidden and make it grow, and Bateau because he needs to use it to get what we need when we need it.” She gives Amy’s breast another small kiss. “And it’s us four, now.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re one of us now, Amy. Everything we have is yours, too.”
She feels Amy freeze, and her lover’s hand stops caressing her. “What’s wrong?”
“How can you do that? Give me so much, just like that? Without even asking the others?”
Maggie raises her head and looks into her lover’s eyes. All she sees is confusion, and she sighs.
“We all agreed, you’re family,” she says. “So you get an equal share of the family fortune, however much that is.”
“But … but you don’t even know how much you’re giving away!”
“First, I know roughly how much we have, and even divided by four, it is more than any of us will ever need. In fact, our money makes more money every second of every day.”
Amy stares at her, and Maggie reaches over and takes her hand. “Amy, the last time the three of us talked about finances, it was because Finn said our accounts were getting too big. We spread the cash around as many places as we could, but even the offshore banks we use were becoming … uncomfortable with how much currency we were moving through them. So we arranged for the interest on a bunch of our investments to be redirected to places where they could do some good. In fact, we’re the largest single anonymous source of donations for at least twenty seven separate charitable organizations worldwide. And we’re still making money.”
“How?”
Bishop shrugged. “Ask Finn. Something about exceeding what he calls ‘the financial event horizon.’ Which, believe it or not, is very bad for someone on our side of the law, because when you do what we do, the last thing you want is to be noticed. The bulk of our holdings are in places where they can’t NOT make money, and we have so much, we have to figure out new ways to give it away.”
“If you’ve got so much … why do you keep doing it?”
Maggie rises up and straddles Amy’s thighs, then lowers herself down until her chin rests between her lover’s breasts. She throws her girl an impish grin.
“Let me ask you something. Suppose I were to give you so much money right now that you would never have to work again. You could spend the rest of your days on a beach on a private island, drinking tropical drinks with little umbrellas in them and watching time slip by. Would you?”
There is a long silence as Amy tries desperately to come up with an answer. After a moment, Maggie smiles, raises herself and plants a small kiss on her lips.
“You don’t have to answer. I already know you wouldn’t. You’d want to do something, make a difference. Help people, like you did when I was walking around that shopping mall lost and confused when we first met. Because that’s the kind of person you are. That’s part of why I love you … and part of why you’re family.”
She lays her head back on Amy’s breast. “To answer your question, we do it because we can. Because we’re good at it. Because we can help people in ways nobody else can. And because all of us understand that there are better ways to measure success than money.”
“Like doing bad things to people like Harlan Straker?”
“Absolutely.”
The woman at the reception desk looks up as a small man in an expensive business suit walks through the revolving door. He carries a briefcase, and two bellmen come through the automatic doors with a cart, containing some luggage and a number of hard-sided cases. Even from the desk, she can see the complex locking seals on the sides, with rotating number groups and flashing lights.
“May I help you, sir?” The smile on her face grows as he approaches. The man smiles back. Between the grey in his dark hair and the lines around his eyes, he’s obviously more than an average salesman, and she finds him attractive, in an older sort of way.
“Yes, I have a reservation,” he replies, his accent placing his birthplace as somewhere in Northern Minnesota. He puts a business card and a credit card side by side on the desktop. “Michael Corcoran, Tektronica Systems.”
She types his name into the terminal embedded in the reception desk and nods.
“Yes, sir, four days, in one of the Executive Suites.”
Corcoran nods. “I also have some extremely valuable computer equipment that needs secure storage. My … associates told me that the Fountainbleu has a highly-secure vault room?”
“We do, Mister Corcoran. State-of-the-art security, monitored twenty-four/seven offsite.”
The executive raises an eyebrow. “I understand there’s some kind of jewelry exhibit taking place here this week?”
“A private party hosted by Harlan Straker, yes, sir.”
“Are those jewels being kept in the secure vault when not on display?”
“Oh, no, Mister Corcoran. Mister Straker doesn’t even know those vaults exist.”
“Keeping it a secret, even from the guests?” The guest threw her a grin that made him look years younger. “Now that IS secure!”
She winks. “He never asked, and we never offered, sir. His jewels are being guarded offsite by a private security firm until the night of the party. So the vault is all yours.”
“Good to hear.” He smiles. “When I heard about Straker’s party, I almost moved my stay somewhere else. I don’t want this tech anywhere near something that valuable.”
“I understand completely, sir. Would you like to head up to your suite? We’ll be happy to take your technology down to the vault for you.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let those cases out of my sight until they’re secured.” The woman behind the desk lifted an eyebrow. “The system is part of a classified government project, and I’m responsible for its safety. I chose your hotel more for your security arrangements than your accommodations, although both are impressive.”
“Well, then, let me call down to the security office. Mister Renfrew will be happy to escort you and your cases to the vault.”
“Thank you, I’d like that. The sooner these things are secure, the better off I’ll feel.” His cell phone buzzes, and he reaches for it and stares at the screen. “Excuse me, I need to take this.”
“Certainly, sir.” She nods at him and turns to the house phone to make her own call.
‘Guess all those lessons Bateau’s been givin’ me paid off,’ Finn thinks, smiling as he pretends to have a conversation with an imaginary colleague. ‘Sometimes the best hacks are hackin’ people … although I’ll not let the big guy know that.’
He pretends to press the disconnect button on the non-existent phone call, but the button he presses actually activates the full sensor suite embedded in his phone. It will record everything that happens from that moment on until he shuts it down, and send that information to all of Finn’s other systems – in real time if transmission is available, or as soon as possible whenever the opportunity presents itself.
Two security guards and a tall, dark-haired man in a gray suit appear from an unmarked door behind the desk, and the woman directs them all towards Finn. They approach.
“Good afternoon, sir.” The man in the suit puts out his hand, and Finn shakes it automatically. “I’m Len Renfrew, chief of security here. I’ll be showing you to our secure storage facilities.”
“Michael Corcoran. I look forward to seeing them … and getting this equipment stowed somewhere safe.”
“Are those Jeffries locks?” Michael nods, and the security chief lets out a low whistle. “Well, I am impressed. NSA-compliant, highest-level security.”
“What’s in those cases is highly classified, Mister Renfrew. I can’t even open them. If anyone tries …”
“… the contents of the case would be destroyed.” Renfrew finished for him. “I know security, sir. It is my job.”
Finn smiles. “The DoD personnel I’ll be showing the systems to will have the key codes when they arrive here to meet me on Friday afternoon, and it’s imperative we avoid having anyone touch those locks until then.”
“Then we’d best put them away as quickly as possible.” Renfrew motions to the bellmen and the guards. “If you’ll follow me, Mister Corcoran, we’ll get this done.”
“Absolutely.” He follows behind the security chief, the cases and guards falling in behind him.
‘Although I’m thinkin’ we’ve got different ideas of just what we’re getting done,’ Finn thinks, suppressing a smile. ‘Which is just how I like it.’
“Intelligent Designs, may I help you?”
“This is Keene Curtis, calling for Harlan Straker.”
“Oh, Mister Curtis, I’m so happy you called. The project is proceeding well. The measurements you gave us were very specific.”
“Made with laser scanning by computer, right down to the millimeter. Mister Straker wants this special order to be perfect.”
“And so it will be. But the timeframe is a bit … aggressive.”
“Which is why we’re paying you ten times what you usually get for an order like this. You received our draft, 50% up front.”
“Yes, sir. Extremely generous.”
“We paid prime rates because we need delivery by Thursday night. Period. So if you can’t do it, let us know so we can find another shop that can.”
“No, no! That won’t be necessary, really. Of course we can accommodate you.” A long pause. “Some of the specifications do seem a bit restrictive, however. Are you sure you want —?”
“Listen, we want what we ordered with all the extras, made to fit the measurements we sent, and we want it no later than six p.m. Thursday night at the Fountainbleu Hotel in Miami, Florida.”
“The order will be there, even if we have to send a special courier.”
“Good! We’ll send the rest of the payment when you make delivery.” *click*
Bateau looks down at the phone receiver he’s just hung up and smiles. His impersonation of Mister Straker’s second-in-command was flawless, but of course he knew it would be.
After all, he is Bateau.
Bishop looks at herself in the mirror and sighs.
‘Sex in a skintight wrapper,’ she thinks, her lips falling into a frown. ‘Which is exactly what we need tomorrow night, I know. But I also know what will be going through Straker’s mind when he looks at me, and it turns my stomach just thinking about what he’ll be thinking,’
“Trouble, cher?” She looks past her reflection to see Bateau standing in the bedroom doorway.
“Yes and no,” she replies, the frown becoming a rueful smile. “Amy went down to the pool for a swim, and to pull Keene’s chain for a while if he should show up. I had to try it on, just to see.”
“And?”
“This dress is so tight, I can’t even wear anything under it. I don’t know what Amy was thinking.”
“She was thinking about turning Harlan Straker into a nervous schoolboy, of course.” He grins, and Maggie surprises herself by blushing. “Or maybe she just wanted to see you in it.”
“Maybe. But she doesn’t know I’m still getting used to … this.” She waves her hand down the front of the evening gown.
“I am thinking, considering all the time you and Amy are spending in your room, it is not as hard to get used to as it once was, yes?” Bishop looks away for a second and nods. Bateau leans against the door frame and crosses his arms.
“Do not be embarrassed. I have been in love before, too, you know. I understand the power it holds, and I can see it has its hold on you. You are more comfortable now. More centered than I have ever seen you … even as the man you were.”
“I know.” She looks into Bateau’s eyes. “I’m not sure I understand why, but I know it’s true.”
“The reason is obvious, mon ami. You were an extraordinary man, but for all of your genius and strength of will, you were always alone, even with Finn and myself at your side.” Bateau takes a step forward and takes her hand. “You never allowed yourself to love, because you perceived love as something that would weaken us all, make us vulnerable.”
“But what you failed to understand is that the love we three shared was what made us strong as a team. You may not have seen it for what it was, but it was love nonetheless, and it made us able to do the impossible, over and over again. Because we were always much more than a team. We are a family.”
“Now you have found someone who makes your heart beat as one with hers. She helped you open up. She brings you happiness and makes you complete. The one weakness the old you had was your isolation. But now we are closer to you, Finn and I, than we have ever been. A small part of that closeness came from what happened to you. It made you see how much we love you. The rest we owe to her … and to you lowering the walls that kept you apart from us.”
Maggie thinks for a moment, then nods. “I love Amy, and I am the woman she loves. That isn’t going to change. Even if I could go back now, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I’d have to be crazy to throw something this strong away.” She squeezes his hand. “And yes, I love you all, Bateau. Even Finn, although it would make him nervous if I told him.”
“I love you too, Your Eminence.” They looked at each other, surprised, but they could also hear the smile in his voice through the comms. “Although you might want to be a little more careful in the future about shutting down your signal booster before you have a heart-to-heart, yeah?”
“Bad protocol on a job, Michael. What if Straker and his goons were to burst in here?”
“With Bateau standing right there? I’d love to see ‘em try.”
The Frenchman grinned and shook his head. “Are you in place, my friend?”
“Right where I should be. Nice digs, too. Michael Corcoran is in the building, the cases are down in the basement vaults, and my systems are set up and ready, both here and in the van. All Net links are stable, the security systems are hacked, and I’m ready to play.”
“What about the rest of our surprise?” Bishop looks at Bateau, and he nods.
“Mister Curtis has made quite an impression on ‘his’ contractor in the west. The pieces will be here tomorrow, long before the party begins. And of course the phone calls and all of the financial records will point back to Curtis’s room and Mister Straker’s accounts, thanks to Finn’s skilled fingers.”
“We aim to please.”
“Oh, my!” Amy’s voice comes from the doorway. The smile on her face speaks volumes. “I saw you in that gown before we bought it, but with your new skin tone and hair? You look good enough to eat, girl.”
She walks over, still dressed in her white bikini, and cradles Bishop’s face with her fingertips. After a long deep kiss, she pulls back and looks into her lover’s eyes. “You know, baby, we may have to get dressed separately tomorrow.”
“Why?”
Amy lowers her voice to a growl. “Because if I see you in this dress again before we go out in public, we may not make it to the party at all. And we do have a job to do, right?”
Bishop nods, unable to speak.
“So let’s get that dress off of you.” Amy grabs her hand and pulls her further into the bedroom. “We don’t want anything to happen to it before we need it.”
“What could happen?” Bishop asks, confused.
“Can’t you guess? Damn, Mags! If we don’t get you out of it soon, I could rip it clean off!”
Maggie looks back at Bateau, her expression a mixture of embarassment love, and lust. Bateau shrugs as only a Frenchman can, then grins and grabs the pen-sized signal booster from the dresser before making a hasty retreat.
The door swings shut behind him.
Finn feeds the data from his trip to the vault into one of the laptops and lets it chew on it for a while. He’s not planning to leave this suite again until after the job is done, but that’s okay with him. After all, the rooms are big, the bed is soft, and the room service is impeccable. The fact that a cheeseburger and fries costs $32 doesn’t make it taste any less delicious, and if the Fountainbleu can’t make a decent pizza, there’s a place over on McFarland Road that can.
He thinks about what Bateau and Bishop said, and what he said in return. He did love the two of them, like brothers ... brother and sister, now. Finn sighs. Like family, Bateau said.
‘But better than family, yeah?’ He nods and hits a few keys.
‘And Her Eminence is in love. How about that?’ He leans back in his chair and watches his screens. ‘Bateau says it makes her stronger – that love makes us all stronger. Guess that’s true, too. I used to work with people I wouldn’t let hold my coat if my wallet was in it. But now I know who I can trust. And they know they can trust me.’
‘Not sure how I feel about Amy and Her Holiness being lovers, though. Father Patrick used to say it was a sin.’ He leans forward and enters a command, letting the machines start reverse engineering the vault’s locking protocols. Then he lets himself reverse engineer his last thought, and grins.
‘But tell the truth, now, Michael. When was the last time you listened to a priest about anything? They’re so in love, how could it be wrong? If they make each other happy, who does it hurt?’ Finn shakes his head. ’If that’s a sin, maybe we’d all be better off sinners than saints.’
Finn starts working his way through the vault’s code, letting his fingers prepare a hack while his mind was off elsewhere. ‘And if the Almighty’s got a problem with it, he can take it up with Seamus Finn’s youngest son. Because I ain’t afraid to mix it up with God Himself if I have to, and I got the best damned sinners on Earth watching my back. Amen.’
“Nothing?” Lou Rossi shakes his head and takes a sip from his coffee mug. “After all the time and people we put on this, how do we wind up with nothing, Donnie?”
They sit in The Roundup, the closest thing they can find to an East Coast diner in Dallas. Rossi is eating a breakfast that would drive a doctor to tears, but people in their line of work didn’t used to live very long as a rule, so he learned to eat what he wanted and let the future worry about itself. Donnie, being a younger man and still convinced of his own immortality, sticks to a cup of coffee and what passes for a bagel in Texas.
“None of the hotels east of here admit to seeing anybody who fits the description we’ve got, Lou,” he says. “Maybe they’re lying, but if they are, I don’t see why. For all we know, they just kept driving East until they ran outta land.”
“Or turned north, or south, or caught a flight to Buenos Aires, fer Chrissakes.”
Donnie shrugs and takes a bite of his bagel. “Hell, if one of them was Magdalene, they coulda driven to a private airport anywhere on the Gulf Coast and be halfway around the world by now.”
“Or they coulda turned around, ditched the van, and bought a house in the Bay City suburbs for all we know.” Lou puts the coffee mug down hard and stares at it like it’s done something wrong. “What are we missing?”
“Lou?”
“My gut tells me we’re closer than anybody’s ever been to nailing this guy down,” Rossi says slowly, still staring at his cup. “But every time we think we got a handle on him, he turns into smoke.”
“He’s had years of practice doin’ that. Coverin’ his tracks, I mean. Why should this time be any different?”
“Yeah, but we’re close, Donnie. We’re not just left holding the bag and wondering what the hell happened this time. We got something real to chase, and I’m not ready to just let it go yet.”
They think for a while, the noises from the other diners filling the silence. Finally, Donnie picks up his cup and holds it with both hands.
“I hate to say it, boss, but maybe we’re going about this the wrong way.”
“How so?”
“Okay, think about it for a second. We’ve been following these guys and the broad as best we can, but that’s done. There just ain’t nothing left to follow. So maybe, since we can’t chase ’em, we should be thinking ahead, and try to figure out where they might go next.”
“I see what you’re sayin’,” Lou says slowly. “But how are we supposed to do that?”
“Well, if we’re right, and one of those guys we been chasing is Magdalene,” Donnie leaned forward, and smiled, just a little, “we both know the bastard likes to work, and we know the kinds of jobs he likes to pull. So ...”
“So if there’s something happening somewhere – the kind of heist he can’t resist – we can go there and see if he shows up! Damn, Donnie, that’s fucking brilliant.”
“Thanks, Lou.” The younger man grins. “But that’s not all. If Magdalene was in that van, and it was headed east, that gives us a place to start looking.”
Rossi stands up and throws a few bills on the table, leaving half his breakfast behind.
“C’mon, kid. Let’s get back to my office and see if we can find something out there worth stealing — owned by a real card-carrying son of a bitch.”
He heads for the front door, leaving Donnie behind, scrambling to catch up.
‘Maybe it’s just another dead end,’ he thinks, a smile growing on his lips. ‘Or maybe I’m feeling lucky. But if I can find the real Magdalene, I can save Bruno’s reputation … before this whole Bishop thing gets out and bites him in the ass.’
The smile fades a little. ‘I gotta wonder, though. After all we’ve gone through to find him, what the hell will I do if I catch him?’
Bishop: Procession
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Amy turns Maggie around and kisses her gently on the lips, and Maggie melts into her arms and holds her tight.
“I was so lucky when I found you,” she whispers, and Amy smiles.
“Not as lucky as I was to find you.”
“I’m lucky to find you both.” Finn’s voice comes over their comm units, startling them both. “Especially since you keep hiding yourselves away to whisper sweet things to each other. It’s almost time for you two to make your entrance. Are you ready?”
Bishop grins and gives her best girl a squeeze.
“Yes, Michael,” she replies, looking into Amy’s eyes, “Let’s go make Harlan Straker cry.”
and never in the expected manner.” – Vernon A. Walters
###
“Hey, Lou! I think I got something.”
Lou Rossi looks up from the computer screen with bleary eyes. They had been looking through East Coast newspapers since nine a.m., and it was getting on six now.
“If it’s not a cannoli and a cup of coffee the size of Detroit, I ain’t interested, Donnie.”
“It’s better than that,” the younger man says, putting a laptop down in front of his boss. “I’m pretty sure I found Magdalene’s next target.”
“Miami …” Lou skims the article in the paper’s Society section. “Millions in rare jewels on display in the middle of a party?”
“And owned by somebody with a long record of bein’ an asshole. Harlan Straker.” Donnie clicks over to the next tab for a profile of Straker in a business magazine. “I don’t know if there’s a word for the opposite of a good rich guy, but if there was and you looked it up, his picture would be there in the dictionary. He takes what he wants and he don’t care who gets hurt.”
Lou keeps reading, and Donnie stands there, waiting for a reaction.
“It’s the kind of target Magdalene chases, owned by the kind of man he hates.” Lou scrolls down a little, reading more. “I thought …”
Then Rossi looks up at Donnie and says, “You thought right. Call the airport and get the jet gassed up and ready to fly by the time we get there.”
“So quick, boss?”
“Look at the date of the party,” he replies, getting to his feet and grabbing his coat. “It’s tonight, in about three hours, give or take. If we want to catch Magdalene, we need to be in Miami yesterday.”
As he shoulders into his jacket, he looks over at Donnie. “This was nice work, kid. If we catch this guy, you’re gonna get a bonus check like you wouldn’t believe.”
Lou runs his fingers through his hair and looks over at his protege. “Hell, just call the airport from the car. We’re burning daylight, and we’ve got a thief to catch.”
Wilson Applebaum knocks on the door to Mr. Curtis’s private suite and waits. As a junior bellman, he supposes being given something this important has to be an honor, but this whole week has been what felt like an endless series of odd tasks from what has to be the hotel’s two most eccentric guests.
‘A Texas millionaire and an Italian countess.’ He sighs and knocks again. ‘The place has been a zoo since they showed up, and with the big party tonight, it’s only gonna get worse before it gets better.’
This job is a perfect example. The front desk had received urgent instructions to deliver the boxes on this trolley at exactly seven thirty, and he had received the detail. According to Manuel, the shipment came from a high-end custom shop in L.A. that did a lot of specialty work for movie studios. And why did it have to be here at exactly seven thirty?
“Mister Curtis? I have a delivery.”
The electronic lock beeps and the door swings open slightly. Curtis’s voice drifts to him from somewhere inside. “Yeah, okay. Come in, and bring it with you.”
Wilson pushes the door the rest of the way open and pulls the trolley with him into the room. The door to the bedroom is open, and he hears the shower running in the bathroom. Curtis’s voice comes from inside.
“Put the boxes in the closet by the front door and make sure it’s closed,” the voice continues, “then take the hundred off the table and get gone. I’m already late.”
A hundred? The Fountainbleu has always been a hotel for the wealthy, but as far as he knew, tips have always be tens and sometimes twenties. Wilson finishes putting the boxes in the closet, closes it tight, then grabs the hundred dollar bill and slips out the door before Curtis changes his mind.
‘Wait until the guys downstairs hear about this!’
Bateau waits until he hears the suite door close before shutting off the water. He moves back to the bedroom and continues the search he had started as soon as the suite emptied earlier in the afternoon. He isn't worried about anyone returning. He knows Curtis and the rest of Straker's entourage are too busy dealing with all the problems he and Finn created to keep them occupied.
It takes a few minutes, but the vials of colorless liquid are surprisingly easy to find. They are in a leather case, with eight velvet-lined pockets for bottles. Only seven of the slots are full. Since Finn's surveillance showed that Curtis had the supply refilled with his contact in Miami, Bateau knows that if he takes one, it will be missed.
‘So I will not take a bottle,’ he thinks, smiling. ‘I am Bateau, and I am always prepared. I will take the drug, but leave the bottle behind.’
Taking a small vial of his own and an eye dropper from his jacket pocket, the Frenchman opens each of the seven bottles and takes a carefully measured amount from each one to fill his own. Then he returns the case to the drawer in the bedside table and moves quickly through the empty apartment and out into the hall with a smile.
Bateau glides down the hallway towards the elevators, already dressed in his Abramo Aldafieri disguise and his expensive hand-tailored tuxedo.
‘The drug will serve its purpose for us, as it has for Straker and Curtis,’ he thinks, nodding to passing guests. ‘And that hundred dollar tip to the bellman will ensure that the story of the delivery and Curtis’s acknowledgement of it will be remembered, and repeated to all the staff. It is quite a lot of work for a single piece of paper to accomplish, but money tends to do quite a lot if used wisely.’
‘Let us hope the rest of this job goes as well.’
Bishop and Amy stand before the large mirror in their shared bedroom, looking at themselves critically. For this part of the plan to succeed, the beautiful contessa and her dark, exotic friend must outshine every other woman at the party, and no detail can be left to chance.
After a deep examination of her own dress and accessories, Amy turns to Maggie. Her long dark brown hair tumbles down in soft curls that gently caress her shoulders. Sparkling earrings glitter and flash in the light, and her face is painted with such understated skill that she appears even more beautiful than she actually is — something Amy believed would be impossible before watching her lover skillfully applying her make-up at the vanity table.
A simple gold chain and matching bracelets set off her golden skin, and her gown fits so well that it might be easily be mistaken for a second skin. Amy smiles briefly, remembering how uncomfortable it made Maggie not to wear anything at all underneath, but once the dress was on, she had to admit that even the briefest of thongs would have shown through the form-fitting fabric. Maggie’s strappy heels matched the color of her gown perfectly, framing her dainty feet and her perfectly done toenails.
‘She’s beautiful,’ Amy thinks with a smile, ‘and perfect for catching Straker’s … undivided attention.’
The smile shrinks as she sees how Maggie looks in the mirror, shifting her weight from one hip to the other and fiddling with the clasp on her evening bag. She slips behind her love and wraps her arms around Bishop’s waist in a gentle hug.
“What’s wrong, angel?” Amy whispers into Maggie’s ear, holding her close. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s what’s wrong,” Maggie replies, relaxing into Amy’s hug and sighing softly. “This is the first job we’ve done since … since what happened to me.”
Amy nods and gives her a gentle squeeze.
“I’m supposed to go in there and pretend to want Harlan Straker to sweep me off my feet and fuck me until I faint.” Bishop’s tone slides towards bitterness and disgust. “Even if I wanted a man to do that to me, which I don’t, I sure as hell wouldn’t want it to be him. But I have to make him think I would, tease him and make him work for his chance with me, even knowing he’s nothing but a slimy bastard who thinks the Contessa is little more than fresh meat. Even she knows what he truly is!”
Amy kisses the side of her neck, just under her ear.
“That’s gonna make it easier, baby, don’t you think?” She marks a trail of kisses down to where Maggie’s neck meets her shoulder.
“How so?”
“Well, if I got this right, the Contessa hates the kind of man he is, just as much as you do. And since she knows exactly what you plan to do to him, she’s gonna help you, because she’s on your side.”
“But she’s not real!”
“Seems like she’s real enough to me. She walked you through the whole entrance scene in the lobby the other day, didn’t she?” Amy looks into her eyes in the mirror, and Bishop nods back. “Look, honey, Straker thinks he’s in control because he’s sure you want him, and he wants you to think you’re in control because that’s the kind of woman he thinks you are — thanks to what I told Curtis.”
Maggie nods again, and Amy smiles.
“And in the end, you do want him, Mags, both you and Francesca. Just not in the way he thinks. But guys like him? That’s all he’s gonna see — that you want him. Best of all, he’s the kind of man who doesn’t think any woman is smart enough to outthink him. Work with that. Remember what our goal is. Make him work to catch you, make him think he’s playing you, so you can catch him instead.”
Amy turns Maggie around and kisses her gently on the lips, and Maggie melts into her arms and holds her tight.
“I was so lucky when I found you,” she whispers, and Amy smiles.
“Not as lucky as I was to find you.”
“I’m lucky to find you both.” Finn’s voice comes over their comm units, startling them both. “Especially since you keep hiding yourselves away to whisper sweet things to each other. It’s almost time for you two to make your entrance. Are you ready?”
Bishop grins and gives her best girl a squeeze.
“Yes, Michael,” she replies, looking into Amy’s eyes, “Let’s go make Harlan Straker cry.”
Standing by the display case in the center of the room, Harlan Straker watches Miami’s rich and famous admiring his collection. He is wearing the most expensive tuxedo in the world, the K50 by Kiton. The company was launched in the mid-1950’s by two Italian tailors, Ciro Paone and Antonio Carola, and its highest quality tuxedo normally costs $50,000. However, to ensure his suit was the most expensive ever sold by Kiton, Straker insisted that each button be cut from black diamonds of the highest quality, raising the price to well over a hundred thousand.
Each dish served at the party is a creation of a group of master chefs from all over the world. Each chef was flown into Miami early this morning and paid $25,000 to cook for this one event. The party music is performed by the Brodsky Quartet, with the Rolling Stones scheduled to play a single set later in the evening.
Everything is exactly as it should be, despite all the last-minute snags that popped up just hours before the shindig was supposed to start. Ingredients missing from the kitchen, decorations misplaced, shorts in the electrical system … the list went on. Straker didn’t believe how many things could go wrong at a top-drawer hotel like this one.
‘Just goes to show reputation doesn’t mean perfection, I guess,’ he thinks, fingering his bolo tie and glancing again at the door. ‘If I didn’t have Curtis and the boys to nail things down, I woulda looked mighty stupid. I can’t risk looking like an idiot if I’m gonna catch me a countess tonight, Ain’t gonna be able to rope and tie her lessen she respects me, and that’s a fact.’
The millionaire treats himself to a small smile. ‘A’course, once she tied up, things might get a bit less respectful, as least as far as my attentions toward her are concerned.’
He hears the quartet hesitate, almost together, before continuing with the music. As he turns to give them a disgusted look, his eyes stop at the main entrance and can’t move on. The band stops completely, and the silence speaks volumes.
The countess and her friend have arrived.
They stand in the doorway, wearing dresses that fit them so well, there’s no mistaking how beautiful their bodies are. Perfect hair, make-up applied with an artist’s care, and jewelry that accents without taking attention away from the woman wearing it. They define femininity, both with what society says is beautiful and an inner fire that makes Straker wonder, just for an instant, if he’s even up to the challenge of catching the countess, let alone bedding her.
He hears more than one sharp intake of breath from the women closest to him in the crowd, and turns his head for an instant to see eyes narrowing with jealousy and envy. Francesca and her companion aren’t making any friends with the Miami elite tonight, but Straker is pretty sure that doesn’t bother either of them — not for an instant.
“Damn,” Curtis says softly, only a few feet from his boss. “I have never seen a woman that fine close up.”
“Right with ya there, hoss.” Straker replies, taking in the sight that stops everyone in the room. “But I ain’t worried, and you shouldn’t be neither. We can be pretty darned persuasive if we gotta be.”
“And if we can’t get ‘em by stealth, we still got an ace in the hole.” Curtis pats his pocket where a small bottle of the date-rape drug rests. Straker gives him a look.
“Let’s not think about cheating just yet,” he says, as the band begins to play once more and conversation resumes. “The game’s just beginnin’ after all. Go rustle your cow, and let me rustle mine, and we’ll see who beds one first.”
Curtis grins at his boss and nods, and they both head for the door, just as the Contessa’s personal assistant arrives behind her, remaining a respectful distance away.
Finn relays their conversation with each other to everyone over the comms.
“Seems to me they’re making a game outta this,” he says. “Cocky bastards.”
“What they don’t know is who is playing who, yes?” The Contessa spoke under her breath, smiling and taking in the admiring and jealous stares of the crowd. “They may be cowboys, but Amelie and I are lionesses, not cows, and when we hunt, we do not play.”
Finn switches to a private channel.
“Looks like the bitch is back, Bateau. Should we be worried?”
The Frenchman turns his head and looks down the hall, masking the movement of his lips.
“Maybe it is as simple as it was in the lobby. As deep into her character as she was before, she never forgot the goal of her entrance. This is no different, yes? Maggie must be the Contessa to lure the mark to where we want him to go, that’s all.”
“You’re probably right. It’s just deeper than he — she used to go, yeah?”
Bateau’s eyes narrow as he thinks. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it was not as noticeable when she was a he, Michael.”
“I guess we just have to have faith.”
“Always, mon ami. Always.”
“Look at them, Amelie,” Francesca says with a smile as the two men come close enough to hear. “They walked all the way across the room to greet us, leaving all of the other women to stare at their backs and wish we were dead. We must be stunning, yes?”
“Oui, Contessa,” Amelie replies, a sparkle in her eyes. “How could you and I be anything else? One wonders how they could possibly have enjoyed themselves without us by their sides?”
“We were both doin’ our best to pretend we were having fun.” Straker took the Contessa’s hand and kissed it softly. “It is my party, y’know. Gotta keep up appearances.”
“Yeah,” Curtis takes Amelie’s hand and mirrors his boss. “But anybody who knew us could tell we were just marking time, waiting for the two of you to make the night complete.”
“Hell, now, Curtis, don’t go making me look bad!” The millionaire slaps Curtis on the shoulder. “Save some of the best lines for me!”
“Oh? Is that how this is?” Francesca raises an eyebrow and smiles, tilting her head forward to look at Straker through her lashes. “Is everything tonight scripted, Harlan? Is your admiration only a performance?”
“Not scripted, Contessa,” he replies, pulling back from what could be dangerous ground. “But you can’t expect a man like me to not do a little thinkin’ about what to say to a woman like you. As for performance? Well, maybe we’ll get to that later.”
She catches a predatory gleam in his eye through the flirting, and decides to turn the tables, just a little.
“Maybe we will,” she says softly. “But the night is young, yes?”
Francesca smiles slowly, then raises his hand to her lips and plants a small kiss that takes him by surprise.
“For now, we should enjoy the moment, and the party. And if you want to keep me happy?” She lets go of his hand and lets her fingers trail across her stomach. “I have been here two whole minutes, and I am still hungry and thirsty! You talk very sweetly, cowboy, but as you Americans say, ‘actions speak louder than words,’ yes? Where is this … abbondanza you Texans are known for? And how could either of us … perform on an empty stomach?”
Straker smiles and puts his arm out.
“Allow me to escort you to the grub, Contessa,” he says, as Curtis does the same for Amelie.
“I thought you would never ask,” she replies, slipping her arm into his.
The two couples make their way across the floor, with Aldafieri following at a respectful distance should his mistress need him for anything.
“Game over, man. Game over!”
The sound clip from James Cameron’s Aliens alerts Finn to the completion of his safecracking software’s successful deconstruction of the locking mechanism on the DoD-certified secure room in the basement of the building. Some of it involved finesse and some brute force, but as usual, he succeeded where others could only fail.
“Safe room lock codes are hacked, Your Eminence.”
“Buon, Michael, buon,” the contessa replies in a breathy whisper. The slight echo tells Finn her lips are hidden by a champagne glass. “Siete vero una gemma.”
His eyes flash to the voice recognition/auto-translation box in the corner of his main screen.
“Uh… thanks, I think.”
She delivers a throaty laugh that sends a shiver up his spine.
“Oh, Michael, you really must learn how to take a compliment.” Finn hears a clink, like glass hitting metal, and then Bishop’s voice raised in a teasing tone. “Harlan, I am thirsty!”
Straker’s voice, coming closer. “That’s why I brought you a bottle, Frankie!”
“My name is Francesca, Harlie! Frankie sounds like a tiny boy. Do I look like a boy to you?”
He could hear Straker retreating, trying to regain lost ground. “Not in any way, Francesca. Not at all.”
“Good.” Finn hears the self-satisfied smile in the Contessa’s voice. “I would hate to think this dress was wasted on a man who could not tell the difference between a woman and a boy.”
Hours pass, full of food and drink and celebration. Crowds and couples swirl around the long display case of jewels in time to the music, and another dance, this one of seduction, takes place on the dance floor as well. Warm bodies pressed together kindle a fire that is as old as humanity itself, and as the women fan the flames, the men are consumed by the heat.
The party begins to fade around one a.m., and both Straker and Curtis are feeling unimaginably lucky. The contessa and her friend seem very receptive to ending the night in bed, and the men can barely keep themselves from thinking about what comes next.
Watching as the last of the guests move out the main doors, Francesca grabs a bottle of champagne from the bar. Amelie comes to her as she pours four glasses, and watches as she adds a colorless liquid to two of them from the bottle Aldafieri passed to her earlier in the evening. Francesca catches Amelie’s eye and smiles, and they each take two glasses and go back to their dates.
“It is time for a toast,” the Contessa says, handing a glass to her date as Amelie hands one to hers. “To end this party … and begin another.”
She raises her glass. “To an evening … and a morning … we will never forget!”
Straker and Curtis glance at each other, raise their glasses and drink. Francesca and Amelie follow suit, and then all place their glasses on the nearest table as the hotel staff begin to clean the party debris from the room. Straker holds out this arm, and Curtis follows suit. The two women move to their respective escorts and together they leave the ballroom.
Outside, in the hallway, the security contingent waits for the clean-up to end, so they can relieve the guards in the ballroom, lock it down, and guard the space until the morning.
Not that guarding it will do them the slightest bit of good.
A few hours earlier …
“When I hacked the servers at the lab Curtis gets his stash from,” Finn said over the comm links as the party started rocking, “I got the chance to look at their testing data. This drug is a strong mix of mood elevators that make everything feel good and seem right. At the same time, it makes people very suggestible and suppresses the part of the brain that weighs alternatives and rejects things that make no sense.”
“So if you give this to a woman and tell her you’re her deepest fantasies made real, in her eyes, you will be?” Amy tried to keep a smile on her face as she sipped champagne and watched Maggie and Straker dance. Keeping her anger at bay wasn’t easy.
“Pretty much” She could almost feel Finn nodding back in his hotel room. “And if you tell her to forget everything that happened the night before, she will. The drug has its own amnesia effect that’ll help, too, I’m thinkin’. I’m pretty sure this stuff is illegal, so a DEA task force just might be getting an anonymous tip about the lab and Straker’s hotel room before we leave.”
“But if this drug does what you say it does,” Bateau said from his position against the wall. “I believe we can get it to work for us tonight. Both of them should cheerfully cooperate and then wonder what happened when the morning comes, just like every woman they have used this on in the past.”
“And way past that if we work it right, Bateau. When people are on this stuff, they get pretty suggestible. And hypnosis’ll last a lot longer with the drug. What do you think, Maggie?”
“Mmmhmmm,” she hummed, still dancing with the mark. Just to be clear, she pushed the signal contact in her mouth once with her back teeth to send a single ’yes” tone to the group.
“The women from Veracruz are in place, mon ami. Both the ones who ran the orphanages and some of the whores from the brothels our friend created in their place.” Bateau smiled. “As you can guess, neither group is happy with Mister Straker.”
“Bateau?”
“Oui, Amy?”
“I’m curious. What would we have done without the ‘miracle drug?” Amy asked, watching Curtis talking to some of the guards at the door.
“Oh, knockout drops would have been enough for what we needed, cher,” Bateau responded. “Once they were unconscious, we would have removed them from the situation, placed them in a more embarrassing one, and then moved forward with the plan from there.”
She looked over to where he stood, and he smiled at her with a twinkle in his eye. “But this … this will be so much better, don’t you think?”
Harlan Straker lets himself into his suite, although it seems a lot harder to fit the key card into the slot than it was earlier in the evening.
‘Wish she woulda come with me though,’ he thinks as the door swings closed behind him. All of his entourage are in rooms he’d rented just for tonight, thinking he’d need privacy to woo the countess.
“Glad I moved ‘em out. She’d sure as hell not want to be in the next room from a suite full of rowdy Texans, that’s for damned sure,” he says out loud as he wanders into the darkened room. “Always got to think ahead when you plan to rope a filly … or milk a shy cow.”
From the darkness comes a voice. “You got that right, boss. And you’ve always been the best at thinking ahead.”
“Curtis?” Straker peers into the living room. “Where’s your girl? What the hell you doin’ sitting in the dark?”
“Waiting on you, what else?” He sees a dark shadow moving on the sofa. “The girls said they had a surprise for us, and wanted me to wait here for you while they got it ready. And they said not to turn on the lights.”
“Girls and their games.” The millionaire shakes his head and sits down on the chair closest to him. “Take a simple little thing and turn it into a production.”
“Well, you know, Harlan, they think what they got is special,” Curtis says, the grin on his face hidden by the darkness but easily heard in his voice. “So they need to dress it up and be all enticing about it. Like we need to be encouraged to chase ‘em and catch ‘em, right?”
“Damn straight,” Straker replies, grinning back at his friend.
They sit in companionable silence for a while.
“Say, Harlan …” Curtis’s voice is still full of smiles. “Ever think about what that must be like?”
“What?” Straker’s reply comes out a little slow, as if he’s been drifting.
“Being wanted like that? Chased and caught, like a stallion on a filly.”
“Hell, no!”
“Oh, come on, boss, it’s just you and me here, and you trust me, right?”
“Sure do.” Harlan smiles. "I know you got my back, son. Always have. Always will.”
"So you musta wondered sometime what it felt like to be the filly, instead of the stallion, right? To be the one who gets to run and get chased, instead of having to work so hard for it? Cause we both know sometimes, it's damned hard to catch a filly. And who wants to work hard, right?”
Straker thinks for a moment, his mind drifting. "Yeah, I guess. When I was just getting old enough to want to chase 'em, I wondered what it must be like to be the one who was chased. Ain't nobody really ever wanted me, Curtis, and that's a fact.”
Bateau’s eye brows raised slightly in the darkness, but his impersonation of Curtis never wavered. “Finding that hard to believe, Harlan.”
“It’s true. My folks paid people to watch me, and shipped me off when I got old enough to send away to school. Nobody at school ever gave a damn about me, and I ain’t never met a woman who liked me for me. Finally, I figured if I was the only person I was ever gonna have in my life, everyone else could just go to hell.”
“So … wanna see what it’s like for someone to want you? To be the one being chased? Just this once?”
Harlan smiles slowly, almost dreamily. “Sure, Curtis. What the hell, right? But how?”
“I got you covered, boss. Just go in the bedroom, close your eyes, and do whatever the nice ladies say. And you’ll know what it feels like to be a filly. You’re gonna have to lose the ‘stache though.”
“You got it, son.” He stumbles to his feet and lurches towards the door.
‘No,’ Bateau thinks with a small smile, ‘We’ve got you.’
Amelie and Curtis sat side by side on the sofa in the group’s suite, glasses of wine in their hands. She could tell from the glazed look in his eyes that the drug had taken effect, and it was time to put her part of the plan into action.
“So, my brave, impetuous friend who did not fear my wrath,” she whispers softly, her French accented English sending shivers up his spine. “I am thinking you are so proud of yourself, for capturing the heart of the Ice Princess, yes?”
“You bet,” he replies, the drug acting almost like a truth serum. “You were real hard to catch, too. Even though I was damned charming, you kept making threats, putting up all those walls … damned hard.”
“Do you know why I was so difficult?”
“I know why. Because you’re a woman.” Curtis grins at her. “It’s your job to make it hard … in more ways than one.”
She lifts one finger with a blood red nail and waves it in his face. “It is NOT my job to … make it hard. But you were half right. I made it difficult because I am a woman, and you have no idea what a woman is, really. How she thinks or feels. That is why it is so hard for you. Because to you, I am not really human. I am just a thing to be captured, and used.”
“Do you know what it is like to always be chased? To never have a moment to yourself without some ‘charming’ man wanting to tell you whatever he think you wish to hear, so he can take you away, rip off your clothes, and treat you like a sex toy? Because that is what you wanted to do to me.”
Curtis stops to think about what she said. When she puts it like that, it sounds pretty awful. But it’s true.
“Did you know your mother, Curtis? Did you have any sisters?” He nods, his mind twisting around on itself. “What would you do to any man who treated them the way you wanted to treat me?”
“Make sure he’d never do it again, that’s for damned sure.”
“Then why are they people, and I am not?”
“But … but wait!” He put down his wine glass and looked into her eyes “I’m here, right? So what I did must have worked. You must want me to … to rip your clothes off and …”
“Treat me like a sex toy?” Amelie shook her head. “No, what I wanted was to get you here and give you a gift. Something that will make it so much easier for you to truly know a woman — how she thinks and feels, and who she is inside.”
“How can you do that?”
She smiles at him. “Because I am a witch. I can do magic.”
“You can!” Amelie nods. Curtis grins. “Damn, girl, that must be great.”
The girl barely suppressed a grin. “It has its moments. This is one of them. I am going to transform you into a woman, so you can feel what it means to be a woman, and see the world through our eyes.”
Curtis feels a chill run through his body. “Wait, now, I never said …”
Amelie raises her eyebrow. “Is my brave impetuous suitor not man enough to be a woman?”
Still thinking through the fog of the drug, Curtis’s anger flares. “I never said that, either. Okay, then, bring it on.”
She rose to her feet. “Stand up.”
He did, a trifle unsteady.
“Close your eyes and listen carefully. You will go into a deep sleep but obey every command I give you. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“First, I want you to make your voice as high as you can make it without it breaking.” She thinks for a moment. “You will speak exactly like your oldest sister did when you saw her last. Right now, you will go into the other room where some women are waiting to give you a makeover, fix your hair and make-up, and dress you in something appropriate for your night out. Say thank you, Amelie.”
“Thank you, Amelie.” His voice had become higher and much more feminine — almost musical, with something of a New York accent.
“Go now, and enjoy!”
“I will.”
“The two kings are becoming queens, Your Holiness.” Finn suppresses a snicker. “The security people have checked the ballroom and sealed the doors. Ready to make some magic?”
“Past ready, Michael,” she replies, feeling a little shiver run down her spine. Her skintight black catsuit hugs her curves, and her black vest and belt hold everything she will need to pull this off.
Except, of course, the courage to take that first step.
‘After all the preparations and the play acting, it all comes down to this,’ she thinks. ‘But with everything I’ve been through, can I still be the Magdalene I was before?’
Bishop looks from the top of the elevator across to the maze of pipes and ventilation shafts that fill the drop ceiling between her and the ballroom. She smiles, and feels the rush that used to come whenever the man he was reached the beginning of the end of a job, a lifetime and just a few weeks ago.
‘I guess we’ll find out.’
Convergence: When Stories Collide
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Through the near infinite reaches of space-time, a single shaft of power pierces multiple realms, connecting them so close to instantaneously that the difference cannot be measured by anything less than a god. And when something this powerful punches a hole through a group of realities, something is bound to get pulled into its wake.
Or someone, as the case may be ...
by Randalynn
Featuring a familiar cast of characters (if you've ever read my work *grin*)
Copyright © 2011 Randalynn. All Rights Reserved.
“Oh, a sleeping drunkard up in Central Park,
And a lion-hunter in the jungle dark,
And a Chinese dentist, and a British queen--
They all fit together in the same machine.
Nice, nice, very nice; Nice, nice, very nice;
So many people in the same device.”
— The Fifty-Third Calypso, The Books of Bokonon
###
The Multiverse is vast. Some would say infinite, but that’s only because they can’t step back far enough to see the edges. Humans (being as self-centered as they are) automatically assume that if they can’t see the edges, it’s because they aren’t there to see. And the fact that there are so many parallel universes out there just makes it harder for someone who lives in one of those universes to try and understand all that is, and was, and will be.
Through the near infinite reaches of space-time, a single shaft of power pierces multiple realms, connecting them so close to instantaneously that the difference cannot be measured by anything less than a god. And when something this powerful punches a hole through a group of realities, something is bound to get pulled into its wake.
Or someone, as the case may be ...
Tommy Browder looked at the nothingness all around him and sighed.
A few minutes ago, he’d been waiting in the Atrium at the Mall for Jennifer and Josie to finish shopping. He was sipping a Coke, leaning against a wall and doing the best he could to avoid listening to an orchestral version of Rammstein’s Du Hast on the mall’s Musak system. Then he closed his eyes, just for a second ...
... and opened them here. Wherever here was.
“If there even is a here.” Tommy felt himself grin, just a little. Even if his voice just sort of fell into the empty, at least it was something to cling to. He was a little afraid, but being afraid didn’t buy him anything but fear, and that was pretty darned useless if you couldn’t run and there wasn’t anything to fight. So he put it aside for the moment.
“No, there’s got to be a here here, or I wouldn’t be able to BE here, right?” He took a step, then another. “There is a floor, even if I can’t see it. So I got a place to stand. Sweet.” Tommy took a deep breath. “And there’s air to breathe, so I’m not dying any time soon. Okay.”
“I guess I am somewhere, after all. I just don’t know where. Or how I got here.” He felt a little silly, talking to himself. “Or even why.”
“Does there have to be a why?”
A deep voice spoke behind him, in what sounded like French-accented English. Tommy turned to find himself face to chest with a very large, dark-haired man, dressed in black. There was a leather harness around his chest with a variety of tools and gadgets hanging from it. The man’s eyes held nothing but curiosity, and the smile on his face almost made Tommy feel a little less scared.
“Well, yeah,” the boy replied slowly, taking a small step back. “Thinking that being here is just something random, like an accident? That doesn’t really give me anything to work with. So if I go with that, I just have to sit around and wait for someone else to fix it ... or worry that maybe it can’t be fixed. But if I act like there’s a reason it happened, maybe I can figure out what the reason was. And if I do, maybe I can work out a way to get home.” He shrugged and smiled, just a little. “A guy’s gotta have options, after all. If he can’t find ‘em to start with, he’s got to make his own.”
The Frenchman nodded once. “I like how you think, monsieur.”
Tommy grinned. “Blame my dad.”
“I am Bateau.” He offered his hand, and the boy took it.
“Tommy Browder,” he replied. Bateau’s handshake was firm but controlled, as if he didn’t have to prove a thing.
‘I guess when you’re as big as he is, maybe you don’t,’ Tommy thought. He gave Mr. Bateau the same firm handshake in return.
A small redheaded man wearing a headset poked his head around Bateau’s side.
“So we’re trapped inside what looks like a marshmallow the size of Belfast, and you just had t’ play meet and greet with the locals,” he said, his voice betraying both his irritation and his Irish heritage.
“Hardly a local, my friend,” Bateau replied with a small smile. “I am thinking he is as much a visitor as we are.”
“That’s as may be,” the man muttered, “but if you’ll be meeting him, I will be, too.”
“Of course,” Bateau said, his eyes catching Tommy’s for just a second, letting the boy catch the smile in them. “Tommy, this is Michael Finn. Finn, meet Tommy Browder.”
“Damn glad t’ meet ya, boy.” Finn stuck out his hand and grabbed Tommy’s, giving it a powerful shake. “Course, in a place this empty, it’s good to meet anybody, yeah?”
“Sure beats talking to yourself,” Tommy replied, doing his best to keep the smile off of his face. “Where did you two come from?”
“Three, actually.” The most beautiful woman Tommy had ever seen walked out from Bateau’s shadow, staring down at what appeared to be some kind of rangefinder. Her hair was golden blonde and captured in a high ponytail, and she was wearing a form-fitting black skinsuit with belts and harnesses similar to those Bateau wore. She looked up and flashed him a grin.
“Nice to see an unfamiliar face,” she said, her voice as sweet as she was pretty. “We’ve been wandering around here for the best part of an hour, trying to figure out where here actually is.”
“I’ve only been here a few minutes, but I was working on the same thing.” Tommy swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and the woman smiled and looked down at her rangefinder. “Looks like you’ve got better equipment, though.”
Finn snorted, Bateau looked surprised, and the woman raised her head and looked at Tommy again, a little anger in her eyes. He raised his hands.
“Hey! I was talking about the rangefinder ... and the rest of the gear hanging off you and Mister Bateau.” Tommy watched her shoulders relax, just a little. “We haven’t even met yet, miss, but I’m not a jerk, usually, and I’m sure not going to say something as stupid as what you thought I said — well, not until after we’ve known each other a while, and even then, just as a joke.”
He stuck out his hand. “Tommy Browder.”
She reached out and took his hand, delivering a handshake that felt more like it came from a man. “Bishop. My friends call me Maggie.” She looked up and caught his eye, and smiled a little. “If we’re here long enough, you might wind up one of them. Friends, I mean. If you behave yourself.”
Bishop let go of his hand and turned to Bateau. “Sorry, Bateau. Rangefinder gives me nothing. Apparently, there’s nothing out there for the laser to bounce off of in order to get a reading.”
Bateau nodded, and reached up to touch the goggles on his head. “Infrared is useless, too, mon ami. There is nothing out there within range with a heat signature. No openings, no other humans. Nothing to help.”
“No satellite signals for the GPS to grab onto, either,” Finn grumbled, dropping to the invisible floor and opening his laptop. “No wireless Internet access. No cell towers anywhere in range. No EM signatures at all. Hell, we don’t even have two cups and a ball of string to use in place of comms.”
He hit a few keys, taking his frustration out on the keyboard. “On the plus side, the temperature is a balmy 70 degrees, with clear skies in the forecast.”
Bishop cocked her head to one side. “Clear skies?”
“Do you see any skies, Your Eminence?” When Bishop gave her head a little shake, Finn smiled. “Well, invisible is about as clear as they come, yeah?”
Bateau put his hand on Bishop’s shoulder. “Mister Browder was trying to work out why we are here when I arrived.”
“Any luck with that?” She threw Tommy a smile. He smiled back and shrugged.
“Not a whole lot. I couldn’t think of any reason why someone would want to yank me out of a shopping mall and drop me here. I’m not important enough to go to the trouble.” The boy started to smile but then stopped. His eyes narrowed. “But maybe how they did it means more than why, especially when it comes to getting us home. We’re talking serious sci fi stuff here. Transporters, wormholes, stuff like that. Heck, I don’t know anybody who could do this, do you?”
Bateau paused and thought for a moment. “We ... might.”
The woman looked up at the Frenchman. “What are you thinking?”
“We do know there’s magic in the world, cher,” he replied. “Can you think of any other way to pull all three of us out of an Italian art museum instantly ... and put us here? A place that is clearly impossible?”
“Don’t get everybody excited, Bateau,” Finn growled from the floor. “We’ve only bumped into magic once, ‘member? And it sure wasn’t anything that could put us here.”
“But the fact that it exists means it might have something to do with this.” Bishop folded her arms under her breasts and took a few steps away from the group. “You know more about technology than any of us, Finn. Is there anything out in the world right now that could have brought us here like this?”
There was a long silence, and then the Irishman sighed. “No, Your Grace. The boy is right. Science isn’t even close to doing what got done to us.” He closed the laptop. “Guess it’s magic.”
“So you know somebody who does magic?” Tommy asked. “Somebody who might have used it against you?”
Bateau shook his head. “No, Tommy. The one person we know who used magic ... tried to use it against us. And he is dead.”
“Did ... did you kill him?” The giant looked over at Tommy, hesitated a moment, then smiled.
“No, my friend,” he said, in such a way that Tommy knew he spoke the truth. “Killing is not my way.”
Bishop turned to look at them both. “None of us believe in killing, Tommy. Most of the time, if the only way to get out of a bad situation is to kill somebody, you haven’t thought hard enough.” A smile touched her lips. “In a way, you could say he killed himself. Or the magic killed him. Either way, he can’t be responsible for this.”
“What about revenge?” Tommy found himself saying. “I mean, you didn’t kill him, but other people might have thought you did. Did he ... have any friends?”
“Khaleel?” Finn snorted. “Slime don’t make friends, boyo. He had toadies to do things for him, but I don’t think they liked him much, either. I’m sure they were just as happy to see the last of him as we were.”
“That sounds very much like someone we know.”
The voice was sweet, lilting and melodic. It was almost an English accent this time, but the rhythm seemed slightly different. Tommy turned to find two women, both dressed like they just walked out of a storybook. One was a blonde, in a long, bright blue dress that hugged her curves and showed enough chest to make Tommy want to both look and look away at the same time. The other had reddish-brown hair, and her clothes were rougher and more likely suited to someone working in a castle instead of just living in one.
“Hello,” Bishop said, stepping towards the pair. “Welcome! My name is Bishop, and these are my friends Bateau and Finn. And this is Tommy Browder.”
“Regina,” The blonde dropped a perfect curtsey. “And Melinde.” The other woman mirrored her exactly.
“You seem to have fallen into the same trap we have. Or been caught.”
Regina grimaced. “I’m afraid being caught seems to have become a habit for me of late. But since Mel and I were both prisoners before we found ourselves here, I am not sure whether to call this a trap or a rather unusual way to escape.”
Mel looked around and sighed. “Although I hate to admit it, I think trap may be a better description, dearest. After all, it isn’t much of an escape if all one does is jump from one prison cell to another, and no matter how different these surroundings might be, I see no easy path to freedom.”
“I don’t think there is one. Ever.”
They all turned to see another woman, another tall blonde wearing jeans and an oversized blue sweatshirt. She stood just a few feet away, her hands resting on her hips.
“I’m pretty sure the path to freedom is never easy,” she continued, her tone more amused than angry. “Trust me. I had to travel a long way and go through all manner of hurt before I managed to shake loose from my own particular hell. And only because I had a lot of help from friends.”
The woman turned slowly, taking in the emptiness with a frown that grew the more she saw. When she faced the group once more, she sighed. “Looks like I found my way into somebody else’s hell somehow. Just like you ... Regina, is it?”
The woman in the blue gown nodded and smiled, just a little. Her more modern counterpart smiled back.
“I guess now, the only friends we’ve got to count on are the ones right here. Maybe we’d better get to know each other.”
Tommy was closest to the newcomer, so he stepped forward and thrust out a hand.
“I’m Tommy Browder, ma’am. I’m sorry you got sucked into all this.”
“Hi, Tommy.” Her face broke into a smile, and she took his hand in hers. “Jo Stark. Just call me Jo. I’m pleased to meet you, although I’m not sure what ‘all this’ is.”
“I don’t think any of us is, Ms. Stark,” Bateau said. “None of us knows exactly how we came here, although the current thought is that some form of magic was involved.”
“And you are?”
“Bateau, Mademoiselle,” he replied. “And these are my friends Finn and Bishop. Regina and Melinde arrived shortly before you did.”
“So we’re all coming in staggered?”
Bishop spoke up. “Yes. I think we might have been here first. Bateau, Finn, and I had been here for almost an hour before we ran into Tommy.”
“And I wasn’t here more than a few minutes before I bumped into them,” Tommy said. “And I think Regina and Melinde got here only a minute before you showed.”
Melinde nodded. “That’s correct. We arrived just in time to hear ... Finn describe someone named Khaleel.”
Finn shuffled his feet, not looking at the newcomer. “Khaleel used magic on one of us a little while back, and we were trying to figure out if what’s happenin’ to us now is magic, science, or just really bad luck.”
“He used .... magic?” Jo looked at the three of them. “You all look none the worse for wear.”
There was a long silence, then Bishop spoke. “I used to be a man. It’s ... well, complicated. And yes, I know, a little hard to believe.”
Jo smiled slowly. “Not really. Actually, I know a man who was changed into a three-year-old girl, so accepting magic comes a little easier for me.” She paused, and looked Bishop in the eyes. “And I appreciate what you must be going through. I used to be Joseph Stark.”
“Someone used magic on you, too?” Tommy said, surprised. Jo shook her head.
“Some women kidnapped me off a street corner and used surgery and mind control to turn me into their toy. I broke free of the mental conditioning a little while ago, but I’m stuck looking like this. I think ... I think I’m okay with it, though. Or getting there. This is my body now, after all, and I’ve sort of gotten used to it being me. I’m ... moving on.”
“I’m still working on that ‘moving on’ thing, ” Bishop said with a smile. “You and I should meet for coffee, I think. Once we’ve found someplace here that actually sells coffee.”
Regina spoke up. “Something like that happened to me, in a way. A warlord conquered my kingdom and used medicines and healers from the Orient to change me, to try to turn me into his pet. But I fought him to a standstill, with help from Melinde.” The other woman moved close to her and put an arm around her. “My name ... my name was Reginald.”
“Hmmmmm.” Bateau took a step back. “A curious commonality. Except Finn and I and ... Melinde?” She nods. “We three have never been changed. Tommy?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Have been and still am, just me. I know someone who’s working on being the girl she is inside, though. She grew up a boy ... but she’s not here now.”
Bishop nodded. “A more tenuous connection, but there just the same. Bateau and Finn are connected to me, and you’re connected to . . . ?”
“Josie.”
“But why isn’t she here?” Finn said suddenly. “I mean, I’m thinkin’ the reason Bateau and I got snatched is because of what happened to Bishop. Same with Melinde and ... and Regina. And Jo there is alone. So why are you here and not Josie? Or why isn’t she here with you?”
Tommy shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe taking me was a mistake. Or maybe whatever did this had a good reason, but the reason only makes sense to something big enough to grab a bunch of strangers and throw them together in the only place in the universe that doesn’t have a Starbucks.” The boy grinned. “Since whatever grabbed us all doesn’t seem like it wants to talk, we can’t ask.”
“You were here first.”
Everyone turned to look at Jo, and she was pointing at Bishop. Bateau nodded.
“Yes, Ms. Stark, we were, as far as we know.”
“What were you doing before you came here?” Maggie’s eyes narrowed. Jo grinned and folded her arms. “It’s not hard to figure out, really. I recognize the traditional black catsuit and leather harness, Ms. Bishop. And the ropes, electronic equipment ... Either you and your friends were in the middle of some serious bondage games that somehow involved computers and night vision equipment, or you were in the process of taking something that didn’t really belong to you. Am I right?”
Maggie sighed and nodded.
“To be fair, it didn’t exactly belong to the museum either. We were on our way to ... recover a Rembrandt that had been stolen from a convent in South Africa and sold to the museum’s curator on the black market. The painting had been a gift from a wealthy patron, and the sisters were planning to sell it to pay for needed repairs to the roof and heating system, as well as food and school supplies for the orphanage next to the convent.”
“Also to be fair,” Finn put in, “we were plannin’ to liberate a few more items from the curator’s private collection, to punish the curator for his sins ... and keep ourselves in the manner to which we’ve become accustomed.”
“As long as we were there,” Bateau said with a grin, “it would be a shame to let the opportunity pass us by, don’t you think?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Jo smiled back. “I understand completely. But the reason I asked is that ... the man I knew who was changed into a little girl ... his change was caused by some kind of amulet ... a medallion, actually. So if you were sneaking through a museum full of antiquities, and you accidentally ... touched something, or knocked something over ...”
“... we might have set something off that ripped a hole through reality, or even multiple realities, and dumped us all here ... wherever the Hell here is.” Finn stopped and looked over at Stark. “I hate to say it, Your Eminence, but she may actually have something there. We got into the museum through the Peruvian artifacts room, and I think I downloaded an inventory ...”
He dropped down to the floor, yanking his laptop out of his backpack and opening it on the fly. Bishop looked at Jo.
“How did you —?”
“Process of elimination,” the former reporter replied. “I was in a kitchen in Switzerland, eating a pizza ... from DiPasquale’s, actually. Best pizza in Baltimore. Although I’m the first to admit that isn’t saying much, it was flown in as a gift, and it’s better than any pizza in Geneva, that’s for damned sure. Since I was the one who showed up here last, and I’m pretty sure even the tastiest slice of pepperoni doesn’t have the ability to tear reality apart, it’s pretty clear I didn’t cause this.”
“I was drinking a Coke in the mall.” Tommy piped up. “Nothing magical there.”
Jo turned to the storybook duo and raised an eyebrow.
“Sitting on the bed in our chamber in the castle,” Melinde spoke first. “Doing pretty much nothing at all, I’m afraid.”
Bishop looked back at the former reporter, and Jo shrugged.
“Not that I knew any of that beforehand,” she said. “But the fact that you were dressed for ... recovery meant you might have been, well, in a museum, maybe? Surrounded by antiquities and artifacts? And since you also seemed to have arrived first ...” She shrugged. “I’m thinking something in that museum was responsible.”
“I found something, but ... I don’t know.”
Everyone turns to look at Finn, and he points at the screen, his voice sounding oddly tentative. “Viracocha’s Tinya. God’s drum. Supposedly magic, made for women to use in time of danger.”
Maggie looked closer. “What’s it do?”
Finn let out a nervous laugh. “It says here that it’s supposed to summon ... heroes.”
“Well, that let’s us out.” Bishop grinned. “Maybe there’s something else?”
“I’m not sure, Your Holiness,” the hacker said uneasily. “The drum transports the heroes it finds to wherever they’re needed. Wherever the user desires.”
Jo leaned forward. “And if it’s accidentally activated?”
Finn shrugged. “Maybe it sends them ... nowhere?”
Tommy smiled, just a little. “Well, this place certainly qualifies,” he said, “but me, a hero? As if!”
Melinde held up a hand. “The heroes I have known seldom think of themselves as one.”
“I know what you are thinking, beloved.” Regina shakes her head. “And I am no hero.”
The smaller woman leaned over and kissed the princess.
“See, Tommy,” she replies. “The perfect case in point.”
“I do not think any of us see ourselves as heroes, Miss Melinde.” Bateau looked over at Finn. The hacker looked back and shrugged.
“That might not matter,” he said. “The drum might have other ideas. From the write-up on the website, whatever heroes the drum called came from the same tribe as the one who used it to make the call.”
“And we’re all connected,” Jo continued for him, “by this male-to-female gender change … either forced, like Regina and me, or magicked, like Bishop, or connected to someone who changed … or is changing …”
“… because I stepped up and stood up for Josie?” Tommy shook his head. “I don’t know Jo. That sounds pretty thin.”
“I bet Melinde was there for Regina.” she countered. Melinde looked down, and Regina nodded. Stark continued. “And Bateau and Finn were there for Bishop when what happened to her … happened. Josie didn’t come with you because you were separated, and the drum was looking for heroes. If you put yourself on the line for somebody else, Tommy, I’m afraid that includes you.”
He stared back at her, doubt in his eyes, and Jo shrugged. “Hey! If you’ve got something better, now’s the time to put it on the table.”
He didn’t reply, but his eyes unfocused slightly as he tried to think of something that made more sense. Finally, he shook his head.
“Okay, I can’t do better.” The boy stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered a little, still thinking. “But what about you? What brings you here?"
"I had my life turned inside out, just like Maggie and Regina," Jo replied. "Now I use the money left behind from the people who did this to me to help others like myself -- forced to be something they're not. I don't know if that makes me a hero, but then again, I'm not a Peruvian musical instrument with attitude."
Maggie nodded. "That gives us the how and the why. But it still doesn’t give us a way out of this.”
“I guess … that would be me.”
Something winked into existence floating above and behind Bishop and her friends. Tommy’s eyes widened, and everyone turned to look at the newcomer.
It was a teenaged girl, surrounded by a glowing aura of power. She was a pretty redhead with bright green eyes, and an easy smile that made you want to smile back. In fact, she looked a lot like a human-sized pixie, if not for the fact that she lacked wings, and that she wore a dark green scoop neck tee shirt, blue jeans, and white socks with lace trim underneath a pair of sneakers.
Regina stepped forward. “And you are?”
“The Advocate,” the new girl replied. “Well, my name is Becca. The Advocate … that’s really my title … and my job, actually. I am charged by the Omnipresence to protect all those who are harmed by magic, and punish those who would wield magic to harm others.”
Finn snorted. “Oh, that’s all right then. Just another ‘hero!’” He closed his laptop and rose to his feet. “Were you pulled here by the drum, too?”
“In a way.” The Advocate lowered herself to the ground and walked over to the group, the glow fading. “Its power tugged at me as it passed through my Universe. I could have ignored it, but I noticed a bunch of souls in its wake and chose to follow it … here.”
“So you can …?” Melinde looked at the girl, unsure of whether or not to believe her. Becca nodded.
“Oh, yes. I can certainly send you back where you came from.” She looked around and smiled. “It’s a safe bet you don’t belong here. I‘m not sure anything does.”
Tommy grinned. “You got that right.”
Becca looked up into his eyes. “And you are …?”
“Tommy Browder.”
She stuck out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.” He shook it, gently but firmly, and she smiled. “My boyfriend’s name is Tommy, too.”
“From that smile, I guess he’s a good one.”
It was her turn to grin. “The best. Are you ready to go home now?”
Tommy cocked his head and nodded. “I will be. Just let me say my goodbyes first.”
He stepped over to Bateau and held out his hand. “A pleasure meeting you, sir.”
“And you as well, Mister Browder.” The giant took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “You seem like a good man … someone who could be counted on in a tight spot. I hope our paths cross again one day, even if only for a quiet drink and some conversation.”
“I’d like that.” He stepped over to the hacker, who fidgeted slightly and stuck out his hand.
“Nice meetin’ you, Tommy,” Finn said, giving his hand a shake and letting go. “If you’re interested in an interestin’ life, we just might look you up one day. In case you haven’t noticed, the world could use more folks like us playin’ Robin Hood, stealing from the rich … and spankin’ ‘em hard just for fun.” His voice sank down to a whisper. “Besides, you might find hanging around with Her Eminence here can be habit-formin’.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, Mister Finn.”
Tommy turned just as Bishop stepped up to him. She put out her hand and he shook it solemnly.
“I hope you find a way to ‘move on,’ ma’am,” he said softly. “From my friend Josie, I know that not being able to be who you really can be hard to handle.”
“I’ll get there,” Maggie replied. She tilted her head towards her companions. “After all, I’ve got help, too. Just like Josie.”
The boy smiled and turned to Regina and Melinde. After a few seconds of thought, he bowed to each in turn.
“I hope everything works out well for you, Your Highness, and for you, Miss Melinde.”
“Thank you, Tommy.” Melinde leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “We will do our best, we promise.”
“Safe travels home,” Regina said with a smile.
Jo stepped forward.
“Do a web search for The Stark Initiative when you get back, ‘kay?” she said, taking his hand. “Who knows? If we’re in the same universe, maybe we can keep in touch.”
Tommy looked her in the eye. “You believe in this whole multiverse thing?”
Jo shrugged and grinned. “Think about it a second. It’s either that, or those two ladies over there take their Renaissance Fairs way too seriously. Oh, and the person who decorated this place? Really likes negative space.”
“Okay, I give. You win. If we’re in the same dimensional area code, I’ll call.” Tommy grinned, let go of her hand, and turned to face Becca. “Ready when you are.”
Becca closed her eyes. The glow she had around her when she arrived reappeared, then reached out to surround the boy. Suddenly, he was gone.
The Advocate turned to the others. She looked deep into each person’s soul, and as her eyes swept over Jo, she felt like Becca was seeing everything there was to see about her. Oddly enough, it didn’t feel invasive at all. It felt … welcome. Warm, almost as if she could understand Jo better than Jo did.
‘Maybe she can,’ Stark thought.
“This is going to be hard for you all, and I’m sorry,” she said softly. “But I cannot use my abilities to restore any of you to what you once were.”
Stark blinked. “Hell, I didn’t even know that was an option.”
“According to the girl, it isn’t.” Finn scratched his head. “Don't know why she even brought it up.”
Bateau steps up behind Maggie and puts his hand on her shoulder. “Because she knows one of us would realize if she can send Tommy home that easily, she could easily restore anyone here to his former self.”
The Advocate nodded.
“So you cannot … or will not?” Bishop said evenly, one eyebrow raised.
“Both.” Becca looked back at her, and at each woman in turn.
“Why?” Regina asked, as Melinde came up and put her arm around the princess. Becca sighed.
“Because the drum was right,” she replied. “Because you’re all heroes. Heroes aren’t born, they’re made. And you’re all too valuable to waste.”
They all stared at her a second, and the Advocate sighed. “Look, the Multiverse is a vast machine, dedicated to a purpose the Creator of all things says we’re not quite ready to hear or understand. But in all of this, the countless worlds and multiple histories, and the endless decisions from trillions of individuals in more universes than anyone can count … in all of this, you’ve been through experiences that would have crushed countless others and come out the other side. And you didn’t just survive them. You came through even stronger than you were before –enough to use what you know and what you’ve learned to help others.”
“In each of the universes you inhabit, you are there as you are for a reason. Chance and history conspired to put you where you are, and make you the women you became. I don’t know why the Omnipresence wants you there, but she does. And just by knowing you, I can see why your journeys must continue.”
She turned to Stark. “You’ve finally climbed out of the pit those women pushed you into, conquered the programming, and let go of the hate that drove you and kept you safe. Now you need to rediscover your mission and figure out what to do with the life you’ve earned. Just as important, you need to find out who you are … the you that you’ve become. The you that Jeff loves … and the you that loves Jeff.”
Jo thought for a moment, then nodded.
“And we, my wife, are in the middle of a plan,” Regina said, putting her arm around Melinde and giving her a squeeze. Melinde looked into her eyes and hugged her in return. “A plan that has brought our entire kingdom together, outraged because of what was done to me. We are well on our way to taking back what was ours and unseating Drax — hopefully without losing too many of our people in the end. At this point, we cannot go back. Only forward.” She looked at Becca. “I understand.”
The young girl nodded. “I thought you might.”
“And me?” Maggie stared at Becca, and Becca stared back. Then she closed her eyes, there was a bright flash, and everyone else disappeared.
Except for the Advocate … and the thief.
Maggie turned around, and turned back to face Becca. “Why am I still here?”
“We need to talk. About you.” The Advocate sighed. “And the others didn’t need to be here for that. Come to think of it, neither do we.”
She closed her eyes again, the world shimmered and reformed around them as a Starbucks. Maggie jumped, just a little, and spun around. But the rest of the customers didn’t seem to notice at all.
The younger girl sat down at a table, where a frappuchino and a tall latte waited.
“I took the liberty of ordering for you,” Becca said, motioning to the other chair. “I hope you don’t mind. I know you prefer being in control.”
Bishop lowered herself into the chair and leaned forward. “Why didn’t anyone notice our arrival?”
Becca shrugged. “I created something called an avoidance field. It basically makes anyone in the coffee shop choose not to look at this particular spot, or even notice us until I allow them to. Their eyes just pass right over us and move on.”
Maggie took a sip and smiled cautiously. “A handy bit of magic for a thief.”
The younger girl nodded. “Or for a magic user who occasionally needs to avoid letting others see her use magic.”
“Are Bateau and Finn wondering where I am? They worry enough about me as it is.”
“No, I made sure to slow their transit time back to the museum so we could talk without them even knowing you’re not with them.”
“Why?” Maggie looked over at Becca. “Is there something they shouldn’t know?”
“I don’t know. That’s sort of up to you.”
Bishop took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, fine. It’s your meeting. It’s just us girls. Back in my world, I’m doing the same things I did as Maggie that I used to do as Mark. So the hero argument doesn’t quite work for me.”
The Advocate took a pull on her straw and sighed. “True.”
“So why are we here?” Becca looked at her for a moment, and Maggie looked back, then shook her head. “What aren’t you telling me? What’s wrong, exactly?”
“Nothing, really.”
Maggie’s frustration level kicked up a notch. “Then why can’t you fix me?”
The younger girl took a breath and let it out slowly. “Because you’re not broken.”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” Bishop hissed, looking over her shoulder before leaning forward, “I’m a woman!”
“That doesn’t make you broken.”
“No?” Maggie’s anger put an edge in her voice. “I’m not supposed to be a woman!”
“Says who?”
“Says me! This is wrong! I wasn’t born this way.”
“Neither was I,” Becca replied. Bishop looked up, surprised, and the younger girl shrugged. “A funny thing happened on the way to the supermarket one morning. Long story.”
Maggie felt her fists clench. “Why can’t you change me back?”
Becca closed her eyes and reached out, and suddenly all the anger and frustration seemed to drain away, leaving the thief sad and a little confused.
“Why?” Maggie said again, her tone becoming a plea for understanding. “It’s not a hard question, Becca. If I can still be a ‘hero’ as the man I was, why can’t I go back to being Mark?”
“Because for you, this part isn’t necessarily about being a hero.” Becca’s voice was gentle. She reached out and touched Bishop’s shoulder. “You’d wind up doing good no matter what, because that’s the kind of person you’ve always been, woman or man. It's about being you. The truth is that you’re in the middle of a journey, Maggie. It’s a personal journey, and if I change you back, I’m going to take away the chance for you to learn, and grow, and become more than Mark could ever have been if he'd never run into Khaleel.”
“Also, you have to remember that you’re not in this alone. A lot of people travel with you, and they’re affected by the decisions you make. Bateau and Finn, for example. They're learning too. And Moira, in her way, is still with you as well.”
“Moira? She’s not …?”
“Gone? Not really … not completely. You share her body, and a bit of her soul. You know part of her lives on in you. In the grand scheme of things, her life wasn’t taken so much as it was shared with you.”
Becca looks into Maggie’s eyes. “But if I change you back, she loses. Everything. If Mark returns, all that she was would be lost. Do you really want to take what little she has left?” The thief shook her head, just a little. Becca nodded.
“And then, of course, there’s Amy.”
Bishop’s eyes grew wide, and she froze. The Advocate continued.
“She’s been hurt in the past, and it has colored her life for way too long. She’s been betrayed and battered, and has loved and lost before. She put up walls she was afraid to take down. Until she met you, when you needed her most.”
“Your encounter with her was as much to make her take those walls down as it was to make you realize that being Maggie might be easier than you had thought. But if you become Mark again, then the woman you are now will be gone. And Amy will once again lose someone she’s already lost her heart to, even though she hasn’t realized it fully yet. She’ll lose the woman a hidden part of her hopes she might spend the rest of her life with — because of what you want.”
“Do you love her, Maggie?” The thief looked at Becca, then looked away, her lips pressed together.
The Advocate reached out and touched her arm. “Do you really want to hurt her?”
“NO!” The word burst out of Maggie, too strong for her to hold it back.
There was silence, for a moment, then Becca spoke softly.
“Then why would you ever want to go back to being Mark?”
“Because it’s … it’s who I was,” Bishop replied slowly, almost hesitating to say the words.
Becca smiles. “Exactly. It’s who you were. Like I said, you’re on a journey. And the thing about a journey is, we’re never quite the same people we were at the beginning, by the time we reach the end.”
She stood up, then reached out a hand and helped Maggie to her feet.
“Just think about what I’ve said,” she said with a smile. “Remember, sometimes part of being a hero is putting aside what you want because something … or someone … else matters more. And if you need to talk, just say my name. I’ll be listening.”
“Right now, its time to send you home.” The Advocate began to glow. “Good luck recovering that Rembrandt … along with anything else you can find in the curator’s closet.”
Still a little unsure, Maggie raised her hand in a wave as a glow of magic surrounded her, and then she was gone.
‘Time for me to go as well,’ Becca thought, and her mind wandered back to the ones the drum had gathered … herself included.
“I’m no hero,” she said aloud, and then laughed. “But I have to admit, sometimes I have my moments.”
She picked up her frappachino and turned to leave. When she reached the door, she stopped and closed her eyes.
“Safe travels, all of you,” she whispered to each of them, across the Multiverse, so they all could hear. “May all your journeys end well.”
‘Because even for heroes,’ she thought as the door swung shut behind her, ‘there’s no guarantee of a happy ending when the journey is through.’
For those of you who are new to my work (and by now totally confused), everyone in the story
above is actually a character in one of a group of series of stories I've written and posted over
the years. Some of these series are still growing (albeit slowly). *grin*
If you like my people and you'd like to see more of them, the previous adventures of each of
these characters can be found below (in order of their appearance in this story):
Tommy Browder's stories can be found here.
The adventures of Bishop and her friends are found here.
The story of Regina, Melinde, and their fight to take back their kingdom is here.
Jo Stark's fight for her own freedom begins here.
The Advocate's (also known as Becca Barnes) origin story and her first adventure starts here.
Dentistry for Gifted Equines
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You can't always get what you want. But when you finally do, can you let go of yesterday's pain
to embrace a future you never thought you'd get?
Dentistry for Gifted Equines
by Randalynn
"When opportunity knocks, answer the fricken DOOR!" -- C. H. Wagner
"I know what you want."
The words were soft, tender -- almost seductive. But they cut through the background noise of the mid-day city like a siren's call only I could hear. I paused, loosening my tie with one hand while gripping the handle of my briefcase tightly with the other.
"I know you can hear me."
Sweat trickled down inside my shirt under my jacket. It was too hot that day -- hotter than it should have been for that time of year. It was a Thursday towards the end of January in the Nation's Capital, but the mercury hovered in the mid-eighties. Nearly unprecedented, the weather people said. Record temperatures. But I hadn't watched the news that morning, and so I put on one of my best winter suits -- a blue wool double-breasted number that turned into a portable sauna by 10:30 that morning.
"I can give you what you need."
Again, the voice. Unmistakably male, with a slight accent. Possibly Irish? Almost mocking in its sweetness, like a good horse trainer gentling a skittish mare. I shook my head as if to clear it. Could I have imagined the voice? It was a little after twelve, and I was already late for a meeting I couldn't afford to miss. My sales quota went up last month, it was the thirty-first and I was still way behind, and my boss had called me in for a little chat this morning about my "lack of motivation." I really needed to get going. If anything else went wrong today, I'd have to amend my schedule to include throwing myself in front of a Metro train.
But that voice . . . I paused, waiting to hear it again.
"I'm still here, Johnny boy. And I heard your thoughts, as she walked past."
She, it said. As she walked past. I remembered the last 'she' I had seen. A pretty woman with green eyes and long reddish-brown hair, wearing a light green summer dress and two-inch heels. With a smile on her lips and a bounce in her step, looking like she just left her last problem on somebody else's doorstep. Swinging her small green handbag on its strap and turning the heads of every man she walked by. Including me.
Oh, yes, I remembered.
"Over here. I'm right beside you."
It came from my right. I turned, not knowing what to expect. He stood in a doorway, shrouded in the shadow of an overhead awning. Medium height and wiry, with dark brown curly hair, green eyes, and a smile that seemed almost too big for his mouth. He was dressed in a green suit and shirt, with a white tie and matching shoes. He leaned against the doorframe, arms and legs crossed, and his gaze seemed to slip past my eyes and into my mind, reading my confusion and doubt.
"I know what you were thinking," he said. "As she walked past."
I knew what I was thinking then, too. The same thing I always thought when I saw a beautiful woman. But I said nothing. He smiled again.
"I can give you what you want," he whispered softly. "I really can. If you really want it."
Again, I said nothing. As strange as it sounds, it seemed as if he could read my thoughts -- as if no words were really necessary between us. But how could that be?
Almost as if I had spoken, he responded. "I'm a magical creature, I am," he said. "And to one such as I, your deepest desires are as clear and strong as a breeze blowing in from the sea. Come, sit with me for a bit, if you're interested in a proposition." He straightened, and took a step toward me. He was almost my height, and with his face only inches from mine, I looked into his eyes and saw a strange warmth that made me dizzy in the noonday sun. Then he spoke, and I could feel his hot breath on my lips.
"I can make you a woman, and a pretty one, too," he whispered. I saw his hand come up, and felt his fingers trace the curve of my jaw. I shivered in spite of the heat. "Come, Johnny boy. Share a pint and we'll talk, you and I." He turned and walked through the doorway without a look back.
After a moment, I followed.
Inside was dark, and cool. The bar had all the trappings of an Irish pub, but aside from the two of us and the bartender, it was deserted. The green man sat in a corner booth, lowering himself with a smooth motion that seemed effortless. I stood a few feet away, briefcase still in hand, and waited for the stranger to continue.
The barkeep, a huge man with a receding hairline and wide-set eyes, drew a pint glass of hard cider from the tap behind the bar and set it down in front of my host without a word. The green man caught his eye and nodded slightly. The barkeep drifted away. Some time passed, and the stranger took a sip of the cider. Then he looked at me.
"It's what you've always wanted, Johnny," he said softly. "To be a woman. What you've always wanted and never could have. Because miracles don't happen in the modern world, and it would take a miracle to make it happen for you. Isn't that right, boyo?" It was my turn to nod. He smiled.
"Well, today, my lad, you're in luck. I'm not a part of your modern world. I'm a miern ... an elemental. A magical creature, as I said. And magic may not be miraculous, but it's as good a way as any to achieve the impossible. Wouldn't you say?"
I looked at the briefcase in my hand, and then looked at the stranger. For the first time since I met him, I spoke.
"You seem to know how to read minds." He grinned a little wider. I ignored it. "I don't know how you're doing it, and frankly I don't care. But you just stuck your foot in a dream of mine, and I don't like it. Not at all. I don't know what game you're playing, but if you think you can trick me with fairy tales, you're wrong."
The green man looked at me over the lip of his glass. It was a moment before he spoke.
"I'm not playing any games. And I'm not talking about tricks, boyo. I'm talking about magic. There's a difference."
"Not in the real world," I shot back at him. "Not in the twenty-first century." I started turning towards the door. "Game over. I'm out of here."
"Ha!" A single laugh exploded across the table with such force that I almost felt it hit me in the back. I froze. He slammed his glass down on the tabletop. "Talk to me about the real world, will you? You, who only scratch the surface of true reality with your mundane life and your mundane job, your petty wars and meaningless deaths. Speak to me about reality? I can bend and shape your world with a whim, lad. Life or death, presidents or kings, countries could rise or fall with a word from my lips!" He stopped short, and in his eyes I could see an anger I'd never seen in anyone's eyes before. I took a step backward. "It took me a while to find you, Johnny boy. You're not leaving until I damned well say you are!"
I looked at him, and then I made my break for the door. Or rather, I tried to. But as I completed my turn, my feet slid out from under me and I fell in a heap on the floor. I heard him laugh.
"Now, as for being in the twenty-first century..." The scuffed hardwood floor beneath me turned to dirt and straw. I stood up. What was a modern pub had become a medieval inn, with hand-made tables and chairs. The bartender remained, although his costume had changed to reflect the time. And the green man had changed as well, into a green woolen shirt, a leather vest, and green tights.
"There, now! Maybe magic is more suited to the fifteenth century after all."
I stood up, brushing straw from the front of my suit. If this was a special effect, it was a damned good one. There was a persistent chill in the air. A cold breeze whipped through the open windows making the fire in the hearth flicker. The freezing wind made me shiver, and for the first time that day, I was glad I'd worn the winter suit.
The green man watched my reactions with a smile on his face. "Now we negotiate on my turf," he said. "That is, if you're convinced my credentials are genuine?"
I nodded, and sat down at his table. His smile grew wider. "Excellent!" He motioned to the barkeep. "Ale for my new friend!"
The bartender, the same man who tended the bar in the twentieth century pub, brought a leather tankard of ale and placed it on the table before me. I stared at the green man and he smiled back.
"Yes, I can read your mind," he replied, answering my unspoken question. "If I have to. But I'd really rather not. I've been through this so many times before, you mortals have become tedious and predictable."
I picked up the tankard, only to put it down again when I noticed the specks of dirt floating on the top of the liquid.
"You said before that it took you a while to find me," I said. "Why? What makes me so special?"
He sighed. "Well, lad, it's like this. Each miern is obligated by the Powers That Be to grant the innermost wishes of a single mortal once every hundred years."
"Why?"
"How should I know?" he said angrily. "No one ever told me why! When you're powerful enough to set the rules for creatures as powerful as the miern, you don't answer questions." He took a sip of ale. "As I was saying, in return for this service, we are given eternal life and allowed to do what we like, when we like. Tis a fine arrangement."
"Many people have wishes," I said in a neutral tone. "Finding someone to help once a century should be easy."
"That's where you're wrong!" He slammed his tankard on the table top. "There are strings attached. Aren't there always? It's got to be a wish that can't be granted except by magic. And granting the wish has to make the person who made the wish happy. You don't know how many times I've granted wishes for people, only to find that what they thought would make them happy made them miserable. That's what makes you special, boy."
"What?"
"You're so miserable already, anything I do to you will probably be an improvement."
"I'm not --," I began, but he stopped me in mid-sentence.
"Aren't you? Answer me this, Johnny. When was the last time you laughed?"
"Well, I --"
"I don't mean laughing just to be polite, now. I'm talking about a 'isn't it great to be alive' kind of laugh. The kind of laugh that reaches down deep inside and lets you know that things aren't so bad."
I thought about it. Lately, I'd been shuffling from home to work in a perpetual malaise, just this side of acute depression. I'd been thinking about what I was (and what I wasn't), and it had begun preying on my mind more and more, to the exclusion of other, less ethereal concerns.
"I concede the point," I said lamely. The green man roared, and the barkeep smiled a wry little smile and kept washing the tankard he held in his hands. For an instant, I wondered how all this dirt got into my ale if the barkeep spent so much time keeping the tankards clean.
"Do you hear that, Clarence?" the miern asked, still laughing. "So proper is he. 'I concede the point,' indeed. As politic as friend John is, I think he'll make a fine she, don't you?" The barkeep tilted his head slightly, and turned away.
"As far as I can tell," the green man said, "you really feel that becoming a woman would make you happy. Since I've never been miserable enough to think that changing my sex would improve matters, I'm afraid I'll have to take your word for it. To each his ... or her . . . own, eh?"
I said nothing. He looked at me and sighed.
"So. Do you accept my offer?"
I looked down at my tankard and thought for a moment. "Is there some kind of guarantee attached to this?"
He looked sourly at me for a moment. "Have ye never heard of lookin' a gift horse in the mouth, boy? Here I am offering you what you've always wanted, and you're asking for guarantees. In life, nothing is certain. Nothing!"
"Still," I said, looking up from my drink. "This is my life we're talking about here. I would have to be a fool ten times over not to at least ask for a guarantee, now wouldn't I?"
The green man thought for a moment, then raised his tankard and smiled. "I concede the point," he said. "An unhappy you wouldn't solve my problem in any case. The powers that be would just send me out looking for somebody else to help, and I'd still be on the hook until I found them." He looked at me while he took a sip, and I seemed to see resolve in his eyes. He put down his ale with a slam that made even Clarence look up from his meticulous polishing.
"All right, then," he roared, and rose to his feet. "You've got your guarantee, Johnny boy. I'll make you the woman you always wanted to be, but I'll give you a week in your new life to change your mind."
"A month," I said evenly. He looked at me in amazement.
"Are you negotiating with me, boy?"
A smile crept onto my face. "Yes. I want a month."
His lip twitched with a suppressed smile. "I could just walk away and leave you here in the fifteenth century, now couldn't I?"
"Yes, you could. But you won't."
"Yes, I would. And I could do even worse, friend John," he said, and raised a finger from the top of his tankard in my direction. I felt dizzy and reached forward to steady myself against the table in front of me. And stopped.
Two long slender arms with tiny hands stretched out in front of me. Long copper red hair fell forward over my bare shoulders to brush the tops of large, round breasts that threatened to jostle their way free of the top of a long green dress. I rose slowly to my feet, balancing awkwardly on wide hips and tiny bare feet.
"I could do even worse," he repeated softly. "I could just walk away and leave you here … looking like this. Not a lot of choices for a pretty girl back in the dark ages. And everybody dies young here in the past, don't you know?"
I took a deep breath, and shook my head, feeling the hair brush against my shoulders. "You won't leave me here." My voice was a soft contralto. "You need me to be happy if you're to go on your merry way, free of obligation for another century. I want at least two weeks to decide if this is right for me. Then you'll have your answer."
"You aren't the only one I could help, girl," he said with a smirk. "I don't need you enough to wait on your pleasure for two whole weeks. And it might suit my warped sense of humor to give you what you want and leave you here in Merry Olde England to die of syphillis, or the plague." He moved closer, brought his face close to mine, and raised a hand to cup a breast. His thumb stroked the nipple. It swelled and hardened, its outline clearly visible through the thin fabric of the dress. I shivered.
"Or I could take you right here on this table," he said softly, his lips only inches from my own. I could smell the ale on his breath. "I could rip your dress off, spread your legs and rape you. Over and over again. All Clarence would do is watch. I could even make you like it." His fingers tightened around my breast and squeezed. It was all I could do not to cry out from the pain. His voice hardened. "Then, after I had my way with you, I would go back to your time and leave you here pregnant, to grow fat with child and suffer in poverty for nine months before you die in childbirth, spewing blood into the dust." Abruptly, he let go and stepped back. My hands moved to my chest in a vain attempt to massage away the pain, and the tears I was holding back flowed into my eyes. He smiled, picked up his tankard, and took a sip. His gaze never left my face.
"Now, don't play games with me, girl," he said. "Think carefully before you answer me again. Do you still want to bargain?"
I looked into his eyes and shivered. In that instant, I saw through his jovial mask and into his soul. I realized that his power and immortality made him totally alien to me. He wasn't human, and I couldn't expect him to behave like one. I wasn't even sure he understood the concepts of good and evil.
"Of course I understand them, girl," he muttered, reading my mind again. "I just don't have any use for them."
Now I understood, I thought. I couldn't negotiate with him. When it came right down to the bottom line, I had nothing to bargain with -- nothing he couldn't find somewhere else. And he would leave me here. Why shouldn't he? I shook my head again.
"You're right," I whispered through the tears. "I accept your offer. And your week." I turned away and looked out the window at nothing -- anything to stop looking into those alien eyes. "Now let's get out of here. Please."
"It's already done, darlin'."
As he spoke the words, the tavern blurred, its outlines replaced by the pub we had left only moments ago. I felt my clothing shift as well, crawling across my new skin like a living thing. I almost fell forward as a pair of high-heeled pumps grew under my feet. The skirt of the dress pulled up from ankle length to just above the knee, revealing clean-shaven legs in sheer hose, held in place by a garter belt that seemed to shimmer into existence against my skin. I looked down the front of my dress to see my new breasts resting safely (if not comfortably) in a dark green bra. The right one still hurt, but I tried not to let him see how I felt.
Which was stupid of me. He could, after all, read my mind whenever he wished. And he did. Before I could stop him, he reached forward and brushed the underside of the breast with his fingertips. Instantly, the hurt went away.
"The door's where it was when you came in," he said softly. Then he turned back to the table and sat. Clarence brought him a new glass of hard cider. I stared at both of them for a moment, then started to bend at the waist reaching for my briefcase. I checked myself, and bent at the knees instead.
"Well done," he said. I ignored him. Ankles wobbling slightly, I gave him one last glance and turned to go. The door was slightly ajar and I stepped carefully across the wooden floor. As I reached for the handle, he spoke. Even though his voice was low, I heard him clearly. I stopped.
"I'm sorry, girl," he whispered. "You tried to make me dance to your tune, and I don't take well to being played with. And with the Powers pushin' me to meet their price for my freedom, I felt the need to push back, and you were handy. I'm sorry."
I thought about that for a second. If there was one thing that raised my blood pressure, it was somebody else setting deadlines for me. And if I was a powerful magical being, jerked to heel every hundred years, I bet it would feel a hell of a lot worse. I nodded to myself.
There was a long silence, and then he spoke again. "You've got your two weeks, lass. Make the most of them."
I felt my shoulders relax. I turned to thank him, but stopped. His chair at the table was empty. His glass was gone as well, and my gaze went to the bartender. It was a young guy in a red vest, with long brown hair and a mustache. He looked up from the glass he was cleaning, and his eyes hit mine and slid down to my breasts, where they stayed for the duration of our conversation.
"Can I help you?" he asked. "Buy you a drink?"
"No," I said. "Thank you." Automatically, I looked at my wrist. In place of my old watch was a small gold number with a barely readable face. "I'm late for an appointment."
"Maybe later?" he asked. "I'm on until six, but I'll be around until seven. I'll look for you."
'What am I doing?' I thought weakly. 'Making a date with the bartender,' a part of me replied.
"Maybe," I replied. I threw him a small smile, turned, and walked out into the street.
After the semi-darkness of the pub, the sun was blindingly bright. The street was just as crowded with noon-day traffic as it was before I entered the green man's world. The only thing that had changed was me.
And the heat. The temperature was almost as oppressive as it had been a few moments before, but my clothes had changed along with the rest of me. In place of my blue winter suit, the miern had given me a green silk dress, and a brown linen jacket. The whole ensemble seemed to breathe in the D.C. humidity, although the stockings made my legs feel both sexy-smooth and hot as hell at the same time. Well, trade-offs are trade-offs, I said to myself. I'll take silk and linen over winter wool any day.
Truth be told, I was almost giddy. I couldn't believe my luck could change so completely. I was a woman! I spun around fast enough for my skirt to flare, just a bit, and stared at my reflection in the pub's front window. 'Still me,' I thought, lips stretching into a happy smile. 'Just the me I always wanted to be, that's all.'
A whole new life stretched out in front of me. What was I going to do next? I stood there on the sidewalk and considered my options. 'Man or woman, bills still have to be paid,' I thought. 'As tempting as it is to go explore what it means to be me for a change, maybe it's best if I go back to what I was doing before. I've got two whole weeks to play!'
Before I walked into the pub, Jonathan Barrett was almost late for a sales meeting with a new client. I assumed that when Jennifer Barrett walked out of the pub, she was also almost late for a sales meeting with the same client. It stood to reason, right? It's not like the miern would change me and leave me adrift in a world where there was only a Jonathan. After all, he needed me happy, didn't he?
His voice echoed in my head. "Yes, girl, you are who you're supposed to be in this reality. So go try out your brave new world."
I laughed, then flipped my long red hair back over my shoulders and set off on my three-inch heels to try and keep the appointment.
But just walking down Connecticut Avenue at lunch hour was the beginning of a major shift in my perception of the world. Balancing precariously on my new footwear, a wide range of new sensations followed my every move. My legs were longer, but between the shoes, the skirt, and my hips, I was forced to take smaller steps to keep from falling. My center of gravity had moved from my chest to my hips, which felt nearly a mile wide and swiveled provocatively as I walked. With my back straight and my head held high, my breasts pushed forward and moved in counterpoint to my hips, so the overall effect was constant movement of nearly every part of my new body. It wasn't uncomfortable, exactly -- just different.
What was uncomfortable was the persistent feeling that I was being watched. Constantly. I felt like I was performing in some kind of mobile theatre-in-the-round. Heads turned to follow my progress. Men walking in the other direction slowed perceptibly and tried to watch me without watching me. Once I realized this was happening, I started feeling annoyed. I began to try to make eye contact with every guy who tried to check me out as he passed. They would look away, but only until my attention wavered. Some wouldn't look away, but met my eyes and held them with a smile until we passed. Then they followed my departure until I was swallowed by the crowd.
Would I have to get used to always being on display? Could i?
Ten minutes of this was all I could take, and I ducked into a coffee shop for relief. Every man in the place turned to give me the eye, but the lure of lunch took precedence over the view of my newly curvaceous carcass, and they went back to their meals. I ordered a large cup of coffee and brought it to a booth over by the pay phone in the back. While it cooled, I called the office. To my relief, the receptionist I remembered answered.
"Conundrum Enterprises. The solution for every problem is waiting for you. This is Roni. How may I direct your call?"
"Roni, hi!" I smiled in spite of myself. "It's . . . Jennifer."
Her voice perked up. "Jen! Where have you been? I've been trying your beeper since before lunch."
"My beeper?" I opened my handbag and rummaged around until I found the offending piece of technology. "Oops. I forgot to turn it on. Sorry."
"Well, by now you already know about your one o'clock appointment."
"Know what?"
"You mean you don't know? Where have you been?"
"I got sidetracked," I said sheepishly. "What about my one o'clock?"
"Sam Parker's secretary called. The CEO at KarmaComm called a lunch meeting that ran over, and Mr. Parker needs to reschedule for Monday morning at ten. Is that okay?"
"Since it's nearly one thirty now, I'd say the answer's yes by default," I said with relief. "This hasn't been the best of days for me, Roni."
"Oh?" Her voice held concern. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know. I'm just feeling out of sorts," I replied. "I'm ... I'm not myself today, and I guess I'm glad I don't have to meet with Parker after all. I don't think I could sell anybody anything this afternoon."
"I can hear it in your voice. You sound fried." She paused for a moment, then spoke. "Well, that was your only appointment this afternoon, and you made your quota a week ago. I don't think Mr. Frankel will mind if his best sales person takes the rest of the day off." 'Huh? Made my quota? Best sales person?' I shook my head while Roni continued on, oblivious to my confusion. "Why don't you go home and relax and I'll catch up with you later at Jake's for a drink?"
"I don't know," I said doubtfully. "I've got a desk full of work waiting at the office..."
"And it can keep until tomorrow," she answered firmly. "Head for home. I'll let the boss know."
"Thanks, Roni."
"Hey, what are friends for? See ya later!"
We hung up simultaneously, and I sat down at my booth and sipped my coffee. Apparently, Jennifer was a better account exec than I had ever been. I was actually a little resentful. How could she be better than me if she was me? I was confused and slightly depressed. 'A few seconds ago, I was so happy,' I thought. 'What the hell is wrong with me?'
Suddenly, I was at loose ends. The rest of the afternoon was mine to do with what I wished. What did I want to do? I looked down at the lipstick on the rim of my cup. I had a whole new life to explore, but right now what I felt an overwhelming urge to go home, take my clothes off, and curl up under a blanket for a while. Maybe watch some mindless television, or listen to some soft music.
"That is actually not such a bad idea."
The voice came from across the table. I looked up and found that Clarence, the green man's bartender, was seated opposite me. He had a small smile on his face, and seemed to be slightly embarrassed.
"I don't mean to intrude . . ." he said softly. "I'll go if you want." He started to rise.
"No, really," I spoke quickly, reaching out to touch his arm. "Don't leave. It's good to have someone to talk to about this. I'm feeling a little . . . lost."
"That's understandable." Clarence looked down and stirred his coffee -- not because it needed stirring, but because I could tell he needed to avoid my eyes. "Your entire life has been revised. Some things are the same, but some things are radically different. It's overwhelming at first -- like walking through a mental minefield. You never know what will happen when you encounter someone from before . . . before the arrangement."
I took another sip from my own cup, and noticed my hands trembling.
"For example," Clarence continued softly, "in your old life, your dissatisfaction with who you were colored everything around you. Is it really such a surprise that you would do better at sales as Jennifer, without the weight of a body and a gender you hated holding you back?"
I nodded. "That makes sense. Even as Jonathan, the happier I was, the more sales I made."
"Exactly right." Clarence nodded. "The change also affects those around you and how you relate to them. In your old life, Roni was a friend, but not a close one. The sexual tension was always there, creating the boundaries that always exist between friends of the opposite sex. Never getting too close for fear of developing a relationship that could ruin your friendship."
I nodded, thinking about the verbal dancing Roni and I engaged in every morning as I walked through the door. Friendly, but with a firm distance between us. Clarence saw my nod and nodded in turn.
"You understand. Good. That was how it was. But now, in this life, Roni is the best friend you always wanted, but never had the chance to have. You spend entire days together, take weekend road trips to points you arbitrarily pick out on a map because they sound strange or exciting. Often, you wind up in just another boring little town, but the very act of traveling there together makes the exploring worthwhile. When Roni's latest boyfriend dumps her, it is you she comes to for sympathy and encouragement. When she finds a new one, it is you she calls at two in the morning to celebrate."
I looked down at my hands. "So what you're saying is, we're close," I said.
"Yes. Like sisters, only without the rivalry."
"I've never been that close with anyone."
"Jennifer has. And still is."
"But I'm Jennifer!"
"Yes. That is the problem. When the miern gave you this new body, he gave you a new history to go with it. This new history is so close to your own that you begin to think everything is the same, and it will all work out fine. Then along comes something like Roni, or Matt, and it highlights the fact that John has become Jen. It disturbs you."
"Yes." I took a deep breath and shuddered. Now I had a best friend, with all the rights and responsibilities that come with it. Not necessarily a bad thing, I thought warily. I had to rip down a lifetime's worth of emotional barriers, but a good friend is hard to find. I could cope.
Something else Clarence said began to penetrate. "You said something about Matt?"
Clarence paused, then spoke almost reluctantly. "I did. He was your best friend ... before. Now he is your lover."
I looked up at Clarence, stunned. He was clearly embarrassed.
"Matt? My . . . you've got to be kidding!"
It was his turn to look away. "I am not. It is a logical consequence of the change," he said stiffly. "Before, you were closer to Matt than to any other man on Earth. In this life, it is only natural that the closeness translates itself to more than tickets to hockey games and a fondness for . . . pick-up basketball, is it?"
I put my hands flat on the tabletop and stared at my now slim fingers and inch-long nails. I felt detached -- dizzy and numb, as if reality had taken a short vacation and left me behind to pick up the pieces as best I could. Matt and me -- lovers? It was information overload. Too much, too soon. I started to shiver violently, and my teeth began to chatter. The room began to spin, and I felt as if I was going to faint. Then I saw a hand move into my field of view and rest on top of mine. The shivering stopped. I tilted my head up until I could see Clarence's face. He was clearly upset.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I have only made things worse. I should go."
"No," I put my hand on top of his. "Please don't. It's not your fault. Just give me a minute. I'll be okay. Honest."
We stayed like that for a short time until the rest of the symptoms faded to a manageable level. I reached down inside and brought up a small smile for Clarence's benefit, and he smiled back tentatively.
"It's not as bad as you might think," he said. "You have a new body, and some new memories come along with it. You are not totally lost in a strange new world. Just take it a step at a time. You'll see."
Clarence pulled his hand from between mine and rose to his feet. "Now you have the whole afternoon ahead of you," he declared confidently. "Go home and rest for a while. Let things happen at their own pace. This is your dream made real. Embrace it."
"I'll try," I said, rising also. I picked up my briefcase and walked toward the door. I turned to look back at him, and he met my gaze with his own.
"Why . . . why did you come here, now?"
Clarence looked at me for a moment, and I heard his voice in my head. "Because after what I saw today, I knew you would need me. And because He wouldn't think to explain anything, even though your happiness is just as important to Him as His own." Then he smiled a little smile. "I love Him, you see. So I do what I can."
"Well . . . thank you," I whispered. He nodded, and as I watched, Clarence shimmered like sunlight reflected on a pond. And then he was gone.
I took the Metro back to my apartment in North Arlington, on the Virginia side of the Potomac. Since it was early afternoon, the train was nearly empty, and I had a seat all to myself for the entire trip. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched men check me out as they got onto the car. After a while, I tried to ignore their looks, and I actually found it easier to do as the trip wore on, since I couldn't really keep them from looking. Besides, sitting there being angry about it seemed to be a waste of energy.
Instead, I concentrated on just feeling what it was like to live in this new body. There were a lot of new reflexes built into this female form. When I sat, I automatically tucked my skirt under, smoothing it to stop wrinkles before they started. My knees came together, my ankles crossed, and I felt my upper body balance on my hips with the perfect posture that only comes from years of practice. 'I'll just bet Jennifer's mom never let her slouch,' I thought with a sigh. 'My mom didn't let my sisters forget themselves for a second. I guess in this universe, I got the same treatment my sisters did. And I was probably just as jealous of my older brothers as they were of me.'
As I stared out the window into the darkness under the city, I realized that I was glad I didn't have to go through everything they did growing up. I had a lot more freedom as Jonathan than I ever did as Jen. At the same time, I began to remember that I couldn't go out alone -- just like my sisters -- and I felt frustrated that Tom could go wherever he wanted after dark, but I had to stay close to home. I couldn't even go to the drugstore by myself until I went away to college. As a teenager, I realized that being a girl meant being a target, and a younger female is just easier prey. One of the bitter truths of the twentieth century -- for all of the advances, biology was still destiny.
For a few seconds, the world spun around me as two sets of memories fought for dominance. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to control a wave of nausea. Then I began to sort it out. This only happened when memories from before this morning came into direct conflict with who -- and what -- I was now. As long as I treated my Jonathan memories as if they belonged to somebody else, I was okay. Trying to hold on too hard to my old history wasn't such a good idea.
If everything went well, it wouldn't be my history anymore, anyway.
'If everything went well.' The part of me that remembered every personal failure throughout the years raised a hand to remind me how often THAT happened.
By the time I reached my apartment, my feet were killing me. It was a long walk to my building from the Metro stop, and I had walked too far that day in heels as it was. It wasn't until I had reached my door and was checking my shoulder bag for the keys that I found the plastic-wrapped running shoes nestled inside. I unlocked the door with one hand while I removed my heels with the other, grumbling all the while about my spotty new memory.
I stumbled into the foyer, my balance still skewed a good three inches off center from the pumps. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me and stopped me in my tracks, one hand against the doorframe to keep me from falling.
"Matt?" I said tentatively. My new voice echoed against the far wall. "Are you here?" There was no answer, and then I remembered. Matt was in Houston on a sales call. I could feel the tension leave my shoulders. I wouldn't have to deal with Matt right away. The minute I thought it, I felt a pang of disappointment and longing as well. 'God, how I miss him.'
As I looked at my apartment, I could see the similarities and differences between who I had been and who I had become illustrated in the decor. A similar taste in videos (50's sci fi, 40's film noir) and love for fine audio equipment clashed painfully with the delicate dining room set and a kitchen decorated in bright yellow and floral prints. The simply furnished bedroom had a master bath with so many pink accents that I could see my skin tone change as I walked through the door. Not Matt's choice, to be sure. And not Jonathan's, either. This was Jennifer's place, and as I relaxed into her memories, I realized I was home, and glad of it.
I walked back out to the bedroom, slid the jacket off, and laid it carefully on the bed. Then I reached back and unzipped the green dress. As it slipped forward, I held my arms out to let it slide to the floor, and stepped forward. I bent at the knees, picked it up, and placed it carefully on the bed next to the jacket. I'll hang them later, I thought, as I walked back toward the bathroom.
My path took me past a full-length mirror, and I stopped and turned for a quick look at what I had become. The image in the mirror stared back at me with a bemused expression. Her red hair was tousled, and she stood with one hand resting on the upper curve of her breast and the other on the swell of her hip. She wore a dark green bra and matching panties, and as my eye swept over the smooth, pale curves of my new body, I noticed the garter belt and sheer hose for the first time that day. Suddenly, I felt the elastic of the garters against my thighs, and as I watched, my nipples grew hard and strained against the fabric of my bra.
My nipples. My bra. That was me in the mirror! The room took a quick spin, and I reached for the edge of the dresser to steady myself. Tripped up by another memory loop, I thought bitterly, and waited for the dizziness to settle. After a minute, I let go of the furniture and stood upright again.
"I am Jennifer," I said aloud, watching the woman in the mirror mouth the words along with me with a look of stern determination on her face. I shivered, and then I was just standing there in my underwear, looking at my reflection and feeling a little foolish. I turned around once, shook my head at myself, and headed for the bathroom.
I turned on the water in the tub and poured in scented bath oils from the medicine cabinet. While the water ran, I sat on the edge of the bathtub, unclipped the garters, slipped off the belt, and rolled the stockings carefully down my legs. Then I took off my panties and reached behind to undo my bra, as if it were second nature to me (which, of course, it was). The lingerie went into a small hamper under the sink I kept there for hand washables. Naked, I walked back into the bedroom and put a Meredith D'Ambrosio disk in the CD player. As she began to sing, I turned again and caught sight of my bare body in the mirror. Not bad, I said to myself, swiveling with my hands on my hips. I spun around to look at my rear, and turned again to throw myself a grin. Then I laughed out loud.
"Stop checking yourself out and get into the bathtub, you idiot," I said scornfully. And that's where I wound up a few seconds later, up to my neck in hot water and bath oils, with good jazz on the stereo and a song in my heart. If there had ever been a time in my life that I had been closest to heaven, that afternoon was it.
As I soaked and let my mind drift, I started thinking clearly for the first time since I met the green man. For a day that started so wrong, it had actually turned out pretty well. I had the body of my dreams, a terrific best friend, a sales record to die for, and a boyfriend that made me feel loved every time I thought about him. 'That still scares me some,' I thought, 'but I've got time to get my brain wrapped around the fact that this body thinks sex with Matt is . . . mmmmmmmm.'
I frowned, and then frowned at myself for frowning. 'What's wrong with me? Why should it bother me that I want to make love to him? I LOVE him! I love who I am now. But I keep trying to run away from what I always wanted. Why? Why do I have to ruin everything? Why can't I just be Jennifer?'
The answer came back at once, and I was ashamed at the truth of it.
'Because you're scared,' I replied. 'You've never been happy before, not like this. And you're afraid if you start counting on the happiness, it's all going to disappear and you'll wind up the way you were, alone and miserable. And male. You don't want to embrace it because it's too good to be true. For you, good things never last.'
I reached up and ran my hands over my body under the water. My skin was smooth and slick, and sensitive . . . and all mine. This was me, I realized. The real me. This was the me I should have been. The miern gave me my dream, free and clear. And the only person who could possibly take this me away from me . . . the only person who could screw this up . . . was me. Did I really want that? Did I really want to spoil my own happiness? Hell, no!
'What the hell is your problem? You've got everything you ever wanted and then some.' I breathed deep and watched my breasts bob on the surface of the water. 'And all you can think to do is look for ways to make it fail -- to make it less than it is. So knock it off! Stop looking for the unhappy ending, stop waiting for something to go wrong, and accept that, just once in your life, you actually WON! Just LIVE, girl! Be happy, damn it!'
So I did. And I was. For a long, long time.
Two weeks came and went, followed by months, then years, then decades.
I lived. I loved. I never looked back. I had a long and happy life. And I never saw the green man again.
Although Clarence did come to my wedding.
Firefly - The Wash-to-Wehr Saga by Randalynn
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by Randalynn
Firefly: Connecting Flight
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Connecting Flight
by Randalynn
Firefly: Connecting Flight | Part 1: Changing Planes
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This is a fan fiction set in the Firefly/Serenity universe created by Joss Whedon. It takes place after the events in the television series and the companion motion picture that followed. This means it has SPOILERS, folks, and major ones at that. So please don't read this unless you get the chance to see the series and the movie -- both, in my opinion, some of the best science fiction ever created for the big or small screen.
But if you're already a Browncoat tried and true -- someone who knows what it means to have "done the impossible" -- read on!
FIREFLY: CONNECTING FLIGHT
by Randalynn
Synopsis:
Just out of flight school, Hoban Washburne learns how to "do the impossible." After saving Serenity and losing his life, Wash is offered the chance to go back and keep his old crew alive -- but of course, there's always a catch . . .
Chapter One -- Changing Planes
It was the night before graduation. He should be back at The Hanger, guzzling rice wine and celebrating his hard-won employability with the rest of the students. After all, there were a few high-ticket offers sitting in his message queue, waiting for him to decide where he wanted to work and how much he was going to make. The future was finally here, and if opportunity was knocking, Hoban Washburne wanted to make sure he greeted it at the front door with beer, snacks, and a hearty welcome.
But Skinny said he needed to come here, tonight. To this small green door in the heart of the market district, with all the stalls and stores closed up tight, force fields sparking as he walked past, his footsteps echoing down the empty streets.
"Think of it as a final lesson, Washburne," Skinny had said, taking him aside after his last class. "You've got what it takes to be a great pilot. But this guy . . . well, this guy could make you the best there is. If you're willing to take a chance."
Normally, Wash wouldn't be caught dead in this part of the city at night. 'Well,' he mused, 'maybe I'd be caught and then wind up dead.' He grinned in spite of himself. 'Coming here definitely wasn't the smartest thing Mrs. Washburne's little boy has every done. But nobody ever said I was smart — devastatingly handsome, maybe, but certainly not smart.'
He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a shop window, and one finger crept up to touch the bushy mustache that hung under his nose like a blond boot brush. Half the time he just wanted to shave the thing off. He almost felt like he was hiding behind it.
'The other half of the time, I can't bear to . . . just cut it down in its prime,' Wash thought with a grin. 'At first, I wasn't sure about having a moustache, but then it just . . . grew on me . . . ' He snorted, and turned away from the window to face his destination. Squaring his shoulders, he marched towards the door, half-smile still playing across his lips.
As he reached the door, it swung open before he could knock. After a brief pause, Wash sauntered into the black entryway like he didn't have a care in the world.
The door closed silently behind him.
After a few seconds staring into a darkness as black as space itself, a single spotlight popped on to reveal an ancient Chinese gentleman in brightly colored robes. He was sitting in the center of a highly polished hardwood floor that seemed to extend out beyond where the circle of light could reach.
"Hoban Washburne." The man spoke definitively, no question at all in his voice.
"Ah, I see my reputation has preceded me," Wash replied lightly, keeping a crooked smile on his face. "Who would have thought fame would find me so early in my career?"
"Actually, the name is written on your flight jacket." It was the man's turn to smile.
There was a long, slightly embarrassed silence. "Yes, well . . . you have me at a disadvantage," Wash said.
"Yes, I do." The man smiled again. "You may call me Chiang."
Another silence. Wash took a deep breath and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Well, I could call you Gladys, as far as that goes, but that's probably not your name either."
Chiang nodded, still smiling. "Chiang will do. Or Gladys, if you prefer. My name is unimportant. It is what I have to teach you that matters."
Wash nodded. "Skinny said you could make me a better pilot."
"Skinny?" The man's brow wrinkled briefly, then he smiled again. "Flight Instructor Erskin. Ah, yes. I presume you gave him the nickname?"
Wash looked down, almost sheepishly. He nodded.
"Flight Instructor Erskin weighs over three hundred pounds. Obviously, your nickname is not accurate."
"No, but it is funny as hell," Wash pointed out cheerfully. "Especially when the whole class started using it."
"Were you not afraid of angering your instructor?"
The flight school graduate grinned. "He's a pilot, too. That means he's got an ego the size of a gas giant and then some, or he'd never get behind the stick in the first place. He laughed as much as the rest."
Another silence. Chiang regarded Wash with a critical eye. "You do not, I see."
The pilot felt a wave of confusion run through him, not for the first time since he walked through the door. "Do not . . . what?"
"You do not have 'an ego the size of a gas giant,'" Chiang smiled. "You use humor to hide the fact that you do not possess a pilot's . . . overwhelming confidence . . . in all things."
Wash thought a minute, and shrugged. "Ba Jiu Bu Li Shi. I can fly anything that's meant to fly, and I can play at being ship's mechanic if you can't find anyone better. That's what I've got. You want gourmet cooking, impressionist art, or juggling geese, you need to keep looking."
Chiang nodded. "That is why . . . Skinny . . . sent you to me. There are few pilots who could learn what I have to teach. He apparently thinks you are one of them." Chiang considered, and nodded again. "And I agree."
Again, there was silence. Wash waited. Finally, Chiang spoke. "Have you ever considered the impossibility of flight?"
Wash looked at him, confused. "Since I'm a pilot, I tend to assume that when I get into a ship, it's going to go up, and hopefully stay there until I decide to bring it back down again. It's not really a good idea for me to think something can't fly."
"That is, of course, understandable," Chiang said in a conversational tone. "But consider this . . . when you look at a spacecraft, or any heavier-than-air vessel, what makes it fly . . . is faith."
"Faith?" Wash's mind spun, and he began to smile. "I've thrown my share of prayers into the black from time to time to keep a bird in the air, but there's a whole lot of science behind getting a ship off the ground and making it stay there."
"And you have faith in that science, correct?"
"Well . . . yes. Of course I do, or I wouldn't climb into the cockpit in the first place."
"And without you, would that ship fly?"
"I'm not the only pilot in space."
Chiang sighed. "Without someone sitting in that chair, holding onto that stick and believing that the ship can fly . . . would it ever get off the ground?"
"Will you hurt me if I mention the autopilot?"
"The autopilot has to be activated, again by someone who believes." He waved two fingers in a gesture that could have meant anything, but Wash instantly knew he was mildly irritated. "Let us stipulate that the ship must be fueled, its engines serviced. Now, please answer my question."
Wash sighed. "Yes. Someone has to believe the ship can fly, or it won't."
The old man nodded, a smile on his face. "Now, that belief is supported by the science of flight, because civilization as we know it has depended on science to explain how the Universe works for over a thousand years. But the belief itself can be strong enough to stand without the science."
Wash felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. "Excuse me, but beliefs should be backed up by facts. Otherwise they're just opinions, and bad ones at that."
"We have already established one fact -- it takes faith to make a ship fly."
"Yes but it also takes a ship!" Chiang looked at him, and Wash felt a sudden need to make the man see reason. "Look, Gladys, Dui Niu Tan Qin, okay? I may be easy-going, but I know how the Verse works. What's real is real, and what isn't, isn't, right? And wind and gravity are real. A man can't fly just by thinking he can, anymore than he can breathe vacuum!" He paused for a second, and a smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Although there have been a few people in my past I'd have liked to see try."
Chiang favored him with a brief smile, but his eyes soon turned serious again.
"Consider the leaf on the wind," he said softly. "It does not think, or feel, or believe. It simply is. It dips, it soars . . . it flies, but only as the winds and gravity command. But if the leaf could think, could feel . . . could believe . . . it could also choose not to do what nature demanded. It could soar when the wind said to dip, or drift when there is no wind at all." His eyes found Wash's and held them, and the pilot could've sworn they flashed with a green fire that came from within. "Mister Washburne, the belief of a determined individual can be stronger than all that is, if only his will is strong enough."
Wash looked at the man for a moment, then shook his head and sighed.
"As entertaining as this conversation is," he said, "I'm afraid I can't agree with you. You're telling me I can do the impossible. I mean, if I had some proof . . . even a little . . . you would have my full and undivided attention. But as much as I love the idea of it, I find it hard to believe I can keep anything in the air just because I want it to fly. In a wrestling match with the Verse, I'm way out of my weight class." Wash gave Chiang a lopsided smile. "Or as my daddy used to say, 'wishing don't make it so.'"
Chiang sighed, closed his eyes, and rose effortlessly to hover several feet above Wash's head. His robes rustled as they drifted downwards, still listening to gravity with the obstinate lack of self-determination that only comes from the most inanimate of objects.
A chill ran through Wash's entire body as the old man floated over him with a serene smile.
"Of course, my daddy was wrong about so many things," the pilot said, his tone almost conversational. "At one point, he actually wanted me to be a ballerina."
Chiang's eyes narrowed. "You mean a ballet dancer?"
Wash shook his head. "Nope, a ballerina. Toe shoes, tights, tutu, sweaty guys throwing me in the air." He shrugged. "What can I say? Dad was always a bit . . . quirky."
"You are a strange man, Mister Washburne."
"Says the guy floating three feet over my head," Wash replied with a grin. "In any case, you have my attention, Gladys. Can you teach me to do that?"
Chiang bowed his head as he drifted back to the hardwood floor. "Sadly, that is not possible. Not in the time we have. It would require many years of dedication and study. But your mind is open to the possibility. I can plant the seeds, and over the years, they may grow. And one day you may find a way to bring the knowledge to the surface . . . when you need it most."
He beckoned Wash to come closer, and pointed to a spot on the floor nearby.
"Come," he said, a smile playing across his lips. "Consider this your . . . graduation present."
Wash dropped into a seated position and smiled back. "Oh, heck, and here I was hoping for a watch. Maybe a really nice fountain pen." Chiang threw him a dark look, and Wash held up his hands. "No, no! Floating is good, too! Really!"
Chiang sighed. "Then let us begin."
When it had finally sunk in that the battle was over, Serenity's crew realized that, for the first time in a long time, they could relax, just a little. So before they started the thankless task of putting their damaged ship -- and their home -- back together again, everyone gathered in the galley. Although the burials had been done and the funeral rockets fired, they all still needed to say goodbye to absent friends.
Surprisingly, the last of the Haven homebrew had made it through the battle intact, and everyone sat and drank and told stories about Book and Wash. Zoe was mostly silent, although she smiled every time someone mentioned her husband, and took another sip of her drink. The impromptu wake went on for hours, but eventually, one by one, the rest of the crew drifted off to bed, leaving only Mal and Zoe.
The silence was almost a comfortable one, but Mal fidgeted a bit, needing to say something but not quite knowing how. Zoe spoke first.
"It's all right, Captain," she said, her voice level and nearly emotionless. "We had to do it. Not just to save River, but to show everyone out there what the Alliance really was." Even though it was unspoken, Mal still heard what Zoe wanted him to hear. 'It's okay, Sir. I don't blame you for Wash's death.'
Mal looked down at the table and spoke into his glass. "For all the times he and I had words, and there was more than a few, you know how I felt about Wash. He was crew. He was family. For all the things he did to try and hide it, he was strong and he was smart. And he could fly like nobody else in the 'Verse. That's . . . that's somethin'." He took a big swallow, and reached over for the bottle for a refill. "I know . . . I know you loved him. And as much as it made my life a hell of a lot more interesting, I was happy for you when you found him -- when you found each other. I just --"
He went silent, and it was Zoe's turn to hear what wasn't said. 'You may not blame me, but I still do.' It was one of the qualities that made her follow him, on the battlefield and off.
For the Captain, there was no such thing as an acceptable loss.
Every man mattered.
And every death under his command killed a little piece of him as well.
'Which is why he left so much of himself behind in Serenity Valley,' she thought sadly.
Zoe put her hand on his and squeezed. Mal looked up, surprised, and she smiled.
"One thing's for sure," she said softly, "my man really could fly. I was surprised he managed to get us down alive, as bad off as Serenity was."
Mal nodded, almost happy to move away from his own sense of guilt. "That's a fact. That pulse weapon took out most of the flight systems. Wash kept us in the air with nothing but his own self to depend on. He saved us all."
The captain shook his head. "He kept sayin', 'I am a leaf on the wind.' As if it meant somethin'." He shrugged. "Maybe it did to him. Whatever it meant, it helped him keep us flying, and turned a crash into a landing."
Mal raised his glass.
"To Wash," he said, looking into Zoe's eyes. "He did the impossible."
Zoe raised her own. "To Wash," she replied, " a hell of a pilot, and one hell of a man."
They drank together, and the silence became right at last.
River listened to the conversation as she lay motionless in the ductwork near the galley door. She didn't actually have to be this close to hear anyone in the crew anymore. Still, she wanted that physical closeness. She wanted to be close, to make her feel like part of them all, even if the others didn't know she was there. She could feel Mal and Zoe in the galley. Even when she was lying in her bunk, their feelings washed over her like warm ocean waves.
She didn't know how she did it. But that didn't matter anymore. Since Miranda, she was able to control it, and it made her closer to everyone here on her ship. This was her home, and these people were her family, and River loved them all. She would do whatever it took to keep them safe -- use whatever it was the Alliance gave her to keep them flying.
Now River had an entire ship full of people to take care of. Not just Simon, but Kaylee and Inara and Mal and Zoe. Even Jayne. Especially Jayne. She frowned, thinking about the things she'd seen him do in the past few days.
'He isn't the man he was,' she thought, reaching out to touch his sleeping mind. 'He fought it every step of the way, but he's changed since we came to Serenity. Jayne's finally getting that this crew is more than a crew, and maybe there are things that matter more than the next paycheck.' She smiled. 'He's growing up. Fun to watch.'
River thought back to what Mal and Zoe has said. Wash really had done the impossible. And for a few seconds there, as the ship fell like a stone, she had felt something change. It was as if Wash had reached out and turned the ship from a hunk of metal into an extension of his will, like a part of him. He just . . . MADE it stay in the air long enough to land safely.
It was impossible. But he had done it, just as she had fought an entire army of Reavers and won.
Somehow, River knew the 'Verse wasn't quite done with Wash yet.
'Maybe I'll see him again,' she thought with a smile. 'Stranger things have happened.'
Wash opened his eyes to find his world totally white. Floor and ceiling, anyway. The walls were either non-existent, or so far away they might as well be. The horizon was nothing more than a grayish blur
'Wherever I am,' he thought with a smile, 'I could really make it big as an interior decorator. These folks know nothing about color . . . let alone furniture.' He grinned. 'I've seen asteroids with more atmosphere than this.'
"Still, talk about your empty canvas . . ." Wash spoke aloud, and stopped. He was expecting an echo, but instead there was nothing. The sound was just swallowed by the vastness of the space. Creepy.
"So much to work with here, too. Lots of empty space. Add some comfy chairs, a few throw rugs, some nice curtains . . . maybe some nice windows to put the curtains on?" His voice trailed off. Wash felt a little panic rising from deep inside. Jokes only went so far, and the last thing he remembered was getting Serenity on the ground and looking over at his wife with pride. There was a sharp pain in the middle of his chest, and then nothing.
"Well, not exactly nothing." He spun around slowly to survey the emptiness. "But close enough, I guess."
"Welcome, Hoban Washburne."
The voice came from behind him, and it seemed familiar somehow. He turned, and saw Chiang floating a few feet in front of him . . . and a few feet above the floor.
"Gladys!" Wash exclaimed happily, and did his best to keep his smile small when he saw Chiang sigh. "What are you doing here?"
"I am doing what I have always done," Chiang said. "Working hard to restore the balance. Harder now, since I passed on."
"Passed on? You're dead?" The older man nodded. Wash grinned. "Well, that explains the huge empty room then. Sort of. Seems a bit sparse for Heaven's waiting room, though, doesn't it? Surely the gods could spring for some furniture, or a few potted plants?"
Chiang smiled. "Does it truly bother you?"
Wash thought for a moment. "Some. I started traveling for the scenery, after all. It feels all sorts of wrong when there isn't any."
There was a long pause, and Wash looked up at the older man. "I'm dead, aren’t I?"
Chiang nodded, his face impassive. "Just so."
The pilot nodded back. "Thought as much."
He walked around in a circle, his mind spinning. "Huh. It's funny. I should feel something, but I don't."
"Partly shock," the other man replied. "Partly because you . . . go on. Humans think of death as such a large transition, it is hard for you to accept that it really happened. You arrive here in the blink of an eye and the big moment becomes barely a bump in the road."
"Almost a letdown," Wash agreed, and then it hit him.
'Zoe.'
After a blank space in time, he found himself curled into a ball on the endless white floor, tears streaming down his face as all of the might-have-beens rolled though his head. Everything he had lost -- all that was taken from him in that instant -- was reduced to one word that echoed in his mind, over and over and over.
'Zoe.'
Wash didn't know how long he lay there, and Chiang said nothing. Eventually, the pilot sat up, still looking into the nothing and seeing all the life he left behind -- and the life he would never get to live.
"It's not quite over, Mister Washburne. You can see her again."
Chiang's words hung in the air, dragging a sliver of hope out of Wash's soul.
"How?" he asked, barely able to breathe. The old man sighed.
"There is a way, but it involves some sacrifice," he replied. "The Verse has been watching you. Serenity and her crew have survived more than their fair share of challenges. But evil waits for them on every moon, in every orbit, and their luck is not infinite. Still, they are good people, in their way --"
Wash blinked. "Have you met Jayne?"
The old man laughed. "Even Jayne has good in him, although he doesn't know it yet. As I was saying, your former crew does more good than harm on their journey, and the Universe has decided that they need to remain in play -- to keep the balance, as it were. River was our first attempt to keep Malcolm Reynolds and his crew alive, and push the captain into remembering what it meant to believe in something, instead of just drifting. But now we believe the crew requires a bigger edge than River alone can provide, even as formidable as she is."
The pilot shook his head, slowly. "What are you saying?"
"That Serenity still needs a pilot," Chiang smiled. "One who can do the impossible . . . once in a while."
Wash's heart skipped a beat -- or it would have, had it still been beating. "Chong Jian Tian Ri! You mean I can go back?"
Chiang raised a hand. "In a way. Your body is dead and buried on that distant planet. But your soul can return, and rejoin the crew. If you're willing."
"Are you kidding? I'm back in a heartbeat . . . so to speak!" Wash bounced to his feet, his smile nearly too wide for his face. "When do I leave?"
"Right now, if you wish." The older man held up a hand. "Time has passed in the world you left, and Captain Reynolds has been looking for a new pilot for months. Fortunately, you were too good to be easily replaced, but he has found a suitable candidate -- and so have we."
"Do it!" Wash's whole body trembled with excitement. 'I get to see Zoe again!' he shouted inside. 'And I get to fly!'
Chiang hesitated. "There is something you should know. The pilot you are about to become . . . the life you are about to enter . . ."
"Oh, come on, Gladys!" Wash fairly bristled with frustration. "I'll pick it up as I go along. How hard can it be? I've always been good at flying by the seat of my pants. 'Leaf on the wind,' remember? Just send me back already!"
"As you wish, Mr. Washburne. Although you may find the seat of your pants to be not quite as familiar as you remember it to be." Chiang smiled. "Your life is about to get very . . . interesting."
Wash felt a twist in his soul, an instant of foreboding.
"Wait a minute," he said, holding up a hand. "Define --"
"-- interesting."
He was in a bar, sitting across a table from Mal, Zoe, and Jayne. It was a spaceport bar, that much he could tell. Loud, grungy, and just two insults away from a brawl. Wash had been here before, he felt sure, but the name of the place floated just outside of his reach. Probably because he was too busy dealing with the rush of differences that washed over him and left him struggling to catch up with his new here-and-now.
His whole body felt wrong -- smaller and lighter, and strangely off-balance. His arms and legs were longer and thinner than what he remembered from his old body. And this body felt way overdue for a haircut.
'Easily fixed,' he thought, trying to get back in control of the situation. With his three former shipmates staring at him, Wash realized what was happening. 'This must be the job interview Chiang talked about -- my ticket back onto the ship. So look friendly and interested already, stupid.' He licked his lips and smiled.
Mal looked happy, Zoe was reserved and skeptical, and Jayne kept staring at him with a hungry look he'd never seen on Jayne's face before. 'At least,' he thought, confused, 'not when he was looking at me.'
"I'm glad our offer interests you," Mal said with a smile. "Every reference we've gotten says you're good, and we need the best."
Zoe spoke then, her eyes never leaving Wash. He could hear the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. "Awfully young, sir."
Mal started, then turned to her. "Well, young, yes, but I figure talent don't need age, just a ship and a place to fly her to."
"Thank you," Wash replied, and stopped. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I hope I can live up to my reviews."
The voice was melodic and higher than he remembered, and suddenly he froze as the pieces started coming together. He remembered Chiang's smile and his parting comments, and the look on Jayne's face suddenly made a hell of a lot more sense.
'Damn you, Chiang,' he thought savagely. Wash tried to look down at the tabletop to hide his feelings from his old crew, but he found his flight suit stuck out a lot more in the chest area than he remembered. A lot more. He sighed, and heard a dry chuckle in his head.
'Think of this as payback for calling me Gladys,' Chiang said. Wash could hear the smile in his voice. 'Although it isn't, really. Linda is the only chance we have to get you back with your crewmates.'
'Is she real? I mean, a real person?'
'Oh, yes. Quite real. She should have died in a shuttle explosion last week, but we diverted her to a different ship and kept her soul in her body as a placeholder until you agreed to take possession . . . so to speak.'
"Well then, Miss Wehr," Mal said, smiling again. "Let's go take a look at your new home, meet the rest of the crew and take her for a cruise. What do you say?"
Wash took a deep breath and watched his chest rise. Jayne watched it, too, and the pilot felt a brief stirring of panic.
'But why a she? Why her? Admittedly I wasn't always a finalist in the Mister Testosterone contest, but still --"
'Because she is our only chance. Our last chance.' Chiang's voice was cool, and Wash heard something there he didn't expect. Worry. 'Because Mal has places to be, and Linda is the last candidate under consideration before he gives up for now and leaves River at the controls. And if you're not there to save them in the next few months, another chance will never come. Serenity and her crew will die in deep space, alone and unremembered -- unless you're behind the stick. Unless you are their pilot.'
'Can't I tell them? I mean, that I'm . . . well, really me?' Wash's mental voice held an edge of desperation. Chiang's voice in reply was understanding, but direct.
'No. At best it would confuse everyone -- make them uncertain about you, the Verse, and everything they know, at a time when they need to be free of doubt, or wind up dead.' Chiang sighed. 'At worst, they could decide you're trying to con them somehow. They would set you loose on some little moon in that body to fend for yourself, and fly off to die without you there to save them.'
Wash noted that everything around him had frozen, as if the world were suspended in the gap between one second and the next. Chiang appeared in front of him.
"The choice is yours," Chiang continued aloud. "You've earned your time on the other side, no question. You could leave this life behind forever, without looking back. Or you could become Linda Rachel Wehr, Serenity's new pilot, and save your friends. Your family. Your wife."
The pilot sighed. "When you put it like that, there's really no choice at all, is there?" His new voice made it more of a question than the statement it was.
The older man nodded. "Not really. Not for someone like you."
He looked at his wife, the woman he loved, and realized things would never be the same between them again. 'But that's okay,' he thought, 'she'll still be alive, and I'll still have her . . . sort of. And how bad can it be, really? I mean, after all, women are human, too, right?' Wash went through his own memories, remembering every woman he'd ever known and ending up with Zoe. The urge to panic rose again. 'Who am I kidding? They're a whole different species!'
"Chiang, I'm not sure I can do this. I've never . . ." The pilot shrugged, struggling with putting his fear into words. "I never understood women when I was a guy, and now you want me to BE one?"
"I know. This was not what you wanted, but it is what it is." Chiang gave Wash a sympathetic smile. "It won't be easy for you, but do not worry. You will have Linda's memories to guide you, at least part of the way. And you will have help on Serenity. You won't be alone, I promise."
The pilot sighed and shook his head, then nodded to Chiang. Chiang nodded back, and vanished.
'So now I'm a she,' Wash thought ruefully. 'Best start thinking of myself as one -- not that I know how, of course, but I'm guessing pronouns would be a good start.'
"Ms. Wehr?" Mal stood up and held out his hand, still smiling. "Are you okay?"
Wash looked up at Mal, smiled back and rose to her feet, trying desperately to ignore the ten million little things her new body shouted at her that screamed "girl." She stuck out her hand.
"Please, call me Linda," she said sweetly. Instead of the strong handshake she remembered, Mal took her hand gently. Wash cringed inside. As they walked towards the door, she watched heads turn, and saw her reflection in the mirror over the bar. Long red hair in a tumbling mess of curls, pale skin, green eyes, and a body with curves not even her flight suit and jacket could hide.
'Damn.' Wash shook her head, feeling the curls bounce. 'She just had to be a knock-out, didn't she.'
Still keeping the smile on her face, she walked a step behind Mal, following him to the exit. Zoe and Jayne fell in behind her.
"Sure like the view," Jayne whispered to Zoe, just loud enough for Wash to hear. She was pretty sure he didn't mean the bar. "And I'm real glad she don't want us to call her by her last name,"
"Why's that?" Zoe's puzzlement was clear in her tone.
Jayne snorted. "Cause then we'd have to go from Wash . . . to Wehr." Wash groaned inside, and Jayne snorted again before breaking off into that deep laugh she'd heard a hundred times before.
'Chiang was right,' Wash thought with a sigh. 'This is going to be . . . interesting.'
'Think of it as turning over a new leaf,' Chiang's voice said before breaking off into a laugh of his own.
'Terrific,' Wash grumbled inside as Mal held the door open for her. 'Now everybody's a comedian.'
Firefly: Connecting Flight | Part 2: Lost Luggage
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Again, here there be SPOILERS, folks! This is a fan fiction set in the Firefly/Serenity universe created by Joss Whedon. It takes place after the events in the television series and the companion motion picture that followed. So since the very premise of the tale reveals something major, PULEEZE please don't read this unless you get the chance to see the series and the movie -- both, in my opinion, some of the best science fiction ever created for the big or small screen.
FIREFLY: CONNECTING FLIGHT
by Randalynn
Chapter 2 -- Lost Luggage
Wash moved through the door with a "thank you" nod to Mal, and climbed the long spiral stairway towards ground level. She was very much aware of how her new hips moved, and how the slight bouncing of her chest with every step pulled just a little on bra straps that tugged her shoulders. Wash could even feel the movement of her hair against her neck and shoulders through the fabric of her flight suit and jacket.
She spent an awful lot of mental energy not thinking about what wasn't between her legs anymore -- almost as much energy as she spent not thinking about what was, now.
But as Wash climbed the stairs, just using her new body made it easier to deal with. By the time she reached the top step, the edge of the newness had almost worn off. She still wasn't happy with the way things had turned out, but at least she didn't hate the way every step made her feel.
'Hell, I'm alive, right?' she said inside. 'Got to be better than dead, even if my skin doesn't quite fit anymore.'
But no matter how many times she repeated it, the words didn't seem to kill the sense of loss Wash felt. She was surrounded by her closest friends in the 'Verse, and yet, she had never felt so alone.
She could almost feel Mal's eyes watching her from behind as she climbed the stairs, but strangely enough, it didn't seem to bother her at all. 'It's okay,' Wash realized, a little surprised. 'After all, Mal's a man -- a good man, but still a man. And men look, especially at a body that looks this good. Hell, if the old me were back there, I'd look -- if Zoe weren't there to catch me, that is.'
The new girl grinned, thinking about the thinly-veiled warnings Zoe would deliver, and the things she'd do in private later to show him why he didn't need to look at other women. The smile faded as she thought of Jayne, and the expression on his face in the bar. Mal would look her over if the opportunity presented itself, but he might feel bad about it afterwards if she caught him at it. If Wash caught Jayne, he'd would probably smile and nod and wink, as if undressing her with his eyes were some kind of bizarre Jayne-ish compliment. Wash could feel him eyeing her from behind with some odd extra sense she knew only women possessed. From past experience, Wash knew the man had no clue about how to be subtle at all, and the weight of his attention was almost a tangible thing.
'I am going to need to do something about Jayne,' she thought with a mental sigh. 'I know damned well he wants me, and he won't touch me unless Mal gives him the okay. And Mal will tell him I'm off-limits if I ask him to. But I also know Jayne will chase me anyway, whether I want him to or not, and I'm still man enough not to want to be chased by any guy, let alone Jayne.'
Wash stopped at the top of the stairs and looked around. Her memory came back in a rush.
'Santo,' she remembered, her smile returning. 'We're on Santo! How Joh Bu Jian! I haven't been here since the week after flight school ended -- that little vacation I took before starting my gig with that transport line. Oh, yes. The gambling . . . the drinking . . . And that was the "Crash and Burn" we just left? Man, I don't remember it being such a dive. I guess I shouldn't be surprised -- a lot of pilots looked for pick-up work there.'
Mal moved around her, muttering an apology, and she quickly stepped aside before Jayne could use her blocking the way as an excuse for a quick brush with girl-flesh -- her girl-flesh. Wash shivered, and hurried to keep up with Mal.
Jayne watched the new girl speed up to walk near Mal and smiled.
'She don't know me yet, but I bet I can make her want to.' He watched her move through the crowded streets with that kind of girlish wiggle that always made Lil' Jayne sit up and take notice. Most unwelcome hands passed her by with Mal so close, acting all grim and purposeful and captainy and such, but a few snaked past to give her a quick pat on her ass before she could avoid them. Jayne could tell it didn't make her happy.
'She ain't gonna be easy,' he thought. 'No Jien Huo, that's for sure. But not Bu Ku Nuhn neither.' He watched her more, wondering what she would be like in bed and finding the idea more than interesting. 'Hell, sometimes a man needs a gorram challenge. And I ain't had me a woman for long enough that I don't much mind working for it.'
Jayne's lips moved into a predator's grin. 'Girl, you just became my newest hobby. Just lay back and enjoy the chase . . . and what comes after. Dohn-mah?'
Zoe wasn't quite sure what to make of the newcomer. On the one hand, she was obviously bright, friendly, and professional. The Captain liked her, which said a lot. And it didn't hurt that she came highly recommended by people she and the Captain could trust.
On the other hand, she wasn't Wash.
Since Wash's death, River had flown the ship, and she was damned good at it. Still, she had always left Wash's seat empty, preferring to fly from the left-hand station. When Simon asked her why, she smiled and replied, "because that's Wash's place, Ghuh. And it always will be." That was one reason Zoe never minded River taking her man's job -- especially when she did so well at the controls.
'But now this redheaded girl was just going to step into Wash's shoes?' Zoe shook her head. It just grated some, is all. It shouldn't be that easy.
She knew it was wrong and unfair, but she couldn't help what she felt. Her husband had been the best pilot in the 'Verse. And Zoe wasn't going to make it any easier for this Hu Li Jing to take his place than she had to. Linda would have to earn that pilot's seat, one way or another.
Zoe would make sure of it.
Wash squirmed again, trying to ignore the hands that kept darting out of the crowd to touch her. As a man, she'd never been subjected to such casual abuse. Women didn't usually go in for recreational groping, as much as the teenaged Wash sometimes wanted them to. But now that he was a she, Wash was discovering how totally uncomfortable and humiliating it was to be trapped in a crowd and fondled without a thought for who she was. She thought about saying something to Mal, but she knew that he might see her as less than she was if she called for help over something a man might see as trivial. As angry as this was making her, Wash thought it might be best to just let it slide. After all, they were almost to the spaceport. It couldn't last too much longer.
'Just let it go,' she repeated to herself. 'Leaf on the wind, right? Rise above it. Nothing but a bunch of jerks, having their fun. It'll be over soon.' For a while, it almost worked.
Then one hand touched, grabbed, and squeezed. HARD.
Wash's anger flared. Without thinking, she reached back, snagged the interloper's hand, and pressed and twisted simultaneously. A teenaged boy fell to his knees at her feet with a yelp of pain, and she looked down at him with a snarl.
"HEY!" she shouted into his face. Mal turned around, surprised at the outburst. Jayne and Zoe stopped in their tracks and stared. "Just because my ass moves around a bit, doesn't mean you get to reach out and grab it, Sah Gwa. What're you, a monkey? Something wiggles and you just have to see if you can catch it?"
A few of his friends stood just a few feet away, shocked into silence by how easily their leader was caught -- and how angry his target turned out to be.
"That's my butt you're messing with, Bei Bi Shiou Ren." Wash twisted the hand again, and the boy whimpered. "Time you saw this body has hands, too -- and knows how to use them."
Tears began to rise in the boy's eyes. The pilot raised her voice and looked up to catch the eyes of the gang members.
"You listen up, all of you! Anyone touches me like that again, and I'll twist something else -- hard enough to break it off, dohn-mah?" She stared at them all and let them see how serious she was. "Dohn-luh-mah?"
The entire gang looked down at their feet and nodded quickly. "Yes, honored miss, donh-mah, donh-mah!"
Wash let go of the leader and pushed him away with her boot. "Kwai Jio Kai. Take a hike." The gang grabbed him as he fell and they all disappeared into the crowd without a backward glance. There was a smattering of applause. Some of the women on the sidelines laughed, while the men eyed her warily and gave the crazy pilot-girl a lot of room.
Wash was breathing heavily, letting the adrenaline burn itself off. 'Hell, was that me? Or Linda? Or both? Either way, it felt good! Damn!' Then she began to realize how dangerous it had been.
Mal approached slowly, not quite sure what to say.
"That was . . . impressive," he said tentatively. "Really . . . something."
Wash shook her head, still shaking a bit. "No, Captain. I really shouldn't have lost my head like that. What if he had a knife or a gun? It's all manner of stupid for me to get myself killed to stop someone from a bit of grab and go." She looked down at the floor and sighed. "The smart thing to do was just ignore it. The whole thing could have gone south real fast."
Mall cocked his head, curious. "If that's how you feel, why'd you do it?"
She looked up into Mal's eyes, her mouth set in a grim line. "Because I got mad. I'm nobody's play toy. I'm a pilot, and a damned good one. If I let them treat me like a piece of meat, they're stealing who I am -- who I worked hard to be. I can't let that slide."
"Ain't wrong to take a stand when you need to." The Captain's voice held a question, even though none was asked. "Sounds like you've had to fight before."
Wash remembered being the smallest guy in flight school, and having to prove himself to the rest of the jocks -- sometimes with his fists, but more often with his quick wit and a ready grin. As she remembered her own history, some of Linda's past slipped through as well, and Wash smiled as the memories washed over her. "I'm a woman and a pilot. Most of my classmates were men." She shrugged. "Sometimes you just have to draw a line and make it stick, or folk will walk all over you. Men folk in particular. Most guys have to be told where the line is, and made to stay on their side of it. Can't help it, goes with the testosterone." She grinned. "Present company excepted, of course."
Zoe stepped up, a smile twitching across her lips. "Oh, don't make an exception for the Captain. He's crossed a few lines in his day, haven't you, Sir? When he thinks a woman's worth all the yellin' and carryin' on that follows."
Mal grinned and then looked away, embarrassed. "That's enough tellin' tales, Zoe."
"Sorry, Sir," Zoe replied, still smiling. "My lips are sealed."
Jayne smirked and snorted, and Mal shot him a look. Then he turned to Wash with a smile.
"Serenity's over this way, Linda," he said. "Best get to the boat so we can see if you fly as good as you fight."
"Sounds good to me, Captain." She smiled and started walking. "Been too long since I broke atmo. Be nice to be in the black again."
Serenity was . . . Serenity. There were a lot of Firefly-class ships out there still, but Wash felt a pull to this particular boat that wasn't quite rational. They'd been through a lot, since he first joined up with Mal and met Zoe, but the connection between pilot and ship had never been stronger.
Now, standing here looking at her through Linda's eyes, she could still feel that connection deep inside. Serenity had missed her, and it almost seemed as if the ship welcomed her back. 'Silly, I know,' Wash chided herself inside, 'but if there wasn't more to the 'Verse than you could see, I wouldn't be here.'
'Of course, I AM inside a body of the wrong sex -- one that Jayne wants to play with.' Wash sighed. 'Just more proof the 'Verse is not perfect, and never will be.'
Hands on her hips, Wash gave her old ship a once over, and what she saw made her sad, just a little. She was shiny, and obviously well-cared for, but there were scars that no amount of care could eradicate, and a tear slipped out and left a trail down her cheek.
"Sorry, baby," she whispered. "I did my best."
Mal turned, not sure what he heard, and found his new pilot with a tear on her cheek.
"Linda?" he asked, his voice tentative. "Are you okay?"
Wash shook her head and smiled. "Yes and no," the girl replied, "She's beautiful but I can see she's been through a lot. I sort of . . . feel her pain, if that makes any sense."
Zoe's voice came from over her shoulder. "What do you feel, exactly?" She turned and found her ex-wife wearing the blank look Wash recognized as her bargaining face. It hid her skepticism from all except those who knew her. Wash shrugged and turned back to Serenity .
"She's been hurt . . . in a crash," she said softly. "Whoever landed her must have been one hell of a pilot. She's been put back together again by folks who care, and it shows. But like every ship that comes back from a crash, there are always scars. And that's . . . well, that's always a shame."
There was a long silence, and with a shrug of her shoulders, Wash started forward, leaving the others behind.
"Now that's downright creepifyin'," Jayne whispered to Zoe. The first mate shrugged.
"Any half-decent pilot can see she'd crashed, Jayne."
"Yeah, but what about the other stuff? Bein' put back together by folks who cared and such?"
Mal stepped in. "It don't sound like she's lyin', so I think she believes it. And since River joined the crew, I'm not exactly willin' to think Linda's crazy because she thinks she can feel the ship's past just by lookin' at her. Wash used to talk to the ship like she was alive all the time. Ain't no different, to my mind."
Zoe gave Mal a dark look, and Mal shrugged. "It just don't seem different to me, Zoe. You got another opinion, fine." Zoe looked at Mal and said nothing.
Jayne backed up a step, then another. 'The one place nobody wants to be is between Mal and Zoe when they's fixin' to argue,' he thought.
The Captain leaned forward, and his voice became sharp. "You may not like it, but we need a pilot -- a licensed one, and that's a fact. River's done fine, but we just managed to dodge having the Alliance take Serenity in tow twice, just 'cause the forged papers we bought on Persephone don't fly as well as River does."
Zoe looked down, biting her lip. "I ain't sayin' we don't need a pilot, Sir. Just ain't too sure she's the pilot we need is all."
"Well, I am," Mal said, watching Linda walk around the ship. "I don't think she's lyin' about what she feels for Serenity , and she seems pleasant enough company. If Kaylee and River like her, and if she lives up to everything I've heard when she takes the controls, she's gonna be flyin' my boat full-time. I don't want to have to worry about you treatin' her as less than one of the crew, just because she's trying to fill Wash's shoes."
Zoe took a deep breath and shook her head. Mal turned his eyes back to Zoe, and she raised her eyes to meet his. He sighed. "I'm not askin' you to bunk with the girl, Zoe. Just don't hold it against her that she ain't him, dohn ma?"
"I'll do my best, Sir."
"Can't ask for more than that," Mal said with a smile. "Your best has always been better than anybody's, and that's a fact."
Zoe smiled back, and Jayne let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. There had been more of these head bumpin' almost-fights since they lost Wash -- both Mal and Zoe were a little rougher around the edges than they used to be. He shrugged. 'Like when Ma and Pa used to almost go at it,' he thought, 'before they moved on to the real fightin' and cussin'. And ain't that a scary place for my mind to be goin'.'
Jayne watched as Mal and Zoe started off to catch up with the new pilot. He shook his head. 'What's past is past, chun zi. Stay in the here and now. Think about the new girl, and how great it's gonna be to have somethin' warm and soft in your bunk for a change.'
Watching Linda as she walked away, a smile grew on Jayne's face, and he moved to follow.
Kaylee stood in the open hatch to the cargo bay and watched the new pilot approach.
'She's pretty, all right,' the mechanic thought, chewing on her lower lip. 'Heck, she's beautiful. All that red hair and those curves and that smile . . . I can see Jayne puttin' on his girl chasing face plain as day from here.' Her heart raced a little faster, and she frowned in distress. 'Damn, she's -- I can't compete with that! She's gonna come on board and see my Simon, and that's gonna be it for lil' ol' Kaylee. One look . . .'
"One look at my brother, and she'll shake his hand and keep her distance," River said from behind her. Kaylee turned quickly, one hand on her mouth, and blushed.
"You didn't say it out loud, mei mei." The younger girl smiled and gave her a quick hug. "But I don't need to be a reader to see what's going through your head." She turned her eyes out to the approaching group. "She's pretty, but Simon loves you. You know that. No other girl is going to steal him from you." Her eyes narrowed, and she grinned. "Especially THAT girl. Trust me, Kaylee, she just wants to be a friend. If you let her. She could use a friend right now."
After another quick hug, River looked into her friend's eyes. "And you're beautiful too, you know."
"Oh, I ain't." Kaylee shook her head and turned away from the hatch. "I'm just me. Nothin' special to look at."
"Somebody needs a mirror," River sang in a teasing voice. Kaylee blushed deeper. "Besides, Simon loves you for you. All of you. What's outside and what's in. That's what matters."
"River's right, Kaylee."
Kaylee turned and found Simon standing behind her. She looked up at him with a small smile. "About what?"
"About everything." He smiled down at her. "That's part of what makes her so annoying sometimes, don't you think?"
River grinned, stuck her tongue out at Simon.
"I love you, too, big brother," she said, then turned and did a perfect set of cartwheels clear across the cargo bay, leaving the two lovers alone. Kaylee's eyes turned back towards the hatch, and Simon stepped forward and put his arms around her.
"I've already found the girl I love," he said, the look on his face making her melt. "And nobody's going to take me from her, or her from me -- not without a fight."
"You say the nicest things," Kaylee murmured, her lips pressed against his.
Simon kissed her quick and grinned. "I've been practicing."
Her eyes opened wide and she slapped him hard on the arm. "Hey! You ain't supposed to tell a girl that!"
"Well, remember how my mouth managed to get me into trouble with you before, on that commerce station . . . with the 'alien' cow?" Kaylee tried to wriggle out of Simon's arms, but he held her tight and looked into her eyes. "I think I'm smart enough to figure out I need a little help in the romance department once in a while, so . . . I think ahead a little. Because I love you, and you deserve romance."
Kaylee looked up and saw Simon's smile, and her resistance slipped through her fingers. "Awwwww, that's sweet." Then she frowned a little. "Did you practice that one up, too?"
"No," Simon replied as he bent to kiss her, "Just came up with it right now. Inspired, honest."
"Good. I like inspirin'. Let's do some more." Their lips met and the rest of the world slipped away . . . until Mal made his presence known by tromping heavily up the cargo bay entry ramp. They separated slowly and turned to see the new pilot silhouetted against the spaceport skyline, bracketed by the Captain, Jayne, and Zoe.
"Oh hell, you two, get a room," Jayne growled, then stopped and grinned. "Oh wait! That's right, you already got one." He leaned against the door frame and smirked. "But if you two want to get to ruttin' right here, I ain't about to stop you. 'Bout time we had some in-flight entertainment on this boat. Maybe we could even get the new girl to join in."
For an instant, Zoe felt embarrassed that Jayne would be . . . well, Jayne . . . in front of an outsider. But then she remembered that Linda might wind up crew, and maybe it was better for her to see Jayne in all his "glory" before thinking about signing on. She kept silent.
Mal, on the other hand, didn't want the new pilot driven away. "Jayne!" he growled, shooting him a look that should have pinned him to the spot. Jayne just smiled back, although the wattage in his grin seemed to dim a bit.
Wash shook her head, and Mal looked at her. "Remember what I said before, Captain, about some men forgetting where the line is?" She walked over to stand in front of Jayne and looked up into his smirk. "Mister Cobb here seems like the type that needs reminding more than most."
"Ain't that a fact," Zoe said under her breath.
"Aw, heck, sweetie," Jayne replied, looking down the front of Wash's flight suit, "Let's not be so formal. You can call me Jayne. Mister Cobb was my father."
"Really?" Wash leaned forward, eyes wide. "Then maybe we should send him a wave, so he can give you a crash course in female anatomy. Obviously, he missed a few things when you were growing up. I'll give you just a small lesson for now, though." She reached out with a finger and shoved his chin upward until they were face to face. "When you're talking to a woman, her eyes are up here!"
"Well, yeah," the mercenary said, still smiling, "but even as pretty as yours are, they ain't half as much fun to look at while you're jawing. Or any other time for that matter." He moved his face closer to hers, and she could see he didn't care what she thought. "And as for learnin' 'bout a woman's body, I already know how all the pieces fit. But if you really want to show me somethin', I do better with 'hands on' trainin'." He looked down into her flight suit again, and his fingers twitched.
"Jayne!" Mal's voice held an anger Jayne knew better than to ignore. "Walk away now, or they'll be pickin' pieces of you up off the ground from here to the control tower once we lift. I'll throw you into the engine myself. And you know that's a fact."
Jayne looked into Mal's eyes, and what he saw there was truth. Still, he wasn't about to look shy in front of the new girl, so he snorted, turned and walked slowly towards the stairs to the crew quarters. He stopped, turned and gave Wash's whole body a long looking over. Then he looked into her eyes and grinned. "If . . . anybody . . . wants me, I'll be in my bunk."
Then he turned and started climbing the stairs.
Wash suddenly had the weirdest feeling -- a cross between wanting to slowly roast the man over the plasma exhaust, and not being able to take her eyes off of his bottom as Jayne climbed the stairs. The mixed signals between soul and body made her head hurt, and she turned away and clenched her fists, trying to regain control.
'An Fen Shou Ji,' she thought angrily. 'Stop acting like a . . . a . . . just stop it! I may have to live this way, but there are lines Mrs. Washburne's little boy is not going to cross any time soon. Men? Maybe, someday . . . when pigs fly. I like sex too much to just sit it out for the next ninety years. But if there's any man in this 'Verse I'm NEVER getting moon-eyed over, it's Jayne Neanderthal Cobb!'
Mal saw Linda turn away, looking like she was trying to regain control of her temper. He saw how Jayne treated his orders, and decided he needed a little one-on-one time with his head of "public relations."
"Zoe, make some introductions and show Linda around," Mal said, his tone sharper than he'd like. He flashed Linda a tight smile and turned back to Zoe. "I need to have a few words with Jayne."
"Understood, Sir."
As Mal barreled up the stairs after Jayne, Kaylee stepped forward.
"Hi! I'm Kaylee!" She reached out a hand and gave Wash's a squeeze. "I'm the ship's mechanic. And this is Simon Tam, the ship's doctor."
Wash smiled. She had always liked Kaylee. Simon, too -- both sweet kids. "Hey! Two folks who fix things, machines and people. Now there's a match made in Heaven." As Kaylee blushed and Simon looked down, Wash gave the mechanic's hand a squeeze in return. "I'm pleased to meet you both." She turned and shook the doctor's hand as well.
"Sorry about Jayne," Kaylee said. "He's usually not this . . . direct."
Zoe shook her head. "I've seen him chasing women before. Remember at the Heart of Gold? This is usually the way he . . . catches the ones he wants." She shrugged. "With girls, he likes using a sledgehammer to rip down a rice paper wall."
"Maybe in a whore house, sniffing after a doxy . . . or two," Kaylee replied, uncertain. "But this is home, Zoe. He's teased me a little from time to time, but he's never done that with any of the crew before."
The first mate gave Wash a cool look. "Still hasn't -- yet."
Wash saw the distance in Zoe's eyes and looked away. 'God, it hurts when she looks at me like that. Like I mean less than nothing to her.'
"No, Zoe. Kaylee's right." Simon frowned. "He's usually more . . . civilized than this, especially with us, and especially around Mal. Most of the time, what he lacks in social skills he makes up for just being crude -- but I thought Mal had some kind of influence over him. Enough to keep him at least pretending to be a regular human being."
Wash thought back to when she was a he, and impressing a woman put every other consideration on the back burner. "Sometimes when a guy decides he wants a girl, he checks his brains at the door and lets other body parts think for him," she said. "Jayne seems like the type who lets his body do the thinking more often than not."
Zoe gave it a bit of thought, then dismissed it. "Not our problem right now," she said briskly. "Captain will set it right. He always does. Right now, I've got my orders. Ms. Wehr, if you'll come with me?"
Kaylee put her arm through Wash's. "Linda will come with us," she announced, giving the first mate a dark look. Forgetting her earlier worries, she handed Linda off to Simon with a smile. "Why don't you take her down to the engine room, Simon. That's the best place to start a tour, at least when I'm the one givin' it. I'll be right with you."
Slightly confused, Simon nodded. Wash gave Kaylee a look over her shoulder, and Kaylee nodded happily at her before she disappeared with her man into the depths of the ship. Then she turned on Zoe with a ferocity that took the first mate totally by surprise.
"Honestly, Zoe, why're you're being so gorram mean?" The mechanic put her hands on her hips and thrust her face forward. "The Captain wants her on the crew, and anybody can see she's sweet as a strawberry sundae, but you're treating her like a redheaded stepchild that's been sprayed by a skunk and wrapped in your best dress. That girl could be family, maybe, someday -- if she don't run for the hills 'cause of the first impression you're givin' her. What's wrong with you?"
Zoe set her jaw and wisely said nothing. Kaylee's eyes widened. "You want to drive her away? What the hell for?" There was a long silence as Kaylee figured it out. Then all of the emotion drained from her face, except for a disapproval so powerful that Zoe could feel it across the cargo bay. Her next words cut deep.
"Captain would be disappointed in you. Wash would, too. I know I am."
Shaking her head, Kaylee turned away and started walking towards the back of the ship, leaving the first mate to think about what it meant to disappoint the Captain -- and what her husband would really think about the way she was acting.
"Jayne, what the hell were you thinkin'?" Mal stepped into Jayne's room with murder on his mind and stopped short. Jayne was sitting on his bunk, and from the look on his face, he was thinking harder than any other time Mal had ever seen the mercenary think.
"Somethin' about that girl ain't right," he muttered, then looked up at Mal.
"You think the girl ain't right?" The captain was stunned. "You're the gorram idiot who insulted her in front of a whole mess a new people!"
"Insulted?" Jayne looked up at the captain, his confusion evident. "Damn it, Mal, I was tryin' to court her. Usin' my best stuff, too. She shoulda jumped me before I took two steps out of the bay." He shook his head. "That girl ain't right."
"Are you brain-blown? You expected her to jump you?" Mal shook his head in disbelief. "She's ain't a whore, Jayne. She's a professional pilot, and a damned good one. She ain't gonna start chasin' you around the cargo bay in the middle of a job interview, even if she is interested, which believe me, she ain't."
"How do you know?"
"'Cause I saw her looking mad enough to chew a hole through the hull when you walked off."
"Dammit, Mal, why would she be mad?"
It suddenly got real quiet, and Mal realized Jayne's social skills might actually not be up to dealin' with a woman as more than a sex toy. "Because you treated her like a whore, Jayne. Whores jump when you tell them you want 'em 'cause there's a stack of credits waiting when your wanting them is through. But women in general . . . well, women are people, Jayne. They need to know you think of them as more than warm things to play with. They need respect." Mal sighed and shook his head. "Jayne, you never treated Kaylee the way you treated Linda just now, did you?"
"Hell, no, Mal!" Jayne looked confused. "That'd be like tryin' to make time with my sister!"
"Or Zoe?"
He snorted. "Come on! She'd KILL me!"
"Or Inara?"
"YOU'D kill me!"
"Gorram right, I would. Inara would, too. You treat most any woman we come across the way you treated Linda, you'd be dead before you hit the ground."
Jayne stopped, and squinted at Mal. "If that's true, why ain't I dead yet?"
"Maybe 'cause you're lucky," Mal replied. "Maybe 'cause Linda was way too busy interviewin' to kill you. Keep at her like that, though, and I reckon she'll find the time soon enough. And if she don't, I most certainly will."
Jayne sat heavily on his bunk, pulling down the blanket that covered his collection of weapons. "Well, ain't that shiny. We got a new girl comin' aboard and I'm already humped." Mal smiled, and Jayne looked up and scowled. "You know I don't mean it like that! I mean she needs the kind of courtin' I can't do."
"Jayne, you're a grown man," the captain said slowly. "You tellin' me you never courted a woman before?"
"Oh, I tried," Jayne growled, staring at the floor. "Never got nowhere with any of 'em. I guess now I can figger out why."
"Didn't nobody ever teach you how?"
"Daddy ran off long before I started noticing how much better girls looked with curves." Jayne stood up and walked over to the desk. He picked up a holo of his family. "Ma sure didn't want to teach me how to catch a girl. Get her in trouble, that's one more mouth to feed. So when I got out and started seeing the 'Verse on my own, I had to figger out how to catch a girl -- and what to do with her when I caught her."
"Oh? How's that working out?" Mal managed to keep the smirk from his face, but Jayne heard a touch of it in his voice.
"Now that ain't fair, Mal! I do the best I can. It just ain't . . . all that good is all. At the catching part, anyway. Never got no complaints about what happens after, least from the whores I could catch." He snorted and put down the picture of his family. "This ain't about getting sexed, Mal. The kind of work I do, I never expected to settle down or nothin', least not 'til somebody settled me with a bullet or two. But suddenly, it's a few years later, and I ain't dead. And things start to look a mite different when you start thinkin' about the future -- specially when you thought you'd never have one."
He stared at the far wall, looking at nothing at all. "I seen what Zoe had with Wash, and what Kaylee has with the Doc, and I started wondering what it would be like to be with a woman who wanted me instead of my cash."
"I started thinkin' it woulda been nice to have the chance someday, if I stayed alive long enough." Jayne shrugged. "But if I can't even talk up a reg'lar girl without shootin' myself in the foot, I got nothin' to look forward to but a hole in the ground and some words from a preacher. If I had somebody to show me when I was growing up, maybe . . ." He drifted into silence, shaking his head. "But now? No chance at all."
Mal saw that this was really somethin' bothering the mercenary. 'Jayne may not be much, but he is crew,' he thought, 'and to be fair, he did stand up without a thought for coin when we fought the Reavers and the Alliance to let the 'Verse know about Miranda. He's a hell of a lot better than he was when he first came aboard, and that's a fact.'
'If I help him get together with Linda and she takes a shine to him, he might actually be a mite easier to manage. Anything that makes Jayne behave himself is fine by me. And it'll keep the new pilot from strayin' off the boat if they hit it off.' His lip twitched, and he scratched an ear to hide it. 'Kept Wash here right enough.'
Mall took a deep breath and scratched the back of his head.
"Well, I wouldn't say no chance, exactly," he said, letting a little reluctance creep into his voice. "I mean, if you go back and tell her you're sorry -- and really mean it -- she might let it go, just this one time."
Jayne thought for a second and shook his head again. "It's no good, Mal. Even if I fixed it now, I'd just make a mess of it again later, you know that."
There was a long silence, then Mal spoke.
"What if you didn't?"
Wash followed Kaylee from the engine room on forward, remembering all of the good things that had happened on this ship in her past life. Every room held its own memories, and as she drifted behind the mechanic, she almost felt as if she was touching her past with her fingertips as she moved through Serenity .
Simon excused himself when they reached the infirmary, after getting Linda's authorization to access and download her medical records over the Cortex if the captain gave her the final okay to join the crew. He also mentioned something about scheduling a complete physical as soon as possible once they were on their way. As Ship's Doctor, her health was his responsibility, and she could see he took it seriously.
Wash nodded numbly with a wooden smile, eyeing the collapsed stirrups under the exam table with a barely suppressed sigh.
As they left Simon behind, Kaylee nudged her with a shoulder and gave her a little smile. "Looked like the idea of getting squeezed, poked, and prodded don't quite set right with you."
Wash ducked her head and gave the mechanic a small grin. "Does it ever?"
"Well, you don't need to worry," Kaylee said, giving her a small hug and an understanding smile. "Simon's really good at what he does. Won't hardly hurt at all. And he's got a gentle touch when it counts the most."
The pilot shivered and then tried to put it out of her mind.
When they reached the dining area, she stood looking at the well-worn table, with its homelike touches and its mismatched chairs. Wash remembered all the happy meals that had been shared there, as Kaylee went on about how everyone usually ate together.
"Sometimes it's loud, sometimes it ain't," she said with a cheery smile, "but it's almost always a good time. Like eatin' with family. 'Course, when you're out in the black as much as we are, crew is family."
Wash felt a pang of sadness, thinking about Zoe and the family she had wanted so badly to start. She had pushed so hard against it, but Zoe had finally begun to win her over. She had even started thinking about what it would be like to raise a son or daughter and show them how to fly.
Then the Alliance started pushing harder for River. Then came Miranda, and then came Wash dead -- and Zoe's hopes for a baby went with him.
Kaylee saw the pain flit across Linda's face, and immediately thought, 'Oh, no what did I say?'
She reached out and touched the new pilot on her arm.
"Are you okay?" She asked, her voice full of concern.
Wash felt a tear roll down her face, then another one. "Just thinking about family," she said, her voice trembling. "I lost mine recently. Sure would be nice to find another one."
"Well, once the captain says yes, you'll have one here," Kaylee said firmly, taking Linda into her arms and giving her a hug. "I could always use another sister."
Suddenly the whole situation landed on Wash's back with an almost audible thump -- everything that had happened to her since Chiang pushed her into Linda's body down at the Crash and Burn. Seeing how Zoe felt about her now, trying to get used to being female, her whole past life gone -- it all just caught up with her, and tears just started flowing from her eyes. She did everything she could to hold it all back, but the crying quickly turned to sobs, and Kaylee just hugged her until it finally wound down.
"Okay now?" the mechanic asked, letting the new girl loose. Wash just nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed. Kaylee smiled. "You must have had a whole lot of sad in you to make you just start bawlin' like that."
Wash nodded again. "I did, and I'm sorry." She sniffled a little and rubbed her eyes. "Thanks a lot, Kaylee. I feel so silly."
Kaylee shook her head. "Oh, don't go worryin' about a few tears. A girl needs a good cry sometimes. And keeping you company while you cry is a sister thing." She patted Wash on the arm. "I thought I'd get a head start on being yours."
The pilot gave her a quizzical look, and Kaylee grinned. "I'm thinkin' the captain's gonna give you that pilot job if I've gotta give him puppy eyes for a week straight. You, girl, need a family, and we need you. So come on, let me show you where you're gonna stay. It was my old room before I moved in with Simon."
The mechanic stopped and turned. "But before we head out, you deserve to know why Zoe's treatin' you so mean. I need to tell you about Wash -- the man who used to fly this boat. He was a great pilot, and a good friend." She took a deep breath. "And he was also . . . Zoe's husband."
Wash stood in the doorway to the cockpit, staring at the place she used to call home. Kaylee had run off to find the captain, to see if he was ready for Linda's "maiden voyage" piloting Serenity . Was wasn't even sure she was ready, but she wanted to be back at those controls, and she needed to be out in the black.
'I need something familiar,' she thought, moving slowly towards her old flight station. 'After all I've been through, I need the feel of Serenity slicing through atmo. Shake the dust off my boots and touch the sky again.'
Wash touched the control panel, and a wave of longing moved through her, almost bringing the tears back again. She blinked them back, and then she saw what she never thought she'd see, so many months after the crash.
Two plastic dinosaurs, standing right where she left them so long ago, with a few plastic palm trees.
Her dinosaurs.
The tears threatened to fall again, as she reached out to touch the Tyrannosaurus Rex. Just as the tips of her fingers touched it, a voice came from above.
"Don't even think about playing with them, 'girlfriend,'" it said, the smile in its tone coming through loud and clear. "That's a 'dead' giveaway, don’t you think?"
Wash looked up to see River perched on an overhead girder, grinning from ear to ear. She lowered herself slowly to the deck next to the secondary console, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
"You know you need to be careful, 'Linda,'" she said playfully. "You don't want anything coming out in the 'wash,' right?"
Slowly, what River had been saying sunk in, and Wash's mouth dropped open. 'She knows! She knows it's me!'
"Of course I know who you are." River's eyes twinkled as she looked at the pilot. "You're family."
Then, without warning, River stepped forward, threw her arms around the new girl, and gave her a big hug. After a second of confusion, Wash returned it as best she knew how, and she felt River stand on tiptoe and give her a small kiss on the cheek.
"Welcome home, Hoe-bann," she whispered, still smiling. "It's good to have you back."
Firefly: Connecting Flight | Part 3: Boarding Pass
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SPOILER WARNING for you non-Browncoats, so enter at your own risk! This is a fan fiction set in the Firefly/Serenity universe created by Joss Whedon. It takes place after the events in the television series and the companion motion picture that followed, so you kin be sure it's chock full of spoilery goodness.
Wash finds an unexpected ally . . . but don't take my word for it, go on in and start readin'!
FIREFLY: CONNECTING FLIGHT
by Randalynn
Chapter 3 – Boarding Pass
Wash pulled back from their hug just enough to look into River's eyes. "Will I regret asking you how you knew?"
"After what you've been through, I doubt you'd be surprised," she replied with a smile. "You know I see things others don't. Mal calls me a 'reader,' and he's partly right. For all of the 'Linda Wehr' stuff flowing through your head, I can see you're still you where it counts."
"I think Zoe would disagree." Wash threw her a grin as River broke the hug and wandered back to the secondary flight station, her movements almost like a dance. "Some of the best parts of me never made it through baggage claim when I checked in on this crazy flight."
"I meant your soul, Sah Gwa." She curled her whole body up in the chair like a cat and peered at Wash with eyes that knew too much – and weren't afraid to let you see it. "I think Zoe would agree that's the most important part of you."
"If she knew it was in here, maybe." Wash sighed. "But if she gives me another look like she just scraped me off her shoe, I'll start crying all over again." She lowered herself cautiously into her own chair, feeling how her hips met the seat and balanced uneasily. "Maybe it's the stress, but I haven't cried this much since . . . well, since never."
"You have a lot to deal with right now," River said, as still as a statue. "This can't be easy for you. Part of the problem is that you're dealing with a whole new set of hormones, in a body you're not used to. The other part is, you've always been a strong personality. After everything that's happened to you, you're still you inside."
"And this is a bad thing?" Unconsciously, Wash bit her bottom lip, and River hid the smile that threatened to creep out. 'Gods, she looks so cute when she does that. Poor Wash.'
"Yes, it is," she said softly. "You can't afford to cling too tightly to what you were, Wash. You have to change, to do the job they sent you here to do."
Wash went pale. "How did you know I was sent?"
River gave her the "how can you doubt me" look – something Wash had seen a thousand times before. "I can hear you thinking, remember? You've been cursing someone named Chiang in the back of your head ever since you came on board, and I've caught pieces of your previous conversations with him. I know you're here to save everyone – and that you came back just for that. Pretty brave, fly boy."
She unfolded herself from the chair and stepped up on the console, walking among the controls with a dancer's precision. "But with the brave choice comes a price. You need to learn to be Linda as well as Wash in order to do what you were sent to do. That's not going to happen unless you let go of some of what you were and accept what you've become."
"Are you kidding? This body reminds me every time I take a step." Wash looked down at herself, but couldn't see past her chest. She shuddered. "Believe me, I know what I am now."
"Not nearly as much as you should, 'girlfriend.'" River cocked her head, then held up a hand and performed a perfect back flip that left her standing in front of the second console. Wash looked confused, and the younger girl smiled.
"Company coming, 'Linda,'" she whispered, putting a finger to her lips. "I think it's time to prove what a great pilot you are all over again. We'll talk more later."
An instant later, Wash heard Kaylee's voice coming down the corridor. "I went from one end of this ship to the other, and I find you both in the Captain's cabin, not twenty feet from the cockpit. What were you all doin' in there, anyway?"
Kaylee went through the cockpit door, followed by Mal and Jayne together. Wash felt her anger began to rise again, and stood up as they walked in. Jayne shot a look at Mal, and Mal nodded.
'What the hell was that about?' Wash wondered inside, and when Jayne turned to look at her, she almost gasped.
He looked . . . sorry.
"I . . . I juss wanted to tell ya I'm sorry for the way I acted in the cargo bay," Jayne stammered. He looked everywhere in the cockpit but at her, and Wash realized that, since he was taller than she was, Jayne was doing everything he could NOT to look down at her cleavage. "I didn't treat you right before, and I'm sorry. I ain't gonna do it again." His eyes flickered over to Mal, and Wash saw the captain nod, just a fraction of an inch. Jayne fidgeted a second, then stuck out his hand.
"Let's start over," he said, staring straight into her eyes. "Welcome aboard."
Over Jayne's shoulder, Kaylee looked like she'd been hit by lightning. Wash looked down at Jayne's hand, not sure what to do. But the mercenary seemed sincere, and she'd been brought up to be polite, so she reached out and took his hand, then gave it a firm shake.
"Thank you," she said with a smile. "Apology accepted."
Jayne broke into a big grin, and pumped her hand enthusiastically.
"Thank you!" he said, and didn't stop until Mal laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, just a little. Then Jayne let go of the pilot and took a step back.
There was an awkward silence.
"So," Mal said, his lip twitching as if trying to hold back a grin. "Kaylee tells me you're ready to show us what you can do."
"Yes, sir, Captain sir!" Wash didn't bother to hold back her smile. She dropped into the pilot's chair as if it had been made for her, and started flicking switches. "Are we going somewhere special, or is it once around the park and home in time for supper?"
Mal couldn't hold back his own smile in the face of the girl's enthusiasm, and he shook his head. "We've got a pickup on Yoshimasa's Skyplex. One of the crew you haven't met yet." He bent his head and scratched his ear, slightly embarrassed. "Well, not crew exactly. But family, anyway."
"She's a registered Companion," Kaylee piped up, "lives and works in one of Serenity's shuttles. I had to overhaul both of 'em – so many parts needed replacin', they'd fall right outta the sky if you looked at 'em funny – so we dropped her there to meet a client."
"Any problems with havin' a Companion aboard, Linda?" Mal looked down at the pilot, still deep in pre-launch prep.
"No, Captain," she replied, giving him a quick smile before going back to the checklist. "A Companion is just another professional, and if you say she's family, then I'm sure she's good people. Like everybody else I've met here so far." Jayne smiled, just a little.
"What are you doing in that chair?" Zoe's voice cut across the cockpit like a razor ripping through a bolt of silk, and Wash sighed.
"Well, almost everybody," she said under her breath, but Mal was close enough to hear.
"She's about to fly us over to pick up Inara at the Skyplex." Mal said, turning his head and giving Zoe a look she thought he only reserved for Jayne. "Is there a problem, Zoe?"
Zoe pulled up short. The captain's voice was colder than she'd ever heard it, and it took her only a fraction of a second to figure out the why. With a shock, she realized that Kaylee was right. She was disappointing the Captain. And she didn't like the way it made her feel at all.
Everything she had been doing was making his job harder instead of easier, and that's not what a first mate is supposed to do. Let alone a friend.
'And Wash, too,' she thought with an inner sigh. 'Wherever he is, he must be disappointed in me. He wouldn't even treat Jayne the way I've been treating her.' She took a deep breath. 'I've been a real jien ren, and that's a fact. Maybe it's time I stopped.'
"No, sir," she said aloud, deliberately making her voice warm and friendly. "No problem at all. I'm looking forward to seeing Linda fly."
The pilot turned, surprised to the point of speechlessness. Zoe looked back at the girl, sitting there in her husband's chair. That Linda should be so shocked at such a small kindness on Zoe's part made the woman feel even more ashamed of the way she had behaved.
Wash knew something in Mal's voice had made Zoe re-think what she had been doing to the new girl, and she silently thanked the captain. Then she looked into her ex-wife's eyes, and her own eyes filled with gratitude.
"Thank you," she said simply. "I only hope I can live up to the pilot who came before me. Kaylee told me how much he meant to you all, and how good he was. I know it's hard to see me in his chair. But I want you all to know . . . I can fly this ship for you, and be a part of this crew if the Captain says. But I know I can never replace him. And that's the way it should be."
Zoe could see the truth in the young girl's eyes across the compartment, and her heart softened. She looked back at the young pilot and gave her a small smile. Wash remembered that smile from their time together, just yesterday and yet so long ago – the smile that said "I've been an idiot, but I see that now, and we'll just move on from here, 'kay?"
"Sorry," Zoe said softly, and her eyes shifted from Linda to Mal. "I'm sorry."
Mal gave her a smile, and she felt that knot in her chest ease up, just a little.
"What's past is past," he said, "and no harm done."
He turned to the pilot. "Call for clearance and let's see what you've got, Linda. We're burnin' daylight and the black is calling."
"Yes, sir, Captain, sir," Wash replied, heating up the comm and reaching for the mike. "We'll be offworld so fast, it'll take a minute before the dirt even knows we're gone."
Linda handled the ship like the professional she was, dealing with spaceport control and leaving atmo with an ease that impressed everyone, even Zoe. The orbital shift and reorientation for the Skyplex was as smooth as anything they'd ever seen Wash do, and when they received clearance and slid into their docking port, it was pretty clear Serenity would have a new pilot before they headed off into the black again.
Soon everyone had left the cockpit, heading for the cargo bay door. Mal turned and gave the pilot a smile.
"Welcome to the crew," he said. "That was mighty fine flyin' just now."
"Thank you, Captain." Wash fairly glowed inside. 'I got the job!'
The captain grinned. "Don't thank me yet. Now comes the hardest part of the job – stayin' behind. Most everyone has somethin' they need to get done here on the station, but somebody's got to stay with the ship when she's not movin', and that usually means you. Sometimes, we might need to make a quick exit from an . . . uncomfortable situation, and so it's always a good idea to have you here. Any problem with that?"
"No, sir," Wash said, shutting down a few nonessential systems and sitting back in her chair. "I'll keep Serenity company while you're gone."
"Good girl. Won't be long." With a smile, the captain turned and left Wash alone, wondering why she suddenly felt like a border collie.
"In some ways, the Captain sees the world in simpler terms," River said from behind her, causing her heart to skip a beat. "Women are girls or ladies just as easily as they are women or women folk, although he'll make an effort to accommodate you if it bothers you too much." Wash turned and Rived smiled. "Of course, for you, every term for what you are now bothers you. A lot. You've been doing your best not to show it, but I can see it in your head."
"Don’t you have something to do on the Skyplex?" Wash asked, not anxious to continue the earlier discussion.
"Nothing as important as I need to do here," River replied, reaching out to touch the pilot's arm. "We need to talk."
Wash pushed herself to her feet. "We probably do, but I'm not sure I can deal with it right now."
She walked into the corridor. The room closest to the cockpit was hers now. She stopped and looked at the faded sign on her door – Kaylee's name in a girlish hand, with flowers and such. It made her smile, just for a minute.
"Kaylee could probably make a sign for you." River had come up behind her, speaking softly. "If you're uncomfortable with adding all the feminine frills and such. She'd do it just to make you feel welcome, 'Linda.' You know that."
Wash pushed the door in and climbed the built-in ladder down into her room. It still smelled just like Kaylee – all soap and engine grease, with a touch of strawberry. There were a few things Kaylee had left here, probably until the room was needed by a new crewmember. Over on the far wall, Wash could see that dress she wore to the shindig – the one all covered in ruffles of one sort or another. She remembered how happy Kaylee had been to get that dress, and to be escorted by Mal in his fine suit. The thought made her smile.
Wash turned and suddenly found herself face to face . . . with herself. She stared into a full-length mirror on the wall near the ladder. The glimpse of her new body in the mirrors over the bar at the Crash and Burn had been brief – partly because she was walking towards the exit, and partly because she didn't want to look too closely at what she had become.
This girl . . . this woman was beautiful. It took Wash by surprise – the mane of red curling hair, the bright green eyes, the full red lips. Her eyes followed the lines of her new form, and she turned sideways, fascinated as Linda's reflection followed her every move.
'That's me,' she thought, watching her reflection spin around slowly. 'Or rather, that's not me. I look at her and I want to buy her a drink. But where the hell am I in that mirror?' She stared, looking deep into those unfamiliar eyes, and shook her head. 'Gone, now. Almost gone.'
"You're not gone," River said, sliding down the ladder into Wash's room. "I told you, you're still you where it counts."
"But I'm not me," Wash snapped, sadness and frustration turning to anger. She turned toward River and pointed at the mirror. "I'm her! And I don't know how to be her! I've never been a 'her' before, River, and I never wanted to be one. But here I am, a real live 'her' – and a sexy 'her', too! So how am I supposed to 'accept' this? How am I supposed to 'accept' being something I'm not?"
River sighed. "This is what I wanted to talk with you about. You do pretty well in front of the captain and the crew, but I can feel it eating at you all the time, under the surface. You're trying to deny what already is."
"Deep inside, you feel like being a woman is wrong," she said sadly. "Or a punishment. And you're trying to fight it every step of the way. Or ignore it, which is worse – because in the end, you can't."
Wash shook her head. "I'm not saying that being a woman is bad. I love women. The 'Verse has always been a more interesting place because it's got women in it. It's just – it's just not me! I just can't get my head around it. I mean, I'm not a woman . . . but I am. I'm in here, inside this body. It's like wearing someone else's pressure suit. I can feel it, all around me, every move, every breath – but it's not me. And I can't take it off, not ever." She looked at River in frustration. "It's not me!"
The younger girl eyed her critically, running through Wash's thoughts and trying to figure out where to do next. She nodded and stood up.
"Come here." Confused, Wash stood up slowly and took a step towards River. "Okay. You trust me, don't you?" The new girl nodded, and River smiled. "Good. Now, listen. I'm going to ask you to do something, and I want you to do it immediately, without thinking about it, okay?"
Wash nodded again, and River stared into her eyes and said, "Take off your jacket and open the top of your flight suit."
The pilot shrugged off the jacket and threw it on a chair, then pulled the zipper on her flight suit down to her waist. The gap revealed pale white skin and a pale green bra. Wash did her best not to look. River nodded. 'About how I imagined she'd react,' she thought, keeping her face expressionless.
"Take your arms out of the sleeves." Wash complied, revealing slender arms with a touch of well-formed muscle. The flight suit bunched around her waist, and River saw her nipples rise through the fabric of the bra from the cool air.
"Now," she said, never breaking eye contact. "Take your breasts in both hands and hold them."
Shocked, Wash reached up and laid both hands on top of her chest. She barely touched herself, and her hands shook. River shook her head.
"Hold them, 'Linda,'" she growled. "Touch them the way Wash would have touched them, if he didn't belong to Zoe." When the new girl hesitated, River barked at her like a drill instructor. "DO IT!"
Startled out of her own inaction, Wash cupped both breasts through her bra and gave them a squeeze. The realness of them . . . the feeling in her hands and the feeling on her chest simultaneously freaked her out more than she expected it to. With a muffled "eeep!" she let them go and threw her hands in the air, falling back onto her new bunk.
River giggled, and then became solemn when Wash flashed her a confused and slightly irritated look.
"Now that is just the sort of thing I'm talking about," she said. "You touched yourself the way a man would touch a woman, but you felt it . . . as a woman . . . at the same time. You felt something you never felt before, and it scared you." She smiled. "Then when you realized those were your breasts you were squeezing, you let them go like they were electrified . . . or worse."
"Hey!" Wash raised her eyebrows. "These aren't the first breasts I've touched, you know." It surprised her that her tone had become so defensive. She took a deep breath and calmed down. "It's just . . . I've never had a pair attached to my chest before."
"And there it is again," River said, and reached up to touch her own chest. "That distance. The denial. They're not 'attached,' jei mei. They're part of you – a natural extension of your body. But you don't see it that way, and that's the heart of your problem." Her eyes narrowed, and her lip twitched. "You need to get with the program, girl. They're your breasts now. That's your body."
Wash sat there on the edge of the bunk, her flight suit around her waist, chest heaving. She stared at River, and the younger girl sighed.
"The fact is, you're not stuck in there," she continued, her voice gentle. "Or trapped in there, or forced to wear that skin. You chose to come back and save everyone. You knew what it would mean to come back, and I know it's hard, but you chose to be here, in that body. And now you need to get used to it – not just so you can do what you came to do, but so you can live and be happy."
River sat down next to the girl and put an arm around her shoulders. "Being a woman can be all manner of fun, Wash. It's got its downside, I know. But so does being a man. Once you get past this part, I know you can be happy. And I'll help you every step of the way, I promise."
There was a long silence as Wash considered River's words. Then she spoke.
"Couldn't you just leave me alone? Just let me get used to it at my own speed?" The plaintive tone in Wash's voice made it clear she knew that River was right, but still had one last push in her before surrendering to the inevitable. "I promise I'll try, really."
River shook her head. "The longer you ignore what you are now, the harder it will be for you to move forward later."
Wash sat on the edge of the bunk, staring straight ahead. She honestly didn't know what to do next. The younger girl gave her a small squeeze and the pilot looked over.
"Would you like me to help you? Tell you how to accept this? Maybe even embrace it?" After a moment, Wash nodded, and River smiled.
"Good." She thought for a moment. "Ever go swimming in a cold lake?"
The pilot shook her head, and River smiled. "There are two ways to get used to the water. You wade in slowly, taking your time. Or you jump right in, all at once. But you're trying to have it both ways. You're still trying to wade in slowly, but you don't realize you're already in it up to your neck. You are Linda, Wash. The rest of you just hasn't caught up yet."
"What you have to do," she said simply, "may be the hardest thing you've ever done – besides saying yes to Chiang and coming back to save us. It means jumping in and facing the truth head on, and that's . . . that's always hard. But when it's over, you'll know who you really are, and you'll start down the road to being the person you need to be. I'm pretty sure it'll be okay. The Wash I knew back when . . . the one I can still see in there . . . I know he could handle it. I think you can, too. Are you listening?"
Wash nodded again, and River took a deep breath.
"This is the first chance you've had to be alone since you woke up as Linda. I want you to stay here in your room and take off every stitch of clothes, right down to bare skin." The pilot's eyes widened, and she shook her head. River continued on, her arm still around Wash's shoulders. "I want you to make yourself completely naked, so there's nothing left for you to hide behind. Then I want you to look at yourself in that mirror there – and see the truth."
River turned to face the pilot, and Wash met her eyes with a fear River felt as well as saw. "And when you've seen the truth, I want you to reach out . . . and touch it."
Wash gave her an odd look, and River grinned and gave her a push. "No, jei mei. That's not what I mean at all. I see there's still more than enough man in there to push this experience into the gutter." She sighed. "I know you're not ready for what you thought I was suggesting, but I want you to do whatever it takes to make what you are real to you."
"You need to get it into your head that the girl in the mirror is really, truly, physically you. You need to feel that this body belongs to you. So touch yourself. Feel what it means to be you, now. Pull your hair, pinch a tit . . . or two." She smiled. "Wiggle your hips. Dance a jig. Do whatever you need to do to convince yourself that this woman –" River put her hand gently on Wash's chest. "THIS woman – is who you truly are now. Dohn-mah?" Wash hesitated, and River looked into her eyes. "I know you can do this, Wash. You do, too."
The new girl nodded, and River smiled.
"I'll mind the ship. You . . . get acquainted. And when you've accepted the truth . . . I'll know. And I'll come back." River stood up, then bent over and kissed her on the forehead. "It'll be okay, jei mei. You'll see."
She turned, walked over to the ladder and climbed up. She didn't look back.
"Don't much care for Skyplexes myself," Mal said, viewing the masses of tourists with well-earned suspicion. "Bein' in any sorta station puts too many locked doors between me and my boat, and nothin' but space to breathe outside if there's a pressin' need to avoid Alliance attention. The crowds are a mite unsettlin', too. Too much like cattle for me not to worry 'bout a stampede."
"True enough, Sir." Zoe kept her eyes scanning the teeming crowds near the docking port, looking for Inara. "Still, so many people milling about just means we can use them for cover if we have to. It's not all bad, bein' here for a spell. Kaylee and Simon are getting the fuel and supplies we need before we head out again, and Jayne . . . " She looked over at the mercenary, checking out the front window of the weapons merchant across from the port. "Just why is he here again, Captain?"
"Partly because I wanted Linda to get used to being left behind alone." Mal took a few steps to the wall and put his back against it. "If it's gonna be a problem, I want to know now, before we go back to Santo and pick up her things. Dipping in and out of atmo costs us coin, and if she can't handle standard ship procedure, best know it now so we can send her back by shuttle."
Zoe gave him a measured look. "So you took Jayne along and left River . . . to keep Linda company. While she learns how to wait. All alone."
"All right." The captain sighed. "Truth be told, I took Jayne so he wouldn't say or do anything he'd regret as far as Linda is concerned. And River just wanted to stay behind. I ain't complainin' none 'bout that. Even though the Alliance doesn't have an Operative chasin' her anymore, she still manages to find her share of trouble from time to time."
Zoe opened her mouth to protest, and Mal raised a hand. "Not sayin' it's her fault, and I'm the first to admit she's been more than useful any number of times we needed an army to back us up. Odds seem to tip mightily in our favor when she gets into a fight on our side. But we've got a pick-up on Boros that we're already almost late for, and dealing with the local authorities because we got into a tussle here is only gonna slow us down."
"I'm thinkin' River's learned some restraint lately," Zoe said with a smile. "We ain't been in a knock-down on her account in more than a month. So I can't help thinkin' this is mostly about Jayne . . . and Linda."
Mal's eyes narrowed. "And I'm thinkin' you're getting' way too sharp for me to ever hide somethin' from. You'd better look to that, Zoe. Sometimes folk like to keep their secrets."
"Yes, Sir," she said with a smile. "I will keep that in mind."
The captain shook his head. "That bein' said, I guess I should tell you what's goin' on. I reckon you'll figure it out soon enough."
"Yes, Sir," Zoe said, her smile becoming a grin. "I probably will."
Jayne stared through the window at a wide range of implements of destruction, his eyes pouring over the displays with a small smile on his face.
'Girls like presents,' he thought, 'even I know that. And if she's gonna be part of this crew, Linda's gonna need a weapon someday.' He snorted out loud. 'Anyone who's ever been parta one of Mal's plans knows that. Hell, Wash picked up a gun at Niska's, rescuing Mal. Book and Kaylee, too – hell, she even managed to use it, back when we took on the Reavers.'
The mercenary moved along the window toward the door, looking closely at everything as he passed. 'I ain't any good at figgering out girly stuff, like clothes or jewels or such. But if there's one thing I know, it's guns. Well, that and knives. 'Splosives, too.'
Jayne's eye fell on a Callahan Minaret 71-R, and he stopped. His smile turned into a grin.
'Now that there's the right gun for a lady,' he thought. 'Small automatic with a big punch. Sixteen-shot clip, explosive bullets standard, with three extra clips and a custom shoulder holster. That and a few boxes of ammo oughta make her see I care more about her than I do 'bout getting' sexed.'
'Back in his cabin, Mal said it's too soon for a present.' He nodded to himself. 'Hell, it makes sense. After all, I only just got her not to hate me. But we'll be out in the black for a while soon, and I sure can't buy her somethin' out there, now can I?'
He checked his cred balance in his head and smiled. 'So later on, when she needs something' that goes boom and does some serious harm, good ol' Jayne will be there with just the right somethin', wrapped in pink paper with a nice red bow. And if she don't know how to use it, I kin teach her.'
Jayne stopped and thought a second. 'Maybe Callahan makes a matchin' throwin' knife? Girls like stuff that matches. I think 'Nara called it "accessorizin'."'
He slipped into the weapons store with a chuckle. Things finally seemed to be going his way.
River felt Wash crying before she heard it, and after a last instrument check, she rose and headed for Kaylee's old room. By the time she made it down the ladder, the tears had stopped, but a thin edge of sadness still reached across to River from Wash.
The pilot herself sat there on the edge of the bunk, naked except for a pair of dark green bikini panties. She held the matching bra in her hand and stared at it, as if the undergarment held some dark and terrible secret that only she could see.
Wash looked up at River, a small smile on her tear-streaked face.
"Guess I know who I am now," she said, her voice trembling just a little. "Still feels strange, and that's a fact. But it's the only body I've got, and saying it isn't so won't change what's true." She took a deep breath, then grinned. "Okay. I can be a man about it, and admit when I've been wrong. I'm a woman, and it's not the end of the world."
"No," River replied with a smile of her own. "It's not. Just a new beginning for you, Hoe-bann. First steps to a new life."
Wash shook her head. "Call me Linda, River. Hoban doesn't live here anymore."
"Maybe not," the younger girl said, sitting down on the bunk beside her and folding her legs under her. "But Wash is still in there. And still family."
"Wash may be in here, but it's Linda's outside getting goose bumps. It's pretty gorram cold down here. Feels like Kaylee turned the heat down low when she moved in with Simon." The pilot turned to River and held out the bra. "Can you tell me how to put this on? I've had lots of experience getting them off, but I can't figure out exactly how to do it in reverse."
As River took the bra from her, Wash kept talking to hide her embarrassment. "It's funny. Linda should know how to do this, but I think maybe we left this particular skill back on Santo."
River reached into Wash's head, hunting for where the elusive memory was hiding. When she found it, she touched some of the memories around it and smiled.
"Mom took you to Dunlap's Frillies when you were thirteen," she whispered. "Got your first training bra, Missy Holloway made fun of you in the locker room at soccer practice . . ." River closed her eyes, breathed deep. "Mmmmmm . . . Prom night . . . Bobby Hamilton handing that lace-trimmed strapless number back to you after that shiny time in the back of his skimmer . . ."
"HEY! Give me that!" Wash's face blushed bright red as Linda's memories rushed through her. She snatched the bra back from River and slipped into it like she'd been doing it all her life. The younger girl watched as Wash had her flight suit halfway on before she realized what had happened. The pilot stopped, the cold forgotten.
"How did you do that?"
River took a deep breath. "I found where the memory was hiding in your head, and accessed some of the memories around it. Since memory is essentially holographic, I figured the other memories would trigger an autonomic response – the sense and muscle memory a girl gets after putting on a bra a few thousand times." She shrugged. "It worked."
"Oh yeah, it worked all right." Wash grumbled as she pulled her flight suit up the rest of the way and slid her arms into the sleeves. "Too well, it turns out. I also got to remember a lot more of what Linda did on her prom night than I really wanted to – at least until I get more used to being a she."
River ducked her head to hide a grin. "Sorry, jei mei."
Wash sat back down on the bunk to put her socks and boots back on. "No you're not . . . mei mei. I know you better than that. You had to push a little, because you like to play. But that's okay. You got me where I need to be to heal, and I love you for it." She turned to face River. "Just . . . don't try to push me down that particular road too fast, donh-mah? Right now, I still remember being Zoe's man. Being anybody's woman – that's going to take time."
The pilot stopped, and her eyes went distant. "Still, Linda did have a better time on her prom night than I did on mine." A smile touched her lips, just for a second, and was gone.
She stood up and turned towards River, hands on her hips. "So how do I look?"
River gave her the once-over, and a wide grin. "Sister, you make that flight suit look good!" Wash grinned back, but then River reached down and gave the zipper tab a flip. "You might want to zip that up a little bit more, though, in case any of the boys come back early."
"What d'ya mean you don't do gift wrappin'?"
Jayne snarled at the weapons merchant, a dapper gray-haired gentleman in a dark grey New Londinum suit.
"Apologies . . . sir," the man behind the counter replied. "But weapons are not usually considered . . . gift items. As such, we are not prepared to gift wrap the Callahan Minaret and accessories for your . . . lady friend."
"Huh. For what I paid, you should deliver 'em in a gorilla suit, along with a singin' gift card and a buncha balloons." The mercenary scowled at the stack on the counter – the polished oak box with the Callahan inside, a second matching box for the extra clips, a smaller box for the matchin' throwin' knife, the boxes of ammo, and the shoulder holster. "I ain't givin' this all to her right away, and I want it to be special when I do. I need it wrapped, dohn-mah?"
The merchant thought for a moment and then smiled. "The lingerie store across the way does gift wrapping, I'm sure. Perhaps they would accommodate you for a small fee?"
"Lon-jer-ray?" Jayne peered across the spoke to the opposite side. "Oh, you mean the store with all the girly underwear in the window?"
"Just so, sir."
The mercenary chewed on that for a while. He didn't want her to even think he was gettin' her "unmentionables" for a present. That'd be a damned fool thing to do, and that's no lie. If the wrappin' even hinted at somethin' like that, he knew she'd think he was tryin' to treat her like a whore again, to get her into his bunk. She'd be terrible angry, and he'd be right back where he started. Jayne shook his head.
'This courtin' stuff's gonna give me a headache I'll never git rid of,' he thought sourly. 'My one good idea shot all to hell because I can't get it wrapped.' He sighed, and turned to the merchant.
"Give a call over to the lon-jer-ray store and see if they've got plain boxes and plain wrappin' paper – nothing with the store name on it," he said gruffly. "But still nice!"
The gentleman nodded and reached for the interstore comm.
'I juss hope I get this done afore 'Nara gets here,' Jayne grumbled to himself. 'If'n make Mal wait, he's gonna wanta know why.' He watched Mal and Zoe lookin' for the companion in the crowd. 'What's takin' her so long anyway?'
"I'm curious," Simon said, watching Kaylee prowl through the marketplace.
"What about, ing jyun?" She smiled and picked up an apple from a crate of apples. The mechanic seemed to weigh it in her hand, then lifted it and took a deep breath before reluctantly setting it back down again.
"How does restocking the ship's food supply fall into your job description exactly?"
"Well, food is just another kind of fuel, I reckon," Kaylee replied, moving down the line to add some of the less exotic (and less expensive) vegetables and grains to the order pad. "And there ain't anyone on board who seems to like food as much as I do. Nobody's ever complained about the things I buy to keep the kitchen stocked, so the job's still mine." She grinned. "'Besides, I like shoppin' – almost as much as eatin'."
"Well, I like the new pilot." Simon put his arm around the mechanic as they headed towards the clerk. She snuggled up into him and put her head on his chest. "She seems nice, and she does know how to fly. Do you think she knows how to cook? Be nice to take Jayne off the cooking rotation. I'm almost tempted to do it anyway, to protect the health of the crew."
Kaylee shrugged. "If she doesn't, I can teach her. If she wants to."
"Did your mother teach you?"
"I made a right nuisance of myself until she did. I like to eat, and knowin' how to cook is the fastest way to get yourself a meal. When you think about it, puttin' a meal together ain't much different from puttin' an engine together. It's all about the parts, and what you do with 'em."
Simon stopped and kissed her forehead. "That sounds suspiciously like something else you like to do, chin ai der – putting parts together. I wonder if all the things you like are related that way." His hand reached around and gave her hip a squeeze.
The mechanic slapped his chest. "Simon!" she hissed, blushing wildly. "We're in public!"
"Really?" The doctor looked down at her, surprised. "Do you like that, too? I mean, putting parts together – in public?" He lowered his voice. "I saw a huge bin of spinach back there that looked pretty darned . . . comfortable."
As Kaylee's eyes widened, Simon lowered his mouth to hers. Staring into her eyes, he whispered, "Maybe we could make . . . a salad."
The mechanic squealed and wriggled in his arms. "You . . . you tease!"
He grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. "Guilty as charged, ma'am. We'll see how good a tease I am when we get back to the ship."
Kaylee stood on her toes and kissed her man full on the lips. "I've created a monster," she whispered with a smile. "It took me forever to get your engine started, and now I can't turn you off." She kissed him again. "Not that I really want to."
"That bin of spinach is still there." Simon stole another kiss. "If you can't wait, I mean."
"I think I can hold on 'til we get back to the ship." Kaylee pushed herself out of his arms. "I . . . put parts together . . . in a spinach patch once, back home. Got powerful itchy . . . eventually."
She walked over to the clerk and handed him the order pad. "Order delivery to port 13B, Serenity. Departure oh three hundred station time. Bill ship's account, authorization Kaywinnet Leigh Frye, ship's mechanic."
The clerk nodded, already bent over his terminal to enter the order and begin processing. Kaylee turned around to get another look at Simon, and found herself staring into the chest of a large, wide man. She tilted her head back, and he grinned down at her, exposing a fair number of missing teeth.
"Looks like the food will be getting' back to your ship afore you do, missy," the man mountain rumbled, grabbing her arm. "But don't fret none. Least we got yer boyfriend here to keep yer company."
She looked over to see Simon, his arm firmly in the grip of another man as large as the first.
"Well," she said with a weak smile, "isn't that nice of you?"
River and Wash were back in the cockpit. The pilot had just waved Santo Control and ordered Linda's personal items and luggage shipped up on the next shuttle, so they would be here before Serenity's posted departure time.
"No sense dipping back into the gravity well just to pick up my bags. Every pilot knows you have to watch how many times you touch dirt. One time too many and you might wind up losing the sky." Wash reached over her head and stretched her entire body – hard enough to make her back crack.
"Getting comfy in there, 'Linda'?" River smiled, and Wash blushed just a little and nodded.
"As a matter of fact, yes. It feels more like home every second. I feel . . . good. Lighter and stronger than I used to, even when Wash was a whole lot younger." She leaned forward over the instrument panel and felt her chest shift slightly with the movement. "It's kinda scary, really. I wouldn't think I'd be getting used to it so quickly."
"Well, it is your body, after all," River replied, "as much as you didn't want to admit it before. You were fighting it so hard, you didn't feel the positive aspects of being years younger and more physically fit."
"Oh, but I'm sure those benefits will be offset sometime in the next few weeks." Wash closed her eyes and sighed. "I am soooo not looking forward to becoming the Bride of Frankenstein one week out of every month for the next thirty years."
"It affects different women different ways, jei mei," River said. "For you, it could be a minor inconvenience – or it could wind up being a major pain. We won't know until it happens." She grinned. "Besides, there are ways to avoid it completely, you know. Kaylee hasn't had one in months. She's been wearing a patch to put it off for a while – didn't want to stop playing with Simon if she could help it."
Wash blushed, and turned her attention back to the console. A light started flashing red, followed by an insistent beeping. Wash leaned forward and stared at the offending light.
"Huh," she said, more than a little curious. "We've got a loss of pressure on the secondary access airlock hatch. We're docked via the cargo bay, and the main alarm would have sounded if the airlock had been activated. I wonder what . . ." Wash looked up to find River's eyes focused elsewhere, her mouth hanging open, and a chill ran down her spine.
"Intruders," she breathed, tilting her head as if listening. "They want to take the ship!"
"You're teachin Jayne how to court a girl?" Zoe cocked her head and gave the captain a dubious look.
"I am," Mal replied, finding her expression a little disturbing. "Is there a problem?"
"No, Sir," Zoe said quickly, "none at all. Just wonderin' if it's wise for you to be teachin' Jayne somethin' like that when your past experience shows a certain . . . lack of success in that area."
"Hey, now! That ain't fair!" Mal pushed himself off of the wall. "Maybe I ain't the smoothest man in the 'Verse when it comes to talking up a woman, but I'm way ahead of Jayne in the courtin' and wooin' department, and that's a fact."
"I can't argue with you there, Sir. But I think it's fair to say that a block of wood would have a better chance of getting a woman into a committed relationship than Jayne does."
"Which is exactly why I'm tryin' to help." He sighed, and turned to scan the crowd again. "Where is she? She sent a wave sayin' come get me, and here we are . . . and here she ain't." Mal kept searching, but alarm bells began to ring inside his head. "This don't feel right. Somethin's wrong."
"An astute observation, Captain Reynolds." The voice from behind him made him spin, reaching for his gun but finding only air. He remembered that was still on his boat due to station regulations, and cursed himself for not carrying a back-up. 'Every time I follow the rules, it never goes smooth,' he thought savagely. 'When will I learn just how troublesome the 'Verse can be?'
Adelai Niska stood a few feet away, impeccably dressed in a suit that must have cost more creds than a complete drydock refit of a Firefly-class transport. He seemed none the worse for wear, although Mal could swear there were more lines on his face than there were when last they met.
'Something is indeed wrong . . . for you," he said happily, his thumbs hooked in his vest pockets. "For me, however, the outlook is bright." Two men materialized from the crowds behind him, with Inara neatly held between them. She seemed more angry than frightened, but Mal could see the look behind her eyes that screamed for control. "As you see, I already have your Companion, and in a matter of moments, I will have secured your crew . . . and your ship."
Mal immediately thought of his people, scattered across the station. 'Easy pickings,' he thought bitterly, 'if they ain't expecting a fight.'
"When last we met, your crew did the impossible. They invaded my place of business and took you back from me." He leaned forward and smiled. "But there will be no daring rescue for you this time, Captain. No one to 'save the day.' And this time, when you are completely without friends . . . when hope itself is nothing but a memory. . . well, then, you and I are going to have a long talk . . . about the works of Shan Yu."
Firefly: Connecting Flight | Part 4: Emergency Instructions
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No more spoiler warnings, folks. If you've come this far, you already know what I've been trying to hide about the Firefly/Serenity universe, created by Joss Whedon. You know our intrepid heroes are in a bad way, but it's always darkest before the dawn. Unfortunately, the crew is on a space station, so who knows how that old adage works out?
On with the show!
FIREFLY: CONNECTING FLIGHT
by Randalynn
Chapter 4 – Emergency Instructions
"Mal's not answering," Wash said, her fingers playing over the comm system. She moved from crewmember to crewmember, becoming more upset with each missing response. "Zoe either, or Kaylee. Nobody's comms are responding at all. It's like they're being jammed."
"Or we are." River looked at Wash, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. "Try calling Skyplex control again."
After a few abortive attempts, it was pretty clear that someone was keeping Serenity from calling anyone. Wash tried a few more times and then pushed herself away from the panel. "Ta ma de, River! If we're cut off and being boarded, what's happening to everybody else? To Zoe?"
River touched Wash's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Sssssh, jei mei. We don't need comms. I'm a 'reader,' remember? I can find out what's going on. Just give me a few seconds, okay?" She smiled just a little, even though she was more than a little worried herself.
Wash nodded, biting her lip again and settling back in the pilot's seat. 'Damn,' she thought, 'I guess tears aren't the only thing that's close to the surface. Laconic is a hell of a lot harder to pull off than it used to be.'
The younger girl stood there, eyes closed, and let her mind wander. First, she reached out to touch the two who had boarded the ship. Looking through the eyes of the leader, she saw the duo was approaching the kitchen, still dressed in skin suits with weapons drawn. They were merely hired help with specific instructions – secure the ship and capture the pilot.
River's lip twitched. They thought there was only one person aboard, and cut the number of men hired for the job to make their payoff larger. That almost made it too easy. There was still some time before she had to deal with them, so she moved her perception off across the Skyplex, looking for the missing crew.
The first crewmembers she found were Simon and Kaylee, standing in the marketplace with two large goons standing over them. Angry beyond words, she touched the minds of their captors and discovered that they were also hired help, just following orders. Right now, the instructions were simple – find Kaylee and Simon and keep them from escaping. They were supposed to receive further orders via short range wave on a special comm unit, but until then, all they were supposed to do was hold onto the doctor and mechanic until they were told what to do next.
River pushed back her anger and centered herself. For a fleeting second, she wondered if she could really kill the two mercenaries with her brain, as she had told Jayne she could all those months ago. 'As much as I'd like to try, I don't have the time to experiment. Right now, Simon and Kaylee are relatively safe. I've got to worry about everyone else, too. I need to find the rest of the crew.'
As River continued her hunt, Wash kept her eye on the intruders. She was tracking their approach using the internal sensor grid. There were missing patches of coverage here and there, but what they did have worked (thanks to Kaylee) – and it was pretty clear from the incoming data that they were both heading for the cockpit.
'Makes sense,' she reasoned, a slight tinge of panic beginning to creep into the back of her head. 'They're probably here for the pilot, and since I've only just signed on, they think that means River.'
She looked over at the younger girl, her mind clearly off looking for the crew in the Skyplex. As the blips on her screen moved closer, Wash realized that they were getting awfully close, and she wasn't sure what to do. Should she should distract River when she was … somewhere else?
"River?" she whispered, half reaching out to touch the girl's arm. When no response came, Wash sighed, straightened her shoulders, and turned towards the door.
'Got to buy her some time,' she thought, a small smile creeping onto her face. 'Okay, Wash. You've always been a good talker. Now's as good a time as any to see if that skill came along for the ride when you changed planes.'
The pilot took a step towards the door and stopped. She could hear two voices echoing down the corridor, both male. A rush of fear flowed through her, along with a flood of Linda's memories – memories of men. Of being afraid on twilight streets, moving quickly from streetlight to streetlight; of feeling them standing too close on transit strips or in lifts. From fear she moved to indignation – having men talking down to her, hitting on her – and suddenly Jayne's behavior in the cargo bay moved front and center, followed by a quick image of Linda's strapless gown on prom night – and her date's reaction to it.
Wash shook her head and sighed.
'They're men, and you're a woman,' she thought with a grimace. 'There's no denying it anymore. They're probably bigger and stronger than you are – and they're armed. If you need to keep them from finding River, just talk isn't going to cut it. You've got to use what you've got.'
The pilot pulled the zipper on her flight suit down far enough to show a hint of cleavage, framed by the lace trim on her bra.
"Okay, ladies," she whispered to her chest. "If I can't dazzle them with words, it's up to you to distract them long enough for River to take them down. If we're lucky, we'll all bounce back from this alive."
She gave a ladylike snort, threw back her shoulders, and stepped out into the corridor.
"You know," Kaylee said to her own personal man-mountain, "they aren’t going to just let you hold us prisoner in the middle of a crowded market."
"Oh, I dunno, miss," her captor replied with a gap-toothed grin, his New Londinum accent reminding her of Badger back on Persephone. "Looks like nobody seems to much care from where I'm standing. And if they did want to try? Well, Bucky and me, we're right hard to move, ain't we, Bucky?" Simon's escort grunted once. "But they ain't gonna want to try, neither – not for a pair of strangers, and not against Bucky nor me."
"That's a rather bleak view of humanity, isn't it?" Simon piped up.
"Just how I sees it is all, Doc." Bucky's partner shrugged. "Ye bein' a medical man, right?" Simon nodded, wondering how he knew. "That means ye take care o' people, all philanthropical and such. Maybe ye think better of folks than I do. Me, I just rubbed elbows with too many nutters over the years to think we're all just brothers under the skin. I got one brother to look out for –" He jerked his head at Bucky. " – and that's enough for me."
Simon seemed to think for a moment. "This … this is just a job for you, isn't it?"
"Right enough," the man-mountain said. "Just work, as it was, for two enterprisin' young men such as meself and Bucky."
"What if –" Simon stopped abruptly. "What is your name, by the way?"
"Clive."
"Clive." The doctor smiled. "If this is just a job, then you're open to other offers, aren’t you?"
"Not followin' yer meanin, Doc."
"What if I could offer you something far more valuable than whatever you're being paid to keep us here? Something so rare, even the smallest amount of it would be worth a fortune?" He lowered his voice to near a whisper. "What if I could get you a tube of … Ambrosia?"
Clive laughed out loud, turning a few heads. "Ye think I'm daft? Yer so straight I could use ya for a ruler. How would you get yer hands on sumfin' like that?"
Simon raises his hand and looked around furtively. "Keep it down, please! As to how I got it … well, it was a while ago. I was one of the best trauma surgeons on Osiris, working the ER, when this well-dressed gentleman was brought in. Knife wounds, heart and lungs ripped up pretty bad. I saw this metal case fall out of his pocket and slide under his bio bed, but forgot all about it while we tried to keep him alive. As good as I was, I couldn't save him. But when they took him away, I remembered the case. I picked it up, opened it, and there were four tubes of this bluish liquid inside."
Kaylee could see that Bucky had become interested in spite of himself. Clive, however, was a little more skeptical.
"And it was Ambrosia?" Simon nodded, motioning again for the thug to keep his voice down. Clive laughed, a short derisive bark. "And how'd ya figger that out, Doc? Try some?"
"Don't be stupid!" Clive's eyes narrowed, and Simon raised a hand in apology. "I was in the most well-equipped hospital on the planet. I analyzed it. In that little case was enough Ambrosia to buy a small moon – not that I could actually do anything with it."
"Why not?" Everyone turned towards Bucky. They were the first real words he'd spoken. He looked back, brows furrowed. "Why couldn't ye buy yerself a moon, then?"
"Coz the stuff's illegal, Bucky," Clive answered, saving Simon the trouble. "Mister Upstandin' Citizen here canna sell it on the open market, and he don't have the connections to sell it on the down-low. Ain't dat right, Doc?"
"Exactly." Kaylee watched, amazed but trying hard not to show it, as Simon took a step closer to Clive, with Bucky following. "So I had a billionaire's ransom in the palm of my hand, but no way to get at it, at least not on a Core world like Osiris. But maybe out here, on the rim, an opportunity would come up to sell the Ambrosia – and make myself wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice."
"Huh?" Bucky looked to his brother for help. Clive sighed.
"Rich, Bucky. He could sell it out here and get very, very rich." Bucky nodded wisely, taping the side of his nose with his finger.
"So if you were to let the both of us just walk away, I could give you a tube of Ambrosia. You could disappear and live the rest of your lives without working another day." Simon smiled. "I'm sure two enterprising gentlemen like yourselves could find a buyer you could trust."
"A whole tube? Juss fer walkin' away?" Clive laughed again. "If we juss let yer walk, how're we goin' ta collect? Wot, yer juss gonna mail it to us?"
"Of course not," Simon looked around and leaned forward. "I have it with me."
"WHAT?" Clive's eyebrows shot up. "Are ye daft? If it IS real, why're ye carryin' it aroun'?"
Simon shrugged. "Always hoping to find a buyer, I guess. Besides, it really is safer with me. If my shipmates get into trouble, I could just walk away and sell a few drops to buy a new ship."
Clive stared at the doctor, and Kaylee could almost hear the wheels turnin' in his head. She didn't know where her Simon was headed with all this, but he seemed to be headed someplace, and Kaylee would happily go along for the ride. She watched as Clive seemed to come to some sort of decision.
"We'll let ye go," he said, with a grin Kaylee just couldn't trust, "but only after we see the stuff."
Simon looked at Clive and Bucky, thought for a second, and nodded. "Fair enough."
He made sure there was no one else nearby, then reached into his jacket pocket and took out a thin metal case that opened at the top. Before he could open it, Clive reached out and snatched it from him, and Bucky stuck out a hand to stop Simon from grabbing it back.
"Now," said Clive, his grin becoming a snarl. "I got yer Ambrosia and I got ye, too."
Simon smiled and shook his head. "What you have is a metal case you can't open without my help. If you try, it flash boils the Ambrosia and destroys it. I had that case made to replace the original. That way I can't be incriminated for carrying around contraband if the feds catch me – or have a fortune stolen from me in a crowd."
The doctor held out his hand. "So give back the case and we'll deal fairly, or forget about ever seeing that Ambrosia except as a cloud of steam as it floats away."
Clive pulled out a gun and pointed it at Kaylee. "Or I could hang onto the case, and ye ken open it and stop me from blowin' yer ladyfriend's 'ead off. Wot about it, mate?"
Simon's smile faded as he saw the fear in Kaylee's eyes. "A counter proposal, Clive. I open the case for you and you let us go. Four tubes of Ambrosia must be worth crossing your employer, right? And it's not doing me any good just sitting in my pocket, is it?"
Clive hesitated, then shrugged and put his gun away. "I'm a reasonable fella, Doc. Open it up, and ye and yer ladyfriend are free to go."
Simon sighed. "All right, then. Let me show you how to open it. You too, Bucky. You should both know."
Obediently, the brothers gathered close, and Simon took the case in his hand and held it where both could see.
"Look at where my fingers are," he said smoothly. "That's the failsafe position. It allows you to open the case safely. Then you just press on this smooth patch right here, and –"
A cloud of bluish vapor puffed out directly into the faces of the two brothers, coating their skin and drifting into their lungs. Simon took a step back and watched as Clive and Bucky collapsed to the ground like puppets with their strings cut.
Simon put the case back in his jacket pocket and let out the breath he'd been holding. Suddenly Kaylee grabbed him from behind with a squeal.
"SIMON TAM! Where in the Verse did you learn to lie like that?" She spun him around and gave him a kiss that made him feel like he'd inhaled the vapor as well.
"It wasn't a lie, exactly," he said when she let him up for air. "It all happened just the way I said it did – except for the part about the Ambrosia. A well-dressed gentleman with no ident card did come in, just as I described, and that case fell out of his pocket and slid under the bio bed while we tried to keep him alive. I found it later."
"You just took it?"
Simon shrugged. "I had planned to turn it in at Administration, but I was curious about what it was, so I held onto it and scanned it. It turned out to be some kind of short-range concealed weapon, full of a sedative that can enter the bloodstream through the skin – although inhaling it works just as well."
"And the Ambrosia?" Kaylee looked at him suspiciously. Simon blushed.
"Just a wild tale of easy money, based on all the lurid tales of treasure and adventure I found on the Cortex as a child," he replied. "The ones my father warned me not to read. I needed a reason for them to let me get close enough to use the weapon, and they needed a reason to betray their employer. Two birds …" he gestured at the bodies "… with one story."
Simon looked around at all of the passersby. They were very carefully NOT looking in his direction (or at the two men on the floor), so he took Kalylee's arm and started strolling towards the exit. "Since no one came to claim the man's body or his possessions, and since my search for a way to get River free was starting to take me into dangerous parts of the city, I kept it."
"So what do we do now?" Kaylee asked, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Back to the ship, I think," he replied. "If no one else in the crew has been grabbed, they'll all be there waiting for us. But if the others have been taken, River and Linda will still be on Serenity. And I think we're going to need all the help we can get."
"I have waited a long time for this day, Captain Reynolds," Niska said with a smile. "I should kill you quickly – kill you all quickly. It would be the smart thing to do. The professional thing. But the truth is, I want to savor your defeat. I want to embrace it. I want to live it with you, existing only for this moment, in this moment, as you watch your world collapse around you." He waved his hand and chuckled. "I know, I know. It's a failing, and I have many – or so my wife tells me. But I am old, and I have learned that sometimes a man should take his pleasure where he can find it. Life, as they say, is short."
"I reckon so," Mal replied, his jaw tight. "I can make it shorter for you, if you want."
Niska shook his head and laughed. "I'm sure you would love to make an end to me, Captain. But this time, it is I who will end you."
"Then do it already." The captain growled, staring straight into his captor's eyes. "Kill me if it'll make you feel all shiny. Make it slow if you want. But let my people go."
"But again, this is a mistake you make, Captain." The crimelord's eyes glittered behind his old-fashioned glasses, and his smile became a touch wider. "Thinking this is only about revenge, when in fact, there is so much more here than you think – much more than a man like yourself could possibly comprehend."
Niska reached up and stroked Inara's cheek with a finger. She turned her head and tried to bite it, but he was faster than she expected, and her teeth closed on empty air. She glared at him in anger, and he smiled, then nodded. One guard pulled her back and swung her around, and the other slapped her hard across her face with the back of his hand. The companion tried to stop herself, but a small cry escaped from between her sealed lips. Mal watched as a trickle of blood ran down from the corner of her mouth.
The old man looked back at Mal and beamed, his eyes twinkling. "You see? It is not the killing I am here for. It is the pain that gives me pleasure – hers, and yours. I do not just want you dead. I want to see you suffer. And watching you as I destroy your 'family' and steal your home? Oh, that will hurt you worst of all. And I will be there to see every glorious moment."
He patted Inara on her bruised cheek, and turned to face Mal. "Then, Captain Reynolds, I will kill you. In fact, I am looking forward to it very much. But as we learned last time, you and I, you cannot suffer once you are dead. So, as my mother always used to say … first things first."
Wash stood at the top of the stairs leading to the cockpit, her body framed by the doorway and her curves lit from above by an overhead fixture. Her heels on the metal deck made enough noise to silence the voices down the corridor.
"Hello?" she said softly, doing her best to keep her voice level. "Who's there?"
Her reply was a low chuckle. "My, my," a deep voice purred. "Stop in to pick up a spaceship and get a free redhead. Who knew it was bargain day at the Skyplex?"
The pilot pushed aside her fear. She had a job to do – keeping these two busy until River was finished. But how? 'This guy likes to play with words, and I do, too,' she thought. 'Maybe he likes his women to be playful, too. And if he thinks I'm interested …'
She stopped for a second, then continued with an internal sigh. 'If he thinks I'm interested, he won't kill me. That's enough of a plus to work with, for now.'
Wash grinned and shook her head. "First of all, I'm not free," she said, letting a playful note come into her voice. She shifted her weight and cocked her hip, letting one hand rest there. "I'm not talking about coin – I'm a pilot, not a whore. But I like to know I'm appreciated. So let's start with dinner and a show, and see what happens first."
A rumbling chuckle drifted back her way down the corridor. She continued, encouraged. "And as for me being a bargain, forget it. Just ask my last boyfriend. Believe me, my name and the words 'cheap date' will never pass his lips in the same sentence, unless the words 'not a' appear between them."
The deep voice laughed aloud. "Girl, you are a hoot!"
"Thanks! You're a lovely audience," Wash replied sweetly. "I'll be at the Skyplex Comedy Shack all week, two shows a night – unless you manage to take the ship. Then of course I'll be dead. No refunds, though."
"Maybe not, sweet thing," the deep voice said, still smiling. "You might come under the heading of illegal salvage. Hate to waste someone as pretty as you."
"I bet you say that to all your victims." Another rumbling chuckle echoed down the corridor.
A hissing voice came from the shadows on the far side of the passageway. "Knock it off, Teller. We aren't here to play. We're on the job, remember?"
"Oh, come on, Beeks. There's always time to play. Ain't that right, baby?"
Wash smiled in what she hoped was a seductive manner. "Depends on who you're playing with. And what game you're planning to play."
"Well, my name's Teller. And I think we're already playin', don't you?" She could hear the sly grin in the mercenary's voice, and it sent shivers down her spine.
'Damn,' she thought, trying to keep the fear inside. 'I'm better at this flirting thing than I thought. Either that or he hasn't seen a woman in a long time.'
A little voice inside her whispered, 'Or maybe you still don't want to see how sexy you are now.' She did her best to ignore it.
"Are we playing?" Wash let a touch of innocence drift into her voice. "I hadn't noticed."
Teller snorted. "I think you're old enough to have been in the game for a while, girl," he said. "And you do the dance like a pro."
The pilot's eyebrows shot up in surprise before she could stop them. "Thank you … I think."
A little surprise touched Teller's reply. "You think?"
A bit of Linda's memory slipped into Wash's mind, causing a bit of a blush. "Sometimes a woman who isn't a 'pro' doesn't like to be thought of as one. It's … complicated."
Beeks laughed then, a dry wheeze. "It always is where bitches are concerned."
"Shut it, Beeks." Teller's anger came through with a sharp edge. "My job, my lead. That means you work for me. So shut your trap or I'll shut it for you. Clear?"
There was a short pause, then Beeks spoke in even, measured tones. "As long as you remember who you're working for, Tee. And as long as you keep your eyes on your business instead of her chest."
There was a long uncomfortable silence.
"So, Red," Teller said, his voice deliberately conversational. "What's your name?"
"Linda." Wash stared out into the darkness. 'This would work a whole lot better if I could see who I'm talking to,' she thought, frustrated.
"Well, Linda. As you heard, Beeks really would like to kill you." Teller sighed. "I personally think that would be an awful waste, but he has … issues with women." Beeks snorted and fell silent. "It is your lucky day, though. Since this job is mine, we do it my way. So I'm gonna give you a chance to walk away."
Wash felt her jaw fall open. Teller laughed out loud again. "You seem surprised, girl. After all, it's only a chance to walk away. If you really want to get out of this alive, Linda, you have do exactly what I say – 'cause if you don't, I guarantee Beeks will just kill you where you stand."
'Gorram it, what'll I do now?' The pilot felt herself begin to panic. 'If I walk away, they'll walk into the cockpit and find River. If I don't walk away, they'll shoot me dead, drag the body to one side … and then find River. Could this day possibly get any worse?'
She cleared her throat. "Wha … what is it you want me to do?"
Wash could feel Teller's grin in the darkness when he spoke. "In order for you to leave, we've got to let you past us, right?" Wash nodded. "And I'd be a fool ten times over to let you walk behind us with a weapon, right?" She nodded again, more slowly. "So if you want to leave alive, I need you to strip bare-ass naked, leave your clothes up on the deck there, and walk slowly past Beeks and I to the far end of the corridor."
Teller took a step forward into a shaft of light from overhead. He was big, with a body that had seen more fighting than loving. Blond and blue-eyed, with a short scar running down his left cheek and a cold grin that only underscored the lust in his eyes. "And if Beeks and I decide to … check you for weapons as you pass, you give us a smile and a 'thank you' – and anything else we might like to have before you reach the other side of this passageway."
Beeks laughed, a mean and ugly sound. "Damn, Tee! You are a ruttin' genius."
Teller smiled wider. "Credit where credit is due, Beeks. So what'll it be, Linda? Take it all off and everybody's happy … or die where you stand. It would be a waste – but playing with you is just an added bonus, after all. And the ship will still be here when you're gone."
The pilot shuddered all over, thinking about her choices – and about how there really wasn't any choice at all. She was just starting to get used to this body, and now she was going to have to cross a line she was soooo not ready to cross.
'But you do what you have to do to save the people you care about,' she realized as her blood ran cold. 'That's why I'm here like this in the first place. To save Zoe and the crew.'
Wash smiled weakly and nodded. "Game over, then," she said, her voice shaking. "You win. I could ask you to be gentle, but you'll be what you are, won't you?" Teller nodded, and Beeks laughed again.
She reached up and tugged on her flight suit's zipper. 'River needs time,' she thought, 'and if all I have to work with to get it for her is my body, I guess I'm moving from comedy to burlesque.'
'Let's just hope I don't wind up as dead as vaudeville.'
"Niska!"
Across the crowded Skyplex floor, Jayne could see that all manner of things had gone way south. Mal and Zoe, held in plain sight by Niska and his gorram goons. He couldn't hear what was going on, but he knew it couldn't be good. After what they did to get Mal back the last time Niska had him, Jayne knew the man was gonna want blood, and he wasn't gonna take no chances this time.
'And he has 'Nara,' the mercenary grumbled, watchin' the situation go from bad to worse and likin' it even less. 'Least his goons do, which ties Mal’s hands pretty damned quick, the way he feels about her.'
Jayne leaned forward a little, trying to get a better view of what was going on without letting anyone see him in the doorway. Crowds of people moved around the small group across the way like a river around a rock, and every one of 'em lookin' to shop or gab or some such – a wall of rich folk between him and his target.
'Sure would cause a fuss if somethin' happened to any of them,' Jayne thought, lookin' for an opening and not findin' one. 'And if Niska's here with Mal, I'm thinkin' the rest of his folk are probably busy grabbin' up everybody else right now. Includin' Linda.'
He growled in frustration, bangin' the doorframe with his fist.
'Taint fair!' he raged inside. 'Just when things start goin' my way, Niska's gotta spoil it all. Not that I can do nothin' about it all by myself, cut off from the others. Gorram it, why did I have to wind up stuck here …'
Jayne turned away from the door and stopped, stunned. ' … stuck here – in a store full of guns.'
The clerk watched with growing unease as a wicked smile grew on the mercenary's face, his eyes roaming the shelves and display cases with undisguised happiness.
'Oh, yeah,' Jayne thought, the smile becoming a grin. 'This is gonna be fun!'
Firefly: Connecting Flight | Part 5: Cleared for Departure
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This is it, the end of the beginning of our newly-minted heroine's maiden voyage! Jayne's surrounded by guns like a kid in a candy shop, and the rest of the crew is riding a bit of turbulence. Hang onto somethin' -- we're goin' for hard burn! *grin*
FIREFLY: CONNECTING FLIGHT
by Randalynn
Chapter 5 – Cleared for Departure
Jayne took stock of what he could see on the store's shelves, then turned back to look at the "kill zone."
'Probably shouldn't oughta call it that, not even in my head,' he thought sourly. 'Anybody gets hisself dead 'cause I wasn't careful, Mal's gonna be powerful angry, even if I save his captainy ass.'
The mercenary sighed. 'Still, it makes sense, sorta. I could git away with killin' Niska, maybe. After all, he is breakin' the law. But killin' some passing rich folk is only gonna make things worse. I don't want Feds anymore than Mal does, and that's a fact.'
Jayne set his jaw and stared at the group across the way. 'Ain't enough of a break in the crowd to shoot in a straight line. And I need to take down Niska and his people fast enough to keep 'Nara safe. That means I needs somethin' automatic, so I can fire more shots in less time. And it's gotta have stock tranks in the load set, or somethin' like 'em. I can't be makin' custom ammo here.'
"Hey," he said in a loud voice, his eyes never leaving Niska. "You got a second floor in this place?"
The merchant shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but everything above shop level is support machinery and storage."
"No high ground, then," Jayne muttered. "And no gorram windows, anyway." The mercenary thought some more, then turned his head and checked the inventory again.
Something clicked behind his eyes, and he grinned.
"I'm seein' some Riggs & Murtaugh small arms. Revolvers and such," he said, walking back towards the counter. "But I ain't seein' any of the bigger pieces."
"You mean hunting rifles, sir?"
Jayne snorted. "Yeah, hunting rifles. Somethin' for bigger game." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Like maybe the Interceptor."
The merchant's jaw dropped slightly, and a crack developed in his implacable calm. "The Interceptor, sir? For hunting? Hardly sporting, is it?"
The mercenary shrugged. "The critters I'm huntin' don't play by the rules. Don't see why I have to.'Sides, I ain't plannin' to kill anythin'. Juss lookin' for tranks if ya got 'em. And I can't afford to wait for custom loads if you don't."
The shopkeeper paused for a moment, then nodded. "Well, we do have a Riggs & Murtaugh Interceptor in stock. Several, in fact. Not on display, of course. Or for sale, actually. They were ordered through Alliance military supply for the security staff here."
"A sniper rifle? On a Skyplex?" Jayne shook his head, pretending to be shocked. The merchant smiled.
"If you know about the Interceptor, sir, you know how valuable its special features can be on a space station." The mercenary nodded reluctantly, and the clerk continued. "I'm sure that's why you want the rifle right now, in fact. To help out your friends across the way?"
Jayne's eye narrowed, and the merchant held up a hand and smiled. "No need for alarm, sir. I couldn't help noticing where your attention has been directed for the past several minutes, and took the liberty of scanning the area you have been examining with such intensity." He waved his arm to a monitor above the door, which was focused on the tableau across from the lingerie store.
"Those … gentlemen appear to be treating that woman and her companions quite roughly, with no concern for interference from local authorities." Jayne growled, and the shopkeeper nodded. "Just so. I surmise that the Skyplex security staff might possibly have been paid to, as the expression goes, 'look the other way?'"
Jayne hesitated a second, then nodded. The gray-haired merchant smiled. "Well, then, in the interest of promoting customer satisfaction, I believe we can authorize a very rare, on-site, hands-on demonstration of the R&M Interceptor." The mercenary had the good sense not to look too surprised, but the shop-keeper smiled anyway. "It's as much for me as it is for you, sir. I've been waiting for the chance to try out the Interceptor for quite some time, but there aren't any ranges on the Skyplex large enough – and since I'm not Alliance military personnel or station security, I'm really not allowed to fire it anyway."
He moved to a large armored storage cabinet at the back of the store, where his handprint and retinal scan identified him as authorized to remove inventory. He removed a compact gray weapon the length of his arm. It was an odd mix of high-grade plastic resins and dull gray metal, and he held it out to Jayne with what almost seemed to be pride. Jayne took it gently, finding it surprisingly light.
"Now," the merchant continued, "we don't have tranquilizer ammunition as such, but these should do quite nicely." He picked up a small metal box and a smaller box of ammunition and handed them both to Jayne. "Made specifically for Skyplex operations. I think you'll agree?"
Jayne read the writing on the box, and a slow smile grew on his face. "Yeah," he said, nodding as he smiled. "These'll do just fine. Better than fine!"
Wash stood there, the light from above turning her copper-red hair into a halo of spun fire. She knew her newly-acquired curves were silhouetted by the cockpit door, but there was nowhere else to go but forward. Although she hadn't been a woman for long, Wash knew it was a safe bet that moving her semi-naked body closer to the two hijackers wouldn't make them want her any less. They watched hungrily as the zipper on her flight suit descended as slowly as she could lower it without standing still.
'They're not a captive audience,' she thought, joking with herself to keep the panic at bay. 'They're just the audience that's keeping me captive.'
Despite River's presence in the next room, Wash felt cold, and empty, and alone. Small sparks of fear seemed to chase up and down her spine as she thought of what Teller and Beeks had planned for her. She wasn't a coward, really. She knew that much about herself. After all, Wash had gone in with Zoe in the first wave to get Mal back from Niska, and he didn't even think twice about the possibility of not coming back.
'Maybe that's part of the problem,' the pilot mused as the zipper on her flight suit reached its lowest point. 'It's knowing I'll live through whatever they do to me that makes me afraid. I just started getting used to being a woman, and the part of me that used to be Linda knows that whatever happens next is going to change how I see myself in ways I can't even imagine.'
Resigned, Wash reached up and pulled the top of her flight suit down over her shoulders, baring them, along with the green lace-trimmed bra she had struggled to put on such a short time ago.
As she heard her tormenters breathing in the darkened hallway, she knew it would be just as hard for her to take it off now as it was to put it on in Kaylee's old room.
'River,' she thought desperately as she wriggled out of the sleeves, feeling the flight suit bunching at her hips. 'Please hurry.'
Simon and Kaylee moved through the crowds as quickly as they could. The supply markets and the docking area were on opposite sides of the Skyplex, so making the trip from one to the other took them through the most populated parts of the station.
"Still nothing from the comms," Kaylee said for the fourth time since they left their captors behind. Simon kept looking for the quickest path through the throngs of shoppers.
"Mal and Zoe were going to meet Inara close to the center of the station," he replied, "so we won't need the comms if they're still at the meeting point."
"And if they're not?"
"Then we head for the ship. Because that's where Mal and Zoe would go if they picked up Inara, and if they were captured, that's where anyone who wasn't taken prisoner would head to meet up with the rest of the crew."
Kaylee looked over at her man. "That's mighty fine thinkin' there, Doctor Tam," she said with a smile. "Not too shabby for a civilized gentlemen. Just when did you become Bucky Batson, Space Ranger, anyway?"
Simon blushed and looked away. "You have a way of making a man want to be a hero for you, Miss Kaylee," he replied in a fair approximation of Mal's voice. "Best get used to it, I reckon."
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Kaylee couldn't help but laugh. "You'd best not do that in front of the captain, 'hero.'"
Simon's smile matched her own. "I will keep that in mind, missy. But Bucky Batson ain't afraid of no man, not even Captain Reynolds."
Kaylee gave the doctor a sideways look. "You're way calm, Simon," she said, her curiosity growing. "Confident, too. Don't get me wrong, I like it. A lot. But where did it come from?"
After a moment, Simon shrugged. "Always there, I think," he replied. "After all, you can't be a trauma surgeon without being calm or confident. But I guess I finally realized that I'm not as far out of my depth as I thought I was when I first came aboard Serenity. Mal showed me that."
"What do you mean?" The mechanic gave his arm a squeeze as they walked
"I figured out that being Serenity's captain is a lot like being the chief physician in an ER, in a way." While he spoke, his eyes continued to search the crowds ahead as the two kept moving. "Because of the work we do, we often wind up in an emergency situation, and Mal usually has limited information. There's no time to be indecisive, because seconds count, both with an injured patient and out on the Rim. So Mal looks at the options, figures out what has the best chance for success, and makes a judgment call. He's not always right, but we're still flying, so how wrong can he be?"
The doctor turned his head briefly and caught Kaylee's eyes with his own. "So I learned from the captain and my own experience. Now when my corner of the Verse becomes … difficult, I make a judgement call and run with it. I do the best I can with what I've got." He smiled. "Fortunately, what I've got right now is you. So I'm hoping I'll do better than you'd think."
Kaylee smiled back. "You're off to a good start." The she looked past Simon and gasped. "Oh my God, it's Niska. And he's got the Captain and Zoe ... and 'Nara."
Without missing a beat, Simon took Kaylee's arm and kept walking along with the flow of the crowd. He turned them both away from the scene to face a shop window across the way, and studied the situation in the reflection.
"The two … gentlemen holding Inara are there for insurance, probably to keep Mal from doing anything to stop Niska while he collects the rest of us, and probably the ship." Simon felt his heart start to race, just a little, as he noticed the way one of Niska's men held Inara. "The way the one on Inara's right side is holding her … he could snap her neck almost instantly. Mal can see this, or he would have made his move by now. Zoe's been waiting on the captain to say when, but he won't. The two who grabbed us, Clive and Bucky, were probably on Niska's payroll too."
"So … what'll we do?" Kaylee looked up at Simon, as he still looked at the group mirrored in the window.
"Something's missing," he said softly. A few seconds passed, and the doctor cocked his head. "Where's Jayne?"
Jayne stood in the weapons shop, holding the advanced sniper rifle loosely in one hand. The Interceptor felt like a toy compared to the simpler, heavier weapons he knew best. That made him feel awkward and a little unsure. For a minute he wondered if it would just not work, like that Alliance rifle he had taken on Ariel during the escape. He shook his head.
'Riggs 'n Murtaugh … they always done right by me before,' he decided, 'Got a good rep, never had one jam on me. And I always made the shot. I ain't gonna start worryin' 'bout 'em them now, just 'cause this thing feels like a piece o' plastic pretendin' to be a gun.'
The proprietor of the shop stood across from him, also holding a loaded Interceptor. He had a barely suppressed smile on his face, as if this was the most fun he'd had in years.
"Come stand here beside me, sir," he said. "With the door propped open, this area is nothing more than a shadow from across the way. We can have a clear view of the targets without them seeing us at all."
Jayne grunted and moved over to where the storekeeper stood. Even though the man had been helpful, his happiness was downright irritatin'. Unable to stop himself, he turned to the man and leaned forward, getting right into his face.
"Listen up. This ain't no ruttin' game," he growled, his jaw tight with suppressed anger. "That's my gorram crew out there. My job is keepin' them safe, and I ain't gonna let no crazy-ass rich man have 'em just 'cause he thinks he's owed. Anybody messin' with my family is gonna wind up on the wrong side a' trouble, an' that's a fact."
With a barely suppressed shock, Jayne realized what he said without even thinkin' about it, and his tirade faltered and ground to a stop. He swallowed once and went on. "So … so stop havin' so much gorram fun, and let's get this done, awright?"
The merchant felt chastened. "My apologies, sir, for taking joy at your misfortune, however inadvertent it might have been. My … need for action should in no way take precedence over the seriousness of-"
"Stow it." Jayne cut him off sharply, feeling a little ashamed of his outburst. "I know how it feels to get to fire a new piece for the first time. I'm sorry I mouthed off at ya, considerin' how you're helpin' out me and mine." He stopped short again and shook his head. "Gorram it, we better get this done 'fore I start callin' Mal Pa."
The shop owner cocked his head, clearly confused, then nodded. "As you wish, sir. If I may suggest, the primary targets are the ones holding the woman. Since they are behind the others, they're least likely to be noticed when they are affected." Jayne nodded, and the proprietor continued. "Then the third man holding the concealed weapon and the older gentleman in charge would be in the second volley."
"Sounds like a plan," the mercenary said, his muscles getting loose thinking about finally doing something.
"Then let's make it so, shall we? I believe the expression is, 'we're burning daylight." He smiled at his reference, only to find Jayne looking at him oddly. "Apologies, sir. A reference to cinema from Earth That Was. What I meant was –"
"Yeah, I get it," Jayne growled, "we're wastin' time. So let's see if we save some folks before they die of old age."
From Bishop's Compendium of Alliance Weapons and Armaments:
The Riggs & Murtaugh Interceptor is a state-of-the-art sniper rifle, designed primarily for Alliance use during the war against the independent planets on the Outer Rim. The Interceptor uses a magnetic mass driver to propel its streamlined steel jacketed ammunition at just below the speed of sound. This makes the Interceptor almost completely silent - an important feature for a weapon designed primarily for infiltration and assassination.
Although the muzzle velocity of the Interceptor virtually eliminates the need to correct for wind or distance, the true technological advantage of the Interceptor lies in its "smart" ammunition. The onboard processor built into each round uses a combination of biometric recognition and positioning technology to "home in" on a selected target, chosen by the shooter. Once a target has been acquired by the Interceptor's AI, the mass driver is set to a slower propulsion setting, and the weapon can be fired in any direction. The projectile will then use its self-contained guidance rockets to actually change course and pursue its objective.
Although usually reserved for Alliance military personnel, a select number of Interceptors have been released by R&M and sold for use by local security personnel in major cities and on orbiting civilian platforms, or "Skyplexes." Its target acquisition capability makes it perfect for crowd control, hostage situations, and criminal apprehension, with a factory-installed self-destruct subroutine overriding operator settings to prevent a shot from piercing the hull of an orbiting platform in deep space. In certain covert situations, the self-destruct capability can be set to eliminate the projectile after it has delivered its payload, leaving nothing but a metallic dust behind to avoid any evidence that a payload has been delivered.
From a doorway about ten feet away, there came a soft short hiss. Startled, Simon turned towards the sound, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw two small … somethings … move very quickly over the crowd towards the group across the way. A split second later, there was a second hissing cough, almost lost in the Skyplex's background noise, and this time he followed the flight path of a second pair of blurry objects as they crossed the distance almost too quickly to be seen.
Simon looked over to where Niska and his crewmates still stood. Nothing seemed to have changed. But when his eyes swung back to the doorway where the sounds and objects had originated, he saw Jayne walk out with a swagger in his step and start cutting across the crowd towards the tableau.
"Damn, he's going to walk straight into Niska's hands," Simon said, grabbing Kaylee's arm and lurching forward. "We need to stop him!"
But even as he said it, he knew they were going to be too late.
Mal felt the goon next to him move slightly, and heard something small hit the floor next to him. He turned his head just in time to see Jayne walking confidently through the crowd, a silly grin plastered across his face. A few yards behind him, the captain saw the doctor and Kaylee trying desperately to reach Jayne before he reached Niska. Mal gritted his teeth and did everything he could think of not to tip Jayne's play - whatever the hell Jayne's play actually was.
Jayne walked past Niska to the thug holding Inara's neck. Niska remained frozen, with that same self-satisfied smug smile on his face. Without a pause, Jayne pulled the goon's hand away and pushed it towards the ceiling. It remained pointed skyward, and Inara gasped. She threw her elbow deep into her captor's stomach, and nothing but a small wheeze of air escaped his lips.
Mal took a step forward, slipping from his own minder's grasp. The man stayed frozen where he was, a statue carved in flesh. Zoe stepped forward as well, turning to look at the still figure beside her and then back at the captain.
"Sir?" she asked, clearly confused.
Mal shrugged helplessly. "Don't ask me, Zoe. I'm puzzled my own self." The grin on Jayne's face grew wider, and he stepped between Niska and one of his men and put his arms on both their shoulders.
"This is what ya might call a ruttin' rescue," he said, as Simon and Kaylee finally made it to where they all were standing. "Courtesy of Mister Jayne Cobb, with a little help from a gray-haired shopkeep and the latest high-tech piece o' crap Alliance excuse for a gun."
Simon stepped forward and circled around Niska. "He's … they're paralyzed!"
"Naw," Jayne said smugly, "They just ain't moving." The doctor looked at Kaylee and they both sighed. Jayne went on, oblivious. "Can't move, neither, unless we move 'em."
Mal looked at Jayne, trying to decide if he was hallucinating. Rescued by Jayne?
"How … how did you … ?"
"Borrowed an Alliance sniper rifle and some special ammo. Filled 'em all full of this juice the Feds mixed up for crowd control. They don't fall when they get hit. They juss stand right where they is 'til the purple bellies come and pick 'em up. Throw 'em on a truck like stacks o' firewood." He threw a small box towards Simon, who caught it with one hand and started reading the label.
"The drug shuts down all voluntary muscle control," the doctor said, "for several hours, depending on the dosage and the muscle mass of the target." He looked up at Mal. "We're safe. For a while, at least."
The captain looked at Simon and Kaylee. "I figured you two were caught, too. Didn't happen?"
"Oh, it happened," Kaylee said with a smile. "Two big slabs of muscle twice Jayne's size grabbed us while we was shopping. Didn't look good for a while there."
She wrapped her arm around Simon's and squeezed. "But then my man got the jump on 'em. They're still out cold in the marketplace, I reckon."
Mal eyed the doctor with a new respect. "My, my. Seems a day for miracles. First Jayne mounts a gorram rescue, and then you take down two hired men without even skinnin' a knuckle. Doctor, I am impressed."
Mal moved over to look into Niska's eyes. "Can he see? Hear me?"
Simon thought for a moment, then nodded. "Probably. There's nothing on the packaging to indicate unconsciousness as a direct result of the substance."
"Well, good. Got a few choice words to share with our friend here," Mal said with a smile. "Ain't none of them fit for mixed company."
Zoe stepped forward. "Sir? I hate to interrupt what I'm sure is going to be an entertaining display, but Niska said he was going to capture the crew and the ship. If he sent people out after Simon and Kaylee, he must have sent someone to take Serenity."
Jayne's smile dropped off of his face, replaced by a look of dread no one could ever remember seeing before.
"Linda!" He growled, and turned to disappear into the crowd.
"River!" Simon shouted, and ran after Jayne.
"Simon!" Kaylee screamed, and started after Simon.
"Kaylee, wait!" Mal started after her and stopped, torn between staying with Inara and going after his crew. The companion touched his arm, and he turned to her.
"Go, Mal," she said, looking into his eyes and squeezing his shoulder. "Take Zoe with you. I'll watch over Niska. Try and keep out of trouble."
"This bunch? Ain't gonna happen."
Inara smiled. "I was talking about you." He smiled back, shook his head, then darted forward and kissed her on the forehead. "Back as soon as I can, 'Nara."
She watched Mal and Zoe chase after the rest of the crew, then turned to the crime boss's frozen form with a wicked smile.
"Now, Mister Niska," she said sweetly. "It's time to make plain to you and your associates exactly what happens to people who threaten the lives of registered Companions."
Reaching up, she touched an ornate broach pinned over her left breast. It gave a small chirp like an indignant bird, and a melodic female voice followed immediately.
"Companions Guild, Santo Chapter. How can we be of service, sister?"
Wash was down to her bra and panties, shivering slightly in the chill breeze from the air recycler. Her nipples had swollen and grown hard from the cold, and she could see goosebumps rising on the exposed upper curves of her breasts.
Beeks had waved to her to turn around slowly, apparently so he could ogle her more efficiently. That suited Wash just fine, since it gave her another way to waste time. The deck plates were cold on her bare feet as she rotated as slowly as she could, raising her hands and trying for a half-remembered model's stance - although whether it was Linda's memory or Wash's remained unclear.
'It doesn't matter, really,' the pilot thought, pasting a flight attendant's smile on her lips as her shuffling turn rolled her hips slightly. 'Anything that puts off the last few steps in this bizarre dance is okay in my book. I just wish River would hurry up and notice something!'
Both intruders had allowed their gun barrels to slip towards the deck, since the pilot was clearly unarmed. Teller caught the look in Wash's eyes as she completed the turn, and smiled wide.
"Hey Beeks," he said, "I think the lady is scared of us or something."
"Really?" Beeks replied, his voice a model of mock astonishment. Then, in an instant, it turned into a growl. "Good. I like 'em scared."
Something that sounded suspiciously like a snort came from directly behind them, and both men spun around to find a very angry Jayne holding two handguns, both pointed directly at them.
"Now that's real funny," he said, a smile twitching at the edges of his mouth. "That's downright HI-larious. You know why? 'Cause I like to scare folks, too. 'Specially folks who like to scare my crew. I mean, that's what the guns're for, right? Well, that an' killin', and that's the really scary part, ain't it? Cause I ain't done my killin' for today yet, and I reckon I'm about due. So how about it, sah gwa? Are YOU scared?"
Beeks swallowed and nodded. Jayne grinned and cocked the pistol aimed at Beeks's head. "Well, if you're so scared, why ain't your gun on the deck yet? Or are you stupid, too?"
The intruder's weapon hit the metal grid with a satisfying clang, and Jayne told Beeks to kick it away, which he did. Teller watched Jayne, his smile not fading an inch. His own gun was still in his hand, and pointed up at the doorway to the flight deck.
"You next," Jayne said, his barrel not moving an inch. Teller shook his head.
"I've got my gun pointed right at your pretty pilot, friend," the thief replied with his own grin, "so maybe you're the one who should be dropping his guns, dohn-mah?"
Jayne snorted and shook his head. "You're aimin' at an empty doorway, dumbass. You might want to make sure you still have a hostage before you start mouthin' off. Ain't that right, Linda?"
Teller's head whipped around, just in time for his chin to collide with Wash's fist. He spun back in the other direction, and his unconscious body hit the deck a split second before his gun did. The pilot yelped and shook her hand, fingers spread.
"Owwww!" She massaged her wrist with her opposite hand. "That wasn't supposed to hurt me!"
"Takes practice," Jayne said, lowering both guns with a smile. He took in the sight of an almost-naked Linda while she focused on her pain. "You gotta learn to brace your wrist afore you hit 'em. Least you kept your thumb outta your fist. That's somethin'. Ain't too bad for your first knockout punch."
Seeing Jayne distracted, Beeks began moving across the deck towards Teller's gun. Suddenly, a lithe form dropped from the gridwork above and landed on his outstretched hand. Linda heard bones snap an instant before the intruder howled in pain, and turned to see River crouched on top of the screaming man.
"Oh, hush," she said calmly, standing up without moving off of his hand while his screams dwindled to whimpering. "You'd think you'd never had your hand crushed to a pulp before." The girl twisted her legs slightly, grinding Beeks's bones together. "Maybe that will teach you not to go reaching for your gun without permission."
Almost daintily, River stepped off the intruder's hand and kicked him in the chin, knocking him unconscious. She walked over to the door to the flight deck door and gathered up Linda's clothes, then carried them over to the pilot.
"Aren't you a little cold, Linda?" she said sharply as she thrust the pile of clothing into the girl's arms. "Go get dressed before Jayne's eyes fall out of their sockets."
The mercenary turned bright red and started to stammer. Wash put her hand out and touched his arm.
"It's okay if you look, Jayne. At least this once." Jayne turned towards her, surprise written across his face. Linda shrugged. "After all, you saved this body from these two, and they were going to do a lot more than look. So …" She started to spread her arms, and the look on Jayne's face was priceless. But before she could move more than a few inches, he put his arm out and stopped her.
"No," he said, looking only into her eyes. It was her turn to look surprised. "Truth is, this ain't about lookin' – not to me, not anymore. You're crew now, and that means I get to look out for you, and that's … well, that's good. Hell, that's my job."
He took a deep breath and pressed on. "But I want more someday. Somethin' more 'tween us, maybe. If you're willin', I mean. And if I ain't stupid enough to drive you away."
Jayne looked down at his feet, avoiding her eyes for fear of seeing what she felt. "Ever since I met you, I want to be better. I want to be more than I been before, so maybe you'll want to get to know me. But if I act like that … if I treat you like they did, even a little … that makes me like them, don't it? And that ain't how I want you seein' me. Not now, not ever."
He turned away. "So you go get your clothes on, and I'll finish what I started." Jayne bent down and picked up both men by the backs of their suits, like a pair of suitcases.
"You … you aren't going to kill them or anything, are you?" Linda's voice was a trifle shaky. Jayne's reply was a snort and a shake of the head.
"These two ain't worth the lead," he said, walking back towards the cargo bay. "I'm juss gonna bring 'em someplace they can think about what they did, and what they was gonna do." Then he snorted again, and started laughing out loud. They could hear him clattering down the metal stairs.
Mal caught up to Simon and Kaylee at the cargo bay door, just in time to step aside as Jayne walked through carrying the two intruders.
"Goin' somewhere, Jayne?" the captain asked, a little surprised at how easily he carried the two men.
"Juss takin' out the trash, cap'n," he replied with a snort. "I won't be long."
"Make it fast," Mal said. "I want us out in the black and on our way to Boros before Niska quits bein' a statue and goes back to being a sadistic crazy."
Jayne just nodded and kept walking, but every now and then a little snort of laughter would pop out as he made his way into the Skyplex.
"Mr. Niska." A blindfold was removed, and the face of a quite beautiful woman moved into his point of view. From the grace with which she carried herself, it was obvious she was a Companion. Niska strained against his own muscles, but was still quite paralyzed. And although he seemed to be standing in a public place, he was surprisingly cold.
"I know you can see me, even though you cannot respond. I also know you are a direct man, so I will make this simple and to the point. You took a member of the Sisterhood hostage today, and ordered your men to strike her. Then you threatened to kill her. This is not tolerated, and we will not permit it to continue."
Ther crime boss raged from inside his prison of flesh, and the woman saw the anger in his eyes and smiled.
"The reach of the Companions Guild extends far beyond the bedroom, Mr. Niska. We have friends in high places … and we are not at all reluctant to use our connections to punish or eliminate those who threaten us. Your Skyplex, for example, could not withstand even a single salvo from a fully-armed Alliance cruiser. And although we do not have one of our own, there are many Alliance officers who would happily destroy your home if we told them the cause was just. Government leaders on dozens of worlds would eagerly target your business operations if we asked them to. And rest assured, we will ask – unless you do exactly what I say."
Niska 's anger cooled slightly as he contemplated her words. As heavily shielded as his Skyplex was, it was no match for Alliance heavy weapons. And he had no doubt the Companions Guild could deliver what this woman promised. He could fight, but it would be costly. And if he were to lose, his reputation would become even less solid than his dealings with Captain Reynolds had already made it.
"You will leave Inara Serra alone, Mr. Niska, as well as Malcolm Reynolds and the crew of Serenity. You will also seek no action against the Sisterhood, for that would bring an immediate and unfortunate reaction – one that would severely impact your ability to do business, not to mention your ability to remain alive."
"That was a warning about your future. Now, concerning your present. You had to be punished for your attack on one of us. Obviously you have issues with powerful women. But your current status as a mannequin and our proximity to a lingerie store provided us with the perfect opportunity to … put you in touch with your feminine side."
"You and your men are now … on display in the center square of this station, wearing the latest in feminine underthings from the finest lingerie designers on Osiris, and made up with the finest cosmetics Ariel has to offer. We've also extended your paralysis for an additional eight hours or so, to give you all the time you need to reflect on why it is unwise to attempt to harm a Companion in any way."
"Your clothing and valuables are in the station security office. You can retrieve them when you can move again. Do not bother to file a complaint. They will take no action against us." The woman moved her face very close to his, and looked deep into his eyes. "A few last words of advice. Taking revenge is both unprofessional and unprofitable. And if you persist in attempting to obtain it, from either Malcolm Reynolds or the Sisterhood, you will lose everything you have worked so hard to build. That is not a promise. That is a fact."
"Have a … beautiful day."
She moved aside, and Adelai Niska finally saw his reflection in the store window across from where he stood.
Despite the Companion's parting wish, it wasn't pretty.
Teller opened his eyes slowly, and the world gradually came into focus. Everything around him was pink and smelled vaguely like perfume. His hands and feet were restrained somehow, so he couldn't move well on his own. He could hear someone next to him that sounded like Beeks, but he couldn't turn his head far enough around to see. Besides, whoever it was kept whimpering and mewling, and he'd never heard Beeks sound like that before.
"Good. You're awake."
Teller turned his head to find Jayne straddling a worn kitchen chair. Behind him on the wall was a table full of jars and brushes, and a mirror. Since he was apparently on the floor, Teller really couldn't see his own reflection, but there seemed to be a lot of clothes against the wall behind him. "I been trying to talk to your partner there, but all he can do is breathe hard and make noises like a kitten trapped in a well. Probably 'cause he woke up a mite prettier than he was when he went out."
Almost effortlessly, Jayne reached down and pulled Teller half off the floor, then spun him around so he could see his partner.
Beeks was hairless and fleshy pink from head to toe. His hair had been lengthened to reach halfway down his back and colored a bright cotton-candy pink, with a pair of white cat ears stuck in the middle of it all. His face was heavily made up, and both hands, including the broken one, were locked into furry mittens that couldn't be removed. He wore a harness covered in pink fur that matched the mittens, and a long fluffy cat tail attached to the harness ran down behind him. Teller could see Beeks's feet, also locked into white furry boots with very high heels.
"The warpaint is sorta permanent," Jayne said, "and so's the hair. They got stuff that'll loosen it all up so he kin get it off, but without that I reckon your buddy would hafta rip his skin off, and I'm thinkin' he wouldn't want to do that."
Teller felt a chill run down his spine. "Do I look like that, too?"
Jayne snorted. "Oh, hell no! These folk like what ya call var-eye-it-tee in their entertainment." He pulled Teller up to his feet and turned him around to face the mirror. He too was hairless, and his entire body had been oiled until it glistened. He wore a leather harness that left nothing to the imagination and a matching collar. Leather bands on his wrists and ankles that seemed to be hooked together somehow, making it impossible for him to move. His hair was slicked back, and his feet were bare.
Jayne watched Teller's face with a barely concealed smile.
"I think you're supposed to be some kind of ruttin' slave boy," he said, "and your buddy … well, I don't know what the hell he's supposed to be, but that ain't my problem. I ain't sly myself, and I don't usually hang with sly folk, but they was what I needed ta teach you a lesson."
"S … sly?" Teller's blood ran cold and Beeks squeaked and curled into a ball.
"Well, I coulda given you to a bunch of women to scare the gosa outta you like you tried to do to Linda, but I'm already late." Jayne grinned wide. "Besides, I ain't sure how scared you'd be of women-folk, but I'm pretty gorram sure you and your buddy ain't sly, so that'll juss add to the fun. Well, my fun, anyway. And theirs, I'm thinkin'."
"How did you –?"
"Amazin' what you kin find if you spread a little coin around, ain't it?" Jayne put Teller back on the floor and pulled out a cigar. "Found this club quick enough, even if I did get me some interestin' looks while I was huntin'. And the folks here were more than happy to lend a hand when I told them what you did – and what you were goin' to do. Hell, I didn't even hafta pay extra for the killin', if it comes to that."
Beeks wrapped himself tighter. Teller looked up at Jayne with a shake of his head. The mercenary lit his cigar and took a few puffs before giving the would-be thief the eye.
"Well, the way I figure it, I oughta give you two the same chance you gave Linda. Fair's fair, right, gents?" He took another puff and ambled towards the door. "So there's the one door and there's a crowd full of sly boys on the other side that figure to have their way with you. They're fixin' to play wit you, mebbe order you 'round some, get you to make 'em … happy." He shrugged. "Sounds familiar, don't it? Now, if you do what the boys want, and I mean everythin' they want, they just give you your old clothes back and let you go in a bunch of hours. Same deal you offered my pilot, sorta."
Jayne leaned over and looked Teller in the eye. "But if ya fight back, even a little? Well, you'll wind up leavin' the Skyplex through the nearest airlock … in the clothes you're wearin' now. dohn-mah?"
He turned to the furry figure curled up and shaking on the floor and gave him a nudge with the toe of his boot. "How 'bout that, Beeks – juss say no once and you'll be floatin' in orbit around Santos forever dressed like a giant pink pussy. Boggles the mind, don't it?" Beeks whimpered again, and Jayne snorted. He turned and walked towards the door, the cigar in the corner of his mouth.
Teller tried to reach out with his manacled hands. "Wait!" he shouted.
Jayne turned around at the door. "Well, no,'fraid I can't. Like I said, I'm late. And as fun as it might be to watch, I got a ship to catch." He opened the door, and the sound of the crowd outside filled the small room. He gave the two on the floor a grin. "Best of luck, though."
The door swung shut behind him.
As he walked back to Serenity, Jayne ignored the dirty looks from the passersby as he puffed on his cigar.
'Ain't nobody gonna die,' he said to himself, 'cause I told Linda they wouldn't. But they don't have ta know that. And I'm bettin' neither one is gonna be brave enough to find out it's a bluff.' He snorted. 'Gorram, I'm startin' to like thinkin' things through. This HAS been an interestin' day.'
He snorted once again and quickened his step a little. His crew was waiting.
"You are a very clever and deceitful girl."
The ship was finally on its way to Boros, and River was deep inside a very complex fantasy when the voice intruded. She had been preparing to perform in a variation of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake – one of her own creation, rewritten as a combination of ballet, Japanese Kabuki, Chinese Noh play, and vaudeville comedy routine. River wasn't quite crazy, not anymore, but she did like to keep her hand in, as it were. And mixing theatrical styles was almost as much fun as solving fourth-order calculus equations in her head – while doing a handstand and holding her breath.
The owner of the voice was a small older Oriental gentleman in flowing robes, floating serenely above the dance floor.
"Clever I will admit to," she replied, one leg up and stretching on the ballet bar in front of the mirror. "Brilliant, even. Deceitful, however, is wrong, and I refuse to accept it. I lied to no one … Chiang. Unlike others I could mention."
Chiang shook his head. "I never lied to Hoban Washburn."
River snorted in a very unladylike fashion. "A lie of omission is still a lie. You let him agree to be Linda without first telling him he would wind up being a she."
"Her presence was necessary."
"That doesn't make the lying right."
"She was offered the chance to refuse, after she knew she was going to be a woman."
"A chance you knew Wash wouldn't accept, just to leave his shipmates to die."
The guardian regarded her thoughtfully, and inclined his head. "I concede the point without admitting I was wrong. Sometimes the end truly does justify the means, and Serenity needed Wash-as-Linda to save everyone aboard her. In any event, your accusation of deceit on my part does not excuse your own deceitful acts."
River yawned. "Name one."
"You promised you would be there for Wash, and you were not. You did not save Wash from her captors."
"I never said I would 'save her.' What I said was that I would be there for her, and I was." River switched to her other leg. "I'd been hiding in the gridwork for a full two minutes, ready to jump in if Jayne hadn't gotten there when he was supposed to. I knew that he would, but better safe than sorry. Be prepared, that's my motto."
"Be prepared is the motto of the Boy Scouts," Chiang said with a frown. "And you were never a boy, or a scout."
"A fact for which I thank the gods every morning before breakfast, old man." He could hear the smile in River's voice. "Boy Scout or not, as far as this crew and this ship are concerned, I will always be prepared."
Chiang smiled. "Be prepared for what?"
"To step in, when I have to," she replied softly, "and step aside when I need to."
The older gentleman lifted an eyebrow. The young girl lifted one in return, and then grinned impishly.
"I will do whatever it takes to protect my family," River said. "From the Verse, and from themselves. If that means holding off on a rescue to let Jayne play hero, shiny."
"Why would you want to have Jayne save her?" The guardian sounded curious.
"Because Jayne is finally learning what it means to be part of a crew and part of a family," she said simply. "He stepped in and saved her. It wasn't about coin, or even getting her into his bunk. He did it because he was worried about her. I could see it in his head. He just wanted to keep her safe. It was the kind of thing the old Jayne would never have done, unless there was something in it for him."
Chiang's eyes twinkled. "And?"
River shot him a look, then shook her head and sighed. "And Wash needed to see Jayne actually being a hero – actually being the kind of man she could come to like, instead of the selfish jerk he used to be when Wash still was Wash and not Linda. If Wash grows into becoming the woman she is now, and Jayne just plain grows up, there could be something between them, maybe. If I work it just right."
"I withdraw deceitful," he said with a smile, "and substitute manipulative."
"To which I plead guilty as charged." River smiled back. "But to be fair, it takes one to know one. And, as you said, sometimes the end truly does justify the means. I'm going to do everything in my power to keep this ship flying and the crew happy, even if I have to play matchmaker."
She stopped stretching and took a towel off of the end of the barre. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a show to do."
Chiang held up a hand. "A moment, please. I couldn't help but notice you are preparing for a performance. I looked into your mind to see what you were planning. Your version of Swan Lake sounds … interesting. And there are so few diversions for one such as myself. I was wondering … if I might be allowed to attend?"
"Attend?" River gave him a questioning look. "I am not even happy with you being here now, old man. You showed up in my head unannounced and uninvited, and I'm not sure I'd like the idea of you wandering around in my mind for the next four hours of subjective time … especially with your tendency to meddle."
The guardian bowed his head. "I would be as quiet as a mouse, honored miss, and would happily obey any restrictions you might set as to my actions. I do not wish to interfere, only to observe."
The girl thought for a moment, and then spoke. "If I do let you stay, I have rules. This is my brain, and I remain totally in control. I don't want you doing anything in here without my express permission, agreed?"
Chiang nodded with a smile. "Agreed."
River nodded and grinned. "Then you may stay for the performance. I've arranged for you to have the best seats in the house, and an appropriate escort."
"Thank you." Chiang lowered himself to the dance floor and bowed from the waist. "Your kindness is appreciated."
She closed her eyes and a doorway appeared at the far end of the room. Chiang smiled and began moving towards it.
"Wait!" River's voice stopped him in mid-stride, and he turned to her with a question in his eyes. "My conception of the Ariel Opera House has a very strict dress code. Your robes are inappropriate. Just a moment while I make some … adjustments to your appearance."
Chiang sighed and waited patiently. He felt his clothing begin to shift and blur around him, and suddenly his body began to shift as well. He tried to focus his mind to halt the changes, but found them impossible to stop.
"I remain totally in control, remember?" River said with a playful smile. "Now be still and let me finish."
Chiang felt his body begin to solidify, and realized that it wasn't his body anymore. He turned and faced the mirror …
… and saw a beautiful woman with long blonde hair that tumbled over her shoulders and down her back like a golden waterfall. She was wearing a painted-on blue gown that clung to every one of her exaggerated curves, but left her back, shoulders, and the tops of her breasts bare. The skirt of the dress barely qualified as a skirt, coming down just enough to hide the tops of the sheer silk stockings that hugged her legs like a second skin. The five-inch heels on her feet matched the dress and the opera gloves on her arms, and her make-up was as tasteful as her jewelry.
She spun on her toes and stared daggers at River.
"Why? Why did you do this to me?" Her voice came out a seductive half-whisper.
"Because you agreed to give me control to get what you wanted," the younger girl replied, "just like Wash did. According to you, that made it all right, remember?"
River looked into Chiang's eyes. "It occurred to me that you'd been playing with people's lives for so long, you might have forgotten what it means to be truly human, and not always in control of your own destiny. I thought you needed to understand why tricking another person into a life-changing situation to serve your own purposes is not always the 'right' thing to do … even when it is." A playful grin popped up on her face. "The end may justify the means, old man, but I told you, I take care of my own. And I decided that Wash needed a little payback for you dropping him into Linda's body unprepared."
There was a knock on the door. River's eyes lit up in mock surprise. "Oh, my! Who could that be?"
The door swung open to reveal a tall, almost handsome man in a tuxedo. He seemed to loom over Chiang, making the new girl feel quite small and defenseless, and his face was fixed in a permanent leer. His eyes roamed constantly over Chiang's new body, and she found herself wanting to cover up, even though she knew none of this was real.
" Don't keep your date waiting, Gladys," River said happily. "Enjoy the show! I know I will."
The transformed guardian found her unwanted body moving forward on its impossible heels, all of its unfamiliar parts bouncing, wiggling and swaying with every step until she stood uneasily beside her "escort." As they walked together into the Opera House, one of his hands repeatedly brushed her chest "accidentally," while the other reached down to give her impossibly round bottom a squeeze. Every man she passed managed to touch her somehow, and it just went on and on as they moved from balcony to mezzanine to orchestra. Strangely, as uncomfortable as she became, it soon became apparent that River had made sure Chiang would be unable to put up any resistance, and she resolved to get through this with as much dignity as she could muster.
So when she finally reached her seat, Chiang tried slipping into it gracefully, only to find that her too short skirt rode up, exposing the tops of her stockings and a band of naked thigh that drew the eye of every male in the immediate vicinity. The reluctant girl pulled her skirt down as far as it would go and pressed her knees together. In response, her "date" slipped one arm around her, let the other hand slide onto her lap, and leered down into her cleavage like he was searching for hidden treasure.
Chiang heaved a huge sigh, setting her new chest to quivering. As she waited for River Tam's Swan Lake to begin, trying to ignore her companion's hot breath on her bosom, the guardian knew one thing for sure.
No matter how entertaining the ballet might be, it was going to be a long four hours.
Wash loved the quiet. And she loved the view from the pilot's seat.
The ship was out in the black on its way to Boros, with all the bridge lights set on low and the galaxy sprinkled across the ship's bow for her inspection. She leaned back in her chair and let her eyes caress the stars. The rest of the crew were off doing whatever they did when Serenity was in transit, and Wash was doing what she enjoyed the most – flying. And seeing the stars.
She felt almost at peace for the first time since this "connecting flight" began.
'After everything that happened, you'd think I'd be ready for a week of sleep,' Wash thought, checking the scanners once again for any nearby traffic before returning her eyes to the . 'But I'm wide awake, and happy to be back where I belong. Sort of.'
Her hand still ached a bit from the roundhouse punch that knocked Teller flat, but she felt absurdly proud of being the one to put him down. She really shouldn't have been surprised. After all, she knew Zoe could easily hit hard enough to put a man on the ground in less time than it took to tell about it, so her being able to knock someone senseless wasn't exactly that much of a feat. Still, it was nice to know she could defend herself, if push came to shove. It was good to feel powerful instead of powerless.
Wash was also getting used to being a woman. In the few hours since their run-in with Niska and her impromptu striptease, all the things that had felt wrong when she'd first become Linda had started feeling more and more natural. The bounce and sway of her new walk, the way her hair brushed at the back of her neck, and the pretty reflection in the mirror – they were all just becoming the way things were now. It was still odd, looking at Zoe and feeling how much she loved her, but knowing it was something she could never share. It was odder still watching Mal walk away from her in those tight pants of his and feeling a thrill deep down inside she didn't really want to think about just yet.
But there was time for that. Time for everything. She was alive again, and flying. That was all that mattered.
Kaylee moved all of her stuff out of her old room, and when Mal and Jayne brought Linda's things up from the cargo bay, the ship's mechanic helped her make the empty room into a place she could call her own. Strangely enough, even though it was all bits of Linda's past, Wash felt very much at home. Kaylee even gave her a new sign for her door – all birds and clouds and rainbows surrounding the words "Linda's Room."
"There you go!" Kaylee said, putting down the screwdriver she'd use to put the sign in place. "Now it's official. You're a part of the crew. Welcome to the family." She threw Linda a grin, and the pilot surprised both Kaylee and herself with an uncharacteristic squeal and a hug just for the joy of it.
Yes, definitely getting used to being a woman.
Wash looked out into the black and smiled.
'It's still going to take some time,' she thought, 'but maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay.'
"Hey."
Jayne's voice came from behind her. She swiveled in the pilot's seat and saw him standing in the doorway, fidgeting slightly.
"Hey yourself," she said with a smile. "What brings you up to pilot country?"
"Uh, you do, I guess," he replied, ducking his head and giving her a small smile in return. "Can I come in?"
"Sure." Wash watched Jayne walk through the hatch. She noticed he had shaved and changed his clothes since they had left the Skyplex, and he smelled like soap. "What's up?"
"Nothin'." There was a long pause. "Juss wonderin' how you're settlin' in is all." Another pause. "You look happy."
"That's 'cause I am happy." She reached out to touch the pilot's console. "I'm doing what I love to do, and I'm getting paid to do it. And I'm working with people I like. It doesn't get much better than that."
Another silence. Wash snuck a look at Jayne, and found him looking at his boots.
"What about Niska?" he asked suddenly. "Joinin' up with us brought you a mess o' trouble. Don't that bother you some?"
Wash thought about how Linda would answer, and shrugged. "The Verse is a dangerous place. There's always going to be someone out there with a problem. As long as I get to keep flying, I can put up with the occasional death threat or embarrassing striptease." She grinned. "And as long as you don't mind rescuing me. Thank you."
Jayne nodded, his jaw clenched. He looked very uncomfortable, and at first Wash couldn't figure out why. It wasn't anything she had done. He'd been awkward since the minute he walked in. She'd never seen him quite so unsettled before.
Then it hit her. The mercenary was afraid.
He was afraid of her – afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing, of making her angry or scaring her off. He was worried about losing her before he'd even caught her, and didn't have a clue what to do next.
'Fo yi ge hun fu zhuang,' she thought, keeping her feelings carefully hidden. 'So much fear, he doesn't know how to handle it. He's as nervous as an elephant on a rice paper bridge - surprised it hasn't ripped yet, not sure how to get off, and half convinced he's dead no matter what he does. It's just a matter of time until he falls either way.'
Jayne cleared his throat, and then tried to figure out where to put his hands. It hurt just to watch him, and Wash had no idea what she could do to make it better.
The thing was, Wash knew exactly how it felt. Becanse back when she was a he, way back when he first came to Serenity, Wash had felt the same way. About Zoe.
Zoe had disliked him from the start, and he'd known almost instinctively that it was going to be an uphill battle to make her see him as anything but an irritant. Still, once he'd met her, Wash couldn't get her out of his mind. He knew he couldn't court her the way he'd courted other women in the past, because she wasn't like any other woman he'd ever known. For a while, he hid behind humor or attitude because he just didn't know what to do. Eventually, he figured out she wouldn't stand for anything less than total honesty and strength - and from that point on, Wash knew he could win her. And did.
Just be being himself.
Then she remembered what Chiang had said when they had first met in the Afterlife – that Jayne had good in him, even if he didn't know it yet. She thought about what Jayne had said after the rescue, about wanting to change … to be better. For her.
And she remembered what Kaylee had told her when they were putting away her things – that when they figured out Serenity was under attack, Jayne had taken off through the crowd shouting her name.
'He's not who he used to be, that's for sure,' Wash thought, ''He's changed. But I'm pretty sure that's part of the problem. He can't be himself with me, because he's not sure exactly who he is anymore. He's trying to leave a lot of who he was behind, and he's still working out who the new Jayne will be.'
Wash looked at Jayne. He caught her eye, and for a second she could see his fear before he looked away. To the pilot, it looked like the silence had spooked him, and that he was planning to run.
'If he really wants to be better … to change the kind of man he is, because of me … then maybe I should think about doing some changing, too. Make things a little easier for him.' A little piece of the Wash-That-Was rose up in protest, and Wash and Linda together turned and shouted it down.
'I'm not planning to sleep with the man,' she growled inside. 'I'm not that kind of a girl.' The thought almost made her grin, but she kept it all inside. Gods forbid Jayne got the idea that Linda might be laughing at him.
She sighed. 'Look, I'm just starting to like the guy, okay? I don't want to have his baby. I am so not ready for that.' Wash took a mental breath. 'I just want to make him feel better. I want to give him a reason to hope – to not be so afraid of changing.' And a smaller voice deep in her mind whispered, 'I don't want him to be afraid of me, either.'
Jayne fidgeted some more. Linda sat there, quietly watching him, and the longer he stood there, the more he felt like this whole idea had been rutting crazy from the start.
'I can't change,' he thought, his mood darkening. 'Even if I do, she ain't gonna want the likes of me to be her man. I'm juss bein' moonbrained even thinkin' I got a chance with her.'
His shoulders sagging, Jayne turned to leave. But before he moved more than an inch, Linda rose from her seat, her hand raised.
"Wait!" she said. Jayne turned back in surprise.
'She looks … worried?' He realized. 'Why would she look worried? About me? No, that's crazy.'
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"Back to my bunk," he replied. His voice held a small measure of defeat. "Nowhere else to go, out here in the black."
"You could stay with me." The pilot looked at him hopefully. It sure looked to Jayne like she wanted him to stay. The only trouble was, he wasn't sure what else he could say or do to keep her entertained. Just standing there like a gorram fool sure wasn't helping none, and once Linda saw there wasn't anything else to him, she wouldn't want him around anymore anyway, so why was he even listening?
"Come keep me company for a while." Linda said, her tone soft and gentle. "Please? I've got something to show you."
She reached out her hand, and after a moment, he surprised them both by taking it. It was soft and warm and felt just right, wrapped in his fingers. She gave his hand a small squeeze, then pulled him forward. When they faced each other only a few inches apart, Linda pushed him softly into the pilot's seat.
Jayne looked up at her looking down on him, and she smiled again. Then she stepped behind the chair and swiveled it until it faced the windows.
"Look out there, Jayne," she whispered. "What do you see?"
He felt stupid, all of the sudden, like she was testing him. "The black, like I said before," he replied. "Nothing else to see."
Linda put her hands on his shoulders, and he felt the warmth of her touch. "Don't you see the stars, too?" she asked.
Surprised at how close she was, Jayne nodded. She continued. "The black is just the space between them, Jayne. The black and the stars make up the 'Verse, and the 'Verse is full of possibilities. Places to go, people to see, things to do. Right?"
Jayne nodded. Linda swiveled the chair back so he faced her again, and lowered herself until she was looking up into his eyes.
"So when you think about the 'Verse, it's not that there's nowhere else to go," she said. "It's that there's everywhere to go. There are so many possibilities, you may never get to them all. So in a way, the 'Verse is full of hope, Jayne. Sometimes, sitting here, looking out at that sky, I think that nothing is impossible."
He swallowed and nodded again, and she smiled, still looking into his soul. "I like that you want to change for me. And I like how much you've grown since I first came here. But right now, I'd like to get to know you better – not just the you that you're going to be, but who you are now."
Linda stood up and looked down at him, then reached over and took his hand again.
"So stay with me, and just be Jayne. Not the Jayne I met in the cargo bay, but the Jayne who stepped in and saved me when I needed saving. I'm pretty sure they're the same guy, more or less. Don't be afraid to be yourself with me. Just be the best you that you can be, and that'll be fine, okay?"
"But how –?" Jayne felt confused, and Linda sighed. She brought his hand up to her lips …
… and Wash found herself kissing it softly. Any reservations she had were lost in the moment and in Jayne's eyes. Oddly enough, the feel of his hand on her lips didn't seem strange at all, but she still did her best not to think too hard about what she just did … and who she did it with. The look in his eyes was priceless, and she was glad she took the fear away.
Although a part of her was still a bit disturbed about the way she'd done it. And how easy it was to do.
"You're a good man," she said softly. "Or you can be. But that good man is going to come from who you are now, and that's the man I want to know better. Okay?"
Linda kept his hand and rose slowly, until she stood over him again. She reached out a finger and touched the tip of his nose, and spoke with a playful twang that almost mirrored his own.
"So why don't you stop bein' so strong and silent, Mister Jayne Cobb, an' tell me about your past." He snorted, and she couldn't help but smile as she slipped back into her own voice. "I guarantee we'll get to the present soon enough."
With a grin, Linda spun the chair around until it faced forward, and stood behind it looking ahead with Jayne.
"After all," she said from behind him, with Wash's wicked grin slipping across her face, "the present is on the way to the future, and we're headed that way anyway, right?"
Jayne thought for a minute, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he replied. "I reckon we are at that, Miss Wehr, ma'am. I reckon we are at that."
That's the end of the beginning of Wash-as-Linda's "maiden voyage." I was surprised and pleased at the shiny reception this story got from all the hidden Browncoats here in the Big Closet. *grin* That means I might write more, since I'm sure there's more story to tell. Thank you all for the kind words, and to quote the good Captain, it's been a "mighty fine shindig." -- Randalynn
Firefly: Double Booked
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Double Booked
by Randalynn
Firefly: Double Booked | Part 1: Reservations
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This is a fan fiction set in the Firefly/Serenity universe created by Joss Whedon. It takes place soon after the events in the television series and the companion motion picture that followed, and is also the beginning of a sequel to Firefly: Connecting Flight. This means it has SPOILERS, folks, and major ones at that. So please don't read this unless you get the chance to see the series and the movie -- and read my first Firefly story, since it sets the stage.
In this first chapter of FIREFLY: DOUBLE BOOKED, Hoban Washburne is still working on getting used to being a woman after rejoining his crew as their new pilot, but she soon discovers her new body might have issues with her moving in -- and moving on -- as well. And returning a favor to someone who helped Mal and Zoe during the War for Independence might be harder than either of them imagines.
FIREFLY: DOUBLE BOOKED
by Randalynn
Part 1: Reservations
NOTE: These chapters ain't gonna be comin' as fast as the ones for the first story, Browncoats. I've only got this one chapter and the next one completed, but I REALLY wanted to post something, 'cause gorram it, it's been too long. I will try to make each chapter more self-contained and less cliff-hangery, but i can't hold myself back anymore. I hope nobody minds. -- Randalynn
The sky on Boros was a deep clear blue, with scarcely a cloud in sight. The hills around the Firefly class transport Serenity were green and rolling, and seemed to go on forever. And the temperature outside was absolutely perfect -- warm without being hot, and just the slightest breeze ruffling the grass.
In fact, it was just the right sort of weather for putting on your skimpiest bathing suit and lying out in the sun, so your man can stare at you in all your sexiness until his eyes plumb fall out.
At least, that's what Kaylee said when she burst into the pilot's quarters that morning, dived into her footlocker, and started flinging bits and pieces of clothing into the air. After a few seconds, the mechanic squealed and pulled out an entirely-too-brief yellow string bikini. She turned to the other woman in the room with a grin, holding up her prize triumphantly.
"I knew I saw this when I helped you unpack," Kaylee said as she tossed the bright bits of cloth at the totally surprised redhead. The pilot snatched them out of the air without thinking, then held them at arm's length, suspended between confusion and fear. "Now get your clothes off and let's get outside!"
The woman froze, unable to believe what she'd just heard. "Excuse me?"
"I said get naked and put on your suit, Linda!" Kaylee could barely contain her excitement. "Come on, girl, time's a'wastin'. Simon's in the cargo bay, and Jayne's outside doin' somethin' with all his guns. It's the perfect time to show some skin!"
Her current appearance to the contrary, Hoban Washburne had been a man for most of his life. He grew up, became a pilot, taught himself how to juggle geese, flew a ship that he loved, and eventually married a warrior woman who loved him back. Despite the fact that he, his wife, and the entire crew of Serenity were smugglers and on the run, Wash had nonetheless looked forward to a long and happy future.
But after a life-ending encounter with a large metal spike and a brief meeting with an unlikely angel, he learned that his old ship and crew were in danger, and the only way to save them was to come back to the Verse as Serenity's new pilot. Unfortunately, that meant both becoming Linda Rachel Wehr, a beautiful redhead with enough curves to make even a flight suit look sexy -- and keeping his true identity a secret from friends and family.
Wash had spent the past two weeks getting comfortable in her new skin, and up until the mechanic's surprise entrance, she had thought she was doing pretty well. She didn't get startled by her own reflection anymore. She had adjusted to how her new body moved, and learned how to handle a radically different set of personal hygiene requirements without becoming seriously unhinged. And she'd found an ally in River Tam, a prodigy, a "reader" and an Alliance-trained living weapon, who could see past the woman she had become to the man she had been. River helped her bridge the gap between her two lives when things got ... interesting.
Of course, nothing he had experienced before or since she became Linda had ever prepared her for dealing with Kaywinnet Lee Frye when she was on a mission -- especially when that mission involved getting Wash into a string bikini.
Oblivious to her friend's discomfort, the mechanic pulled her own equally skimpy bathing suit out of a pocket and started peeling off her jumpsuit.
"I ain't been ogled proper in longer than I care to remember," Kaylee said over her shoulder, "and a girl likes to be . . . appreciated once in a while, don't ya think? Besides, we can give the boys somethin' to look at besides bulkheads and cows -- without lettin' 'em know that's what we're aimin' to do, a'course."
Wash watched as her new best friend pushed her mechanic's coveralls down over her hips and let them slide to the deck.
'This is not happening,' she thought, small pulses of fear running through her body. 'This is just a really bad dream. Can a person have a daymare? Because if she can, I'm having one.'
"I love comin' up with new ways to get Simon excited." The pretty mechanic kicked her feet to get them clear, slipped out of her panties, and started unhooking her bra. "And paradin' around wearing near enough to nothin' without actually bein' naked always seems to do the trick when it comes to menfolk."
Her underthings in a pile on the floor, Kaylee stopped to give herself a critical glance in the full-length mirror. She twisted slightly and nodded before she started shimmying into her suit bottoms.
Wash was mildly surprised at how small an impression a totally naked Kaylee made on her. She gave it a little thought, but finally decided her lack of appreciation was due as much to the situation as it was to being as much a woman as Kaylee -- well, physically, anyway. Then, unable to avoid it anymore, she focused on her growing sense of panic at the thought of having to actually put the bikini on ... and leave her cabin.
She held the various pieces of yellow cloth out in front of her, trying to process how they would fit on her new body, and how little of it they would actually cover.
'I can't wear this!' Wash thought, trying very hard to keep her fear from reaching her face. 'It's only pretending to be a bathing suit -- nothing but triangles and string! And I sure as hell don't want to get . . . well, anybody excited if I can help it!'
Kaylee threw a look over her shoulder at the frozen pilot, and her lips twisted into a bemused smile.
"Come on, girl! Get a move on! Who knows when the Captain and Zoe are goin' to get back from meetin' with the customer?" She finished pulling the bottom on, and started fussing with the top, taking her attention away from Wash. "You know Mal don't care too much for being this close to the Alliance shipyards, so we may have to break atmo pretty fast when he gets back."
Wash looked at the scraps of cloth, then looked at Kaylee in her own bikini. Suddenly, the pilot's bottom lip began to quiver, and her brain stuttered to a stop.
Her top securely fastened, the mechanic turned to find Linda on the edge of crying. Her own happiness forgotten, she stopped and dropped to one knee in front of her friend.
"What's wrong, honey?" Her voice was full of concern. "Why're you so upset?"
Wash opened her mouth, but nothing came out. What could she say? It was Linda's suit, after all. Why would Linda be afraid of wearing her own suit?
Kaylee put a hand on her knee. "It's just a bathin' suit, nǚ há¡i. Nothin' to fret about. We ain't plannin' an orgy. Just want to tease 'em some is all."
"And that's the problem, jei mei."
Kaylee turned, surprised. River was perched on top of the dresser, looking down at the mechanic with a small smile on her face.
"RIVER! How did you get in here?"
"I took atmospheric control shaft C from the kitchen," she replied, her tone conversational. "I crawled across to the main wiring juncture, and climbed past the self-sealing bulkhead doors at frame 17 to maintenance duct 21A. Then I wriggled 3.7 meters forward and dropped through that access hatch there." River cocked her head slightly, as if amused by the question. "How else would I have done it?"
"You coulda come through the door, genius." Kaylee stood up and put her hands on her hips. "And you coulda knocked first."
"I was already up in the superstructure." The younger girl dropped down to the deck with a dancer's grace, and rose to stand in front of the angry mechanic. "Besides, if I'd done it your way, Linda would still be sitting there with her lip quivering, NOT telling you what you need to know."
For a moment, the two women stared at each other. Finally, Kaylee sighed. "And what exactly do I need to know, River?"
"That Linda doesn't want to 'tease' anybody, especially Jayne. Right, Linda?" River moved aside so Kaylee could see the pilot's head bobbing like one of those silly bobble-headed geisha dolls Mal had them smuggle once, back when jobs weren't quite as easy to get as they are now.
"Really? Oh, honey, I'm so sorry." The mechanic plopped down on the edge of the bed next to Linda and gave her a quick hug. "I didn't mean to push you where you didn't wanna go, honest! I just seen how close you and Jayne have been since we left the Skyplex, and I thought ... well, you know."
Wash felt confusion rising up behind her eyes. "Know what?"
Kaylee hesitated. "You know ... that maybe you're gettin' ... interested in Jayne. Like, interested interested. Lots of star watchin' when you're flyin' and talkin' up a storm in the kitchen when you ain't, and I thought ... you know, maybe you and he -- maybe you wanted to --"
"Hey!" Agitated, Linda stood up and moved away, crossing her arms as she did. To Wash, the feeling of cradling her breasts as they rested on her forearms made her a bit uncomfortable. It reminded her of her new body just when she'd rather forget. But the woman she had become (and whose memories she shared) didn't notice the weight at all. She was uncomfortable for a whole different reason, and she wished the other girl would just let the subject drop.
The pilot turned back to her friend, almost pleading. "Look, Kaylee, it's only been ... what, a couple of weeks? I am so not ready for ... Jayne is not ... he's not ... WE'RE not ... I'm just being friendly!"
"Well, there's friendly and then there's friendly," Kaylee said, a bemused smile playing on her lips. "From where I'm sittin', Jayne's actin' like he's courtin' you, and you're actin' like you're being courted. He holds your chair at dinner every night, and you let him. Hell, you give him a thank you and a smile, every night. He ain't cussed once since we left Santo orbit, and he's got this goofy grin that creeps onto his face when he thinks he's all alone ... or when he thinks you ain't lookin'."
Wash stood there, dumbstruck. Inexplicitly, she felt her bottom lip begin to quiver again.
'I thought things were going so well,' she thought sadly. 'Jayne seemed to be growing up more and more each day. Now Kaylee thinks he's falling in love with me -- and I just let it happen. More than that, I encouraged it!'
Kaylee saw that lip start moving again and jumped to hug the other girl.
"Aww, honey, it's not a bad thing," she whispered, holding Linda as she trembled. "He's been so much nicer since you came aboard, and that's a fact. And he's got muscles on his muscles, and sweet eyes ... and that smile ain't half handsome. Maybe gettin' together with Jayne isn't the worst idea in the Verse."
"Besides," the mechanic said, pulling back to look in the pilot's eyes. "I've seen the same goofy grin on your face when you think he ain't looking. I'm thinkin' you like him more than you think you do -- or more than you want to admit."
Wash's blood froze. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
BOOM! BOOM!
The pounding on Linda's door took everyone but River by surprise. Her lip twitched once, as if she knew it was coming. The door swung inward, and a voice echoed down the ladder.
"Hey, uh, Linda? Didn't you say you wanted me to show you how t' shoot?"
Wash saw a way out of continuing this talk with Kaylee.
"Absolutely!" she hollered, her happiness and relief apparent in her tone. "Can't wait!"
"Great!" She heard the smile in Jayne's reply. "See ya outside!" The door slammed shut.
Linda turned to Kaylee with a smile, only to find the mechanic grinning at her. Kaylee's eyes were bright with pleasure. She grabbed the pilot by her shoulders.
"Jayne's teachin' ya how to shoot?" The question came out as a whisper, and Wash nodded, giving Kaylee a questioning look.
The mechanic squealed, jumped up and down, and wiggled all over like a puppy. Then she gave Linda another hug. The confused pilot did her best to return it.
"Why're you so happy?" she asked.
"Because he's teaching you how to shoot! Hell, girl, don’t you get it? You're goin' on a gorram date!" Kaylee grinned and gave her another squeeze. Still a little in shock, it took her a second to realize what the other girl had said.
"A ... a date?"
Kaylee nodded happily. "Guns and such are what Jayne knows best. A'course he's gonna want to bring 'em out and show 'em off for you." The other girl's eyes glazed over, and her grin became a dreamy smile. "He'll stand real close, and put his arms around you ... just to fix your aim. Then he'll put somethin' long and hard in your hands that explodes if you touch it just right." She stifled a giggle.
Wash turned to River, panic in her eyes. "A date?"
River threw her a small smile, and the pilot heard the younger girl's voice inside her head. 'Just go with it for now, Hoe-bann. It's not a tragedy. It's exactly what you were planning on doing anyway, only now Kaylee's slapped a label on it you can't deal with yet. We'll talk later, okay?'
Linda sighed, nodded, and turned back to the mechanic. "A date," she agreed, resigned to the inevitable. "Of course it's a date. What else could he do, find a five-star restaurant in the next cow pasture over?"
"You'll see," Kaylee said, giving Linda another hug. "Trust me, it'll be fun!"
"Fun," Wash replied, with a shaky smile. "Absolutely."
River leaped, spun once in mid-air, and landed crouching on top of the dresser.
"My work here is done," she intoned, her tone solemn. Then a little smile played at the edges of her lips, and she pulled herself up into the ship's in-between spaces, and was gone.
Kaylee shook her head.
"She's gonna fry something important crawlin’ around up there someday," she muttered, "and fry herself too, unless I can talk her into walkin’ around like everybody else. Thing is, all those ... side trips ... mean she probably knows Serenity better than I do by now – so I ain’t got much to say to make her stop."
The mechanic took a step back and gave Linda a critical once-over. "But You! Just look at you! You can't go on a date dressed like that!" She turned to Linda's closet and started burrowing again. "Get those gorram clothes off, and I'll see what I can find that'll make him want to pull your trigger!"
With another sigh, Wash turned away and started pulling her tee shirt over her head. 'Undressing for Jayne already?' she grumbled to herself. 'Is that what I've come to?'
Inside, a small part of her woke up and whispered, 'Whatever Kaylee choses, I hope it makes him smile. I really do like his smile.'
Wash frowned, confused. 'Dung ee-miao! Where the hell did that come from?' she wondered. 'Did I really think that?
Kaylee saw Linda freeze for a second and gave her a push. "Come on, fly girl! You're supposed to keep a man waitin', but not ‘til Hell freezes. Short attention spans, you know."
Wash went back to unbuttoning her pants and started rolling them over her hips. Whatever Kaylee was going to pick for her, she was sure it was going to be pretty, and feminine and exactly what Wash didn't want to wear. She just knew she wasn't going to like it.
'But I bet Jayne will,' she thought, and another smile grew on her lips before she pushed it away with a will. 'Aiya! Huaile! What is wrong with me? I feel like I'm fighting myself -- and no matter who wins, I know I'm gonna wind up losing!'
###
'You lied to her, River.' Chiang's voice was mild inside River's head, but she could hear what he wasn't saying as clear as if he'd said it aloud.
'Don't talk to me about lying, old man.' Her mental tone was conversational, almost as if they were discussing the weather. 'You've shown that you're surprisingly good at deception for someone who's supposed to be a good guy.'
'As are you, child," Chiang replied, a touch of ice behind his words. 'I'm still recovering from my ... night at the ballet.'
River smiled. 'Good. It wouldn't be much of a lesson if it didn't stick, now would it, Gladys?' The mental sigh made River smile wider, although her concern over Wash made it slip away much faster than it might have otherwise.
The object of her concern stood below her, shivering in her bra and panties. River perched in the gridwork above Wash’s cabin and watched through the many small holes in the ceiling. She could clearly see that the pilot was torn somehow, and a glance into her mind told her why. Half of her was excited by the prospect of wearing something that would catch Jayne's attention, and the other half was wondering why the first half had suddenly popped up and decided to let her know it was interested -- and how she could get that part to just go away.
'She's been acting more and more feminine in the past few weeks, but this ... it's way too soon. It's like something inside her wants to take things to the next level with Jayne,' she mused, reaching out to try and find where that impulse was coming from. 'But the Wash she used to be is soooo not ready.'
'Still, you did lie to her." Chiang appeared behind Kaylee in the room below, watching the proceedings with interest. Kaylee, of course, remained totally oblivious to his presence, as did Wash.
'I didn't lie," River replied, her mind elsewhere. 'The shooting lesson was exactly what Wash was planning on doing anyway. She just didn't realize it was actually a date until Kaylee decided it was one. And once that was out in the open, it was obvious that the word "date" really was a label Wash couldn't deal with ... yet.'
'But you downplayed its significance. It really is not just a shooting lesson anymore. Kaylee is quite right. Jayne is viewing this as a way to impress her ... to bring them closer. This is a date.'
'Yes, it is.' The girl kept probing the dividing line between Wash's two sides. 'And it's more. It's also forcing a confrontation inside her that could rip Wash apart. I won't let that happen.'
Chiang was silent for a moment, watching the pilot shiver. He sighed. 'I can tell you what Wash's problem is, although I'm afraid there is nothing you can do to help her.'
River growled inside. 'We'll see, old man. What's wrong with Wash?'
He looked up at the ceiling directly into River's eyes and sighed. 'Linda.'
###
For a while at least, the trip back on the Mule was whisper quiet. But Mal just knew it couldn't last. Even though a half hour had gone by since they'd left the meeting, he could feel Zoe finally getting ready to speak. He braced himself for the flood of common sense objections he knew she'd be hitting him with ... well, just about now.
"I don't like it, Sir." 'And there it is,' he thought, setting his jaw.
"I'm not likin' it too much my own self," Mal replied, his voice deceptively calm. "But there it is."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Then ...
"I REALLY don't like it, Sir."
"I'm getting that, Zoe. I truly am." Heavy sigh. "But we owe Berenger a lot for gettin' us that ammo durin' the war when the supply lines were cut. He saved our lives when they needed savin', and that's a fact. I ain't about to say no to him now that he's the one in a tight spot. Especially since there's more cashy money waitin' when we set down at the delivery spot, and we never have enough of that."
Another long silence. "Captain, most of the crew are women."
He let a touch of irritation slip into his tone. "I had noticed that, Zoe. I ain't completely moon-brained."
"Not completely, no Sir."
"Zoe --"
"Captain, taking a ship full of women to Flynt is asking for trouble. It isn't safe, especially for Inara."
Mal set his jaw. "I ain't about to put her at risk, knowin' how they feel about Companions." Zoe flashed him a look, and he sighed. "Ain't about to risk any of you womenfolk going near the ground, either. Serenity stays in orbit. Me, the Doc, and Jayne take the cargo down in one of the shuttles. There ain't gonna be so much of it that we can't do it in two or three trips, easy peasy."
Another long silence. "Then I'm going with you, Sir."
"No, you ain't."
It was Zoe's turn to look stubborn. Mal sighed.
"Not sure if you looked in a mirror lately, Zoe," he said, "but there ain't no way in the Verse they ain't gonna notice you're a woman, and prob'ly a darn sight prettier than the ones they already got. You know gorram well what'll happen next. If you or me or Jayne have t' kill somebody 'cause they decide they want you to stay, we probably ain't gonna get paid. Now we're not flyin’ quite as close to the raggedy edge as we used to, but havin' coin sure enough beats not havin' coin when it comes to keepin' my boat in the black and my crew fed. So you stay on board and keep an eye on Serenity. That's an order."
It was Zoe's turn to sigh. "Yes, Sir."
Another minute passed. "Sir?"
"Yes, Zoe?"
"Just wanted to tell you I appreciate the compliment, Captain."
"Compliment?"
There was a small smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye. "Yes, Sir. It sorta takes my breath away. All these years serving together and I never once knew you thought I was pretty."
Zoe could see the muscles in Mal's jaw moving as he gritted his teeth. "Just drive, Zoe."
"Yes, Sir."
###
Jayne hovered over the targets and the weapons, making sure everything was lined up just so. He knew he couldn't afford to mess this up, not even a little bit.
'Things have been real shiny with Linda the past few weeks,' he thought, moving a revolver just slightly to line up with its automatic cousin. 'Sure, there ain't been nothing like when she kissed my hand that night, but things are pretty easy between us, and gettin' easier every day. She sure does smile an awful lot when we're together, and that's more than I coulda hoped for back when she first joined the crew.'
Mal seemed to think Jayne was doing good, too, and that made him feel okay, even though he couldn’t quite puzzle out why the Captain’s opinion should matter all that much.
‘Listenin' to Mal ... well, it's workin' so far, even if it ain’t worked so good for Mal in the past,’ Jayne mused, picking up a clip full of hollow-point and running his thumb over it. ‘Still, ‘Nara seems happy enough, and that’s no lie. If he can keep ahold a' her, he must know somethin’ about keepin’ women happy.’ He thought about it for a second, then shrugged. 'Maybe he just knows how to keep 'Nara happy. But I guess for Mal, that's plenty.'
"Hey, mister. That's a lot of iron you're laying out there. Thinkin' the cows might attack?"
Linda's voice sounded almost like music, and he turned at the sound of it with a smile on his face to find her standing there --
-- wearing a dress.
###
Wash felt awkward and clumsy and a little exposed. The joke she tried to use to take the edge off of her "unveiling" had evidently slipped completely past him -- or had been totally trumped by his reaction to the outfit she had worn.
And it was just the reaction she had hoped to avoid.
The trouble with this double life of hers was that Wash had no way of coming up with good reasons why she didn't want to do what Kaylee wanted her to do, especially if it were something a woman might do and not think twice. For better or worse, Linda was a woman, and Wash was Linda now. Kaylee's usual response to Wash's half-hearted protests was confusion. "Why shouldn't you wear this dress, jei mei? How often do you get the chance, anyway? And why do you have it in your closet if you don't want to wear it someday?" Wash just wasn’t fast enough to keep up with questions somebody born in a body like this could answer.
And she couldn't just say "no" – not to Kaylee. Wash had always had a soft spot for the mechanic. She was one of the sweetest girls he'd ever known, back when he was still a guy. The pilot could see how important it was to Kaylee to dress Linda up, and in her new life, she loved Kaylee too much as a friend and a sister to push back too hard when she really wanted something. Also, the pilot knew that Kaylee's chances to indulge the girl inside her were few and far between -- after all, there was no room for frillies and flowers in the engine room, for all that she enjoyed her time there.
So, since Wash couldn't come up with a good enough reason not to, she found herself standing in a cow pasture wearing a sunflower-yellow dress that wrapped around her and hugged her body like a giant cloth anaconda.
'It covers everything and hides nothing,' Wash thought with a suppressed sigh. 'Just what I was afraid of.'
Kaylee had also made her hold still for what she called a "lick of paint," although the labels on the applicators made it plain it was really lipstick and blush. Add a pair of low-heeled sandals and a giggle-driven push out the cargo door, and here she stood, watching Jayne's eyes fall out.
But what really bothered Wash was, even though she was feeling mostly clumsy and awkward and exposed, there was also a rush of satisfaction and even pride at the effect she had on Jayne. Whatever had surfaced in her cabin was still with her, sending messages she didn't want and raising desires she couldn't handle. Whatever was happening, she felt like she was being pushed over a cliff into a lake of womanhood so deep, she might drown.
And when she realized that part of her welcomed the fall, another emotion rushed in and sent chills up and down her spine.
Fear.
###
Jayne didn't know enough about girl stuff to describe it, but it made her look so gorram pretty he couldn't take his eyes off her. It was mostly sorta yellow, and wrapped itself around her curves well enough so you darn well knew they were there. It also showed enough skin to take a man's breath away.
Linda gave him a nervous smile, and took a step forward. "Penny for your thoughts?" she said, her tiny feet walking through the tall grass while the rest of her body played catch-up.
Jayne grinned and ducked his head. "You'd be wastin' your money, miss. Ain't been a thought in my head since I saw you in that dress, and that's a fact."
He watched her blush, and realized she felt as awkward as he did. 'And why would she feel like that?' he wondered. 'She's the one who wore the gorram thing. She had to know it'd drive me crazy -- why else would she wear it?'
###
Wash didn't know what to say, but she knew she had to say something.
"Well, it's so hard to choose what to wear to a shooting lesson," she said lightly. She tried to look down at her feet as she walked, but once again found her chest in the way. "They didn't really cover that in school, but I thought if you're shooting, you might want to ... you know, stand out? Instead of blending in, I mean. So other folks can ... not shoot you?"
"Well, you do stand out," Jayne smiled again. "But then, you stand out all the time, Linda. That there dress just makes you stand out ... a mite more, is all."
She stopped a few steps away from the mercenary. Wash thought quickly, trying to come up with something to say to a compliment she really didn't want, but her mind just came up blank.
But from somewhere deep inside, a triumphant surge of emotions rushed through her, too powerful to repress. There was an overwhelming wave of pride and lust and love and joy -- 'he thinks I'm special!' -- and she felt a smile light up her eyes an instant before it reached her lips.
"Thank you," she heard herself say, and she looked Jayne right in the eyes an instant before she lowered her lids to look at him through her lashes. Then, to Wash's surprise, her body performed a small bob of a curtsey, followed by a laugh that was little more than a giggle.
And Wash felt ... wonderful.
"So, are we going to get to the part where you actually teach me how to shoot," Linda went on playfully, "or just stand here talking about how good I look until it gets too dark to aim?"
###
Inara Serra watched the pair from the cargo bay door, a slight frown on her face. She had been waiting for Mal's return, anxious to hear where their next destination might be. Although she and her lover had come to an uneasy truce about her chosen profession, she still tried to avoid confronting him with it directly. In fact, she hadn't really taken on a client since Miranda, and her first and only job since then had turned out to not to be a client at all, but a trap -- one that nearly managed to kill them all when Niska used her as bait for Mal and the crew.
The truth was that Inara's reasons for becoming a Companion in the first place had faded with experience. Originally, the thought of being a bringer of pleasure and comfort to men and women across the Verse gave her a positive reason to flee her home world, and gave her life a real purpose, where before, she had none.
Inara learned the arts well, being both intelligent and caring. The circles she traveled in were rich and exotic, and the people to whom she brought pleasure and peace were erudite and witty. For the first time in her life, she was well and truly happy, and she looked forward to years of a life she thought she loved.
Then Inara chose to leave the central planets completely. There was a chance she might be pushed into service as a House Mother, instead of a working Companion, and the one thing she didn't want was to be in a situation where she would come to care for people as more than just friends or customers. So she headed out into the Verse, all the way to the Rim. But instead of the freedom she had hoped to find, she found Mal Reynolds and the crew of Serenity -- people who cared for each other, with lives that actually mattered. They were a family, held together by that impossible man who loved her for who she was, not for what she could do for him.
Mal was unlike any other man she'd ever known. His bitterness and disillusionment about the war hid a heart full of love and pride and fierce loyalty, and an honor that came from within. Oh, he was stupid on occasion -- Inara was sure that came with the testosterone -- but he was also brave and true, and a part of her had fallen for him within a week of renting his shuttle.
She fought it, of course. Getting involved was not a good career option for a Companion, and his dislike for her profession colored almost every interchange between them. But over time, she could see that Mal hated what she did, not who she was. And when she decided to stay on Serenity instead of going back to the Training House, Mal began to think about his reaction to what she did, and how it had pushed them apart. Even though he hated the thought of sharing Inara with others, Mal had gritted his teeth and agreed that she should follow her calling, if it was what she truly wanted. But once he agreed, she found her commitment to being a Companion fading, and her commitment to being Mal's alone growing.
It was not surprising that Inara was starting to wonder what she would do with her life if she chose not to be a Companion. But thinking about that just made her mind spin in circles, and the drama just unfolding outside the ship provided a welcome distraction -- and a bit of a mystery, too.
"They're cute, aren't they?" Simon had come upon her from behind, and followed her gaze towards the couple in the field. He shook his head. "I never thought I'd ever refer to Jayne as cute, but then I never thought he'd be able to charm our pretty new pilot quite so easily."
"It hasn't been easy for him, Simon." Inara didn't turn around. "He has been a hard man in a hard business for a long time, and not smart about many things. Learning to be something more than a thug -- learning to be the man he should have been instead of the man he was -- it was a challenge. Still is. And as for Linda ..." She let her voice trail off, watching.
Linda was still something of a puzzle. As part of her Companion training, Inara had been taught how to read people. Subtle cues in speech or movement were clues to emotional states, and in the two weeks since the Skyplex incident, Inara had seen Linda's actions warring with her emotions too many times not to wonder what was going on in the woman's head.
After the incident with the two hired men who tried to steal Serenity, Linda should have been a lot more shaken than she was. She had almost been raped by two strangers with guns, yet she seemed perfectly fine a few hours later. And Kaylee said she was talking and joking about the whole thing only minutes after Jayne rescued her. It didn't seem right, somehow, for her to shake off something like that so easily. Initially, Inara put it down to a pilot's overwhelming self-confidence, but still ... it seemed odd.
And Inara could also see that Linda was sometimes physically unsure as well. Most of the time she moved easily -- a woman comfortable with her body and content in her soul. But every once in a while her movements became awkward and unsure. Her face changed, too, sometimes, when she was thinking. Her expressions seemed strangely familiar, but not quite what you'd expect to see on a young woman's face at all.
"As for Linda," Kaylee said almost proudly, slipping into Simon's arms, "it looks like she's finally getting past that awful shyness that keeps creepin' up and stoppin' her from getting' what she wants. About time, too."
Simon's discovery of a swimsuit-clad mechanic in his arms distracted him for a moment, but after a kiss and a cuddle, he and Kaylee went back to watching the drama outside.
"She didn't look like she was enjoying herself when she first walked out there, Kaylee." Inara's voice held a note of mild disapproval, and her eyes never left the pair in the pasture. "One would almost think someone dressed her like that when she wasn't ready, and sent her where she didn't want to go looking like a princess ... or a snack for a certain mercenary."
"Well, she needed a bit of a push is all," the mechanic replied, just a touch defensive. "She doesn't want to admit that she likes him as more than just a friend, but a girl can tell. She's smitten, and that's a fact." She gave Simon a tight hug, and he hugged her back.
"Maybe." Inara watched a totally different Linda flirting her way through the lesson. "But for all that laughing and teasing she's doing now, a part of her is still fighting to pull back."
"That's not surprising, really," Simon put in, kissing the top of Kaylee's head. "Jayne's only been new and improved for a few weeks. She'd have to be a little worried he'd backslide, and become the ill-mannered thug he used to be."
"Not when he's got her interested at last," Kaylee insisted. "The walls are down, and he's got himself a gorram reward for trying to be better. Ain't no way he's gonna mess that up now."
Inara smiled, and shook her head. "He's still Jayne, Kaylee. He's made more than his share of stupid decisions over the years. I'm not sure he's totally cured of being his own worst enemy, are you?"
###
Jayne was a mite surprised by how downright ... playful Linda was being. Not that he minded. It was the first time she'd really flirted with him since she came on board, and he had to admit it was a hell of a lot of fun. He really wasn't sure what it meant, though.
He spent a lot of time thinkin' about it, between teachin' her how to hold and aim a piece, and doin' his best to flirt back. Flirtin', he'd discovered, could be plenty hard. Playin' with words, while keepin' an eye on all sorts of lines he couldn't cross, while she said and did things that made him want to scoop her up and carry her to his bunk. Gorram confusin' -- he was both excited and scared at the same time.
'In the past, flirtin' was what came before bein' sexed -- or at least settin' a price,' he thought, watching her handle one of the smaller revolvers. 'But I'm know she ain't lookin' for coin. Question is, is she lookin' for sex? Or is it just too soon for that? Damn it, Mal, where the hell are you? If I guess wrong, she's gonna hate me somethin' fierce, and that's a fact.'
One thing for sure -- even in a purty yellow dress, she could shoot the wings off a gorram fly, and it'd never know they was gone until it tried to take off. And that was just with what he had out here. With the Callahan Minaret he'd bought her back in the Skyplex, she'd be durn near unstoppable.
###
Linda was enjoying herself, mostly. There were so many things to experience now, and so much fun just being again. She loved the feel of the dress as it held her. She couldn't remember the last time Linda had worn it, but it felt wonderful, and she knew ... she knew she looked good in it. She loved the way Jayne paid attention to her when she moved, and she loved how it felt inside when she paid attention to Jayne as he moved. And flirting! Gods, she'd always loved flirting, and she enjoyed watching Jayne do his best to flirt back.
And the shooting! She'd hadn't been bad at it, back when Wash was a he, but in Linda's body, every shot was a bulls-eye. Every weapon felt just right in her hand, and the shots always went where they were told. In a way, it was just like flying, only in the palm of your hand. She knew it impressed the hell out of Jayne, and she really wanted to impress him ... among other things she'd like to do with someone built like that.
For the first time in weeks, she was well and truly happy, and it made her glow in ways she couldn't describe, but didn't have to. She just felt ... good!
###
Meanwhile, the man who used to be Hoban Washburne felt the bits and pieces of who he had been start to slip away in the joy of just being. The desperate need to be whole again -- to finally just feel right, body and soul -- poured out of the core of what had been Linda Wehr and threatened to drown him, leaving nothing but a memory.
'Hey! Still IN here!' he hollered into the rush of feelings. 'Still ME in here!' When nothing happened, he yelled, 'Still SUPPOSED to be me in here, right?!'
'Yes, it is.' Chiang's voice settled over him, granting a measure of calm. 'But the years of memories from Linda's past, and all the physical responses from a past happily spent as a woman, have risen together. They are threatening to take back Linda's life from the soul we sent to take her place. And all you have to fight her is who you were ... who you are.'
'It feels so good, not to fight it anymore. To just BE.' She shuddered, as another wave of happiness washed over her. 'But I can't surrender. I can't BE her. I have to be ME to save the crew.'
'How do I fight this?!' Wash was frantic. 'It's too much. Too soon! Damn it, Chiang, save me!'
'I can't save you,' the old man replied with a touch of regret. 'This is one battle you must fight on your own.'
'But they're ALL battles I have to fight on my own!' The pilot felt frustration merging with his fear. 'Ai-yah! Tyen-ah, Gladys, can't you do anything except float on command and hang me out to dry?'
Wash felt Linda eyeing Jayne lustfully as he bent over to retrieve some spent shells, and the feelings of desire that rushed through her were so strong that they overwhelmed what little restraint she could muster. It was both unbelievably welcome and incredibly frightening. The chance to be whole again ... she wanted it so much, Wash and Linda both. But accepting her need for Jayne meant surrendering completely to the woman she had become.
But Wash wasn't ready to give up being Wash just yet. And if she was supposed to save the crew as Wash, how could she do it when all there was left in the pilot's seat ... was Linda?
'Relax, Hoe-bann.' River's voice pushed back on Linda's influence with a calm assurance that lent Wash strength. The feeling of being overwhelmed receded just a little, and Wash took a trembling step back from the edge.
'River!!' Wash screamed inside.
'Don't worry, fly girl. I won't let you fall.'
'But how can you stop me? There's so much of her, pushing to make me be the Linda that was.' Wash felt her resolve slipping. 'How can you save me? How can I save myself?'
River's image rose in front of him, and she smiled. 'That's easy, Wash. By remembering.'
'Remembering?' The pilot let confusion enter her inner voice. 'Remembering what?'
'Who you are, and why you're here.' River looked right at her, and Wash could feel the young girl's power push Linda's ghost back even more. 'Think back to where you came from, and remember who you loved and lost and came back here to save.'
She looked over Wash's shoulder. 'Turn around, jei mei. This will make it much simpler.'
The sound of the Mule's engine's whine rose behind her, and fell off to silence. She turned, and saw Zoe's smiling face as she jumped from the driver's seat and wandered over to stand next to Linda and look towards her target.
'Zoe.' The name pulled Wash back from the brink, and pushed back the remnants of Linda's comforting sense of implacable wholeness with memories of the before times. Between the strength of her bond with her former wife, and the powerful love they once shared, Linda's influence receded, and the pilot found she could breathe again.
"Hey, Linda," Zoe said with a smile, throwing an arm around the pilot's shoulders and giving her a squeeze. Wash felt it deep in her soul, and smiled back. "If those targets are yours, you're a mighty fine shot."
"Well, Jayne's a mighty fine teacher," Wash replied, nodding over at the mercenary. "Credit where credit is due."
"I ain't had nothin' to do with it, and that's a fact." Jayne grinned. "She's a natural."
Mal's voice came from behind. "Well, this I've got to see. Knew we got us a better than fair pilot -- never figured we'd pick up a sharpshooter, too."
"Show 'em, Linda," Jayne said, stepping back and waving a hand at the targets. Wash took aim at the nearest one, and made sure the range was clear. Then she pulled the trigger.
And missed, barely hitting the target.
There was a long silence. She focused, and tried again. This time she hit one of the inner circles, but nowhere near the center.
"Whoa," she breathed. "What happened?"
Zoe put a hand on her shoulder. "We did, honey."
Wash turned to her, a question on her face. Zoe sighed. "I've seen this before. You were in the zone, and we came and knocked you out of it." She gave the pilot's shoulder a squeeze. "Not to worry, Linda. You'll get it back. Once you've been there, it's easy to find again."
Jayne started towards the fence. "I'll set up some new targets and we'll work on it some more."
Mal's voice cut in. "No, you won't, Jayne. We got us a job, and we need to hop to. Linda's shootin' practice'll have to wait. We need her in the pilot's seat now to get Serenity to the pick-up point." The captain looked her up and down. "Ain't got time for you to change, girl. Can you still fly in that pretty dress?"
Wash blushed. "Yes, sir, Captain sir," she replied. "The skill doesn't come with the flight suit."
He grinned and ducked his head. "Right enough," he said. "So get on back and start gettin' the boat ready. We lift as soon as we're able. Zoe, tell Kaylee we need to be in the air sooner rather than later. I'll help Jayne stow his ... gear."
Wash nodded, turned, and started making her way back across the pasture. She was in control again, thank the gods. But a feeling of uneasiness began creeping over her as she walked.
She was moving too easily. The uneven ground had been a challenge only a short time ago. Now the unfamiliar combination of dress and sandals felt almost comfortable, and she covered the distance between the targets and the ship with barely a stumble.
In spite of River's help, some of the Linda That Was had managed to wind up a part of Wash, almost without her noticing. And that frightened her, all over again.
Because if she lost a little of herself every time she won a battle, how long would it be before she lost the war?
Firefly: Double Booked | Part 2: Headwinds
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This is a fan fiction set in the Firefly/Serenity universe created by Joss Whedon. It takes place soon after the events in the television series and the companion motion picture that followed, and is also the second part of a sequel to Firefly: Connecting Flight. This means it has SPOILERS, folks, and major ones at that. So please don't read this unless you get the chance to see the series and the movie -- and read my first Firefly story (and the first chapter of this one), since they both set the stage.
In this second part of FIREFLY: DOUBLE BOOKED, events from Linda's recent past loom large in Wash's present, as she tries to deal with aspects of her situation she thought she'd already put behind her. She also learns more about her body's mutiny, lets Zoe talk her into somethin' all manner of stupid, and gets her first experience with the power of sisterhood.
FIREFLY: DOUBLE BOOKED
by Randalynn
Part 2: Headwinds
Zoe walked alongside Linda as they headed back to the ship. She watched the pilot glide across the pasture, the hem of her dress swirling around her legs.
“Why in the name of Earth That Was would you wear that to a shooting lesson?” Her smile became a grin. “Not that Jayne complained, I’m sure, and it is a pretty dress and all, but ... it’s all manner of odd, don’t you think?”
Linda sighed, and nodded her head towards the cargo bay door. “Blame the matchmaking mechanic over there. She decided the lesson was a date, and demanded I dress for the occasion.” Zoe smothered a laugh, and Linda gave her an exasperated look. “It’s not funny, Zoe. I’m lucky I got away this easily. This ...” She waved her hands over the front of her outfit. “ ... was actually a compromise.”
“A compromise? That?”
The pilot nodded. “Kaylee wanted me out here in a bikini before the whole ‘date’ thing came up.”
“Ah. That explains why she’s standin’ in the cargo bay ready to go swimming when there ain’t a drop of water in sight.” Zoe shook her head. “Girl, you need to learn to push back when she pushes.”
“I know.” Linda hung her head. “It’s just ... she’s just so gorram cute! And when she uses those puppy eyes, it’s like I can’t say anything but yes. My little sister did the same thing when I was growing up.”
“Really? My husband’s sister was the same way.” Zoe looked down briefly as they reached Serenity. “Or so he used to say. I never did get to meet her.”
“Cuteness is the secret weapon of little sisters everywhere.” Wash smiled, remembering the little girl who made his former life miserable growing up.
Zoe eyed Linda curiously. “I never said she was younger.”
Wash stirred inside, and gave Zoe a grin. “Well, I was the older sister, and I never once got to use my puppy eyes on anyone. I’m figuring it’s just little sisters who get to do that — some kind of wacky Alliance law.”
The first mate nodded and fell silent.
‘Remembering too much has its downside,’ Wash thought. ‘I nearly tripped myself up there.’
‘No worries, I’m thinking,’ River thought back. ‘Zoe would have to take a big leap into the black to even guess her husband was walking beside her.’
They reached the cargo bay door, and Zoe stepped up into the ship.
“Best put something on over that pretty suit, Kaylee,” she said to the mechanic. “We’ve got a cargo to pick up, and the Captain wants us there sooner rather than later. So head for the engine room and get our girl ready to fly.”
“I thought I got her ready to fly a few hours ago.” Kaylee grinned at Linda and gave her a wink. Wash threw her a pout, cocked a hip, and folded her arms under her breasts. River had to stifle a mental giggle over the picture of aggrieved femininity that the pilot presented so easily.
The mechanic saw the look in Zoe’s eyes and pretended to realize her error. “Oh, you mean Serenity!”
Zoe gave the mechanic a no-nonsense look, the kind Wash remembered from his days as her husband. “Yes, I mean Serenity. And for the record, playin’ matchmaker for Linda and Jayne isn’t in your job description. Let the woman do her own courtin’ ... or not. It’s her choice, dohn-mah?”
The first mate brushed past the group without waiting for an answer, and headed for the stairs up to the cockpit. Kaylee turned to look at her back. “I never said it wasn’t,” she said softly, a little hurt in her voice. She turned to Linda.
“You aren’t mad at me for getting you to dress that way, are you, jei mei?”
Wash sighed. “A little, Kaylee. Listen, I know you’re just trying to help. You want Jayne and I to be a couple, but I need time. We need time, he and I, to get to know each other a little better and decide for ourselves what we want. If things move forward too fast, it won’t be right. Don’t you see?”
‘Very nice, Wash.’ River’s mental voice came over a little cool. ‘Almost too nice,’ she continued to herself.
The pilot took a deep breath and continued on quickly. “Like you and Simon — it took a while for you two to get together, didn’t it?”
Simon and Kaylee looked at each other, and back at Linda. “Yes, it did,” Simon said slowly, his arm still around Kaylee. “How did you know that?”
Wash cursed herself and thought fast. “I didn’t,” she replied with a smile, “But you two are so perfect together, and good things always come to those who wait. I bet you two danced around the issue for months.”
Kaylee nodded. “Longer than I wanted,” she said sadly.
“And now you’re pushing Jayne and me together because you don’t want me to wait the way you did.” Linda reached out and put her hand on the mechanic’s arm. “But I’m not you, Kaylee. I’m not sure about Jayne the way you were about Simon. I want to wait, and take it slow. If it’s going to happen, then I want it to be right. Okay?”
Kaylee hestitated, then nodded. Linda saw the look on her face and pulled her into a tight hug.
“Don’t worry, honey,” she said, giving her a squeeze. “I’ll call if I need help, I promise. For example, I’m not sure I remember how to get out of this dress.”
“I’m sure Jayne would love to help you with that.” She heard Mal’s voice and his boots on the cargo bay ramp, and she turned to find the captain grinning at her, his arms full of weapons. “Right after we’re finished getting the cargo, you can ask him.” The grin slipped off his face, and his tone turned serious. “But since you and Kaylee both need to be where I told you to be RIGHT NOW, I’m thinkin’ you can both put the huggin’ off until after we’re out in the black a spell. dohn-mah?”
“Understood, Captain sir!” Linda spun around, straightened her shoulders, and threw him a salute before turning and heading for the stairs as quickly as her sandals would allow. Behind her, she could feel Jayne watching her walk away and start to climb, and she heard Mal’s voice take on a teasing tone. “That’s a right nice suit you got there, Kaylee. Did you find a swimmin’ hole while we were gone? Oh, I know! You put a pool here in the cargo bay, and you was just waiting to surprise us all when we got back!” There was a pause. “Suit kinda gives it away though, don’t ya think?”
Jayne snorted, and Wash hurried up the corridor to the flight deck, the clatter of her sandals on the metal deck chasing her to the cockpit.
Linda held the wheel tight, her arms shaking as she worked to keep Serenity on the beacon back to the customer’s warehouse. She didn’t remember atmospheric flight being quite as ... strenuous as this, back when she was a he.
“That’s because your former muscles were a little stronger than the ones you’re living with now.” River moved in behind her and put both hands on her shoulders. “You’ll adjust. You’re already doing it now. Just like you’ve been doing for the past few weeks, Hoe-bann.”
“Not fast enough for the rest of me, I guess,” Wash replied, her eyes still staring out at the horizon. She shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m trying to fight off a mutiny in my own body. Even worse, I can’t believe I’m failing.” The pilot looked up at River. “Thank you for helping me back there.”
River nodded, even though Wash couldn’t see her, and gave her shoulders a little squeeze. “We pushed her back, jei mei ... but she did take some ground. Just look at you. You’re sitting in the pilot’s seat wearing a dress and sandals — back straight, chest out, knees together. But you’re flying as well as you ever did, even though how you’re sitting would be totally unnatural for the man you used to be.”
It was Wash’s turn to nod. “Why is this happening now? I thought I was doing well, and then ...”
“It wasn’t your fault.” River stepped clear of Wash’s station, then leaned forward into a handspring and a reverse flip that left her standing on the forward console’s chair. She curled up into a ball, arms around her knees, and looked at Wash expectantly. “It was bound to happen, eventually.”
Wash looked back, surprised. “You knew?”
She nodded. “I suspected. If you would have thought about it for a while, you would have seen it coming, too. Chiang yanked Linda’s soul out, then dropped you into a body that was radically different from the one you used to have. So here’s her body, all brimming with hormones and a lifetime of experience as a woman, and here’s you, drowning in an ocean of estrogen, with only a lifetime of male memories to keep you afloat — in a body that wants nothing to do with them ... or you.”
“It’s as if somebody forced you into the pilot seat of a ship you’ve never flown. You’ve only seen ships like it from the outside, and you’ve admired them, but you never actually wanted to fly one — just be a passenger once in a while.” River smiled, and Wash blushed.
“Suddenly, you find yourself in the cockpit, and you have to fly it, or die. But it turns out the control system isn’t standard. Instead, it’s totally customized for the pilot who came before. She spent decades flying it her way, to the point where all the ship’s systems are used to her touch. Is it any wonder the ship would make things hard on a new pilot? Want to make him do things the way the old pilot did?”
Wash focused on the landscape in front of her. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Linda’s body isn’t a ship.”
“No, it’s not. It’s a living thing, and that’s another part of the problem.” The pilot looked up at her, confused, and River sighed. “Linda lived a full life. She was born into a loving family, and she grew up and learned to fly. She was a woman who loved men and loved to be loved by them. Now you’re here, and you keep fighting against how your body thinks you should react. As a result, all of the physical ‘you’ is rejecting your soul because it’s not behaving properly, and your system is out of harmony.” She shrugged. “It needs you to be the Linda it ... remembers. That’s all.”
“But that’s what I wanted, too! I mean, eventually.” River cocked her head, and Wash turned back to look out through the windscreen, trying to avoid the question in River’s eyes.
“Look, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about all this,” Wash said softly. “And I wasn’t sure if you were reading me or not.” River shook her head, and the pilot caught it out of the corner of her eye and nodded once. “Thank you for that.”
“I touch your mind from time to time, Wash,” the younger girl replied softly. “I don’t swim in it. It’s wrong.” She hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t have a guidebook for how to be a reader. I’m sort of working that out as I go along.”
The pilot looked back over at River, then grinned.
“Believe me, I understand. After what I’ve been through, I know what it’s like to fly by the seat of your pants.” River smiled back, and Wash turned her eyes to the horizon ahead.
“The truth is, now that I’m like this and there’s no turning back, I decided that I was going to do my best to get used to being a woman. That’s what I am, after all, and I sure as hell didn’t want to spend the rest of my new life hanging on to my old one, or trying to be something I’m not anymore.” She sighed.
“But once I made the decision to actually be the woman I already am, then I had to decide what kind of woman I wanted to be.” It was River’s turn to looked puzzled, and Wash’s turn to sigh. “At first I thought, ‘I’ll just be me, Wash as a woman. That’ll work, right?’ Then I realized I didn’t have the first clue what that means. So I started thinking about who I was now ... who I appeared to be to everyone. I looked through Linda’s things and tried accessing some of her memories, and as it turns out, she was a pretty special person — a lot like the man I used to be in many ways.”
She took a deep breath and went on. “And so, I thought, well, maybe I should just try to be the kind of woman Linda was, and live her life forward as it should have been, without losing me along the way.”
“I thought I was doing well, taking it a day at a time. Apparently, I’m doing so well, Jayne’s falling in love with me. And maybe ... I’m falling a little for him, too, gods help me.” She shook her head and sighed again. “Now suddenly I’m in the middle of the metaphysical equivalent of a shark attack, and I have to fight to keep myself from just getting swallowed whole. Chiang says I still need to be me to save the ship, but walking that line between Wash and Linda is getting harder. And who is me, anyway?”
“I had hoped you would grow into being Linda, over time,” River said. She rose from her seat in a single fluid motion, and walked over to stand beside the pilot. “I hoped that, if Linda’s body and your soul moved forward together slowly, you would eventually become comfortable together, as Wash-in-Linda. You would feel happy being a woman, and her body would support your soul, and make you feel welcome.”
“Maybe we can ... I don’t know, negotiate with the rest of me? Make it back off somehow?”
“Wash ... there’s nobody there to talk to. You’re fighting whatever Linda left behind when her soul left. Memories stored in the deep structures of her brain, some established habits and responses, and pure hormonal overload.” River sighed and shook her head. “You might as well try to negotiate with a thunderstorm for all the good it will do.”
“I don’t believe it. I’ve always been able to talk my way out of trouble before —”
The insistent beeping of an incoming comm signal interrupted her sentence. The pilot reached over and flicked several switches, and a male voice came over the speaker, using the crisp measured tones of a military officer.
“This is the Alliance Shipyard Port Authority. Incoming ship, please identify.”
Wash thumbed the mike button and spoke. “This is the transport ship Tranquility, en route to the Berenger freight depot for cargo pickup.”
“Ship’s registry number?”
She reached over and read a sixteen-digit number from a list on a clipboard next to her station. The last time the ship was near Osirus, River had hacked into the Alliance Navy Ship Registry and added a number of Firefly-class ships to the rolls, making it a bit easier for Serenity and her crew to slip past checkpoints and avoid entanglements. She also worked with Kaylee to put together a way to re-program the ship’s transponder to provide whatever registry code the captain decided to wear. A polarizing screen over the ship’s name on the side changed as well to reflect the registry code she wore. So, when she flew this close to the Alliance shipyards, Serenity became Tranquility, a model of a modern freight carrier with a spotlessly clean record.
While she was in the Admiralty computer core, River could have gotten herself a legitimate fake pilot’s license as well, but she would have had to put her retina scans, fingerprints, and brain engrams into the system for registration purposes, and they weren’t sure whether the Alliance was still looking for her. In the end, Mal decided it really wasn’t worth the risk. He went hunting for a licensed pilot to replace Wash and found Linda ... without realizing she really wasn’t a replacement at all.
The speaker crackled to life. “Registry confirmed. Maintain course and speed. Authority out.”
Wash looked up at River with a grin. “Such a nice boy. Friendly and helpful, that’s the Alliance motto. Why, I haven’t been treated so politely since a headwaiter on Ariel objected to my shirt being too bright for his establishment and ignored me for twenty minutes ... while I stood directly in front of him.”
The younger girl grinned back. Knowing Wash as she did, she knew this sort of behavior would not go unpunished. “And what did you do to get yourself ... noticed?”
Just as Wash opened her mouth to reply, the incoming comm signal sounded again. She swiveled and switched the receiver on.
“Oy!” A deep male voice bellowed. “You dere! Ooo da hell ‘re you, und why’re yoo commin’ at us like a batouttahell??”
With a glance at River, the pilot activated the transmitter. “Transport ship Tranquility requesting docking instruc —”
“Hold up dere, missy. Put yer pilot on, dere’s a gut gurl.”
Wash felt a flash of irritation. “I AM the pilot, requesting docking instructions at the Berenger freight depot.”
“Yur de pilot?” The voice rumbled and burst into laughter. “Hey, Viktor! Tell the udder ships ta git offa dah field. Ship commen in wid a bird onna stick, and she’s hot!”
Another voice chimed in from farther away from the microphone. “Who’s hot, Zev? The girl or the ship?”
“Both, I betcha,” Zev replied. “Ship’s commen in mighty fast for atmo, and the gurl sounds like she’s mebbe fast, too.”
Wash and River heard the one called Viktor speaking as he approached the microphone. “Hey, Zev says you’re on the stick. Does that mean you’re flyin’ that boat with your hands, or are you actually ... um, on the stick, if you catch me?” He snickered, and the other man laughed again. Wash felt almost nauseous, thinking about what this idiot must be thinking of her, but that was soon followed by a quick burst of anger. She reached for the microphone switch again, only to have River put her hand on Wash’s.
‘ Careful, jei mei,’ she spoke mind to mind. ‘Remember, we have to work with these sah gwa to get our cargo, and the captain won’t like it if you throw a tantrum and the job goes south.’
‘Tantrum?’ Wash shot back, her thoughts awash in anger. ‘These guys sound like they never made it past the second grade!’
‘Then spank them, Hoe-bann,’ River replied, ‘but do it gently, with words.‘
Wash sighed, then took a deep breath and calmed herself before she thumbed the switch to “Transmit.”
“I’m flying the ship with my hands, the way any pilot would,” she said simply. “I’m damned good at it, too. And the only time I’ll ever fly anything the other way you described would be in your dreams — and my nightmares, hwoon dahn. I’m not a doxy or a slut, I’m a pilot. So why don’t you and your friend give me a landing pad assignment near our cargo, and leave your rich fantasy life in your bunk, where it belongs?”
There was a long stunned silence on the other end of the connection, followed by loud raucous laughter that seemed to go on and on.
“Yur a real firecracker, un dat’s a fact, sweetie,” Zev growled, still laughing. “Put ‘er doon on pahd tree ... follow duh sub beekan when yu hit B’rngur ahrspace — und try nut to hit duh depot, ‘kay?”
He started laughing again, and the comm went silent. Wash heaved a sigh of relief, and began to slow her speed while doing progressive scans for the beacon.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath. “Men!”
“Careful, Hoe-bann,” River teased, standing behind the pilot’s chair. “You of all people should know better than that. You were a good man, once. There must be others out there.”
“Well, from this side of the gene pool, I’m thinking they should be drowned at birth,” Wash replied. “Those two, anyway. I’m reserving judgment about the rest of the gender.”
“And Jayne?” The younger girl’s question left the pilot confused.
‘ How do I feel about Jayne?’ She thought about everything that had happened in the past few hours, and shook her head. ‘I know how I feel ... how I think I feel. But how much of that feeling is mine, and how much belongs to the woman who used to live here?’
Wash finally caught the sub-beacon and made her final approach with an ease that came from a thousand perfect approaches that came before.
Sometimes she wished living could be as easy as flying.
Berenger’s depot was like too many others Wash had seen in her day — crowded, busy, and a real pain to fly through. Fortunately, Serenity had an excellent pilot, and she found her way to pad three with a minimum of powered acrobatics that left many of her peers envying her skill.
Wash heaved a sigh of relief and began putting flight systems on stand-by. Given Serenity’s past history, there was no way in Hell she would totally clip her wings with a cold shutdown in an exposed position like this. River had wandered off shortly before she reached the depot, understanding that the pilot’s attention needed to be on what she was doing. The hum of the powered cargo door reverberated through the ship, and she was glad others were going to be dealing with the freight handlers. The overwhelmingly male freight handlers.
‘ They were bad enough on the comms,’ she thought sourly. ‘Gods forbid I should have to meet them in person. Especially wearing this.’
The pilot sat there for a moment, going back over the things that had happened to her since this whole wacky adventure started. Sometimes she felt like she had been caught up in a flood of events that pushed her into her new life with the force of a hard burn. Sometimes it felt like the Verse was conspiring against her, and that whatever control she thought she had was only an illusion.
When she thought about what Teller and Beeks almost did to her when she first joined the crew, she realized how powerless she felt as Linda. She had only just become a woman, and it almost didn’t seem real at the time. After it was all over, it had been easy to push it aside and move forward. After all, she was here, back with friends and family, and what did it matter how close she came to being a victim?
But it did, she realized suddenly. Her knock-out punch on Teller aside, she wasn’t Zoe. ‘No warrior woman here,’ she thought with a frown. ‘I get the sense that Linda could fight, but avoided conflict if she could. A lot like I used to be, come to think of it. Even when I was a man, I wasn’t exactly the most ná¡n zÇ qᬠguy out there — enough man to steal Zoe’s heart and keep her happy, but the rest of the Neanderthal guy mentality, like “fight first, eat lunch, then fight later” never really made it onto my personal agenda.’
It was becoming clear to Wash that direct confrontation wasn’t usually an option when you looked like Miss Osirus, and this translated in her mind to a powerlessness that seemed all too linked to the new body she wore — even though as a man, Wash did his best to avoid a fight without losing face. Now things with her new body were going south, in a bad way. It seemed to be doing its best to try and write over the Wash That Was, and there seemed to be a part of Wash that wanted to help.
The part that was interested in Jayne.
When she had revealed to River that she had planned to try and be the woman she appeared to be, there were a lot of aspects of that choice she really hadn’t wanted to think about when she made the call originally. Like sex, and men ... and specifically, sex with men. But her new body wanted her to know exactly how Linda felt about the male of the species — and she’d been made more than aware of just how much of a man Jayne was.
But Jayne was one thing. Those idiots in the dispatch shack were something else. And the pilot had the uncomfortable feeling that there were a lot more idiots than there were men worth being with in the Verse. A LOT more. She started feeling even more lost and alone, and started wondering if she should have been issued a tee-shirt with the words “potential victim” printed on the chest. Right across her breasts, where the boys would be sure to read it.
Wash felt her lower lip start to quiver again, and a tear trickled down her cheek before she realized where her head was going. A bit of anger rose up to take charge, and she shook her head and brushed the tear aside with the back of her hand.
‘Enough!’ she growled at herself. ‘I chose this path, and it was the right choice. I’m not powerless. I’m alive, and with people I love!’
She was just confused and feeling sorry for herself, and that was wrong. Self-pity had never gotten her anywhere before, and she wasn’t going to start wallowing in it now. There were still a few things she had control over, and it was time to take charge.
‘For example, I get to choose what I wear,’ she thought, ‘And I’ve been in this dress long enough. There’s a flight suit and a pair of boots waiting in my quarters, and wearing this outfit within ten klicks of a freight depot is just asking for trouble. Time to change.’
She unstrapped from the pilot’s chair and stood up, reaching upward to stretch the tension from her back. Just then, there was a clatter on the deck outside the flight deck door. Jayne poked his head in, flashed her a smile, and handed her a clipboard.
“Hey, Linda. Cap’n needs you to go groundside, check in with the depot master, get us a manifest, and confirm loadin’ and leavin’ times.”
‘Terrific. Just terrific.’ She felt her brief push for control slipping through her fingers. ‘I’ll have to deal with those idiots in person. Thank you, gods. I’ll be sure to do you a good turn myself real soon.’
Ou the outside, Wash put on a cheerful face. “Sure thing, Jayne. Just let Mal know it’s going to take me a minute to change.”
The mercenary tilted his head and gave her a once-over, followed by a grin. “Why’re ya gonna change, girl? What you’re wearin’ looks just fine to me. Better than fine.”
Wash felt herself blush, and a rush of sexual feeling roared through her. She looked down for a few seconds to avoid meeting his eyes. “Ummm ... thank you, Jayne.”
“Ain’t nothin’ but the truth, Linda. Don’t see no reason to hide how pretty you are.” Jayne looked at her curiously. “‘Sides, I think the cap’n’s getting’ a mite worried, us bein’ so close to the Alliance ‘n all. He wants us to be far away from here before the Feds decide to give us a second look.”
“Gorram right I’m worried,” Mal said briskly, coming up behind Jayne. “We’re already late gettin’ off of this rock as it is, and we ain’t even loaded cargo yet. Best be on your way.”
Wash felt frozen to the spot. Could this really be happening? She opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. The captain watched her for a few seconds.
“Now is better than five minutes from now, Linda.” The pilot managed a small nod, and Mal gave her a small smile in return. “Good girl. Off you go.”
He turned and ambled down the passageway, and Jayne followed, leaving her standing there in a state of shock — a numbness that started feeling very much like fear.
Zoe was in the cargo bay, keeping her eyes on the cargo bay door and one hand on her gun. Depots like this had their share of thieves, and an open door was too much of an invitation for her to leave it unguarded. Besides, she didn’t quite trust Berenger the way the Captain did. The businessman may have helped them out in Serenity Valley when they needed it, but he was quick enough to cash in on the favor when he needed a run to Flynt. That didn’t make him a friend, as far as Zoe was concerned. Berenger was just someone who knew the value of an obligation, and how deep the Captain’s sense of honor ran.
Taking advantage of what a good man the Captain was didn’t do him any favors in Zoe’s heart, either.
There was the sound of shoes on the metal steps, and Linda came walking down from the cockpit. She was still dressed to kill, which seemed odd to Zoe, since there was certainly enough time to change now that they were actually at the depot. As she walked past Zoe, the first mate realized she was heading for the cargo door ... and a freight yard full of men.
In a dress that was sure to get her ... noticed.
She stood up quickly and put out her hand, touching the other woman’s shoulder. “Linda?”
The pilot turned, and Zoe saw the look on her face. She seemed almost in a trance, like she was sleepwalking. For the first time, Zoe started to worry. This wasn’t anything like the Linda she’d come to know in the past few weeks. This looked more like what she’d seen in the war — like the woman was headed into battle.
“Where’re you goin’, girl?” She deliberately used a teasing tone, to try and coax Linda out of her shell. “Are you okay?”
“Captain wants me to go to the dispatch office, get the cargo manifest and loading times squared away.” Her voice had an almost wooden quality, stiff and flat.
Zoe kept her playful tone. “In that outfit? Aren’t you a bit ... overdressed? Or maybe underdressed?”
“Captain said there wasn’t time for me to change.”
“But there must be at least a hundred men out there,” Zoe said slowly, “and I bet most of them haven’t seen someone as pretty as you in months.”
Linda’s lower lip began to tremble. “Don’t you think I know that?” Her mask began to break, and Zoe could see she was afraid.
The first mate growled inside, thinking about all the things the Captain didn’t think about.
“I know I’m being stupid,” the pilot went on, her voice starting to rise with each word. “I know I shouldn’t care. I mean, this is just part of being a woman, right? I should shut up and do my job. I don’t even KNOW these people! And it’s not like I have to listen. They won’t say anything that matters. They’ll just yell insulting things like they’re compliments, make degrading offers to do things with me that no sane woman would even think about without throwing up, and UNDRESS ME —” She stopped in mid-yell, took a breath and continued, almost in a normal voice. “Undress me with their eyes. And I’ll just let it slide off my back and do my job, because I’m a woman, and that’s what I’m supposed to do.”
Linda turned and looked Zoe in the eye. “That’s what I’m supposed to do,” she repeated, then sighed. “I just ... I don’t think I can, today, that’s all. I’m ... afraid, Zoe. I’m supposed to be brave, and do my job, but all of the sudden, I’m scared. What happened at the Skyplex, and Kaylee, and this dress, and Jayne, and those jerks in the dispatch office on the comms ... it’s just too much, too soon. Maybe some other time ... maybe tomorrow, I could just do it. But right now, there’s a part of me that’s just screaming enough. And I so want to listen.”
Zoe’s voice became soft, and she reached out and took Linda’s hand. “Then don’t go, honey. You don’t have to. Stay here. Let Jayne do it, or Simon.”
“I can’t, Zoe. It’s my job. I pull my weight, and I get paid. That’s how it works.” She sighed again. “Besides, the Captain told me to.”
“Well, the Captain is an ass.” Both women turned to see Inara standing at the top of the stairs, on the walkway to her shuttle.
“HEY!” Mal’s voice rang out across the bay, and all three women turned to see him standing on the other side, near the corridor to the cockpit. “I heard that!”
“You were MEANT to,” Inara shot back, leaning on the railing. “What the hell were you thinking, Mal? Three weeks ago, that girl barely managed to avoid being raped while defending your ship. She had to strip naked at gunpoint, after being your pilot for less than an hour! And now you want her to walk through a freight yard full of men wearing THAT dress? You know what men like that are like! What is WRONG with you?”
“She seemed to be handling what happened at the Skyplex okay,” Mal countered angrily. “After we took back the ship, she put her clothes on and went back to work. How was I supposed to know there was somethin’ wrong? Besides, she’s the one who wore THAT dress. I thought she might want the chance to show it off some, since she won’t be gettin’ off ship where we’re headed. Why else would she wear it?”
Zoe looked up, her arm around Linda’s shoulder. “Kaylee made her wear it for Jayne, Sir. She didn’t want to do it, but you know how persuasive Kaylee can be. And when Linda put it on earlier, I’m pretty sure she never thought she’d be forced to model it for every member of the local Freight Workers union.”
“Forced? Ain’t nobody forcin’ anybody to do anything!” Mal’s voice was starting to betray his confusion.
“But you ordered me to go, like this!” Linda’s voice rose up, shaking slightly.
“Oh, honey,” Kaylee appeared next to her, put her arm around her from the other side and gave her a squeeze. She looked up at Mal with anger in her eyes, and her voice was rock hard. “I heard the whole thing. Don’t pay him no mind. The captain’s always orderin’ folks around. If it don’t make any sense, just ignore him. That’s what the rest of us do and it works well enough most of the time.”
“Wait a minute! How did this get to be my fault?” The Captain looked down at his pilot, his mechanic, and his first mate. Then he looked up at the woman he loved. She looked back, angry enough to spit bullets. He stopped, and he thought, and he sighed. “Never mind. It don’t matter how, it just is. All my fault. I ain’t sayin’ I’m stupid, but I will admit to bein’ more than a mite dense about what goes on in a woman’s head ... or a woman’s heart.”
Inara’s expression softened, and Mal felt something in his heart click. He smiled at her, ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head.
“Go get changed, Linda,” he said, looking down at the pilot. “Sorry I almost sent you out there to get ... looked at by folks who wouldn’t know how to treat a woman if Zoe beat it into ‘em with a stick. I’ll go to the dispatch office.”
The pilot sighed, turned back to the stairs, and took a single step before Zoe’s hand touched her shoulder. She turned, and saw her former wife with the oddest expression on her face — her eyes wide with a smile just starting to touch her lips.
The first mate leaned forward and looked her in the eye. “Do you trust me, Linda?” she whispered, her breath hot on the other woman’s cheek. Wash nodded without hesitation.
“With my life,” she replied softly.
“Good. Because I have something to show you.” Zoe raised her voice. “It’s okay, Sir. Linda and I will handle the run to the dispatch office.”
Inara looked down at the pair and cocked her head, confused. The captain did the same.
“Is that what you want, Linda?” Mal asked tentatively, not sure what to think.
Wash looked into Zoe’s eyes and saw love and concern, and the strength she always knew was there. She turned to look up at the Captain and nodded.
“Yes, Captain,” she replied, raising her voice. “Zoe and I will take care of it.”
Mal looked over to Inara, and she looked back, her eyebrows raised. Then she shrugged, and he looked back at Linda and sighed.
“All right, then,” he said, still confused. “Aren’t you gonna change first?”
Wash looked back at Zoe, and Zoe’s smile became a grin. She shook her head.
“No, Sir,” the first mate said, slipping past Linda and climbing the stairs leading up to the crew quarters. “I am.”
Jayne lay in his bunk, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Linda.
‘ She’s about as big a puzzle as ... as the biggest puzzle I ever seen,’ he thought, his eyes glazing over from thinkin’ so hard. ‘I can’t even come up with anythin’ as confusin’ as that girl is, and that’s a fact. Half the time I think she wants me, an’ the other half I’m thinkin’ she’s runnin’ away while she’s standin’ still. And Mal’s too busy trying to get offa this ruttin’ rock before the Feds tumble that we’re here, so I can’t ask him. Not that he’d know, but at least I’d have someone to ask.’
“You could ask me.” River’s face suddenly loomed in his line of sight, and his whole body jerked. He sat up quickly, but not quick enough for the young girl’s reflexes (and the fact that she knew when he was going to move before he did).
“Don’t DO that!” he snapped. “Gorram it, River, my bunk is supposed t’ be private. How’d ya git in here without me noticin’?”
“You were thinking so hard about Linda, you didn’t see me coming in through maintenance hatch seventeen,” she replied sweetly. “I think it’s nice how much you think about her, but she’s going to need our help soon, and lying in your bunk won’t get the job done.”
“Help her?” Jayne swung his legs over the side of the bed and braced himself with his hands. River looked down at him, a smug smile on her face. “What’s wrong with her? Is she in trouble?”
“Not yet.” The girl danced over to the open maintenance hatch and stopped directly under it. “But Zoe’s got this idea to make Linda not be afraid anymore, after what happened at the Skyplex. It’s a good plan, and she’s brave to try it, but there are a few holes in it that might need fixing. That’s our job.”
“Holes?” The mercenary felt awkward, as if River was speaking in a different language and nobody was botherin’ to translate.
“Yes, holes,” she replied. “Great big gaping ones, like the whole depot rioting, followed by violence, gunfire, and Feds. But long before that, Zoe and Linda lying broken and dead in the yard in their pretty dresses, because Zoe couldn’t see what I see, looking at what is and seeing what might be.”
Jayne’s blood ran cold. River looked into his eyes and nodded. “So we’re going to make sure that doesn’t happen, Jayne Cobb. You, and me, and that Interceptor you conned out of that merchant before we left the Skyplex.”
“Interceptor? I ain’t got no Interceptor.”
“Sure you do.” River leaped into the air and slipped back into the ship’s infrastructure. Her voice echoed in his head. “Under your bunk, up towards where you keep your pillow, wrapped in an old duffel bag and a Blue Sun tee shirt that’s seen better days.” She popped her head down into the room and smiled, then spoke out loud again. “You should know better than to try lying to a reader, Jayne.”
“I reckon I should.” He sighed and stood up. “And why try hidin’ it anyway?”
“Old habits?” She grinned.
“Maybe. I bought the gorram thing to keep folks safe. Might as well use it.” Jayne went to his knees and pulled the sniper rifle out from under the bed. He started unwrapping it. “Okay, I’m in. Where do you want me?”
“Up on top of the ship. You can see the whole freight yard from up there.” Her head disappeared, and she spoke to him again, mind to mind. “And you’re going to have to, to keep everything smooth and shiny.”
Jayne shivered and looked up at the ceiling. “Hey!” he shouted. “Would you STOP talkin’ inside my head?” After a few seconds of silence, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Uh ... please?”
River’s head slid slowly down into the room through the open hatchway.
“No,” she said aloud, and closed the door.
“Gorram creepifying ...” he muttered, reaching for the trank loads. “Good thing she’s crew, or I’d be lookin’ to shoot HER.”
“I love you too, Jayne.”
“STOP that!”
“This is a bad idea, Zoe.” Mal had followed her from the cargo bay into the passageway up to crew quarters.
“I think you said that before, Captain. Multiple times.”
“Well, it is. Sayin’ it more than once don’t make it any less true.”
Zoe stopped at the door to her room and turned around. “And I’m thinkin’ you don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about in this situation, Sir.”
Mal took a step back and held up his hands. “Look, a few minutes ago y’all convinced me it was a bad idea for Linda to go out there dressed like that. Now you want to go WITH her?”
“Not wantin’ to, Sir. More like got to.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s crew. That makes her family, and she needs our help.” The first mate pushed her door in and put a foot on the ladder leading down.
“And how does taking a walk across a freight depot dressed like that help her?”
Zoe gave him a look, trying to decide if an explanation would help. “Well ... it’s like gettin’ back on a horse that threw you, Captain.”
Mal felt what little control he had over this conversation slippin’ away. “In a dress??”
She sighed. “I need to get changed, Sir.”
The door clanged shut.
Wash stood by the cargo bay door, her arms folded under her breasts.
‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ she thought, a tiny bit of fear creeping into her brain. ‘I can’t believe I’m going to walk across that field and into the dispatch office wearing this dress. Why did I agree to this? Oh, yes. Zoe asked me if I trusted her, and like a lovestruck idiot, I said yes. What was I thinking? What was Zoe thinking? She’s crazy! She’s certifiable! She’s —’
Zoe Washburne walked down the stairs into the cargo bay, wearing a slinky lavender dress with long bell sleeves that shimmered in the shine of the overheads. The strappy heels she wore made her legs look like rich mahogany that had been shaped by the most talented sculptor in the Verse, and her make-up was as understated and elegant as her smile was wide.
“You’re beautiful,” Wash whispered, remembering the first time she’d ever seen Zoe dressed for a night on the town.
“Why, thank you,” she replied, striking a model’s pose at the bottom of the steps. “I clean up real good, now don’t I? A’course, you’re lookin’ mighty shiny yourself, girl. Which is why I had to take a little longer gettin’ ready. Can’t let the pilot outshine the first mate. Against the law of the skyways.”
“The what now?” Wash felt a giggle slip through her defenses and let it go. She just had to laugh, and if Linda’s body wanted to giggle, she sure wasn’t going to go out of her way to stop it.
Zoe’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened in feigned shock. “Oh my! You, our intrepid pilot, have never heard of the law of the skyways?”
“OH!” Linda said, striking her forehead with the flat of her hand. “THAT law of the skyways!”
“That’s better.” Zoe took Linda’s arm and started walking towards the open cargo bay door. “Now, I’m thinkin’ the reason you’re feeling afraid is ‘cause you forgot just how much power a good looking woman has in this Verse. You knew before you joined the crew. You had to, if you grew up looking like that. And I know you wouldn’t have been able to get through flight school with a bunch of pilot-wanabees if you hadn’t figured out how to put them in their place. Believe me, I was married to a pilot — I know how most of them behave with womenfolk.” Her voice took on a wistful tone. “Never had to worry about him, though.”
She shook her head and focused on Linda again. “Anyway, you used to know how strong you are. But what happened at the Skyplex made you forget for a while, and you started thinkin’ you were weak, just ‘cause you couldn’t stop two zuì fàn from scaring the pants off you at gunpoint. And that just ain’t right.”
She stopped and turned Linda to face her. “From where I stand, you did just fine. Wasn’t much else you could do, to tell the truth. And you took your clothes off to protect River, not because you were scared. But sometimes folks have a way of twisting the facts after something bad happens, just ‘cause they think they coulda done somethin’ different, even when they couldn’t.”
There was a dainty clattering on the steps behind them both, and they turned to watch Inara descend in the same dress she had worn to that shindig on Persephone long ago. It was off white and sleeveless — classically beautiful, with a deep décolletage and a long flowing skirt that seemed to float when she moved. She had left the long gloves in her shuttle, choosing instead a pair of wide gold bracelets with a tasteful pattern of gemstones on each, and her hair was loose around her shoulders and brushed to a warm sheen.
“Excuse me,” she said with a smile. “You wouldn’t happen to be going for a walk, would you?”
“Might be,” Zoe replied, smiling back. “It’s a beautiful day, after all.”
“May I join you?” Inara stepped off the bottom stair and made her way gracefully to where they stood. “I have a sudden uncontrollable urge to parade myself in front of a crowd of lustful gōng rén — most of whom have almost totally forgotten what a real woman is supposed to look like.”
“We’d be delighted to have you.” The first mate’s smile became a grin. “Wouldn’t we, Linda?”
“Of course we would,” Wash replied automatically, then stopped herself and turned to Inara. “You do know this is crazy, right? I mean, you yelled at the Captain so I wouldn’t have to go — and now you want to come along?”
Inara shook her head. “Originally, all I wanted to do was keep you safe. But after thinking about it, Zoe is right. What happened to you at the Skyplex is haunting you, and making you forget what you learned the day some boy noticed you were different ... and liked the difference enough to put your needs ahead of his.”
The companion crossed over to take both of Linda’s hands in hers. “There’s a risk, certainly, but not as big a risk as you might think, qīn ài de. What you need to remember is that, no matter how much they might want us, the entire weight of civilization stands between us and them. There’s a very good chance they won’t do anything at all, because generations of mothers and grandmothers before us have battered it into their brains that women are to be respected.”
“Add to that the fact that actin’ like a bèn dàn isn’t going to get them anywhere close to gettin’ any of us in bed,” Zoe said, “If they think there’s a chance with any of us, they might actually be nice. Ain’t likely, but stranger things have happened.”
“But ... but what if I’m right to be scared?”
“You’re not.” The voice came from the catwalk above, and everyone looked up to see Kaylee, still in her mechanics jumpsuit and boots. “Jei mei, they’re just men. They’re half the folk in the Verse, and they ain’t all evil, lecherous humps no matter what your mama said to keep you from gettin’ sexed when you was growin’ up. They just know what they want, and most all of ‘em know they won’t get it unless they treat us the way we want to be treated.”
She walked down the stairs and over to Linda, then put her arm around her and squeezed softly.
“Every man ain’t lookin’ to hurt you, nǚ hái,” she said softly. “Heck, most of ‘em are kinda nice. Those two xié è nán rén at the Skyplex just spooked you is all. We’re gonna show you how things really are.”
“We?” Inara raised an eyebrow, and Kaylee gave her a sharp look.
“Gorram right. You ain’t gonna leave me behind. I’m the reason why she’s wearing that dress. I pushed when I shouldn’t have, and it’s at least a bit my fault she’s feelin’ a more than a mite shaky around menfolk right now. So she ain’t goin’ out there without me, dohn-mah?”
Inara hesitated, then nodded. Kaylee smiled back in return.
“Aren’t you going to change?” the Companion asked. Kaylee shook her head.
“I like dressin’ up as much as the next girl,” she replied, “but according to Simon, this outfit is downright sexy, just ‘cause I’m wearin’ it.” Inara was surprised to see Kaylee blush, just a little. “I ain’t gonna argue with that.”
Inara moved away from Linda and Kaylee to stand beside Zoe.
“This really is insane,” she whispered through her smile. “Totally yǒu jīng shén bìng.”
Zoe nodded. “Right enough.”
“And we’re doing it because ...?”
“Because Linda needs it. Because we can.” The first mate looked into Inara’s eyes. “And because every once in a while, a woman needs to cut loose and do somethin’ wild and all manner of stupid — somethin’ folks tell her not to do, just ‘cause she’s a woman. Sometimes a girl needs to prove she’s not ‘less than’ just ‘cause she ain’t a man. Captain doesn’t really understand that.”
Inara shrugged. “Mal wants to protect us. We’re crew, we’re family, and we’re women, and that’s how his mind works. It’s not always a bad thing.” Inara watched as Linda and Kaylee started walking towards them, and the cargo bay door. “But in this Verse, a woman has the right to go where she pleases, and Linda may not be the only one who needs reminding. Are you armed?”
“Yes, ma’am. Aren’t you?” Inara smiled and ducked her head. Zoe grinned. “Alright, then. We know where we stand.”
“Together.”
“Gorram straight.” Linda and Kaylee reached the pair, and Zoe stood up a little straighter. “Is everyone ready?”
The pilot took a deep breath, then nodded. The mechanic just grinned and bobbed her head.
“All right, then,” Inara said, turning towards the cargo bay door. “Come on, ladies. Let’s go for a walk.”
None of them saw the shadow that slipped by them and out into the yard, only to vanish in the sunlight as shadows do.
NOTE: I did promise to try and make each chapter more self-contained and less cliff-hangery, and I DID try -- but the chapter started getting longer and longer, so i went and broke it into two. Not to worry, though. The rest will be coming your way soon enough ... as soon as this girl gets to finishin' it. *grin* -- Randalynn
Firefly: Double Booked | Part 3: Turbulence
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This is a fan fiction set in the Firefly/Serenity universe created by Joss Whedon. It takes place soon after the events in the television series and the companion motion picture that followed, and is also the third part of a sequel to Firefly: Connecting Flight. This means it has SPOILERS, folks, and major ones at that. So please don't read this unless you get the chance to see the series and the movie -- and read my first Firefly story (and the first two chapters of this one), since they both set the stage.
In the third part of FIREFLY: DOUBLE BOOKED, Wash and the ladies go for a walk in the freight yard, Jayne plays guardian angel with a "dumb-ass piece of Alliance plastic" for a gun, and our intrepid pilot finally faces her fear -- with surprising results!
DOUBLE BOOKED
Part 3
Part 3: Turbulence
As much as she would have liked to be with the group, River needed to be elsewhere. If Zoe’s plan was going to work, everyone had to feel like these men held themselves back just because they should -- that they had the willpower and the basic goodness not to behave like a horde of sexists, rapists and thugs. The funny thing was, River’s initial scan of the crowd revealed that most of the men who worked here would behave themselves, just as Zoe and Inara thought they would. It was the very small percentage that actually were sexists, rapists and thugs that River had to worry about.
All River had to do was keep a lid on those few simmering pots of misogynistic rage and hormonal excess, and stop them from boiling over just long enough for Wash and the ladies to reach the dispatch office, do what needed to be done, and get back to Serenity in one piece.
‘As the Captain would say,’ she muttered to herself, ‘best be about it.’
She moved through the dispatch yard like a ghost. It was partly because of her natural grace and her stillness, and partly because of those abilities the Alliance had enhanced in her to make her become a living weapon. Mostly, she would reach into the minds of the men around her and just make herself ... unnoticed. To the men she touched with her talent, she was a shadow, or a doorway, or a drainpipe -- just another part of the everyday landscape for the eye to pass over and ignore.
From on top of the ship, Jayne watched as River flowed around the groups of working men like ... well, like a river around a bunch of rocks. It was pretty, how she moved, almost like she was dancing. But that made it all manner of creepifying, too, since none of the men on the field seemed to see her at all.
He shifted uncomfortably, looking through the scope of the Interceptor with the magnification pulled back so he could watch River dance. When she reached the dispatch shack, she changed her rhythm and seemed to scurry up the side of the wall like a spider to land lightly on the roof. Jayne shuddered. ‘It just ain’t natural to be able to do something like that.’
‘What does that make me, Jayne?’
“Cut that out!”
“Here’s the plan,” River’s voice whispered in his head, and he could almost hear her grinning. “Set the amount of paralyzing agent in each shot for no more than three minutes. We don’t want to leave the crew chiefs with a bunch of unexplained statues where they used to have working men.”
“How do I do that?”
The young girl sighed. “Hit the red recessed button below the sight to switch to operations mode. Go to the main menu, then ammo, then settings. Adjust the slider to three minutes, hit save, and exit. Honestly, Jayne, didn’t you even glance at the manual? It’s right there under your bed in the duffel bag. I read it one night last week when you were lifting weights. It’s not bad.”
“I prefer poking at somethin’ to figure out how it works,” the shooter replied, a little defensively. “And I ain’t never been good at book learnin’.”
“You might want to start thinking about getting good at it, Jayne. A lot of women are attracted to smart men.” As his temper rose a bit, River continued. “And you’re smarter than you let on. I can see it in you. You just need to be able to show it ... and Linda needs to be able to see it.”
Jayne felt himself turning red at the unexpected compliment. “Can we get back to the job?”
“Okay.” Another sigh. “Here’s how it’s going to work. I’m going to read everyone in the crowd and find the troublemakers. I’ll try to keep the men on the edge from going over, and mark the ones you need to paralyze before they explode.”
“And how are you gonna mark ‘em so I can see ‘em?” Jayne growled, looking at her standing there in plain sight while the rest of the world ignored her. ‘It ain’t natural,’ he thought with a scowl.
“It is for me.” He could hear her smiling, and he shook his head and smiled too, just a little. “You’ll see it when it happens. Yellow means they could be trouble, so keep an eye on them. If they turn red, hit them before they do something stupid.”
The shooter grunted and nodded. There was a pause, and then River’s voice spoke again.
“I meant what I said, back in your quarters. If you have questions about why Linda is the way she is, I’m here. I know you’re talking to Mal about women, and that’s fine. But I know things he can’t, and I think you and Linda have ... possibilities. I just want to help you get together, if it’s meant to be.”
Jayne paused, one eyebrow raised. “You mean it?”
“I do.” There was a short pause. “Here they come!”
Dolph Trumbauer put down the crate he had been carrying, sweat pouring from his body. His arms and chest were solid slabs of muscle from the hours spent shifting cargo from one point to the next, and that wasn’t a bad thing for a man to be able to say. Still, he wondered whether Mister Berenger might think about getting some decent exo-suits to take the load off. He liked working in the depot, no question -- but a machine assist could make him a lot more productive, and he enjoyed looking at his work sheet at the end of the day and seeing how much he had moved, all by himself.
“With the right exo, I could move twice the weight in half the time,” he said to his friend Yuri, pulling a rag from his hip pocket and mopping his face as he spoke. “A regular Colossus. Boy, that would be something to see.”
The whole yard seemed to fall silent, all at once. The forklifts and loaders they did have coughed and died, and everything suddenly went very still.
“Spasebo!” Yuri breathed, his voice just barely above a whisper. He nudged Dolph’s arm. “Talk about something to see ...”
Dolph turned, and watch four angels walk out of the cargo bay door of the Firefly-class boat on pad three. They glided down the ramp and into his heart with an ease that made him ask himself why there was no woman in his life, and how he could ever find someone like this to share his days and warm his nights. These women ... they seemed to embody the essence of what men think of when they think of woman. They walked past dozens of working men like they owned the yard, and headed for the dispatch hut with a stride that left no doubt they knew where they were going.
For a moment, Dolph remembered when he was so much younger. He had always been a big reader, and had even written poetry for a while — some of it pretty darned good, too. He had secretly wanted to go to college and learn more, until he made the mistake of mentioning it where his father could hear. The man had beaten Dolph until schooling and poetry were the furthest things from his mind, and his ambition had stayed locked away for twenty years or more.
Until today, when the poet in Dolph’s soul rose up and tried to paint these women with words.
‘There’s the elegant one, dressed in white, fair of face wth a noble’s grace,’ he thought, ‘And the one in purple, strong and true, with beauty and loyalty none can undo.’
Every man followed their every step, their eyes full of fantasies. Dolph looked at the woman in the stained jumpsuit, with a warm smile on her face
‘That one tastes like strawberry wine -- a burst of light when the sun doesn’t shine.’ The loader smiled and turned his attention to the one beside her in a yellow sundress. She almost seemed to hesitate, even as she moved forward.
‘That redhead,’ he mused, ‘so pretty, yet so unsure ... is she afraid, or just demure?’
Dolph paused a moment, thinking about that last line.
‘She’s not shy,’ he realized. ‘She’s frightened. But why? What could she be afraid of?’
He turned slowly, looking at the men struck dumb by the parade of beauty. Some of them were openly leering, and Dolph could almost see the lust pouring from their bodies in waves, their eyes glistening with barely suppressed desire.
‘Us,’ he thought, the idea coming first as a surprise, then as so much a certainty he almost kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. ‘She’s scared of us!’
It made him sad, that such a pretty woman could fear him without even knowing his name. Then he looked around again, thinking that maybe she wasn’t wrong to be afraid at all.
He knew some of these men didn’t like pretty women at all ... or strong women, for that matter. Oh, they wanted the beautiful ones, to be sure, but they seldom managed to charm any of them, because their manners were coarse and their overtures rude. Eventually, they came to see every woman as a tease, dangling a vision of something they could never have just out of reach. This frustration made them angry ... and sometimes violent.
He’d seen ‘em on a few trips to what passed for a major city on this Alliance-heavy rock. They always tried to take the ladies down a peg, getting rougher and rougher until whatever establishment they were in kicked them out. Then they would wait in the street until the women left, only to follow them with words (and sometimes hands) until the local police stopped them and sent them on their way.
As Dolph watched, the crowd became more and more excited. The men began talking to each other, and he began to worry about the angels from that transport. As the rumbling of voices started growing louder, his eyes kept scanning the freight yard. Before he realized he was moving, he had started pushing through the crowd towards the dispatch hut, and the worry turned to fear.
Because there wasn’t any law enforcement to speak of in the Berenger depot, but there were more than enough idiots to go around. And it only took one to start a riot.
Jayne kept his eye on the Interceptor’s scope and tried real hard not to look at the four ladies walking across the field. He was supposed to be keepin’ ‘em safe, but they were enough of a distraction all by themselves to make savin’ ‘em harder than it oughta be. He gave ‘em one look when they left the cargo bay, just to make sure River was right.
‘Of course I’m right, Jayne. Keep your eyes on the crowd.’
He did what she said. Eyes on the crowd. She was right. He wasn’t gonna save anybody watchin’ the ladies. He was in this to keep Linda and the rest safe, and that’s what River wanted, too. So he listened. Didn’t mean he liked her poking around in his head, even if it was for a good reason.
There were a few folks out in the crowd colored yellow, but no reds yet. Jayne didn’t want to think too hard about how deep inside his head River had to be to do something like this, but it sure made his job easier.
The ladies walked into view, and he pulled back on the scope’s mag to take in a wider view.
‘Some of the crowd’s still yellow,’ he thought, ‘but I’m thinkin’ a few of ‘em are getting a mite orangy around the edges. Is she supposed to be doin’ orangy?’
“JAYNE!”
The shooter felt his whole body tense, and his trigger finger twitched.
“Gorram it, Mal,” he growled, forcing all his muscles to relax. “I almost wasted a trank on some poor idjit juss standin’ there watching the parade go by.”
“What the hell are you doin’ up here?”
“Watchin’ the ground crew get all heated up through this dumb-ass piece of Alliance plastic,” Jayne replied, his eyes not leaving the scope. “Tryin’ to look out for the ladies without lookin’ like I’m tryin’ to look out for ‘em.”
“Why?”
“Cause River said Zoe’s got some damn fool idea in her head about showin’ Linda she don’t hafta be afraid of every guy, just ‘cause a what happened on the Skyplex. Inara and Kaylee went, too. Hell if I know why.”
Mal stepped forward and looked down at the procession making its way across the compound. “Huh,” he said, as his thoughts ran to catch up with the rest of him. “Inara, too. Showin’ me she can go where she wants to, I reckon. Like I didn’t already know that.”
“Zoe wants to throw Linda into a pit full of men and show her they can keep their hands to themselves.” Jayne snorted. “I ain’t sayin’ it’s the worst plan in the Verse, but I guess I’m just here makin’ sure they keep their distance, ‘cause River knows some of ‘em won’t.
The captain thought for a second, then nodded slowly. “Like getting’ back up on a horse that threw ya.”
Jayne squinted and cocked his head. “In a dress?”
Mal smiled, remembering saying the same thing to Zoe a few minutes ago. “If that what it takes.”
He walked over and stood beside Jayne, watching as the ladies approached the dispatch office. “Look at ‘em, Jayne. Takes all manner of courage to go through the world lookin’ that good without being afraid some man’s gonna try to scare you, bully you, or make a toy outta you, juss ‘cause they think they can. You and me, we make our way and don’t think twice, ‘cause most folk know enough not to try and push us too hard.”
The mercenary grinned, still watching the crowd through the scope. “Gorram right. Not if they know what’s good for ‘em.”
Mal continued, almost thinking aloud. “But womenfolk go through life havin’ to be better, all the while pretendin’ they ain’t afraid that some sah gwa with too many muscles and too little sense decides he wants a poke and won’t take no for an answer. I think Linda just forgot how not to be afraid. I guess Zoe and Inara and Kaylee ...”
“And me.” River’s voice echoed in both of their heads.
“And you, little Albatross ... they want to remind her that it ain’t as bad out there as she thinks it is.”
“Only it is that bad,” Jayne muttered, “or I wouldn’t be here, waitin’ for some ruttin’ fool to get stupid.”
“One hundred sixty seven men, and only eight of them could be trouble,” River said from her vantage point on the building across the way. Jayne watched as eight of the men glowed orange for a moment, and suppressed a shudder. “The captain’s right. It isn’t as bad as Linda thinks it is.”
“Well, if everyone would just shut up a while, maybe I could do my job and convince her its true, even if it ain’t.” Jayne settled back down behind the gun, muttering to himself. “Then she’ll get back to the boat thinkin’ all the men in the Verse are church-goin’ Sunday school teachers. Until one of them grabs a piece of her that ain’t up for grabs."
The shooter rolled his shoulders and tried to loosen up some, as the women walked the last ten feet into the dispatch office.
“Halfway home,” he whispered, a trickle of sweat making its way down his back. “Get back quick, Linda, afore somethin’ goes wrong.”
The inside of the dispatch office was a peculiar mix of the latest Core technology, a forest of paper forms and folders, and the usual clutter produced by men who don't have anyone to impress with either cleanliness or attention to detail. Used food and drink containers mixed with ancient alerts from Alliance traffic control, covering every flat surface, along with discarded animated newspads from a hundred Alliance worlds.
Zev, the older of the two on duty that day, was a graying Buddha of a man, balding with a long mustache and a wispy beard. He was built like a scaled-down version of a sumo wrestler, and looked like one as he hunkered down over a collection of monitors that tracked everything from Boros space command intercepts and local traffic control to loading completion and dispatch assignments.
Viktor, the other man in the dispatch center, was small, thin, and pale, with dark, wild hair, sunken eyes and a sharp chin. His job was to keep the crews on task and the cargo in the depot flowing smoothly, and his eyes darted from monitor to monitor to make sure the crews were doing their jobs.
Only they weren't. They were standing around, their heads turning to follow something moving through the center of the dispatch yard. Viktor kept switching from camera to camera to try to see what it was they were looking at, but he always seemed to switch views too late.
He turned up the sensitivity of the external microphones, only to receive another shock. There was dead silence for a few seconds, and the men started talking softly, apparently commenting on whatever they were looking at, but in tones too low to be distinguishable as individual words. Viktor growled to himself and turned to his partner.
With a genial laugh, Zev sat back in his seat, his headset perched upon his head like a black preying mantis carved from plastic and metal.
“So den Viktor asks her if she's just flyin' urr if she's really ON duh stick,” he said to the dispatcher at the Hung Dao depot a few hundred klicks away. “Yoo shoulda hurd hur pitchun ah fit!” He laughed again, bigger the second time. Frustrated, Viktor picked up an empty bottle of Blue Sun Cola and threw it at the back of Zev's head. It bounced off and hit the tile floor with a clatter, and Zev spun around and gave the other man a stern look.
“Wut duh hull iz yur prublum, Viktor?”
“My problem? MY problem?” Viktor jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the depot monitors. “WE got a ground crew full of meat mannikins out there instead of men moving cargo.”
Zev raised his eyebrows in confusion, and Viktor raised his voice in response.
“There's a hundred sixty men just standin' around the depot like statues,” he said, “and when Mister Berenger sees that nothing is getting done, he's not going to care whose fault it is. He's not going to care about ANYTHING but the bottom line, and how WE let productivity drop to zero in the middle of a work day. So it's OUR problem, Zev. Not mine, OURS.”
The older man stared at his partner for a few seconds, then glanced at the depot monitors before turning to his own station and pulled up the camera displays.
“Dey'ur luukin at sumtin, yah,” he said, switching from camera to camera. “I canna see anyting, doh.”
As he kept looking, Zev became more and more frustrated he muttered, “Wut wur dey luukin at?”
An unquestionably female voice came from the doorway. “That would be us.”
Both men turned towards the sound and found four women standing there, three dressed for a night on the town and a fourth in a mechanic’s jumpsuit that hugged her curves. The fourth one reminded Viktor of Ludmilla, the girl he left behind on New Smolensk. Of course, Milla never looked quite as good in her jumpsuit, which is probably why Viktor left, but still ...
The redhead with the figure that didn't stop seemed to stumble forward, and turned to the woman in the jumpsuit behind her with an annoyed look on her face, as if she'd been pushed. Standing up straight, she turned back to the two men.
“I'm the pilot of Tranquility, the Firefly-class over on pad three,” she said, her voice loud and strong. “I need the manifests, dispatch logs, and scheduled departure times, please.”
“Yur deh pilot? DAT pilot??” Zev stood up, a huge smile spreading across his face. “Gurl, you made my day, dat’s fur damn suur. Gave yu greef, und yu turn ‘roun’ und giff bak’ as gud as you got, und den sum. Been tellin’ the utter disbachers ‘bout yu, how yu damned neer ripped us boat a new vun, ain’t dat right, Viktor? If I had a hat on, I’d take it off t’ yu, und dat’s a fact.”
Viktor stood up, too, grinning like a loon. “You sure shut us down. I ain’t been slapped so hard long distance since I called my best girl Carla on a comm call.” His eyes twinkled. “Her name was Ludmilla.”
Both men laughed, and Wash found her lips twitching into a half smile in spite of herself.
‘These were the men I was afraid of?’ she wondered, as Viktor started bringing up the documents on the system and setting them to print.
“We’ll have you squared away in no time,” Viktor said, “even though we’d love to have you stay a while.”
“Dammed straight! Yoo giff us sometin’ bettah to look at den dose fellahs outside,” Zev rumbled, jerking a thumb at the central display. “Boring times infinity, yoo bet. We culdn’t wait fur yu to show up.”
“Then why were you so mean to her on the comms?” Kaylee burst out. The pilot turned around, having completely forgotten about her companions.
Viktor grinned.
“It breaks up the monotony,” he replied. “No offense to the pretty pilot here, but we’re pretty much rude to all the pilots, because ... well, because they’re pilots!”
Zev nodded. “Dey’re always so full of demselves, deh ‘kings uf deh sky!’” He snorted, and his eyes twinkled. “Viktor und I, we tink uf it as a public survice to take dem down a few notches when dey fly into dis depot.”
“The first time Zev rips ‘em up, most of them are so surprised that their brains shut off.” Viktor shook his head. “But you ... you handed it back as fast as we dealt it. Shoulda figured a woman wouldn’t put up with that sort of sh -- uh, talk.”
There was a sudden beeping from Zev’s console, and he dropped back into his seat and swiveled around to face the microphone. He flicked a switch with the back of his hand.
“Oh, its yoo, Toshi,” he roared with a grin that woudn’t quit. “Since I know yoo, I’m not surprised when yoo show up like dis tree hours outside yur pick-up window, und I bet yur pro’bly so drunk yur seein’ five depots when der’s only one. Tell yah what, doh ... if yoo ken pick deh right depot and put dat rat trap yoo call a ship down on pad five without turnin’ it into scrap metal, I got a few containers needin’ movin’ t’ Whitefall. But if yoo crash und burn in my yard, all bets ur off.”
Zev flipped the switch closed, then swiveled back to face the ladies, still smiling.
“See?” Viktor almost laughed, but managed to keep it inside. “Zev’s an equal opportunity offender!”
Zoe came up behind Linda and touched her shoulder. The pilot bowed her head.
“I feel so silly now,” she whispered. “Just a little teasing, and I fall apart.”
“Hush, now,” Zoe replied, her tone a little fierce. “It was more than these two, and you know it. You had leftover baggage from the Skyplex weighing you down, not to mention Kaylee’s stunt with the dress.”
There was a muted “hey!” from behind them. Both women ignored it.
“Besides,” the first mate went on, smiling. “How could you possibly know they were a pair of harmless idiots before you met them?”
Both men looked at the two women, clearly confused.
“Is something wrong?” Viktor took a step forward.
“Linda was almost raped at gunpoint a few weeks ago,” Kaylee replied.
Both Zoe and Linda turned and spoke as one. “Kaylee!”
“Well, you were!” she protested, “And it don’t make much sense to keep it a secret if these two sah gwa want to know why you’re so upset.”
Linda glared at her. “MY secret to tell, péng gÅ« niang.”
Inara stepped forward. “Your teasing brought back how she felt then, and made her feel . . . weak. And scared. We came with her to provide a little moral support when she came to get our paperwork.”
Kaylee snorted. “She didn’t expect to find two wá¡n ná¡n rén playing silly games.”
The two men looked at each other, then back at the women. Zev sighed, then rose and took a few steps to the pilot.
“Nee ta ma duh tyen-shia suo-yo duh run doh gai si,” he muttered. Then, taking her hands in his, he looked into her eyes. “I um sorry ve said anyting to disdress yoo. We didn’t know, or we wuldn’t haff said wat we said.”
“We didn’t mean to hurt you,” Viktor said. “We just figured that, since you’re a pilot, you’d have the same planet-sized ego all the other pilots have. We’re sorry.”
Both men looked so sad, Linda couldn’t help but smile. She shook her head and gave Zev’s hands a squeeze.
“Apologies accepted,” she said, and the two dispatchers visibly relaxed. “No real harm done, after all. I expect I’ll have more than a few rough times ahead getting over ... what happened. You just happened to hit me when I was feeling it more.”
“Well, we were really impressed with how fast you came back at us, Miss Linda,” Viktor said, turning back to finish processing the paperwork. “I sure wouldn’t call you weak, not after feeling the sharp edge of your tongue.”
“Ya, dat’s true,” Zev agreed, letting go of Linda’s hands and slipping his in his pockets. “If dat’s yoo when yur feelin’ weak, I be shoor ta stay a few clicks outta range when yur at yur peak.”
Viktor started hitting some keys. “I’m going to put your ship at the head of the line, ladies ... get you loaded and cleared as quick as I can. It’s the least we can do to make up for our rudeness.”
“Thank you,” Inara replied, fidgeting slightly. “Our captain is anxious to get back out in the black.”
“With uh crew full uf such beeyoutiful women, that’s no surprise,” Zev grinned. “After all, out dere he can keep all dis beauty to himself.”
Zoe walked over and put her arm around Inara.
“Well, Inara here is more than enough beauty for the Captain,” she said with a smile. “And Kaylee there has got the ship's doctor keepin' his eyes on her vitals, right enough. Linda's got herself a man, too ... though whether she plans to keep him or not is still up in the air. But I thank you for the compliment, from all of us.”
Zev took a sheaf of paper from the printer and handed it to Linda with a flourish.
“I'll get sum loaders out dere to put deh cargo on yur boat,” he said, glancing up at one of the overhead monitors and shaking his head. “If I ken ever get dem to start movin’ again. You ladies damn near shut down deh yard, un dat’s a fact.”
“And we probably will again on the way back.” Inara sighed. “I'm glad that's all that happened, though.”
“Don’t be too sure it’s over,” Viktor said, looking up at Inara. “There are men in that crew out there I wouldn't trust within a hundred miles of a good-looking woman — and they're a damned sight closer than that. You've got a long walk back across the yard, and a lot can happen between here and there.”
The situation in the dispatch hut having resolved itself well, River turned her attention back to the yard. She tried to see through the rising waves of lust and excitement to find the ones she had singled out before, but she hadn’t counted on the raw power of the primal emotions rising from the crowd. Trying to single out the dangerous ones from the emotional “ground clutter” was pushing her to the limit of her gift, and River began to feel overwhelmed.
‘Not quite so easy to control events, is it?’ Chiang’s mental voice held just a touch of mockery. ‘Maybe it’s not a game for amateurs.’
‘I never said it was easy, old man,’ she replied through gritted teeth, watching as the women left the dispatch hut and started back across the yard. ‘The Verse was born in chaos. For all our talk of a natural order, the Verse thrives on confusion and coincidence, laughs at cause and effect, and thinks all our plans and schemes mean nothing. It’s full of messy people living their messy lives and making all the wrong choices for the wrong reasons, every minute of every day.’
‘Then why try to change anything?’
‘Because we can. Because nothing worth doing is ever easy. And because if a job is hard, you try harder, and do better.’
‘And still fail?’ River could hear the smile behind Chiang’s words.
‘Sometimes,’ she said. ‘But you’re going to fail anyway if you don’t try, Gladys. Now I’m busy. Bizui and let me work.’
Unfortunately, Chiang’s distraction was enough. River’s concentration wavered, just for an instant. It turned out to be an instant too long.
Viktor’s prediction was all too accurate. Fifty feet from the dispatch hut door, two men stepped out of the crowd in front of them, blocking the way back to Serenity. The women stopped, almost as one.
The taller of the two, stepped forward and cleared his throat.
“Ladies, allow me to introduce myself,” he said, staring down at Linda. The smile that followed was little more than a barely disguised leer, made more obvious by where his eyes rested. “My name’s Dalton Sweeney, and I know you’re gonna want to remember it, ‘cause me and my friends here plan to show you the best time you ever had, right here.”
Linda looked up at him, her face an emotionless mask. “I’m sorry, but we can’t stay. We’re on a tight schedule.”
“Aww, but it’s been so long since anybody as purty as you came visitin’, we’re thinkin’ you’ll stay awhile, git better acquainted.” He put a hand on her shoulder, and she looked at it as if it was some kind of alien insect.
“And we’re thinking we’ve got deliveries to make, and very little time to make ‘em,” she replied evenly, her heart pounding in her chest. “Nothing personal, Mr. Sweeney. Just orders. Our ship’s a freighter. We pickup and we deliver. That’s how we make our way. So when the captain says we fly, we fly. Dong-luh-mah?”
“I could have a word with your captain,” Sweeney looked down at the pilot. “Make him see its better off for him if you stay awhile, keep us happy.”
Zoe moved forward to stand beside Linda, and smiled slowly.
“I see you don’t know the Captain very well, and that’s a shame,” she said. “He’s not about to do anything to keep you happy ... and trying will only make him mad.”
Sweeney shifted his eyes to her, and his smile became more vicious than sexual. “Then maybe we don’t load your boat until we have some time alone with you all.” He took a step closer to Linda, and she looked up at him, afraid but refusing to take a step back. “Hell, maybe we just take your boat until he lets us do what we want with you.”
“Oh, that’s a bad idea,” Kaylee piped up helpfully. “I remember one idiot who tried to ‘take our boat.’ Cap’n wound up kicking him into the port engine . . . while it was running. After that, wasn’t much left of him but an awful stink and a bad memory. It was a couple of trips across the system afore we finally lost the smell.”
“Well, your captain isn’t here now, is he?” Sweeney sneered. “It’s just you, and us.”
He motioned in the air, and two more men appeared behind the women. “You can’t go forward, and you can’t go back. So why not come play nice while you still have a choice?”
“Gorram it, those idjits ain’t even yellow!’ Jayne swore, trying to get a clear shot at the men. “If I woulda known they was targets, I coulda tapped ‘em with the re ... recog ... with the part that lets the shots know how to find ‘em. Then I coulda juss shot up in the air and let the gun do the work.”
He turned to Mal to complain, but all he saw was the hatch closing. He turned back to the scope and kept trying for a shot. ANY shot.
“River!” he almost shouted. “Ai-yah Tyen-ah! Where ARE you, girl? We got trouble.”
Suddenly there was her voice, echoing in his head. ‘It’s okay, Jayne. Stand down. It’s okay.’
“No, it’s not!” he shot back. “Damn it, open your eyes.”
‘I don’t need them,’ River replied. ‘I can see it all from here. More than you. So don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine.’
The mercenary looked up at the sky and growled. “How do you KNOW that?”
‘Because I know. Trust me.’
Jayne shook himself like a wet dog, then leaned back over the Interceptor’s scope. “Like I have a gorram choice,” he muttered.
“The gentlemen in the dispatch hut might have something to say about how you’re treating us.” Inara gave him a scathing look. “You do work for them, you know.”
“We work for Mister Berenger.” One of the other men spoke up. “He knows what women are for, and he knows when to look the other way. Anyway, Zev and Viktor ain’t comin’ to help anybody. There’s only one door in and out, and we got it covered.”
Linda glanced back to see two large men holding the door closed, and she could hear the two dispatchers banging on it. She turned back to see Sweeney smiling, and it suddenly raised an unexpected emotion in her ... something that seemed to bring Wash and the Linda-That-Was together in a way they’d only been once before.
She was angry. No, she’d gone way past angry, and moved clear into a furious, blinding rage.
Sweeney felt a savage kind of joy, knowing he’d managed to put these bitches in their place and his smile widened, thinking of this redhead on her knees before him.
It lasted all of two seconds, before her fist collided with his chin.
He staggered backward, his hand coming up towards his face, just in time to see her foot slam into his groin with every ounce of strength she could muster. It hurt so badly he couldn’t even scream, just whine as both hands sunk towards the source of infinite agony that used to be his testicles.
The other three men stood there, stunned, as their leader curled up into a fetal ball on the dusty ground. Sweeney’s companion took one look at Linda’s face, glanced behind her, and stepped back, his hands in the air.
The pilot turned, and saw Zoe standing there with two small pistols in her outstretched hands, ready to shoot anything that moved. Inara’s bracelets had somehow become a matching pair of daggers, and from the way she was standing, it was pretty clear she knew how to use them.
And Kaylee stood behind them both, holding what appeared to be the mother-of-all wrenches. She was trying to look fierce, but to Wash, she just looked like a kitten trying to frighten a pack of bulldogs. No matter what, she was still just Kaylee.
‘And she always will be,’ the pilot thought, suppressing a smile. After a second, her anger resurfaced and she turned back to face the crowd.
“Listen up!” she shouted, fists clenched. “You have absolutely no idea who you’re dealing with here. I’m just a gorram pilot, but I put him down fast enough. And I’ll do the same to anyone who tries what he tried. Maybe we aren’t a match for a hundred men. Hell, maybe we aren’t a match for twenty. But three of us are armed, two of us are downright dangerous, and all of us are angry. So you WILL get the hell out of our way, or you will learn exactly why it’s a bad idea to get between any woman . . . and her home.”
It was so quiet, she could clearly hear Zev cursing on the other side of the dispatch door. Then a mountain of a man stepped up behind the two men between them and the dispatch hut and lifted them clear off of the ground, holding them both by the back of the neck.
“Ain’t none of us going to do anything but wish you all well, miss,” Dolph said, his voice betraying no special effort. “These yuá¡n wá² don’t speak for us, and never will. We apologize for their actions. They have disgraced us all, pretty ladies, and they will be punished for it.” He raised his voice. “Isn’t that right, gents?”
The crowd answered with a roar that stunned the women, and Dolph grinned. Spinning around, he tossed both of Sweeney’s men up into the air. The workers on either side of the path caught them as they fell and lifted them high, passing them from man to man across the dispatch yard until they disappeared from sight.
The two men by the dispatch hut doors had tried to slip away, but the men closest to them grabbed and held them both as the dispatchers finally wrenched the door open and stepped outside.
“Yu and yu,” Zev roared, his face red with fury. “Yuur SO fired, I’m surprised there ain’t nothing but a smoking spot where yu used to be standin’!”
Viktor turned to the ones holding them. “You two — throw ‘em all inna crate until we can figure out where to send ‘em — and if they give you any trouble, send ‘em back to their next of kin in a unpressurized cargo drone, cash on delivery.”
Another cheer rose from the rest of the men as the two were hustled away.
Dolph walked over, picked Sweeney up, and pitched his whimpering body out into the crowd overhand like a giant beach ball. Then he looked at Sweeney’s other man. The thug looked up at Dolph, shrugged, and faded back into the mass of workers on the edge of the path.
The huge loader turned to Linda and the others and bowed once.
“We aren’t all like them, miss,” he said softly. “I saw you walking across the yard to the hut, and it made me sad that you were so afraid. You don’t have to be frightened, or angry, around any of us. We’re all just people, that’s all. Most of us good people, most of the time.”
Dolph ducked his head and grinned. “A little rougher around the edges than you ladies, I think, but still just people all the same.”
Zev came over and clapped Dolph on the shoulder. “Trumbauer! The ladies need to be loaded and gone, so we’re shiftin’ dem up the queue. Grab some of the best we got and hustle ovur to pahd tree.”
“Yes, boss,” Dolph replied.
Inside, Wash felt surprisingly whole. Her body and soul were closer than they had ever been, and it almost seemed as if the rage that Sweeney brought forward in her had also brought them both to a common ground.
But it wasn’t the rage that united them. It was what Wash had discovered about who she was now, and what she was capable of. Her courage was still there, and the part of her that made her such a damned fine pilot — the part that knew how risky some things are, and did ‘em anyway. Because you had to, to be who you were. Who you are. And who you wanted to be.
For the first time in a while, she felt comfortable in her own skin — probably because the part of Wash that had been holding back finally knew it was her own skin.
She stood there, in that summer dress she knew was pretty and those silly heels that she vowed she’d never wear again. She felt the fabric wrapping every curve, and accepted that those curves well and truly belonged to her, for the rest of her stay in the Verse. And everything finally came together in a way that left her in no doubt as to who she was — who she truly was, and who she was meant to be, now.
‘I am a woman,’ she thought, a small smile slipping onto her lips. ‘And that means whatever I want it to mean, nothing more or less. I don’t have to be anything I don’t want to be. I don’t have to be afraid, and I sure as hell don’t have to live my life on anyone’s terms but my own. And that’s as it should be.’
And just like that, the parts of Wash that worried about what being a woman would mean to the rest of her life were gone — or at least had quieted down enough for now to let her figure it out as she went along.
She was still Wash, all the way down to her core. But the parts of Linda that still lingered seemed to accept her as part of them ... provisionally. And Wash accepted them, as well as all of Linda’s history they brought along.
Provisionally.
There was still a long road ahead for both of them, but Wash and the Linda-That-Was had gone a long way towards becoming one. And to Wash, that felt just fine.
There was the sound of boots running hard on the packed surface of the freight yard, and Mal came into view down the open path between the dispatch hut and the ship. When he saw everyone standing around like a gorram tea party, he realized that his full-tilt run from Serenity may have been a mite uncalled for. With an odd shuffle and a previously undiscovered grace, the captain managed to turn his run into an easy amble with enough time to stumble to a lazy stop and hitch his thumbs on his gun belt.
“Ladies,” he said, cocking his head. “I was wonderin’ what was keepin’ you. With us wanting to be on our merry so quick and all, I woulda thought you’d been back by now.”
“We were on our way, Sir.” Zoe threw him a quick smile, her guns back where they had been hidden before she drew them. “In fact, the dispatcher just moved us to the head of the queue for loading, so we should be gone within an hour.”
“Shiny,” the captain replied, feeling a lot of tension slip from his body. “For once, a plan goes smooth.”
Inara walked over to Mal and slipped her arm in his, her bracelets once again just bracelets.
“How about walking a pretty girl home, Captain Reynolds?”
“it would be my honor,” he said, throwing her a half-bow with a small click of his heels. Then Mal grinned. “Just as soon as someone tells me why Kaylee is holdin’ that wrench of hers like she’s plannin’ to hit something.”
“This?” Kaylee looked down at her hands, almost surprised to find herself holding the tool. Then she looked back at the captain and smiled. “I only brought it along in case somebody needed fixin’.”
Mal cocked his head. “Don’t you mean ‘somethin’, Kaylee girl?”
She just smiled that little smile of hers and pushed past them both to wander back toward the ship, her wrench resting on her shoulder like a parasol.
“I’d best see to the loading, Sir,” Zoe headed after Kaylee with a purposeful stride that looked just as powerful in a slinky dress as it did in her working clothes. Mal and Inara turned to follow, but the captain looked back at his pilot.
“Comin’, Linda?” he asked.
“In a second, Cap’n,” she replied with a smile. The pilot turned her smile on Dolph, and his eyes widened. “Thank you ... for stepping in the way you did.”
“It’s what a man does,” Dolph answered slowly, “if he wants to be the kind of man worthy of a woman like you.”
Wash found herself blushing. “You don’t know me,” she said. “You have no idea who I am.”
The loader looked down at her and smiled. “I know you are brave enough to walk across a field full of men, even when your fear made you white as a ghost. I know you are strong enough to face down someone like Sweeney, even surrounded by men twice your size. And I know you are fierce enough to challenge a hundred men to a fight you couldn’t possibly win.”
He reached down and took her hand in his, and his touch was surprisingly soft. She turned a deeper red.
“I know you well enough to know that I truly don’t know you at all.” Dolph looked into her eyes, and she saw his sadness. “And I know you well enough to mourn that I will probably never get the chance to know you better.”
“Mr. Trumbauer!” she said with a smile. “You’re a poet!”
“Once upon a time,” he replied. “A long time ago. Not anymore.”
“Still, I think.” She squeezed his hand. “And before you decide to mourn missed opportunities, we DO have a ship to load, and a walk across the field to reach her. We have the time to at least get started knowing each other better ... if you’d like.”
“It’d be my pleasure,” Dolph replied, “but please ... call me Dolph.” He offered her his arm. Without a thought, the pilot slipped her arm through his and gave it a squeeze.
“Dolph,” she said as they started back towards the ship. “And it’s not like I’m flying off on a suicide mission or anything. It’s just a gorram delivery, after all. And it’s a small Verse, when you think of it — at least the parts we can reach.” She grinned. “We may meet again.”
As they followed the rest of the crew, the pilot bumped Dolph’s shoulder with her head. “So tell me, Mr. Trumbauer ... Dolph ... how does a poet get biceps like these, anyway?”
Dolph chuckled. “Lifting dictionaries, splitting infinitives with an axe on cold winter mornings, and thinking heavy thoughts, Miss ...?”
“Linda,” Wash said without missing a beat. Then she smiled and shook her head. “Just call me Linda.”
NOTE: Sorry this took so long, but getting Wash where she needed to be took a bit of time, and time is not something this writer has in abundance lately. *grin* I'm so happy I finally got to write for me again ... and for you. -- Randalynn
Firefly: Double Booked | Part 4: In Transit
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This is a fan fiction set in the Firefly/Serenity universe created by Joss Whedon. It takes place soon after the events in the television series and the companion motion picture that followed, and is also the fourth part of a sequel to Firefly: Connecting Flight. This means it has SPOILERS, folks, and major ones at that. So please don't read this unless you get the chance to see the series and the movie -- and read my first Firefly story (and the first three chapters of this one).
In the fourth part of FIREFLY: DOUBLE BOOKED, the crew finds out where the cargo's destined for, and ain't none of 'em are happy about it. A lot happens between pick-up and delivery -- folks get inventive, Wash learns more about herself than she'd like, and everyone wonders if, just this once, Mal's plan will finally go smooth. *snort* As if.
DOUBLE BOOKED
Part 4
Part 4: In Transit
“We’re going WHERE?”
Inara’s shout bounced off of the kitchen walls. The whole crew was sitting around the table, dinner dishes still waiting to be gathered and washed, when Mal let slip where the ship was heading.
Mal looked at Inara. “Flynt. That’s the job. It’s just a delivery, ‘Nara. Zoe and I owe Berenger from ... before, and this job is payback. That’s all.”
“The Guild has a standing warning out for Flynt,” the Companion said, her face torn between anger and fear. “The people who run it have Alliance patrons so powerful, not even the Guild can put pressure on them. And any woman who lands on Flynt never leaves. Ever. No one knows why, and anyone they send in to find out doesn’t come back either.”
“Ain’t gonna land.” Zoe spoke up, although her tone indicated she didn’t necessarily believe what she was saying. “Captain said we’d load the cargo in one of the shuttles, then he and Jayne make two or three trips. I believe the expression was ‘easy, peasy,’ wasn’t it, Sir?”
“Serenity ain’t getting any closer to that moon than she has to, and that’s a fact.” Mal stood up. “I ain’t risking my crew or my ship just to pay back a debt. If I didn’t think we could do this, we wouldn’t be on our way. Hell, they don’t even have to know we got women on board. We just tell ‘em we’re using the shuttle to save fuel, ‘cause the cargo is so small.”
“Yes, Cap’n ... but Flynt?” Kaylee looked up at Mal. “I mean, I heard about Flynt long before I signed up with you. Campfire stories, like Reavers, and we all know how much truth there was in them.”
“Well, Mal and I keep our eyes open, maybe we find out why Flynt’s so gorram scary,” Jayne said, pouring himself another whiskey. “I ain’t sayin’ I’m happy we’re goin’ anywhere near the place, but if I learned anythin’ from what happened on Miranda, it’s that not knowin’ somethin’ can bite you pretty hard. And I ain’t got over the last time we got bit.”
Mal shook his head. “We already know Flynt’s dangerous. That’s all we need to know. We do the job. We get paid. And we get gone. Dong-mah?” He gave Jayne one last look before turning and walking away from the table.
Inara watched his back and sighed. “That exit would have been more effective if he actually had somewhere to go.”
“Anywhere but here was good enough for now, I’m thinking.” Zoe looked in the direction Mal had gone, as if she could see him through the walls of the ship. She shook her head. “Captain isn’t happy with doing this either. He doesn’t want to put any of us in danger, but he owes Berenger, and Mal always pays his debts. So he’ll do what he can to keep us safe, but he can’t turn down the job. Not and be the Captain.”
“Some of those stories, Zoe ...” Kaylee shivered. “I know they were supposed to be scary and all, but some of ‘em talked about girls treated like animals ... and one girl said she heard the men there liked to steal women from passing ships and serve ‘em up in a stew for supper.”
“You seem awfully quiet, Linda.” Inara turned her attention to the pilot. “What do you think of all this?”
Wash was staring at the far corner of the room, thinking back to all the stories she’d heard in flight school about Flynt. Wash had become a pilot to go see as much of the Verse as she could, and visit every star she could never see from the surface of her cloud-shrouded homeworld. But even when she had been a he, she’d had no desire to go site-seeing on that particular hunk of rock. She remembered wanting to give the moon a wide berth. After all, any place that made women disappear was no place Hoban Washburn ever wanted to go. He LIKED women. A lot.
Now that she was one, Flynt was about as attractive a destination as the heart of the Sun. Or whatever was left of Earth That Was. She sighed.
“I’m thinking that Flynt is the last place any of us want to be,” she said simply. “I also think it’s the one place Mal has to take us to still be Mal, even though it’s eating him up inside to take us along. He’s my captain, and this is my crew. So I’ll be flying when Serenity hits orbit. No matter what happens.”
She pushed her cup around on the tabletop, then looked up at Inara.
“There’s an old saying, dates back from when Earth That Was was all there was,” she said softly. “From Navy ships, I think. ‘The Captain is right, even when he’s wrong.’ I never used to believe it, but now I’m starting to understand.”
Inara tiled her head slightly, confused. Kaylee and Simon looked at each other, then back at Linda.
“Makes no gorram sense,” Jayne growled. ‘How can he be right, even when he’s wrong?”
River spoke up for the first time, and everyone turned to her. “It means we’d better hope that he’s right, even when we think he’s wrong. He’s the Captain, and that’s the hardest job on the ship. Mal has to make the right call every time a decision needs to be made, because we follow him and all of our lives are in his hands. If he calls it wrong, we could lose everything.”
Linda nodded. “What makes it worse for Mal is that we’re not just crew, we’re family. And this is not just a ship. It’s home.”
Zoe gave her a grin. “Damn, girl! When did pilots get so smart?” Linda blushed and looked down.
“So what can we do?” Kaylee took Simon’s hand. Simon gave it a squeeze.
“We do whatever we can to make sure the Captain’s plan goes smooth,” he replied. “And we think about what we can do to fix things if it doesn’t.” Simon thought for a moment. “Jayne had the right idea a few minutes ago.”
The mercenary turned. “I did?”
Simon nodded. “I know, it’s hard for me to believe, too.”
Jayne narrowed his eyes and gave the doctor a mock snarl. “We may be ‘family’ now, doc, but I grew up knockin’ my brothers around when they forgot to mind their manners.”
After looking at Jayne for a few seconds, Simon nodded.
“You’re right, Jayne, I’m sorry,” he said. “I saw an easy point to score and I took it.”
Jayne gritted his teeth to keep his jaw from dropping. The doctor was apologizin’ ... to him?
‘Ain’t never expected the doc and me would get along,’ he thought, ‘just sort of keep our distance. Always felt like he looked down on me, never did like it much. But Kaylee loves him. He stood up on the Skyplex. And this ... well, it’s — different. Not sure what it is, but it ain’t nothing. Best be careful about it.’
Still keeping his expression calm, he nodded once.
“All right, then,” he replied, and pushed his private bottle over to Simon. “Pour yourself some home brew and tell me what I was right about.”
Simon raised an eyebrow, then poured himself a small shot before continuing.
“Despite what Mal said, you need to keep your eyes open down there.” He stood up, drink in hand, and started to pace. “You’re going to have to watch his back and try to figure out what’s going on at the same time. And you need to let us know somehow, without them knowing you’re talking to us. Any ideas?”
“A short-range comm fits right in the ear,” Zoe said thoughtfully, “but it doesn’t have enough power to reach Serenity in orbit.”
“I can rig a short-range comm to bounce transmit through the shuttle’s system,” Kaylee said, watching Simon move around the room. “Just need to hide it from pryin’ eyes is all, so the channel stays open even when it looks shut down.”
“It would help if we had a way to see as well as hear.” River pulled her feet up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “A picture is worth a thousand words, and the less Jayne talks, the less likely it is that they’ll figure out he’s talking to us.”
“I don’t think we have anything that can do that,” Kaylee replied sadly. “That’s high-end Alliance tech.”
“Dobson!” Inara stood up. “He had some things with him ... a pocket transmitter powerful enough to reach an Alliance patrol ship. Maybe he had something we could use.”
“Ain’t gonna do us much good if he did,” Jayne said, slumping back in his chair. “I think Mal tossed his stuff out an airlock once we were far enough from Whitefall. Afraid there might be a tracker or somethin’ hidden in ol’ Lawrence’s luggage.”
There was a silence as the group sat, thinking.
Suddenly, Wash remembered something.
“Inara,” she said slowly. “You’ve got a high-end Cortex terminal in your shuttle, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Inara replied. “It’s how I find clients, independent of Serenity’s main comm system.”
River’s head came up, a tiny smile growing on her lips. “It’s got a very nice camera in it.”
“But it’s a desktop unit. Jayne couldn’t carry it around with him.” The Companion’s lip quirked. “I thought we were trying to be ... sneaky.”
Kaylee grinned. “Don’t need the whole terminal, ‘Nara. Just need to borrow the camera for a while.” She stood up and started pacing herself. “Got to figure out how to sync the transmission with the short range comm, but that ain’t the problem. Hiding the rig on Jayne might be. Won’t be huge — heck, camera’s not much bigger than a bug bite -- but it needs a clear view, a power source, and another short range comm.”
She stopped and turned, blushing slightly. “Oh, sorry. Gettin’ ahead of myself. Can we borrow it, ‘Nara? I can put it back afters, I promise.”
“Of course, Kaylee.” Inara smiled. “I can do without it for a while. After all, it’s not like I plan on doing any business on THAT moon.”
‘Or on any moon for a while, if at all,’ she thought, her mind wandering back to leaving the Guild and her profession. ‘I’m starting to think I can’t be a Companion anymore. But will it be enough for me just to be ... Mal’s?’
“I got some belt buckles might be big enough,” Jayne mused, staring up at the ceiling. “Got some mini-grenades in ‘em, for emergencies, like. Never got around to wearing ‘em, though. Havin’ explosives that close to my crotch — well, it just didn’t set right somehow.”
Kaylee came over and pulled Jayne out of his chair. “Well come on, then! Let’s see what ya got!”
Linda stood up. “I think I know enough to disassemble that terminal and remove the camera, if that’s okay, Inara?”
The Companion nodded, her attention focused on the crew she’d truly become part of when they found Miranda and lost Wash and Book. She watched these people coming together, using what they know to back up the Captain without him even knowing they were doing it, and suddenly felt strangely useless.
‘If I really am crew, I need a purpose on this ship.’ The thought disturbed her. ‘And what can I do to keep Serenity flying that no one here can do as well or better?’
“Inara?” Linda stood next to her. She looked up at the pilot and smiled.
“Yes, that’s fine, Linda. As Mal says, ‘let’s be about it.’”
Wash found her smaller fingers made working with the tiny Alliance-made electronics much easier than it used to be, and she delivered the camera to Kaylee in Jayne’s quarters. The mechanic was removing the mini-grenades from the belt buckle one at a time, bypassing the dispenser that armed them automatically when they were released.
Jayne picked up each explosive pill carefully and put it in a cushioned wooden box. As the pilot leaned in to watch, she found her breasts pressed into the mercenary’s side. Jayne froze in mid-motion.
“Linda,” he whispered, almost too soft to hear. “As nice as that feels, it ain’t worth all of us blowin’ up, don’t ya think?”
Wash backed up, realizing she had crossed a line she didn’t know was there.
“I’m sorry,” she said aloud, her voice trembling as she backed all the way to the ladder. “I shouldn’t be in here when you’re doing this anyway. Barely room enough for one as it is. Let me know if you need something.”
The pilot turned and climbed, moving up and out of the space as quickly as she could.
“Nice going, Jayne,” Kaylee muttered, her eyes still on her work. “She didn’t mean nothin’ — she just wanted to see what was goin’ on.”
“Well, don’t matter none if she meant it or not,” he replied. “That girl does things to me that shouldn’t oughta be done to a man when he’s movin’ ‘splosives around. I ain’t sayin’ I don’t want her to do that again, I’m just sayin’ there’re better things to be holdin’ onto when she does.”
“Maybe you should tell her that,” the mechanic said, lifting the last grenade from the buckle, “once her face stops being as red as a strawberry waitin’ to be picked.”
“Maybe I will.” Jayne took the device from Kaylee and turned slowly. He hesitated for a minute, then went on. “This courtin’ stuff ain’t easy. Seems like half the time everythin’ I do is wrong. If she don’t know what she does to me by now, maybe I’d best be showin’ her how I feel.”
“How do you feel, Jayne?” She bent over the buckle intently. “About Linda?”
He froze, then tried to bluff. “Gorram, Kaylee girl. Ain’t it a bit late for the birds n’ the bees, considerin’ the noises comin’ outta your bunk ... yours and the Doc’s?”
She tossed him a frown and went back to her work. “I ain’t talkin’ about getting sexed, sah gwa, and you know it. How do you feel about her?”
His fingers shook as he put down the last grenade. Kaylee snuck a peek out of the corner of her eye, and watched him swallow.
“You love her, don’t you?” The words hung there in the air for a second as Jayne thought about ‘em.
“I ain’t never been in love before, as far as I know,” the mercenary said finally, his eyes glued to the box of grenades. “But I ain’t never felt like this for a woman before, and that’s a fact. I been workin’ on being the kinda man she’d think about lovin’ back, but damned if I know how that’s workin out.”
“Pretty well, I’m thinkin’,” Kaylee replied, “If what happened just now means anything, she’s as confused as you are. Maybe it is time you showed her how you feel, so she knows where you stand ... and whether she wants what you’re offerin’.”
“I bought her somethin’ special.” Jayne turned to look at the back of Kaylee’s head while she worked. “Back at the Skyplex. Figured I’d hold onto it until the right time — like I’d know when the right time is.”
“There you go. Maybe it’s now. Give the girl a gift already, let her know you care.” She popped out the dispenser mechanism and started poking at the buckle’s innards with her smallest tools. “In the meantime, go somewhere else for a while.”
“You kickin’ me out of my bunk?” His eyes widened. Kaylee turned her head and gave him a frown.
“Unless you want to explain to the Captain what I’m doing carrying around your belt buckle, Inara’s camera, some short range comms and a whole bunch of tools — you know, if I should bump into him on the way back to my workbench.” She turned back to her work. “I ain’t leavin’ this room until somebody can look at your crotch and smile, Jayne. So this might take some time.” Her lip twitched.
“Huh,” he muttered, heading for the ladder. “That’s HI-larious.”
Wash let the ladder-door of her room slam shut above her, then hugged herself and blew a stray piece of hair out of her face.
“Ai-yah. Tyen-ah,” she moaned, “Gao yang jong duh goo yang!”
She threw herself face first onto her bunk, then rolled over to stare balefully at the traitorous orbs she saw peeking from the top of her tee shirt.
‘Damn,’ she thought, ‘you two are going to get me in big trouble someday. I remember how good it feels when a woman does that. And I did that to Jayne?? How the hell did I NOT remember you were there? You move around so much most of the time, I couldn’t forget you if I tried, and then just this once you disappear from my memory long enough for me to ... to ...’
“To press ‘em both into Jayne’s arm?”
River stood on top of the dresser, a knowing smile on her face.
‘Damn that maintenance hatch!’ Wash raised herself up on her elbows, letting a little anger slip into her eyes. “You said you weren’t going to be looking into my mind without permission.”
River looked down, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, but you were so hurt and confused I could hear you clear across the ship. If you want me to go ...”
Wash bit her lip and sighed. “No, it’s okay. Please stay. I need to talk this out.”
The younger girl slipped down to floor level and sat down next to Wash on her bed.
“So you gave him ... both barrels?” The reader tried unsuccessfully to hide her smile
“Yes, while he was handling a grenade. Talk about distractions!”
“I’m not thinking that’s the sort of explosion you were trying to create, jei mei.”
“I wasn’t aiming for ANY kind of explosion!”
“Part of you says different.”
“Well, parts, anyway. You never said breasts could think for themselves.”
“They can’t. But you can. And we both know you want Jayne more than you’re willing to admit.”
She rolled over and curled up into a ball. “River, I wasn’t trying to seduce Jayne!”
“Your body was. That’s why you forgot. That’s why you pushed closer.”
Wash rolled back to face the other woman. “No! That’s not true. I pushed closer to see —”
“See what? People moving dangerous explosives around in a very small place?”
The pilot stopped, her mouth open.
“Is that what you wanted to see close up? Does that sound like something Wash would want to do? Ever?”
Wash closed her mouth, then her eyes. She took a deep breath, and then sighed. “I am so humped.”
“You’re not humped, Wash. You just want to be.” The pilot groaned and buried her face in the pillow. River smiled softly. “And it’s not a bad thing, jei mei. It’s a good sign that your soul and your body are coming together, learning to coexist and eventually merge.”
“But I’ve never ... thinking about a man that way ...” Wash’s voice was muffled, but her pain and confusion were clear.
“Okay, step back for a minute,” River said, putting her arm around Wash and giving a squeeze. “The prevailing belief in the medical community is that the gender you’re attracted to is located in the brain, not the body.”
“But —“
“Shhhhh.” River put a finger up to Wash’s lips. “But your brain isn’t YOUR brain, silly. It’s Linda’s. Chiang put you there and you’re dealing not just with her hormones, but her desires as well. She’s a normal young woman who happens to be hetero. She likes men, and she has an itch she wants scratched in the worst way. I bet you haven’t done a thing to address that, either.”
“Like I’d know how!” Wash blurted out, then blushed all over. “Besides, there’s some element of fantasy involved in the whole itch-scratching thing, and I have no clue who the hell I’m supposed to be fantasizing about, let alone what I’m supposed to be wanting them to do for me.”
“Leaving the who aside for a minute, the what is easy. Do what makes you feel good -- what makes Linda feel good.” She looked at the pilot sideways. “You’ve got Linda’s memories in there, too. So experiment, Ho-ban. Think about what made Linda squeal ... what made Zoe squeal ... and try it on yourself.”
Wash thought for a moment, then shuddered all over and shook her head.
“This is going to be hard.”
“Only as hard as you make it, jei mei.” River grinned. “In more ways than one, if Jayne’s involved.”
“Oh, Jayne ...” The pilot moaned, falling back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. “Wo you dian bu shu fu! I feel sick! Why do I want Jayne?”
“There are a few reasons a girl might look twice at the ‘Hero of Canton,’” the younger girl said. “But stop thinking about Jayne for a minute. I want to get you to look at this from a different angle. Close your eyes.” Wash gave her a quick look, then put her head back and did as she was told.
“I want you to think back to the depot now.” The pilot took a deep breath and nodded. “How did you feel ... about Dolph?”
The pilot raised her head and looked at River. “Dolph?”
“Head down, eyes shut!” River commanded, and Wash hurriedly complied. “Yes, Dolph. You talked with him, you took his arm and walked with him back to the loading bay. You even flirted with him, remember? That guy you watched lifting heavy things as he loaded the boat until the captain told you to go prep for lift?”
Wash blushed. “Oh. Dolph.”
River nodded, even though the pilot couldn’t see. “Think back to when you were with him. How did he make you feel?”
The pilot took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I was just coming down, realizing I wasn’t going to have to fight my way free. Then he came out of the crowd and reminded me there are decent men in the world.” She thought for a moment. “He cared about me. He made me feel ... good.”
“Just good?”
Wash bit her lip and sighed. “Okay, he made me feel ... special. I could see I really mattered to him. I was something more than just a woman he wanted to ... take to bed. He ... liked me, maybe. I don’t know. Whatever it was, it was more than lust ... and I found myself thinking about him the same way.”
The younger girl let it rest for a moment, then spoke. “And physically?”
The silence grew. Finally, she spoke. “I ... wanted him.”
After a second, Wash went on. “I didn’t even know exactly what I wanted, but I wanted him. Warm all over, and a melting feeling inside I couldn’t ... or maybe didn’t ... want to understand. It was hard to see the cargo hatch close with him on the other side. I had to shake off a feeling like I was missing something, and I didn’t even know what it was I missed.”
“Opportunity,” River said softly. “I think the word you want is opportunity.”
Simon sat in the med bay, pouring through his encyclopedia and looking for references to Flynt. It wasn’t very helpful, just a single listing and a scattering of loose references that left him frustrated and confused. The listing was as bare bones as he’d ever seen, almost as if the moon wasn’t worth talking about. The references in other listings were vague, and whatever links there were led nowhere — literally. It was as if someone had gone through the publication before its release and eliminated everything they could find about Flynt.
“Considering the Alliance’s interest in the moon, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,’ he thought, tossing the reader aside. ‘They certainly did a number making an entire planet disappear when the whole Pax experiment went bad on Miranda.’
“Doc?” Simon looked up to see Jayne standing in the doorway.
“Yes, Jayne?” The mercenary looked ... uncomfortable. “Is something wrong? Are you alright?”
“Just fine,” Jayne replied, and fidgeted for a minute. “I was wonderin’ if you could do me a favor, after Mal and I head down to Flynt.”
“If I can,” the doctor said, a little confused.
“There’s a stack of boxes in bright wrappin’ paper under my bunk. I was wonderin’ if you’d take ‘em and put ‘em in Linda’s room after I’m gone ... stack ‘em up somewhere she can see ‘em when she goes back in there.”
“Sure.” Simon stood up slowly, not sure why. “Be happy to.”
Jayne reached into his back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “If you could put this in front of the boxes, or on top of ‘em or somethin’. Just where she can see it.”
“I’ll take care of it.” The doctor took the paper from Jayne’s hand. The mercenary opened his mouth, and Simon shook his head. “Don’t worry, Jayne. I won’t read it.”
Jayne fidgeted, and then surprised the other man again. “It's okay, Doc. It's just tellin' her I left her a message on her terminal.”
Simon looked at the paper, and back up at Jayne. Jayne shrugged.
“I ain't much good at readin' or writin', and I sure ain't gonna try to put what I'm feelin' down on paper. I ain’t never been good at tellin’ anyone how I feel, either, but I figgered I had a better shot talking at a camera then putting words on a page.”
He turned to go, then stopped and turned back.
“From what I ‘member, you weren’t so good at it either when you first joined the crew. But you caught Kaylee right enough, so I figgered you must know more about this courtin’ thing than I ever knew.” He took a deep breath. “What’d you tell Kaylee that made her fall for you?”
After a moment, Simon sat down slowly, the letter still in his hand.
“All I ever did to win Kaylee was to tell her the truth,” he said. “I spent all my time worrying about River, and never thought about myself. When we almost died facing the Reavers, trying to get the word out about Miranda and the Pax, I finally told her how I really felt about her. She did the rest.”
He raised the paper up and looked at Jayne. “In your message, did you tell her how you feel?”
“I did the best I could,” he replied. “I ain’t much with words, but — I did the best I could.”
“Then I can’t help you do any better.” Simon put the letter down on the counter. “I’ll make sure she gets your message. After that, it’s up to Linda.”
Jayne nodded, and turned to go. As he reached the door, Simon spoke again.
“Thanks,” he said softly. The mercenary turned and looked over his shoulder. “For what?”
“For trusting me with all this.”
Jayne shook his head. “Aw, hell, Doc! Mal don't know about the present, and so I can't ask him for help. 'Nara might tell Mal, so I can’t talk to her. And there ain’t nobody else besides you ‘cept River and Zoe anyway. Besides, who else can a fella trust if he can’t trust his doctor?”
He walked out of the room, leaving Simon wondering what the hell had just happened, and why.
The picture was sharp and clear — nothin’ but shades of gray, but you could see and hear everything.
“I had to take the color out,” Kaylee said apologetically. “Juss ‘cause I was workin’ with the short range comms and I didn’t have ‘nough room for it on the wave. Best I could do.”
“No, Kaylee, it’s perfect!” Zoe bent over and stared at the belt buckle, as everyone else watched the monitor. “You can’t even see the camera.”
Jayne was feeling a mite uncomfortable, having Zoe staring at him like that.
“I adjusted the angle, too,” the mechanic admitted, feeling a little proud. “So we get to look up and see faces instead of bulge.”
“That’s a plus.” The first mate shook her head, still staring at the camera. “A definite plus. Bulge wouldn’t tell us much, I’m thinkin’.”
“Ceptin’ maybe who was popular.” Both women laughed, and Jayne felt worse. Zoe stood up.
“Now we go load cargo and get this underway,” she said. Kaylee shook her head.
“Not just yet. I made Jayne a promise a while back, and I can’t leave the room until ...”
River popped her head down from the maintenance hatch, stared first at the monitor and then at Jayne’s crotch, and smiled. Kaylee grinned and nodded.
“Okay, then. My work here is done. Let’s get to it!”
Mal handled the conversation with Flynt approach while Wash sat quiet in the pilot's seat and chewed her lower lip. It seemed to go well, but she heard something in the controller's voice that made her pause. It seemed to bother Mal, too, once he closed transmission, but he only hesitated a minute before giving the pilot a pat on the shoulder and turning away.
Everyone helped load the first batch of cargo, even Inara, which was the first surprise. She came down from her shuttle dressed in a black gi and slippers, and just started helping without a word. But the shock from that paled in comparison to what came next, when Jayne put his foot down and stopped Simon from joining in.
“You get those fingers of yours crushed and I ain't got anyone to patch me up or dig a bullet outta me when I need it,” he said, “and the way my luck's been holding out, I'm gonna need it, pro'bly sooner than later. I'm a mite selfish about my hide, Doc, so do what you're good at and leave the heavy liftin' to me.”
Mal looked sideways at Jayne and shot Zoe a glance, clearly confused. She gave a little shake of her head and raised an eyebrow in return.
For his part, Jayne gave the doctor a long stare, and Simon realized what he wanted and excused himself.
Soon the first load was ready, and Mal made his way to the shuttle's cockpit through the cargo. Jayne stopped at the door and looked back, catching Linda's eye. Linda looked back and smiled.
“Give us a good show, Jayne,” she whispered. “And keep the captain safe. We're counting on you.”
Jayne nodded once, gave her the barest hint of a smile, and disappeared inside, closing the hatch behind him.
It was going to take a while for the shuttle to reach the surface, and Jayne’s camera was shut down for the trip dirtside to save power. After a few minutes, everyone went back to the day-to-day business of keeping the ship running. Even though Serenity was in stable orbit around Flynt and the proximity alarms were set far enough away to make sure nobody was going to be sneaking up on her without a whole lot of noise, Wash stayed in the pilot’s seat. It was where she felt most at home, after all.
Still, her eyes kept straying to the blip on the long range radar that was Serenity’s shuttle, wondering if they were going to be safe — or if this was going to be another in a long string of times where one of Mal’s plans just didn’t go smooth.
She had to admit she finally felt comfortable in her new body, even if it still felt strange once in a while. But her earlier conversation with River had left her unsettled, as if she had somehow crossed a line by admitting to herself that she had wanted Dolph the way a woman wants a man — which of course she had.
And crossing that line raised the question of Jayne, and how she felt about him.
Wash couldn’t deny she had come to like the man, which is something she never thought would happen. He had changed since he came to Serenity, and changed more after Book’s death and the events surrounding Miranda. After Wash’s death, a few months had passed before she came back, so she didn’t know what to make of the Jayne she met on Santo when she first became Linda. But it seemed pretty clear that Linda’s arrival had made Jayne want to be more than just a hired gun — and more to the pilot than just another member of the crew.
With a sigh, Wash admitted that Linda found him ... desirable. Since Wash was Linda, she was dealing with that attraction as well, although she was damned if she knew what to do with it -- or if she even wanted to do anything.
Because she graduated from flight school on Osiris, Linda’s contraceptive and STD implants were up-to-date, so worrying about pregnancy or the latest creeping crud from the Rim wasn’t an issue.
Being true to Zoe? “Til death do us part” was pretty standard fare for a wedding ceremony, even this far from Earth-That-Was.
Getting Zoe back? Linda wasn’t Wash, and never could be again. Zoe wasn’t wired that way, and Wash didn’t think Linda was, either. With a small tear, she finally let go of that last bit of hope that she and Zoe could ever be anything else but friends.
But ... Jayne? She liked him well enough, even admired him some for how hard he worked to change for the better — for her. Did she like him enough to cross that last line between Hoban Washburn and Linda Wehr ... without looking back?
‘And where the hell does love fit in here?’ The pilot asked herself. ‘Or does it? I don’t love Jayne. I may like him, but I don’t love him — at least, not the way I loved Zoe. But I loved Zoe a hell of a lot. Do I need to love someone for sex? The man I used to be did. At least he needed to care for her enough to trust her to care for him in return. To ... be with Jayne, I need to trust him enough to surrender who I was and be who I am. Can I?’
“I can trust Jayne with my life,” she whispered aloud. “He’s already proven that. But how much has he really changed inside? Can I trust him to really care for me? For the woman ... the person I’m becoming?”
After staring at the blip for the twenty-seventh time and chewing on her bottom lip, Wash decided to go into her cabin for a few minutes and stretch out on her bunk. She was only a few seconds away if anything happened, after all. That’s why she had the room near the flight deck.
When her boots hit the deck at the foot of her ladder, she turned and saw the stack of brightly wrapped boxes waiting on her dresser.
Wash walked up to them slowly, wondering where they came from, and who might have left them there. She saw a slip of paper sticking out from between the top two boxes. Opening it, she saw the words, “CHECK YOUR MESSAGES” crudely written in big block letters an inch high. The pilot sighed and stepped over to her terminal. More mysteries.
She hit the message button and collapsed back onto her bunk to watch.
The screen lit up, and Jayne Cobb looked back at her with an expression on his face she’d never seen before. It was a mix of fear, uncertainty, and resolve. She leaned forward, wondering what was coming next.
“Linda.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I picked up that stack of boxes over there on the Skyplex a while back. It’s — they’re a present. Well, a buncha presents, I guess. I wanted to get ya somethin’, to make up for bein’ so gorram stupid when you joined the crew. I reckon you know by now that bein' ... well, one of us ... can be a mite dangerous, and I figured I'd get you somethin' that would help you keep your own self safe if things went south, and I wasn't around.”
Jayne smiled and looked down. “Don’t know if you opened ‘em or not yet, so maybe I’m spoilin’ the surprise, but you know me well enough by now to know that what I know best is guns, and that’s what I got you. I thought I'd step up and teach you how to shoot if'n you didn't already know. But then I find out you're a natural, girl, and that's a fact. Ain't never seen anythin' like it before, and if I had a hat, I'd … I'd take it off for you — well, to you. Aw, hell.”
The mercenary shook his head and looked back at Linda.
“You know I got feelings for you, 'cause I ain't much good at hiding it. Back when I first saw you, I tried treatin' you the way I always treated girls, 'cause I was stupid and didn't know better. Hell, I'm probably still stupid, but I'm tryin' hard not to be, ‘cause I don't much think you'd care for a stupid man, and I … well, I want you to. Care, I mean.”
“This is the toughest thing I've ever done, mostly 'cause I ain't never done anything like it before. In my line of work, feelin's tended to get in the way of makin’ it back to your bunk instead of findin' yourself in a pine box. But since I been on Serenity, I'm learnin' that carin' about somethin' makes a man want to keep himself alive, and the one thing I'm carin' most about … is you.”
“I ain't never been in love before, so I ain't too sure what it's supposed to feel like. But I think about you every morning when I roll outta my bunk, and the first time I see you every day, I just got to smile. You make me happier than I ever been, Linda, just by being around you. I know you don't know it, but to tell you the truth that ain't sayin' much, because I ain't never been all that happy before. I went my way and did what I pleased, but I'm seein' now it didn't matter worth a damn, because I ain't had nobody to share it with.”
Jayne's image looked down at his hands, and back up again. “Much as I want to, I can't make you love me, but I think you like me some, and that’s somethin’. I'm doin' what I can to be the kind of man you could love, maybe. I know I ain't smart enough for you, and I sure as hell ain't good enough for you. But I’m tryin’, and the one thing Jayne Cobb's always been is stubborn.”
“I want to be your man, Linda, if you'll have me. Don't know how long you'd put up with me if you said yes, but I'll take whatever I can get if you'd just look at me one time the way Kaylee looks at the Doc, or Zoe looked at Wash back in the day.” He grinned and shook his head again. “Or like 'Nara looks at Mal when she thinks he ain't lookin' ... or even when he is.”
“Anyway, that's about what I wanted to say. If I coulda said it in person, I woulda. But it was hard enough doin' it this way, and if you said no to my face ... well, lettin' you see me bawl like a baby … I don't think I could handle it.”
Jayne looked right into the camera … right into her eyes.
“I love you, Linda.” His voice caught in his throat, and as he shook his head again, she could see the tears in his eyes. “Gorram it, I love you. And I hope maybe, one day ... you'll love me too. If I’m lucky.”
The message ended and the image froze, and gods help her, Wash could see how he felt, pouring out of him with such longing that she could feel her own tears start to fall.
A few minutes before, she’d wondered if he cared enough. But this left no doubt. Jayne had changed. By telling her how much she meant to him, and showing her how he truly felt, he laid himself open like he had never done to anyone before — and trusted her with everything he had.
Jayne Cobb trusted her.
‘There is courage in this man,’ she thought, wiping her eyes as she stared at the frozen image on her screen, only to have them fill with tears again. ‘I doubted him. But he’s more than I ever thought he was, or could be. And he cares enough to put his heart in my hands and beg me not to crush it.’
Jayne had risked everything — just to tell her he loved her.
And he was too far away for her to tell him she understood ... and that she loved him, too.
NOTE: I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I loved writing it. I love these people Joss created, and I hope I'm doing them justice. In any case, the old Chinese blessing (or curse) "may you live in interesting times," definitely applies to Serenity's crew, and I'm glad I'm getting to bring them back to life.
"Big damn heroes? Ain't they just!" *grin* -- Randalynn
Firefly: Double Booked | Part 5: Rough Landing
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This is a fan fiction set in the Firefly/Serenity universe created by Joss Whedon. It takes place soon after the events in the television series and the companion motion picture that followed, and is also the fifth part of a sequel to Firefly: Connecting Flight. This means it has SPOILERS, folks, and major ones at that. So please don't read this unless you get the chance to see the series and the movie -- and read my first Firefly story (and the first three chapters of this one).
In the fifth part of FIREFLY: DOUBLE BOOKED, Mal and Jayne head off to a special delivery, only to discover just how "special" it is. The crew get a guided tour of beautiful downtown Flynt, only to discover there's nothing beautiful about it. And everyone learns why Flynt isn't a nice place to visit, only to discover a reason to have to.
DOUBLE BOOKED
Part 5
Part 5: Rough Landing
Jayne sat in the co-pilot’s seat and kept his hands well away from the controls. He didn’t know how to fly the shuttle, and wasn’t much interested in learning. That was okay, though. Mal wasn’t the best pilot in the Verse, but as long as he kept the gorram thing in the air until it was close enough to the ground not to crash ‘fore he landed it, that was good enough for Jayne. Besides, the mercenary had other things to think about.
Like what Linda did when she found her presents. And checked her messages.
And if she had, what the hell was she thinkin’ now?
‘It’s gorram frustratin,’ he thought, ‘Like rollin’ the dice in a game of craps, then getting’ up and walkin’ away for a day or two without bein’ able to see if you won or lost. I rolled the dice. I took my chance, and now I’m halfway dirtside with no way to tell what she’s thinkin’.’
Jayne shook his head. ‘As if I ever knew what she was thinkin’ before.’ He snorted.
“Something funny?” Mal looked over and raised an eyebrow.
“Not so much,” Jayne replied, “Just thinkin’ about how little I know about what goes on in a woman’s head.”
“Any woman in particular?” The captain smiled.
“Well, Linda, mostly,” the other man admitted. “Although Kaylee’s almost easy compared to ‘Nara. Zoe’s just ... well, Zoe. And River?” He shuddered. “She’s just plain scary sometimes. Knows more than she tells, and pro’bly way more than she should.”
Mal nodded. “Good thing she’s on our side.”
Jayne thought about that some. “I reckon so. Still ain’t normal.”
“Ain’t much about Serenity’s crew that is, and that’s a fact.” The captain flicked a few switches and changed the approach angle a bit. “Not complainin’ though. I’m thinking that’s one reason we’re all still alive.”
Jayne thought back to the Reverend, and to Wash.
“Not all of us,” he said. He felt rather than saw Mal stiffen, just a little, and realized he’d crossed a line. Not that he knew what to do about it. Jayne had never been much good at making folks feel better. He usually had more luck making them hurt when he needed to.
‘Didn’t mean to hurt Mal, though,’ he thought, ‘He’s been pretty good about helping me with Linda. And even if it ain’t my job to make him feel better, I need him sharp when we hit dirt, or it ain’t gonna be pretty. Asides, ‘tweren’t like he killed ‘em on purpose, no matter what he thinks.’
The mercenary shook his head. “I ain’t sayin’ it was anybody’s fault, Cap’n. We lost a couple of folks because when you live the life we’re livin’, stuff happens you ain’t expectin’, that’s all. I seen my share of folks die ‘fore I ever joined up with you. Some of ‘em I liked, some I didn’t give a hoot about, but they died all the same, and sometimes all I could do was watch.”
Jayne turned and looked out the window, away from Mal. “Since Miranda, I think I finally figured out that the crew’s a lot more important than just crew to me. Didn’t happen all at once — hell, didn’t even know it was happenin’ until the Skyplex — but it’s the gorram truth, and I’m stuck with it. My job was always supposed to be keeping everybody in one piece, but now I got a better reason to make it happen than cashy money.”
“What about what we’re doin’ now?” Mal said. “This job ain’t safe for anybody. At least with Miranda, there was somethin’ more than coin involved.”
Jayne turned and saw it was the captain’s turn to be looking the other way. He shrugged, even though Mal couldn’t see, and spoke to the back of the captain’s head.
“Thrillin’ heroics don’t pay the bills,” he replied. “You owe this Berenger fella, and that’s fine. But the man’s payin’ us, and that’s fine, too. Your job is to keep us flyin’, and that means sometimes doin’ stuff like this, ‘cause we need the work and we need the coin. And yeah, it ain’t safe, but not much is out on the edge.”
Mal turned and looked at Jayne, but the other man didn’t look away.
“You’re the one who has to make the call,” Jayne said, ‘cause you’re the captain, she’s your boat, and we’re your crew. It ain’t safe, but like I said, stuff happens you ain’t expectin’. That’s why you got me, and Zoe, and even River. If somethin’ happens to put us all in the cᨠsuÇ’, it’s our job to pull us out, and the Doc’s job to keep us alive so we can do it again the next time things don’t go smooth.”
It was Mal’s turn to snort, and he shook his head. “Ain’t much of a recommendation for my captainin’ skills, is it?”
“Ain’t your fault the Verse is a stone cold bitch, Cap’n.” Jayne looked down at the moon below. “And after all we been through, Serenity’s still flyin’, so think about it. How bad a captain can you be?”
Mal gave Jayne a long hard look, and sighed before turning back to the controls.
“I’m surprised my own self,” he said, “but thanks.”
Jayne shrugged. “Just the truth, Mal.”
‘And it was, at that,’ he thought. ‘Huh. Maybe River’s right. Maybe I’m smarter than I think I am.’
‘Now there’s a scary thought.’
The crew was gathered on the flight deck, huddled around the small viewscreen and waiting for Jayne to switch on the camera. They were monitoring Mal’s approach on the comms, so they knew the shuttle wasn’t far from landing.
Kaylee had drummed it into Jayne’s head to wait until the last minute before turning on the camera, because “the batteries won’t last longer than a sneeze, with all we’re askin’ ‘em to do.” So it wasn’t until the shuttle touched down and both men reached the cargo door that Serenity’s crew got their first close-up look at Hustler, Flynt’s largest city.
“The docks are like a ghost town,” Inara said slowly. “You’d think a place where cargo comes in would be full of people and ships, but it’s nearly empty. And so quiet.”
Simon looked closer. “We know they don’t really want visitors, Inara. After all, the Alliance wants to hide Flynt so badly, they edited the entire moon out of the encyclopedia — not just the book, but right off the Cortex. I’m surprised they even have a place for Mal and Jayne to land and unload.”
Zoe shook her head. “I’m not. This moon isn’t really large enough to sustain itself. Just a few smallish cities and a lot of empty space, judgin’ from what we’ve seen from up here. They need shipments from outside just to stay alive. Maybe they just don’t need that many of them.”
There were four men waiting outside the cargo door, all dressed in what looked like the latest fashions from Osiris. But Linda was far more interested in what she could see of the city behind the welcoming committee.
“Look. Cutting edge Alliance tech,” she said, one finger following the path of something flying across the skyline on the screen. “This place looks like little more than a settlement, but they’ve got air cars with remote traffic control, and a lot more of them than there should be for a town this small.”
She looked at Inara. “This place is definitely important to the Alliance. They may not want visitors here, but they’re giving these folks the latest and greatest. The only question is ... why?”
River looked down from her perch above the flight deck door.
“Because whatever the people of Flynt are doing for the Alliance,” she said, her eyes glued to the screen, “it’s worth whatever they need to pay to keep them happy.”
Wash sat back in her chair and let the others get a better view. The whole thing felt wrong, and a part of her wondered whether this was what people referred to as women’s intuition, or just the feeling a good pilot gets when something’s about to go horribly wrong.
‘Given that I’m both a woman and a pilot, probably both,’ she thought, then shook her head and smiled. ‘Another line crossed. I just admitted I’m a woman. Although considering how I feel about Jayne now, why should I be surprised?’
It was still strange for Wash to think about loving someone not Zoe, let alone a man. Let alone Jayne. But Wash remembered how hard he fought being attracted to Zoe at first, when he was sure he could never charm her into accepting him as anything other than a nuisance who knew how to fly.
‘Love does what love does,’ she thought, looking over at her wife with affection. ‘Zoe taught me that when she fell in love with me. I knew I wasn’t what she thought she wanted in a husband, until suddenly, she did.’
Was Jayne what Linda wanted in a husband? What Wash wanted? Did Wash even want a husband -- ever? The pilot closed her eyes and sighed.
‘I never thought I’d be asking myself a question like that,’ she said to herself. ‘And it’s way too soon to even think it, let alone ask it. Damn, girl, it’s less than an hour since you realized you loved the guy, and you haven’t even told HIM yet!’
Mal and Jayne stepped forward, and the view from the camera swayed from side to side with the mercenary’s every step. Wash looked back at the screen as the pair approached the welcoming committee.
“Be careful,” she whispered, leaning forward along with the rest of the crew. “Both of you.”
“Captain Reynolds!” The talk, burly man in the front of the group stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “I’m Hugh Aubrey, planetary governor and head honcho here on Flynt. This is Wilson Danbury, mayor of Hustler, and Justin Hammer, dockmaster. That over there is Harris, my number two.”
Mal gave Aubrey a quick handshake and motioned towards Jayne. “This here is Jayne Cobb, my first mate.”
Aubrey shook his head.
“Oh, I doubt that, Captain” he said, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “I believe that would be Zoe Washburn, if Berenger’s wave was correct. A very beautiful woman, to be sure. But not the only one aboard your ship, I believe. Kaywinnet Leigh Frye, your mechanic, is quite winsome, I’ve been told. And Linda Wehr, your pilot, turned a few heads in the depot as well. And of course, Inara Sera, your ... Companion. They’ll all be welcome here, to join our community.”
His smile became a frown. “Except for the whore, of course. She’ll have to die. Way too dangerous to have a strong-willing Guild-trained bitch down here among the sheep.”
Mal’s temper flared and he reached for his gun, only to have his arms pinned to his sides from behind. Someone else tried the same stunt with Jayne, but a quick head butt put his attacker down with a broken nose. The mercenary stepped back over the bleeding thug, and stood with his feet apart, his back to the shuttle, and a Callahan Enforcer in each hand.
“Reckon we’ll be leaving now,” he said, both guns steady. “Best let the captain go before I show you what a good shot I am. ‘Course, being as how you’re all such big close targets, I ain’t gonna have to do much.”
“I think not, Mister Cobb,” Aubrey replied. “You have the remainder of our cargo on your Firefly, and we mean to have it.”
“We’ll push the rest of the crates out the cargo door and let you pick ‘em up in orbit,” Jayne said with a grin, “on our way to anywhere but here.”
“That’s not the cargo I’m referring to.” Aubrey took a step forward, and Jayne waved a gun at him.
“I ain’t dumb, mister.” He shook his head. “There ain’t no way you’re getting’ anywhere near my crew. You’re gonna let my captain go, and we’re gonna get back in the shuttle and be on our way. Or blood’s gonna spill, startin’ with yours.”
Jayne saw a flash of color out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced down to see a single red dot on his chest. It was soon joined by a second, and a third, and a fourth, and he realized that his two Enforcers were no match for a bunch of distant snipers, no matter how good a shot he was. He lowered both guns slowly, and sighed.
“You may not be dumb, Mister Cobb,” Aubrey said, stepping forward and taking both weapons. “But you are hopelessly outgunned.”
“Ain’t the first time,” The mercenary replied, disgusted. “Sure as hell hope it won’t be the last.”
The crew watched helplessly as Mal and Jayne were herded away from the shuttle, hands tied behind their backs. Linda pushed her worry aside and punched in some commands that put the feed from the camera on every screen on the flight deck, and started recording it.
“Everybody take a screen,” Inara said. “Look for street signs, landmarks, anything we can use to figure out where they’re being taken.”
“Good thing nobody’s getting’ in front of ‘em.” Kaylee had her nose nearly pressed against her screen. “Or we wouldn’t see nothin’ but backsides.”
“Standard procedure, if you’re even half smart,” Zoe said, focusing on the video. “Put a prisoner in the middle of a group, and they can cause a lot of damage before you bring ‘em down. And putting prisoners behind you is just plain stupid.”
Simon had an overhead view of the docks on a separate screen. Cloud cover and the shortcomings of Serenity’s external cameras made it blurry and hard to follow, but it was still better than nothing. “From the video, it looks like they’re headed west, into the town. They’re just leaving the shuttle where it landed.”
“What’s in those crates was never what they were really after,” Inara said softly. “What they wanted was Zoe and Linda and Kaylee ...”
“And you dead,” Zoe finished for her. She flashed the Companion a dark look. “That ain’t gonna happen, so you put it out of mind.”
River dropped down next to the secondary flight console and started typing furiously. “Signal strength, vector and power consumption ... Kaylee, what frequency did you use?”
“Same as the short range comms,” the mechanic replied. “Didn’t see much reason to change it.”
“But I bet you played with the power consumption, didn’t you?”
“Had to! Between sendin’ pictures and the comms usually being sound only, and the size of the buckle? Batteries that small wouldn’t last three minutes without a bit of tweakin’ to the power feed.” Kaylee cocked her head. “Why?”
“Because signal strength is going to change the further they get from the shuttle.” River grinned. “And if I can figure out the power and distance ratio ...”
“... we can figure out just how far away from the shuttle they are,” Kaylee grinned back. “Damn, girl, you’re good!”
She came over and started entering some numbers on River’s keypad. “That oughta narrow things down a bit.”
“They’re entering the heart of the town,” Simon said.
“As if this town has a heart,” Linda murmured, and Simon threw her a look. She shrugged.
“Goddess ...” Inara breathed, and everyone’s attention turned to the monitors at once.
Directly in front of Jayne, a man and a woman moved across the camera’s field of view. The man wore a business suit, not unlike the one Simon wore when he first came aboard Serenity with River’s cryo-chamber in tow. But the woman wore nothing, except a metal collar and a pair of sandals, and walked gracefully a short distance behind the man with her head bowed. She carried a briefcase and several bags, apparently full of groceries. They all watched as the man turned to her and delivered what appeared to be a series of orders, then took his case, turned her around, and gave her a firm swat on her bottom.
She smiled over her shoulder at him and walked away. As he watched her leave, another couple wandered past the camera pickup. The woman wore a form-fitting shiny black unitard with cutouts at crotch and nipples, and a form-fitting hood that made it impossible for her to do anything more than see. She crouched beside the man, leashed and collared, hunched over beside him as they moved past.
As Jayne continued to move through the crowd, the crew saw more women being treated as slaves, or pets, or even beasts of burden. It was always women, and always without a single sign of complaint, let alone rebellion. In fact, all of them had the same small smile on their faces. It was shocking and disturbing ... as Jayne would have said, “downright creepifyin’.” But no one could look away.
Except for River.
She sat back, her eyes glazing over as her mind spun through possibilities. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Simon’s screen, still displaying the overhead view of Flynt, and something registered deep inside. She moved closer to the screen, unable to believe what she was seeing, and Simon turned and watched her expression go from intrigued to horrified.
“What is it, mei mei?” he asked, causing everyone else on the flight deck to turn and look at them both. River raised her finger and pointed to a shape on the screen.
“I’ve seen this before,” she replied. “Lots of ‘em in fact. Same basic design. On Miranda, as we flew into the capital city.”
“Just air processors,” Zoe said, switching her monitor to mirror River's view. “Nothing new there. Every terraformed world needs them.”
“At first, yes.” The young girl nodded. “But Flynt’s clearly been terraformed long enough to develop a stable ecosystem. There’s no real need for atmospheric processors anymore. Unless they’re using them for a different reason.”
The doctor nodded, catching up with his sister.
“Like providing a controlled mix of some chemical compound into the air,” he said slowly. “Something designed to reduce aggression, and make people passive and pliable ... like G-23 Paxilon Hydrochlorate.”
“Something like it, but not exactly,” Inara was still looking at the feed from Jayne’s camera. “It’s clearly modified to affect only women.”
“That makes sense,” Simon said, causing all of the women on the flight deck to stare at him. He raised his hands and continued quickly. “Experimentally speaking, I mean. If you’re trying to code a weapon for a specific human genetic trait, why not choose one that gives you a clear indicator of success? Targeting the XX chromosome pair means that more than half of your experimental subjects could be affected by the altered Pax.”
Kaylee cocked her head. “A weapon? What makes you think they’re makin’ a weapon? Since the Independents lost, the Alliance doesn’t have anyone to use it on! Besides, you’d have to be pretty gorram stupid to mess with the Pax after what happened on Miranda. Why risk it?”
“Maybe because of what we did,” River said softly. “We told the Verse about what happened on Miranda, and that made a lot of people wonder if the same thing might happen to them — and whether being part of the Alliance was really as good an idea as they thought it was when they signed up. So the Alliance needed an edge.”
Simon frowned. “I don’t think so. We might have stirred up some anti-Alliance feelings, but we didn’t cause this.”
“Why do you say that?” Zoe asked, clearly skeptical.
“Because the timeline is wrong,” the doctor replied. “They clearly edited Flynt out of the encyclopedia and the Cortex before the war ... at least ten years back, and probably more. Kaylee heard horror stories about Flynt around campfires back when the Alliance was telling everyone Miranda was a failed attempt at terraforming -- nothing but a dead world. So this ... experiment must have been going on at least since then.”
Inara leaned forward. “You think they set up Flynt at the same time as Miranda?”
“Yes. This is probably a parallel project — an offshoot of the original Pax research. It was no secret the worlds on the Rim didn’t want to join the Alliance. They were probably trying to turn it into a weapon so they could deal with the Independents without firing a shot.”
Zoe nodded. “Makes sense. If there was a rebellion, they wanted a Pax variant they could mix into the atmosphere of a planet or moon that would pacify the planet — and what we’ve seen here indicates they wanted something that would only affect that world’s inhabitants.”
“How could they do that?” Inara stood up and folded her arms, clearly disturbed. “Most colony worlds have a diverse population to avoid having too small a gene pool to survive.”
“Most colony worlds start from the smallest group that can provide that level of diversity,” Simon said. “So there could be a lot of shared genetic markers. But even if there aren’t, they could flip the development process around and create a variant that would affect everyone except those with a specific combination of genetic traits.”
“Why would they want something like that?” Kaylee asked.
River spoke up. “After they use the Pax and the colony world is peaceful and compliant, Alliance troops with that specific combination of traits — like green-eyed women with red hair taller than six feet, for instance — could go down and take the place over without worrying about being affected.”
Linda waved at the screen. “Not only that ... if this stuff works the way it seems to, the Alliance may be able to tell them how to think, and make it stick. This isn’t just pacification. From the look on those women’s faces, it’s mind control.”
The younger girl shook her head. “We don’t know enough about the experiment to be sure of that, jei mei. The fact that they’re still pumping it into the atmosphere could mean the effect doesn’t last once you stop being exposed to it. I’m sure if they could make it permanent, they would. A docile population is so much easier to lead than an aggressive one.”
“This all sounds exactly like something the Alliance would do.” Zoe looked grim. “For all their big cruisers and fancy weapons, we cut ‘em deep enough to make them bleed for a long time after the last war ended. If they knew that we were going to do that going in, finding a way to win without a fight makes a lot of sense. We’re just lucky they didn’t want to win bad enough to wind up with a bunch of dead worlds half full of Reavers on the Outer Rim.”
Inara thought for a moment, then her eyes narrowed. “Now it makes sense. That’s why they want to kill me — and why no woman the Guild ever sent to Flynt has come back alive.”
She looked at the assembled crew and took a deep breath. “This is a Guild secret, so it doesn’t leave this room. Because of the work we do, we are very vulnerable whenever we’re with a client. It would be a simple matter to capture an unwary Companion and use drugs to turn him or her into a sex slave. So the Guild has developed a series of immunizations and mental techniques that make it nearly impossible to play with a Companion’s mind. Companions are conditioned, both physically and mentally, to resist any attempt at mind control.”
“Why didn’t the Guild ever send a man?” Kaylee looked at Inara. “I mean, seems t’ me like if you got a place where women disappear and you send folks out to see why, best chance of getting’ someone to come back and tell you would be to send a guy. There are Boy Companions, right?”
“The Guild has always been led by women,” Inara replied, a little embarrassed. “I think ... I think their first impulse is always to trust a woman more.”
Kaylee frowned. “Guess they ain’t ever been to school with somebody like Becky Larson,” she muttered. “Boyfriend-stealin’ jien huo. Couldn’t trust her worth a damn.”
Zoe stood up and walked towards the front of the cabin, clearly thinking. Everyone watched her for a minute, and then she turned and smiled.
“Well, now,” the first mate said. “I’m thinking we’ve got ourselves some options. They don’t even know Simon’s here. He never got off the boat on Boros, so they don’t know what he looks like. And I’m thinking if we can change the way Inara looks enough to keep them from recognizing her, you two can go down and bring the captain and Jayne back.”
There was a long silence, and then River spoke. “The men at the Depot didn't see me, either. And I think I might be able to go with Simon and Inara - without worrying about the Pax.”
“What makes you think that, mei mei?” Simon asked.
“Because there’s a good chance I might be immune, too,” she replied. “The Alliance wanted to turn me into a weapon, just like the Pax. It stands to reason they would want to make sure I couldn’t be turned against them ... or pacified by the Pax myself.”
“What if you’re wrong?” Zoe looked skeptical. “If you are, you could wind up ordered to fight against us.”
“Well, Simon still knows the sleep command he used on me in that bar,” River countered. “And I can’t do much for — or to — anyone if I’m unconscious.”
Zoe thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Having you down there with Simon and Inara is too good an edge to pass up. If you all have to fight your way back to the shuttle, I’d rather River were fighting next to you every step of the way.”
She grinned “So it looks like we’ve got ourselves the start of a big damn rescue ... just as soon as we figure out where the hell they are. So back on the screens, people.”
As Mal found himself thrown into a plain wooden chair in Hugh Aubrey’s office, his first thought was that the chair seemed oddly out of place. Then as he looked around, he realized that he’d seen rooms almost exactly like this before — too big for one man, full of expensive fá¨ijiá¹ zá¡wá¹ from a dozen different worlds, but strangely empty.
‘Just like Aubrey,’ he thought. ‘Like Badger on Persephone. He's just another suit with attitude.’
“Huh.” The sound escaped before he could stop it.
Aubrey stopped on his way to his chair and turned. “Something to say, Captain Reynolds?”
“Just figured out that this office ain’t really an office,” Mal replied, looking up into the other man’s eyes. “It ain’t a place a man works. It’s a place he brings other folk so they can see how important he is. Hell, maybe you even come here your own self just to sit in that chair and look at all this fine luh-suh ... maybe make yourself think you’re important, too.”
Jayne snorted. “Course with half the folk on Flynt bein’ slaves, I’m thinkin’ he could just order all the girls to tell him he’s the best they ever had. Maybe if they tell him enough, he’ll start believin’ it.”
Aubrey sat in his chair and swiveled to face his prisoners. “As if the opinion of a woman would ever matter here.”
“Well, I reckon you ain’t nothin’ more that a gorram go tsao de hwoon dahn,” the mercenary replied, his lip curling into a sneer. “That’s a man’s opinion, you piece of gos se. How’s it feel?”
“Now, now, gentlemen.” Mayor Danbury spoke as he crossed the room to a small bar in the corner. He began to fix himself a drink. “No need to be rude. After all, you are our guests.”
“That’s an odd word for it,” the captain said, still focused on Aubrey. “I guess on Flynt, it’s fine to greet folks with a twenty-one gun salute — aimed at their heads.”
“Your reputation precedes you, sir,” Aubrey replied evenly. “You are extremely formidable, and if the situation were different, I would have had you both shot dead at the docks. But there’s a ship full of women up there, and if I killed you, I know they’d get a bit ... emotional. Since having the main engines of a Firefly class transport burning a hole in downtown Hustler isn’t going to get me what I want, I need to keep you alive. For now.”
“They could just fly away and leave us.”
Aubrey smiled. “I don’t think so. Berenger told me all about you, Captain Reynolds. In the war, the troops you led were extraordinarily loyal.”
Mal shrugged. “People change.”
“Not as much as you might think.” The man behind the desk shook his head. “No, Captain. Your crew isn’t about to leave you here and ‘just fly away.’ Oh, they’ll wait for you to rescue yourself at first, but if you don’t, they’ll come for you. And then we’ll have them.”
Jayne glared at Aubrey. “And if they don’t? They can wait a long time, yu bun duh. Firefly transports go weeks between touching dirt.”
“That’s why we’re going to give them a deadline.” Danbury spoke from across the room. “And I do mean dead. They’ll come. And if they don’t ... if they just sit up there ...well, we’ll go get ‘em.”
The mercenary shifted in his seat and smirked. “Yeah, well, good luck with that. You ain’t met the crew.”
“Oh, but I want to, Mister Cobb.” Aubrey leaned back in his chair and smiled again. “Rest assured, I want to meet them all, very much. For now, though, let’s let them know where you are. Wilson?”
Danbury reached over and flicked a switch on a small box on Aubrey’s desk. The lights in the room went down, and the walls behind Mal and Jayne flickered and turned into institutional gray brick. High above them, just barely visible, a barred window let in a small amount of washed-out sunlight. Aubrey smiled.
“Call the Firefly.”
They'd watched the group approach a large building and walk past a group of uniformed men to a central lobby. Aubrey activated a private elevator, and the group shuffled into it. Once they reached the office upstairs, they saw and heard everything -- until the
image from the camera stuttered and died.
The audio stayed live for a few seconds longer, just enough to hear Aubrey say “Call the Firefly” before it, too, failed. Almost immediately, a repeating beep sounded from the main console. Linda reached up and flicked a few switches.
“Incoming transmission from Flynt,” she said. Everyone turned to look at her, and she shrugged. “Come on, folks. Somebody has to state the obvious. This time it gets to be me. What’ll I do, Zoe?”
The first mate thought for a second. “Turn our cameras and audio off, throw the transmission on all screens.”
A dim image of Mal and Jayne sitting in a jail cell came up, along with a voice they all recognized as Hugh Aubrey.
“Listen up. We are holding Captain Reynolds and Mister Cobb, to ensure you don’t do anything we’ll both regret. You have 24 hours to land your ship at the Hustler docks and surrender, or they both die. I know you don't want that. And it’s not as if it would be so horrible, joining our community. Life here on Flynt can be very fulfilling for a woman. Once you come down, you’ll discover that you’ll enjoy doing whatever we tell you to. It’s what you were born to do, after all ... surrendering to the will of a man. And you know if you want to keep these men alive, that’s just what you’ll do. Surrender.”
The transmission cut out, and everyone on the flight deck looked at each other. Linda retrieved the recording and put it up on all screens.
“So they’re in a cell at or below ground level,” she said.
“No they ain’t,” Kaylee replied. She overrode several of the screens and put up her own content. “Using the signal strength and power consumption numbers, River and I think they’re in this big building, center of town. City Hall.”
“That’s consistent with a jail cell,” Simon countered.
“Normally yes, sweetie,” the mechanic said with a smile, “but the signal got stronger when they took the elevator to the office, so that means they went up, not down, ‘cause there wasn’t as many buildings between them and the docks. They sent that transmission to Serenity only a few seconds after the camera’s signal died, so they didn’t have enough time to get Jayne and the captain down underground anyway before we got the transmission.”
She pointed to where the picture from the transmission was still up. “And look here. Those boys may think they’re smart, but they ain’t. When you send a holo projection over a standard ship‘s comm, there’s this weird glitterin’. It’s like an interference pattern. The cap’n and Jayne are real, but the walls look like somebody went and sprinkled fairy dust all over ‘em. They can’t see it on their end, but it’s plain as day when it shows up here. See?”
“That means they’re still in the office.” Zoe leaned closer to the screen. Kaylee nodded.
“But they want us to think they’re down in the cells.” She tapped on the picture of Mal and Jayne. “They’re expectin’ us to go down and try a rescue, ‘cause they think we don’t know about the Pax. So we break in, they pin us down, and while we’re fightin’, we’re breathin’.”
“And suddenly, you all decide to stop fighting and do whatever they say.” Simon shook his head. “Not a bad plan, if they were dealing with anyone but Kaylee.” She blushed.
“They gave us 24 hours.” Everyone turned to look at River. She smiled. “That means they’re not expecting us to do anything until the deadline approaches. Like Aubrey said, he thinks we’ll wait for Mal and Jayne to try to rescue themselves, and then try to go in and get them at the last minute.”
She reached out and tapped the screen that showed the fake jail cell walls. “They think we’re going to wait, and then attack the holding cells. But we know where Mal and Jayne are right now. I say ... let’s go get them and bring them home.”
“Just ‘go get them?’ From the office of the planetary governor, above the police headquarters of the biggest city on this gorram moon?” Zoe said, her own smile mirroring River’s. “I’m assuming you have a plan?”
“Oh yes,” the girl replied, her smile becoming an impish grin. “We’re going to walk right in the front door.”
Firefly: Double Booked | Part 6: Escape Velocity
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This is a fan fiction set in the Firefly/Serenity universe created by Joss Whedon. It takes place soon after the events in the television series and the companion motion picture that followed, and is also the sixth part of a sequel to Firefly: Connecting Flight. This means it has SPOILERS, folks, and major ones at that. So please don't read this unless you get the chance to see the series and the movie -- and read my first Firefly story (and the first five chapters of this one).
In the sixth part of FIREFLY: DOUBLE BOOKED, The crew stages a big damn rescue, and everyone's invited -- you, too, folks. *grin* Will the plan go smooth? Read on and find out!!
DOUBLE BOOKED
Part 6 — Escape Velocity
FIREFLY: DOUBLE BOOKED
Part 6 — Escape Velocity
Silas Macawber sat in Flynt’s air traffic control center and waited for the end of his shift.
That’s what he did most days, and even though it was boring as hell, it suited him just fine. After all, they paid him good credits every day just to sit there for eight hours at a time and monitor the planetary traffic system. Since the only ships that showed up were Alliance transports and cruisers, you could set your watch by the schedule they kept. That meant that Silas had one of the cushiest jobs on the moon — keeping an eye on something that didn’t really need watching.
Still, the regular schedule had to be maintained, and that meant Silas needed to be here every day for his eight-hour shift, regardless of whether there was any incoming traffic due. Today was a little different, what with the Firefly transport moving into orbit and the shuttle landing a few hours ago. But other than that, the sky above was empty, leaving Silas at loose ends, as usual.
To kill some time, the controller was getting a lengthy foot massage from Wynona, his personal slave girl. She was a stunningly beautiful brunette with green eyes, a beautiful smile, and absolutely no clothing — not that it seemed to matter to her. In fact, nothing ever seemed to matter to her but his happiness, which suited him just fine, considering the completely unfulfilling nature of his job.
He’d taken her as his only minutes after she’d first walked off the Alliance cruiser that brought her here, unaware that her career as a sensor maintenance technician was about to turn into a full-time job as a sex toy and personal slave. Whatever they were pumping into the air worked pretty quickly, and she barely knew what was happening before she found herself naked and collared ... and in the service of Second Class Air Traffic Control Officer Macawber for the past three years.
As Silas looked down at her kneeling before him, his toes resting on her magnificent breasts as her strong fingers pressed into his arches, he saw the look of adoration and love in her eyes, and wondered if he could take her right here in the control room before the next shift started.
‘Damn,’ he thought with a smile. ‘Life is good.’
Then, suddenly, it wasn’t.
An alarm began to sound. At first, it was a gentle beeping, but when Silas failed to respond (never having heard that particular sound before), it grew louder and more insistent. By the time Silas reluctantly removed his feet from Wynona’s ministrations, the beeping had become a klaxon, and entire areas of the main board had begun flashing bright red. Cursing, he stared at the screens, only to find the words “PROXIMITY ALERT” blinking above displays that showed an object with a rapidly decaying orbital trajectory from several different angles.
Reading the object’s transponder ID, Silas realized it was the Firefly transport, and it seemed to be heading directly for the airspace right above Hustler. He flicked a few switches, swiveled the mike into position, and began speaking.
“Firefly transport! This is Flynt Control! Break off! I repeat, break off!” The warning came out a bit high-pitched with a slight quavering, and he struggled to regain some kind of command tone before trying again. After all, this was being recorded. “You are engaged in an illegal approach! Return to orbit at once! You have not been cleared to land!”
The response was a little slow in coming, but the vid screen came to life, revealing a close-up of a woman with a lop-sided smile and a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, honey,” she said, her voice clear and strong through the control room’s speakers. “We’re not plannin’ to land. We’re just gonna hover over your city for a while and let the engines burn it to the ground ... unless you release our two crewmembers and return our shuttle, a’course.”
Silas felt his jaw drop as the words registered. He reached over and turned on the external monitors, slaving the cameras to the telemetry data so he could focus in on the piece of sky where the Firefly was supposed to be.
He needn’t have bothered.
In the center of the monitor, less than a hundred meters above him, two balls of fire framed a spacecraft hull, holding it suspended almost directly above the center of the city. He could almost feel the heat from the engines through the screen, even though the sweat pouring down his face had nothing to do with fire — and everything to do with that Firefly.
The blood drained from his face as he realized he’d let that ship get too close to Flynt’s capital city. The fact that he had no real way to stop them wouldn’t matter to the mayor ... or the Governor. It was clear that no matter how this ended, he was going to find himself without a job.
At first, that bothered him more than the thought of watching Hustler burn. Until he remembered he was IN Hustler, towards the top of City Hall. And if she started from the highest point and moved downward ... well, that focused his attention.
“Maybe you should get your head honcho on the line,” the woman continued, still smiling, “before I decide to cut altitude and set fire to that big damned department store across the street. Be an awful shame to fry all that merchandise ... and all those shoppers. Don’t you think?”
Silas’s hand reached for the phone before his head even knew he was reaching.
Serenity’s second shuttle had separated from the main ship as the Firefly had passed over City Hall on its way to the center of Hustler. The small ship landed so quickly that it was barely in the air for a full second before touching down lightly in the center of the air car circle.
Sean Barris, the young police officer in charge of the landing area, didn’t even see it leave the Firefly. He just saw it land in a restricted zone without clearance, and marched out to the landing pad intending to cite the people responsible before ordering them to clear the pad.
He reached the door of the shuttle just in time for its door to open and reveal a dark-haired man in an Osiris-tailored business suit, his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. A young woman stood behind him, also in business attire, but her submissive posture and the silver collar around her neck made it plain she was just as much a slave as every other woman on Flynt.
“You can’t park that here!” The officer pointed at the shuttle. The new arrival held up one hand, gesturing for silence. When he raised the other hand, it held an Alliance ident badge, identifying him as Lawrence Dobson, special agent.
“Let me ask you something,” the man said, his voice as calm as a frozen lake. “Officer ...?”
“Barris.”
“Officer Barris.” The man nodded, and put his ID away. “If you’ll look behind me, you’ll see a Firefly-class transport hell-bent on setting fire to your capital city. Your planetary governor made the mind-bogglingly stupid mistake of luring that ship to this moon — a moon the rest of the Verse doesn’t even believe exists, mainly because we didn’t want anyone to know it was here.”
“So the Alliance spent billions of credits to equip and hide this moon specifically to conduct highly classified, need-to-know research, and now that research is about to be burned to the ground by a ship full of women who want their men back, or else — and all because Hugh Aubrey wanted some pretty new slave girls to play with, and didn’t want to wait for the next Alliance ship to bring him some.”
He straightened his shoulders, and stared at the officer. “Now, here’s that question I was going to ask you, son, so pay attention. We’re in the midst of a planet-wide emergency, with the city in danger, lives on the line, and only minutes left before your capital starts to burn — and you want me, the only Alliance agent on the planet with a hope in Hell of stopping this massacre, to drop everything, get back in my ship ... and find another place to PARK?”
Officer Barris looked past the man at the Firefly a few blocks over, its engines cooking the tar on the roofs of the buildings below it. Then he looked back at the man.
“Sorry, Agent Dobson,” he said, snapping to attention. “What are your orders?”
“Let’s start by having a little talk with Governor Aubrey about what the words ‘operational security’ really mean,” the agent replied. “Maybe we can still salvage this mess if he hasn’t done something really stupid, like kill his hostages.”
“Yes, sir.” The two men and one woman walked back to the doors leading down into the building, completely oblivious to the two women who waited just inside the shuttle, watching them leave.
Zoe stood clear of the doorway and looked at Inara. Her hair had been lengthened to reach just above her hips and colored to a honey blonde, and her eyes were now bright green. She wore nothing but a silver collar, a smile, and a pair of silver four-inch heels.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” The first mate asked, her voice muffled by the breathing mask she wore. Inara nodded.
“We need the other shuttle for the rest of the plan to work,” the Companion replied, “and Kaylee can’t rig a remote control from the ship. So somebody has to go down and fly it while River and Simon are rescuing Mal and Jayne. Since I’m immune to the Pax, that somebody has to be me.”
Zoe put her hand on the other woman’s arm. Inara smiled. “I’ll be fine, really, Zoe. Just a short walk to the docks, over to the shuttle, then fly away. As Mal would say, ‘easy peasy.’”
“Ain’t nothing easy about walking to the dock in those heels,” Zoe smiled and shook her head. “Sensors say the roof is empty, and you’re clear at least three levels down before you’re gonna meet anybody. Good luck, ‘Nara. Anything happens, you know we won’t leave without you.”
“I know.” The Companion walked to the door, turned and gave a wave, and was gone.
Pressing the plate that closed the shuttle door, Zoe slipped into the pilot’s seat and watched Inara on the external monitor as she cat-walked across the landing pad to the stairs leading down. Once she was sure the other woman was on her way, she began bringing the ship as close to being fired up as she dared without actually tipping anyone who might come by that someone was still aboard.
“You really should consider joining us on Flynt, Captain Reynolds.” Aubrey leaned back in his chair and looked at his two prisoners. “It’s a man’s paradise.”
“Depends on the man,” Mal replied, “and what he thinks is paradise.”
“What could be better than a world where women do whatever a man wants?”
The captain grinned. “A world where a woman does what she wants — and decides to please a man because she wants to.”
Aubrey looked at Mal in disbelief for a moment, then shook his head and turned to Jayne.
“What about you, Mr. Cobb? There’s always a place for a man of your talents here.”
“Wrong fella to ask, I’m thinkin’,” Jayne replied, giving the Governor a smirk. “Hell, I only just figgered out a few weeks ago that a woman who wants me because I’m me is a hell of a lot better than a doxy who only wants me for my coin.”
“But the women here on Flynt are dedicated to your happiness,” Aubrey insisted, leaning forward in his chair. “You don’t have to lift a finger to get them to want you.”
“Yeah, but some things are worth workin’ for, sah gwah. Some women, too, I reckon.” Jayne shrugged. “You like women who don’t say no. I just finished learnin’ I like the chase almost as much as I like catchin’ them. And I got someone I’m chasin’ right now. Somebody I love.”
Mal shot him a look, but the other man ignored it and kept looking at Aubrey. “So you keep your ‘paradise,’ mister. There ain’t nothin’ here for me.”
The intercom buzzed.
“Governor Aubrey?” The voice on the other end of the line shook a little. “This is air traffic control. There’s a Firefly transport hovering over the center of town, threatening to burn down the city. They want to talk to you about getting their men back.”
Aubrey stared at the intercom, then looked up at Mal. The captain shrugged.
“That would be my crew, I expect. Sounds like you’re at the mercy of a bunch of women who really like doin’ what they want.” Mal smiled. “Maybe you’d best tend to that before they turn your capital to smoke and ash.”
The Governor licked his lips and looked back at the intercom.
“Put them through,” he said. There was a click. “This is Governor Aubrey.”
“Well, hello, Governor!” The voice that came through the tinny speaker was cheerful and undeniably female. “So glad you could take the time out of your busy schedule to take my call, what with your city bein’ only a few inches from bein’ char-broiled and all.”
“What do you want?”
“Oh, some strawberries would be nice, maybe with a bit of ice cream on the side.” Aubrey could almost hear her smile. “But what we’d REALLY like is the captain and Jayne back, and sooner rather than later. Otherwise you’ll get to see what the engines on an unarmed transport can really do.”
“Maybe you should take your ship back into orbit,” Aubrey said, trying to sound in control. “Or I’ll kill them both.”
“And maybe you should think a while before you make a threat like that,” the woman replied, her voice taking on an unmistakable edge. “’Cause if anything happens to them, there ain’t gonna be nothing stopping us from flying across this little moon and frying every town we come across, startin’ with this one, until we run out of cities ... or fuel.”
“Don’t push me, girl,” the Governor growled. “Back off now, or we’ll blow you out of the sky!”
“With what, Mister Aubrey? As far as our sensors can tell, there ain’t anything on this moon bigger than a huntin’ rifle, and all that would do is scratch our paint and make me mad ... well, madder than I am now. If there was somethin’ bigger, you woulda used it already. So there ain’t.”
The voice took on a teasing tone. “Who woulda thought the Alliance woulda left you bare-assed naked when it came to defendin’ your own selves, just because they thought no one would know you were here? If only they had left you a few missile-launchers, maybe ... or a garrison of fine Alliance troops just to keep you all safe. But no — you’ve got nothing that can stop us. Nothing at all. And that’s why one little ol’ Firefly can come along and take it all away ... unless you give us back our men and let us be on our merry. Donh-mah?
As they approached the door to the Governor’s office, the Alliance agent stopped.
“River.” He spoke with an unmistakable air of command. “I need you to keep an eye on the location of the Firefly. Go to air traffic control and contact me when you know something.”
“Yes, Master.” The young girl threw a smirk at her brother behind the police officer’s back before spinning and gliding down the hallway. The officer in question looked at the agent curiously, and ‘Dobson’ looked back and smiled.
“Not to worry, son,” he said. “She knows her place, like all the women on Flynt. She’ll do her job, and that’ll help me do mine, right?” Barris nodded, and the agent smiled. “Good man. Now let’s head on in and see about saving your city.”
He reached for the doorknob.
“You can’t kill everyone on Flynt for two men!” Aubrey rose to his feet, his voice rising with the rest of him. “That’s insane!”
“Well, maybe it’s that time of the month, mister Governor sir,” the voice replied, shifting to a harder edge. “You know how moody and outta sorts a girl can get — especially when she’s not bein’ brain-burned by that gos se you’re pourin’ into the air down there.”
“You know about that?”
She laughed, and Aubrey felt the blood drain from his face. “You think a woman would want to be your slave ‘cause it’s fun? You got to be doin’ something to make ‘em obey. We just didn’t know what it was for sure ... until you told us just now.”
Aubrey fell back into his chair, stunned that he’d given away Flynt’s secret so easily.
‘How did this go so wrong so fast?’ he thought. ‘And how can I fix it before it gets any worse?’
“So let’s talk about how we get our boys back,” the voice continued, “so we can get on with our lives and you can go back to being a slave-mongering lecherous hump who thinks he’s God.”
The door swung open and everyone turned to see two men standing in the doorway. The tall one in a business suit put his finger to his lips as he walked across the room, holding his ID up where Aubrey could see it. He pointed to the intercom and watched as Aubrey punched the mute button.
“Who the hell are you?” the Governor said, and the agent gave him a look that Mal recognized as being a male version of the one River used when she thought you were being stupid.
“Lawrence Dobson, Alliance operative,” he growled. “I’m the man who’s going to save your sorry ass, Aubrey, along with everyone else on this rock. After all you’ve done to screw up an operation it took us years to set up, you’re lucky the Alliance left somebody behind who knows what the hell he’s doing, instead of trusting you to keep things nice and quiet — like you were SUPPOSED to.”
The agent turned to the officer he’d brought with him.
“Get these men up to the roof and wait for me there,” he said. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
Barris saluted, and Mal and Jayne stood up. ‘Dobson ‘ looked at both men.
“Just go with him, both of you, and you’ll soon be back on your ship. Try anything else, and everyone loses, yes?”
The captain and the mercenary looked at each other, and back at the agent.
“Whatever you say, ‘Lawrence,’” Jayne said with a smirk. “We’ll just wait up on the roof, right, Cap’n?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Mal replied, the corners of his lips twitching just a bit. “Needin’ a bit of fresh air anyway.”
The two walked to the door and straight through it. The officer gave the agent a look and followed behind them, one hand on his gun still in its holster. He shut the door behind him, and ‘Dobson’ looked back at the Governor in disgust.
“I’d ask you what the hell you were thinking when you brought this man and his gorram ship to a top-secret installation, but I just don’t have the time — even though I suspect your answer would be, ‘thinking? I’m supposed to think first?’”
Aubrey’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. The agent nodded. “That’s about the level of intelligent discourse I’d expect from you, after deliberately bringing a known Independent sympathizer and his crew here.”
“Known Independent?”
“He was a Browncoat, Aubrey! Sergeant in the war, fought at Serenity Valley. I know you knew that — I’ve read your mail, and watched your conversations with that idiot Berenger — and yet, even though you knew he was an enemy of the Alliance, you lured him here anyway. Now he knows about Flynt — and if he knows, others will, too!” ‘Dobson’ shook his head. “I can’t let him leave, but I can’t let them burn the planet, either. So I get to clean up your mess.”
The Governor cleared his throat.
“What ... what do you want me to do?” The agent pointed at the intercom.
“Tell them they win,” he said with a grimace. “Then tell ‘em to send a shuttle to the roof to pick up their men. I’ve got a magnetic mine placed on the center of the pad, disguised as part of the landing pad’s navigation array. They’ll land right on top of it, and the mine will attach itself to the bottom of the shuttle. Then they’ll fly back to their ship, and I’ll wait until they’re far enough away before I set it off.”
“Why wait?” Mayor Danbury spoke for the first time, and the agent gave him a withering stare.
“Because I’m trying to save the city, you idiot. Blowing up that Firefly over Hustler will start the very fire we’re trying to avoid. Am I the only person in this room who can think?”
‘Dobson’ turned his attention back to Aubrey. “Tell ‘em they win and get that shuttle down here, now. Let’s finish this thing.”
Inara Serra didn’t care about being naked and collared on a world full of people who wanted to see her dead. She just wanted to make sure her part of the getaway plan went smooth.
She was surprised no one had stopped her. Not leaving the police station, not walking through the center of town, not even when she’d reached the docks. It was like being invisible. Women mattered so little on this planet that even being stark naked barely managed to catch the interest of men who had their own sex slaves to look at.
Inara almost found herself a little upset at how little attention she was getting, until she realized that a woman about to steal a small spaceship from the center of a crowded city really should prefer being unnoticed. She shook her head and focused on her mission.
The clicking of her heels as she walked down the line of empty bays echoed on the walls of the dispatch office, and as she approached the shuttle, she heard a door open behind her.
Justin Hammer, Flynt’s dockmaster, was sitting at his desk when he heard something echoing out on the docks. He switched on the monitors just in time to see a lone girl walking down the line.
‘What the hell is she doing here?’ he asked himself, then rose and walked over to his office door. She was just passing by as he opened it.
“You! Girl!” His voice stopped her in her tracks, and she turned, eyes down.
She stopped and turned, eyes down. “Yes, Master?”
“What’re you doing here?”
“I was sent to deliver a message to dockmaster Hammer.”
Hammer nodded. “I’m him. What’s the message?”
“Governor Aubrey wants you immediately.”
“Well, now,” Hammer said, thoughtfully. “That’s strange. Why not just comm me?”
“He said something about not causing a panic, Master.” The girl stayed still. Hammer’s eyes narrowed, and then he looked up to see the Firefly hovering over the city. He nodded again.
“The bitches on that transport are trying something, and he doesn’t want to broadcast anything where someone would overhear.”
“This girl does not know.” There was a slight pause. “My Master wishes you to take the Firefly’s shuttle to City Hall and land on the roof, Master.”
“Why?”
She shrugged, her eyes still down. “This girl does not know,” she repeated. “She does what she is told, and Master wanted her to tell you to take the shuttle.”
Hammer eyed her from the doorway to his office, and sighed.
“I’m going to have to check in with the Governor on this,” he said. “Come in here while I make the call.”
“Yes, Master.” The girl strutted forward, and as the dockmaster watched her walk towards him, he thought maybe he could have a bit of fun with her before sending her back to the Governor.
As she walked through the door, Hammer’s hand reached over and cupped a breast, giving it a small squeeze. The girl smiled at him happily, then took his hand and twisted it hard, pinching it in such a way that the pain shot up through his arm and took him totally by surprise. He gave a strangled cry.
“Oh, am I hurting you, Master?” She smiled and gave his arm an extra twist. “Let me put you out of your misery.”
She slipped her leg behind his and pushed him hard. As Hammer fell, Inara kicked him in the head, and by the time he reached the ground, he was mercifully unconscious.
The Companion stripped off the man’s shirt and tied his arms with it, then dragged his body into a closet and left it there.
‘Zoe was right,’ she thought with a smile as she walked out the office and headed for the shuttle once more. ‘The hardest thing about this job was walking here in those heels.’
Kaylee shut down the main comm, smiling like she’d just won a million creds.
“That was so shiny! He up and folded like a busted parasol, just like River said he would.” She looked over at the pilot. Linda’s arms were shaking, and sweat was slowly trickling down the sides of her face. “Oh, honey! You look beat. Can I take over for you?”
“Nice thought,” Linda replied, sparing the mechanic a quick smile even as her voice betrayed her fatigue. “But you can’t. If I let go of the stick even for a second, bad things will happen.”
“I could turn on the autopilot ...” Kaylee’s hand strayed towards the button.
“NO!” Her strangled yell froze the mechanic’s finger an inch from the button. She looked at Linda, eyes wide, and the pilot sighed.
“I’m sorry, Kaylee, but we can’t. The autopilot’s fine for out in the black with nothing but vacuum to bump into. But this close to dirt, surrounded by buildings with changing winds and balanced on the big engines, Serenity needs someone at the controls who can keep her steady — a human pilot. That means me. I need to keep her balanced every second, and that’s ... hard. So let’s just hope they get back here quickly.”
Wash focused on flying, and finished her thought in the privacy of her own head.
‘Otherwise there might not be a ship for everybody to come back to.’
Simon walked across the landing pad towards the waiting shuttle. Playing “Bucky Batson, Alliance super-spy” was starting to get tiring, and he was looking forward to being back on Serenity — and being Simon Tam once more.
‘Still a few more minutes to play before the curtain goes down,’ he thought, and straightened his shoulders.
Mal and Jayne stood on the landing pad, looking like they were waiting for a bus. Barris stood beside them, staring at them both with his hand still resting on the butt of his gun.
“Stand down, son,” he said, and the officer took a step back and let his hand slide off the gun. Simon held out Mal’s revolver and Jayne’s pair of Enforcers.
“Here are your weapons. I’ll keep the ammo. Just take ‘em, get in your shuttle when it comes, and go.”
There was a muted whine from the side of the building, and a second shuttle rose up next to the roof, its hatch opening. Mal and Jayne looked at each other and ran for the door, diving in headfirst. The door slid shut, and the shuttle turned and headed for the Firefly.
There was the sound of heels clacking on the permacrete rooftop, and River fairly flew across the landing pad towards her brother. The door to the shuttle still on the pad slid open, and she ran through it. Simon turned to the officer and put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder.
“We’ve got to follow that shuttle,” he said. “After it docks with the transport, we’ll follow it until it gets far enough away, then we’ll detonate the bomb it’s carrying and end the threat to the city. We may not make it back. If we don’t ... well, thanks for your cooperation, son. The Alliance won’t forget your help.”
He slipped on his sunglasses, threw the boy a smile, and jumped into the shuttle. It rose almost immediately and headed after the first shuttle, chasing both ships away from the city and over the horizon.
Officer Barris watched them as they flew away, and eventually saw a bright flash that lit up the sky where the ships had vanished.
The Firefly and all its crew were gone.
“Full burn in atmo!” Kaylee danced around the cockpit. “Damn, girl, that was somethin’! Lit up the sky for miles around. Musta looked like we blew up into a million tiny bits of Firefly.”
“I think that was the idea,” Linda said, her voice faint. “Now that everyone’s back on board and we’ve got some space ‘tween us and the dirt ... could you take over for a while, Kaylee? I think I need to take a little break ...”
She just managed to turn on the autopilot before everything went black.
Wash opened her eyes to find herself staring up at the ceiling in sick bay.
“You gave us quite a scare, Linda.” Simon moved into view and shined a bright light into her eyes, one at a time. She winced. “Nobody realized how hard that was going to be on you — keeping the ship steady that long so close to the ground.”
The pilot shrugged, then winced. Her shoulders felt like there were icepicks embedded in them “That was my job. Got to do my part, no matter how hard it was.”
Simon moved the light away and looked down at her.
“Maybe, but it didn’t have to be as hard as you made it, did it?” Wash looked up at him, confused. The doctor sighed.
“I’m not a pilot, but I know you could have taken the ship up a bit once the threat was established,” he said. “You could have given yourself more space, made it easier for a while before coming back down to threaten the city again. Right?”
Wash shook her head. Even that hurt. “That would have burned more fuel, and I needed to save everything I could for the full burn in atmo at the end of the con. Besides, they needed to think what I was doing was easy. If I had to back off, they might have figured out just how hard it would have been for us to torch the entire moon one city at a time. We needed them to be scared and stay scared long enough to pull this off.”
“Maybe, but you also cut things awfully fine, and hurt yourself in the process.” The doctor sighed. “Linda, you wouldn’t have fainted if it hadn’t been too much for you. You pushed hard and now you’re paying the price. I’m taking you off of flight duty for twenty four hours, starting now, and you’re going to be pretty sore for a while even after that.”
She lowered her head and closed her eyes. “Okay, Simon. I give. I’ll be good.”
Simon looked at her for a moment, then leaned forward. “You did great up there, Linda. No question about it. But you don’t need to prove anything, you know. You’re crew. You’re family. And you sure don’t have to try and out-macho Mal or Jayne. Or even Zoe — as if anyone could.”
“Says Agent Dobson, Alliance operative!” She opened her eyes and threw him a grin. “From the idle chatter I heard over the comms before I passed out, you did pretty well at being all take charge and everything.”
“I did what I had to, to make the plan work.”
“So did I,” Wash replied, reaching out and touching his arm. “I’ll be more careful from now on, okay? Even though I don’t think we’ll need to try that same stunt again anytime soon.”
“I hope not.” The doctor grinned. “I’ll be happy to retire Agent Dobson and go back to practicin’ medicine.”
“Looks to me like you can stop practicin’, Doc.” A voice came from the doorway, and both of them turned to see Jayne standing there, grinning. “Seems like you’re doing just fine takin’ care of Linda.”
Simon smiled. “That joke is so old, they were groaning at it back when we left Earth That Was behind.”
Jayne’s face went blank. “Joke?”
The doctor looked at Linda, then looked back at the mercenary and shook his head.
“Never mind,” he said, stifling a grin. “I think you and Linda have some things to talk about, so I’m going to leave you alone for a bit. Get a little more rest, and then we can move you to your bunk, all right?”
Wash gave Simon a small smile and nodded once before looking down. The doctor turned and walked out the door, leaving the two of them alone for the first time since the rescue.
“Hey.” Jayne spoke first, and Linda looked up into his eyes and smiled.
“Hey,” she replied. “Thank you for coming back alive.”
He smiled, just a little, but his voice was serious. “Thanks for, uh ... caring, I guess. I don’t think I ever had anybody who did, before.”
She nodded. “I do. Care, I mean. A lot.” She held out her hand, and Jayne moved forward to take it. His hand was hot and rough in hers, and Wash felt a flash of ... something, deep inside. It rolled through her, warmed her inside with promises of something more, just out of reach. And for once she just let it. She didn’t push back, she didn’t second-guess it. She just let it happen, because it felt good, and right, and at that moment, a little bit more of Linda and Wash came together as one.
Wash — and Linda — looked up into his eyes.
“In your message, you said you loved me, even though you’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” she said softly. “But when I heard you ... when I looked into your eyes, I could feel it. It touched a part of me that made me see ... that I love you too.”
His eyes opened just a little wider, and his hand squeezed hers.
“Because you trusted me, Jayne.” Her voice became almost a whisper. “You’ve always been so tough, so hard. Never letting anyone in. But this time, you took a chance. You opened yourself to me ... let down your walls, showed me how you felt, and trusted me not to hurt you. You trusted me. You must really love me to trust me enough to let me in — and I realized I love you because you loved me enough to take that chance, even though you couldn’t know how it would end.”
“There wasn’t nothin’ else I could do.” Jayne’s voice was rough with emotion. “I didn’t even want to think about what life’d be like without you in it, that’s how scared I was. But if I didn’t get the nerve to tell ya how I felt, I’d never know if you felt the same. And I really needed to know.”
“Well, now you do.” Linda brought his hand to her lips and kissed it softly. “I’m not sure what the future is going to bring for either of us. You’ve never loved anyone before, and I ... well, I had someone I loved once, in another life. I gave that someone my heart, and it was wonderful — but it ended too soon, and there’s no way I can ever bring it back.”
She stared up into his eyes, seeing him become very still, wondering what she would say next. Then she smiled.
“But I can honestly say that I have never loved another man the way that I love you. And a girl would have to be pretty stupid to run away from love ... especially when the man you love loves you back so deep, he’d put his heart on the line just to hear you say it.”
Wash-and-Linda took a deep breath, and reached up with her free hand to touch his cheek.
“I love you, Jayne Cobb,” she said.
His eyes lit up, and his smile was full of happiness. The pilot felt the same happiness filled her soul as well, and Wash finally embraced who she was and who she would be at last.
And when he leaned forward to kiss her, she raised her face to his and kissed him back.
A lot.
Simon stood out in the corridor, giving the pair some privacy. From the silence, it seemed they’d come to some kind of decision, and he hoped that both of them would wind up happy, and together.
“They have, and they will,” a voice behind him said happily, and he turned to see River dropping down from the ductwork above.
“Kaylee’s right, you know,” he said with a smile. “You’re going to get yourself electrocuted if you keep that up.”
She smiled back and shook her head. “Never gonna happen.”
“Why not?”
River shrugged. “Serenity likes me.”
She danced her way across the compartment into the passenger lounge, with Simon not far behind. He walked over and sat down on the threadbare sofa, watching his sister moving around the room to music only she could hear.
“Are you telling me the ship is sentient, now?”
“I don’t know whether she thinks or not,” she replied with grin, dropping down beside him. “But she sure talks to Kaylee a lot, and I don’t think she’d love Serenity so much if the ship were as dumb as a post. Although come to think of it, she does love you, so maybe I’m wrong ...”
Simon faked outrage, then reached out and tickled River. She wiggled around giggling until she managed to roll away from her brother’s fingers, even though both of them knew she could have easily moved away long before his fingers could reach her.
“You just be careful, Simon Tam,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “Remember, I can kill you with my brain.”
“Maybe so,” he replied, leaning back on the sofa. “But I’m not too worried. You are my sister, after all.”
“More’s the pity.” River sighed, feigning disappointment. “I really have been wanting to try out that whole killing people with my brain thing.”
She curled up on the sofa next to him, a small smile twitching at the corners of her lips.
“I wish we could have done something about Flynt,” Simon said. “I know we’re not here to police the Verse, and yes, we were lucky to get out of there with everyone on board and the ship intact. But still ... after all that, we left the moon with only what we came with — and half the population still enslaved.”
There was silence for a moment, and he turned to find River’s smile had shifted to become something more appropriate for a Cheshire Cat then a little sister.
“Well, we did leave empty-handed,” she said cheerfully, “but only because after you sent me off to erase us from all from the central database, I found an empty terminal and used the Cortex to transfer a nice chunk of the planetary treasury and all of Governor Aubrey’s off-world holdings to a numbered account on Osiris. So technically, we’re not actually holding onto the coin at the moment, but it’ll be waiting for us when we need it.”
Simon stared at her, almost too shocked to speak. “You stole ...?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t steal anything. What is it Mal said to Patience on Whitefall? 'I do the job, and I get paid.' Think of it as payment in full for all the trouble they gave us, just for trying to do our job. And yes, I wiped all the records of the transaction — not that anyone there will be in a position to wonder where the money went. Not anymore. I know Aubrey won’t be needing it.”
River stood up and rolled into a handstand, balancing on the back of the sofa.
“And yes, technically half the population of Flynt is currently enslaved.” She spoke without a hint of strain entering her voice. “But we both know that G-23 Paxilon Hydrochlorate is a complex chemical compound, full of all sorts of enzyme interactions and RNA recoding processes that can turn on themselves without warning. What happened with the Reavers proved that.”
River rolled forward off the sofa and landed on her feet. She turned her head and looked at Simon over her shoulder, still grinning. “Since formulations on complex compounds tend to get a bit ... wonky after a few years, sometimes odd things happen. Especially when a clever girl finds her way to the environmental processing controls and starts wandering through the systems.”
Her brother stared at her, his thoughts racing.
“Oh, please,” she said, reading his mind. “What’s good for the gander is better for the goose, Simon. Just a minute ago, you were complaining about us not being able to fix things on Flynt before we had to go. Well, I did my best. For a while, the slaves will be the masters. And when the Alliance shows up, they’ll find their grand mind-control experiment in ruins, with the formula apparently intact. With any luck, they’ll think it’s another flawed attempt, like Miranda and the Reavers, and drop the whole idea before they realize it actually succeeded.”
“You forgot one thing, lil’ Albatross. The Alliance would just as soon fry that little moon from orbit ‘stead of lettin’ ‘folks free to tell the Verse what they were up to.” Simon and River turned to find Mal standing in the doorway with Inara at his side. “Of course, the anonymous tips I sent to the newsies will make sure they get to Flynt long before the Alliance does. Hard to kill thousands of folks with cameras watchin’, I’m thinkin’. Reckon I learned somethin’ from Miranda after all.”
River grinned. “I reckon you did, too.”
She tilted her head, almost as if she was listening to something, then looked back at Mal.
“Please excuse me. I need to make a few calls before we’re out of range.”
Without missing a beat, she leaped upward and slipped into the ductwork above the lounge. She stuck her head down and looked at Mal.
“See, Captain? Sometimes a plan really does go smooth!”
The girl pulled her head back up and disappeared.
“I guess she and I got differing ideas of what smooth means,” he said slowly, staring up at where her face had been. “Still I remember Wash sayin’ somethin’ once about any landin’ you can walk away from being a good one, and right now we seem to be walkin’ away just fine.”
Mal turned to Simon, a half-smile on his face.
“In fact, didn’t I hear somethin’ about a great big stack of creds waitin’ for us on Osiris?”
Hugh Aubrey sat in his office, pretty much numb.
At first, after the Firefly had exploded (and apparently taken that Alliance agent along with it), he had worried about what his Alliance contacts would say about his little “adventure” with Captain Reynolds and his crew. But if Dobson had managed to get a report back to his superiors, Aubrey was going to wind up in a prison cell on some backwater moon for violating security on a top-secret project. At the very least, he’d be out of a job.
But after an hour or two, Aubrey had started feeling ... empty. As if he didn’t know what to do next, or didn’t care. It was as if the part of him that made decisions had decided to take a vacation for a while. And that suited Aubrey just fine, since he was pretty sure the last few decisions he’d made didn’t turn out so well after all.
The viewscreen on his desk lit up with the picture of a pretty young girl. Her eyes caught his and held them, and he just knew he had to listen to whatever she had to say — that it was going to be very important.
“Hey, there, Mister Governor, sir. You and all your friends need to forget all about me and my friends on the Firefly. After all, do you really want to remember how badly you messed up?”
Aubrey shook his head, and the girl smiled. “Good boy. I’ve already taken all of the evidence we were there out of the database, so you don’t need to worry your pretty head about that.”
“Thank you.” Aubrey’s voice was rough, and the girl’s eyes flashed.
“Did I tell you to speak?” Her anger poured through the screen, and Aubrey flinched and looked away.
“No, ma’am.”
“Then don’t. If I ask you a question, the correct response is yes, Mistress or no, Mistress. Understand?”
The former Governor swallowed once, suddenly afraid of the girl and her anger. He felt tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes.
“Yes, Mistress.”
She smiled at him. “Good boy.”
The smile washed over him and through him, and his eyes closed as a wave of happiness flowed through him from head to toe. He had pleased her! So much happiness from something so simple! He had to do it again.
“I’m going to leave and call all your friends, now, and when I’m gone you’ll forget all about me and mine.” From that blissful high, Aubrey felt his spirits drop to the floor. His tears began to fall, and his lower lip began to quiver. But he couldn’t say anything. She had forbidden him to speak.
She saw it, though, the goddess on the screen. She looked into his eyes and sighed.
“Don’t worry, boy. You won’t be alone for long. I’ll send a new Mistress to look after you.” His whole body shuddered with relief. “But you want to show her what a good boy you are, right from the start. So why don't you just take off all those uncomfortable clothes and kneel by the door with your head bowed and your hands behind you? She’ll be along shortly, and of course you’ll do whatever she tells you, won’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress.” She smiled again, and his heart flew towards the sky. He’d pleased her again!
“You get ready for her, then. And remember ... we were never here.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
The screen went dark, and Aubrey stood up quickly, knocking his chair back in his haste to get his clothes off as quickly as possible.
His new Mistress could be here anytime, and he knew ... just knew ... he had to be ready.
He just hoped he could be waiting by the door when she arrived. If the first thing she did was frown, he didn’t know what he would do to make it right.
But he did know she’d tell him, in time.
Hope you enjoyed this latest adventure, folks. I'm going to work on some other projects for a while, but the crew of Serenity will be back in action soon enough, don't you fret. *grin* Thanks so much for reading! -- Randalynn
Firefly: Changing Course
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Changing Course
by Randalynn
Firefly: Changing Course | Part 1: The First Mate
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This is a fan fiction set in the Firefly/Serenity universe created by Joss Whedon. It takes place after the events in the television series and the companion motion picture that followed, and is also the first part of a sequel to Firefly: Double Booked, which was in turn a sequel to Firefly: Connecting Flight. This means it has SPOILERS, folks, and major ones at that. So please don't read this unless you get the chance to see the series and the movie -- and read my first two Firefly stories.
In the first part of FIREFLY: CHANGING COURSE, Wash thinks about where she came from and what she's going to do now, and gets advice from an unexpected source.
CHANGING COURSE
Part 1: The First Mate
Wash sat in the pilot’s chair, the one place where thinking had always come easily. That part of who she was hadn’t changed, unlike most of the rest of her. Still, a lot had changed since the untimely death of the man she used to be in that very same chair, and her unusual resurrection in the pleasingly-shaped and quite female body of Linda Rachel Wehr, the woman who replaced him as Serenity’s pilot.
Of course, she wasn’t actually on flight duty at the moment. After she had pushed herself so hard keeping the ship in the air during a rescue attempt a few hours back, she wound up fainting at the controls. The ship’s Doctor had forbidden her to fly for 24 hours, or anything else particularly strenuous. Keeping her out of the cockpit for a day wasn’t really a problem, though. When Serenity was out in the Black, between the planets and moons that made up the system, she could usually find her way without help.
So Wash wasn’t really flying, just curled up in the chair, her chair, staring out at the stars. And thinking. About Jayne.
‘I told him I loved him,’ she thought, still a little amazed at both her declaration and the fact that she actually DID love him. ‘And I kissed him and he touched me and ... sometime soon I’m going to climb into bed with him and I can’t believe I’m looking forward to that, too. I mean, Jayne? I thought the Verse was strange with the geese juggling and all, but seriously ... me ... and Jayne?’
She smiled just a little, thinking about the conversation she wasn’t supposed to have heard between Simon and Jayne.
“Oh, come on, Doc,” the mercenary said, doing his best to keep his voice down with Linda in the next room. “It ain’t like I’m gonna be chasin’ her around the ship or nothin’. We’re gonna be in my bunk ... or her bunk ... or somewhere else ... oh, hell, I don’t know, but I ain’t gonna hurt her. I’d never hurt her. You know that!”
Simon looked at Jayne, and he could see how being this close to actually being with Linda was ripping him up inside. Still, she’d just burned through so much energy hovering over Hustler, it was a wonder she was awake now at all. As much as he understood how Jayne was feeling, his patient always came first.
“Jayne ... I know you just want to be with her, and make her happy,” he said softly. “But she’s been through a lot, and she’s weaker than she should be.” Simon leaned forward. “If you two ... get together tonight, Linda is going to crash so hard afterwards that she’ll be back in my care before morning. Do you really want your first time together to wind up keeping her in bed a few more days ... without you?”
Jayne looked down and shook his head. “You know I don’t.”
“Okay, then.” The doctor said. He put his hand on Jayne’s shoulder, and the other man looked up. “It’s just for one night. She needs rest more than anything else. And tomorrow, I’ll examine her again, and certify her fit for light duty ... along with any other after-hours activities she might want to engage in. All right?”
The mercenary nodded, then sighed. “I reckon it’ll have to be. You’re sure she’ll be okay?”
Simon smiled. “A little sore in the shoulders, but nothing a little massage therapy couldn’t fix. Linda would like that.”
“Massage?”
“Yes, massage. Muscle manipulation.”
“I know what a massage is, Doc,” Jayne growled, then looked away, his face red. “If she needs it, I’ll do it. I just ain’t never done it to anybody before, so I don’t know what all I’m supposed to do.”
Inside, the doctor sighed, but he knew this was all unfamiliar territory for Jayne. “Go see Inara, and she’ll teach you a few things to get you started. For now, go kiss her goodnight and tell her you’ll see her in the morning. Dohn-ma?”
“Dohn-ma.” Jayne looked back through the window, and saw Linda watching them. She smiled, and he smiled back before a thought occurred to him. “She ... uh, she can’t hear us out here, can she?”
Simon shook his head. “Doubtful. Med bay is pretty well insulated sound-wise.”
“Okay, then. She and I, we danced this long. I reckon we can hold off ‘til it’s right.” He said, almost to himself. “Got to take care of her. Gotta keep her safe.”
She couldn’t hear that last part, but she could read his lips through the glass. And remembering what he said hours later, after she’d slept a while, made her smile all over again.
‘I can’t believe the idea of him taking care of me makes me feel so ... special.’ She shook her head and looked down at her body. ‘Okay, granted ... I’m not the me I used to be, but still ...’
“You’re disobeying Doctor’s orders, you know.”
Zoe spoke from the doorway, and her voice had that little deep-throated purr that used to drive Wash wild in the middle of the night. The pilot looked back over her shoulder, saw the first mate’s smile, and shook her head.
“Ma’am, no Ma’am,” she replied, answering Zoe’s smile with one of her own. “I may be good, but even I’m not good enough to fly this ship without touching the wheel.”
“Still, shouldn’t you be in med bay?” Zoe was in a long silk bathrobe Wash had given her as a gift after a particularly successful job. The pilot was happy to see her wearing it.
I’m supposed to rest.” Linda shrugged. “Here’s as good a place as med bay. Better, because ... well, it’s my place. You know?”
The first mate took a step onto the flight deck before she stopped and cocked her head.
“May I join you?”
“Of course!” Linda waved a hand towards the second seat. “Glad for the company.”
“Ah, I see,” Zoe said, moving to the co-pilot’s chair and settling in with a sigh. “Is that why you’ve been sitting here all alone? Because you know this is the most highly-traveled part of the ship in the middle of the night, and you were waiting for someone to come along and say hi?”
“Something like that.” Linda hugged her knees and stared out into the Black. “I had some thinking to do, and for me, this has always been the best place to think. After all, when you’re surrounded by the Verse, you tend to put things in perspective.”
“My husband used to say much the same thing.” Zoe looked out at the stars. “Hard to see any problem as too big to solve against a backdrop like that.”
She looked back at Linda. “Let me guess ... Jayne?”
The pilot shook her head slightly and gave her ex-wife a shy smile. “Got it in one.”
Zoe smiled back. “Must admit I was surprised my own self, after how he treated you when you came on board the first time.”
Linda looked out at the stars again.
“I never expected ...” She stopped and began again. “It turns out there was so much more to him than I thought at first. I mean, I know he has a family, gods know where. He must have grown up knowing what it meant to be close to someone. But somehow he’d lost it along the way. Now suddenly, he gets it. He’s human again. He’s part of this family.”
She looked over at Zoe. “I suppose, being part of this crew, even Jayne would have to get it eventually.”
The first mate shook her head.
“Not so much,” she replied. “He was learning, but it was slow going. And letting down those walls of his was always too risky for someone who’s lived a life like the one Jayne lived. No, he did it because he finally found someone he cares about more than he cares about himself. You.”
Wash turned to look at her, thinking this was one odd conversation to be having with the woman who used to be her wife. Zoe met her eyes and she smiled, just a little.
“Love is a funny thing. When I first met my husband, I couldn’t stand him. I saw this funny little man with a big bushy moustache, wearing loud shirts and flight suits and talking a mile a minute. He could fly, not doubt about it, but for some reason, he’d run at the mouth whenever he tried to talk to me. There was something ... not right about him, and it took me a while to realize what it was.”
“He was trying to impress you, but he couldn’t figure out how.” Wash smiled slowly, remembering how frustrating it had been.
Zoe saw something in Linda’s eyes — something warm, a memory ... and a flash of something familiar. She nodded.
“I remember the first time we had a real conversation, he and I. It was the middle of the night, ship’s time, and he was sitting just where you’re sitting now, staring out at the black. I stood in the doorway and watched him for a while, and the expression on his face was priceless. I started to back away, not wanting to disturb him, and he spoke, his eyes never leaving the sky.”
“‘Where I grew up,’ he said, in a tone I’d never heard before, ‘the air was so thick above us that we could never see the sky. I’d heard about stars, of course. Seen pictures of ‘em ever since I was small. But when I got old enough, I went up on a suborbital freighter run with my uncle. When we broke atmo, the Verse appeared, and it was everything I could have wanted, hoped for ... wished for. The stars were so sharp and the spaces between so empty, I felt it all call to me like nothing had ever called to me before. That’s when I decided to be a pilot, and live out here in the black, surrounded by beauty.’”
“Then Wash turned to me, and looked into my eyes and said, ‘Then I found this ship, and I found you, and you were more beautiful than the whole Verse to me. I’ve tried so hard since I came aboard to make you see me. I don’t know what to say to make you see how I feel. But I know now that a million words won’t touch you the way I want to touch you, or show you how much I love you. So I look at the stars and the space between, and wish I could get you to look at me the same way. But I really don’t think I can.’”
“You remember all that?”
Zoe looked at Linda, and there were tears in her eyes. “Word for word. I fell in love with him right then. He stopped acting and let me see him. No more words, just emotions. And it was only a matter of time until we were married. After all, that’s what happens when someone loves you that much.”
Linda felt the tears in her own eyes begin to make their way down her cheeks.
“That’s what Jayne did,” she said softly. “He took down his walls. He handed me his heart and said, ‘I can’t stop myself from loving you. This is me. Love me or don’t, but just know I love you, and I’m not going to stop.’ When I saw that, something in me broke open, and I realized that ... that I loved him, too.”
The two women were silent, sharing the moment, then Zoe spoke.
“So what’s the problem, then?”
Wash looked over at the woman she had loved more than life itself, and let her see the confusion in her face.
“I’ve never loved a man before.” Zoe’s eyes closed, and she took a breath. Then she reached over and put her hand on Linda’s and squeezed.
“But you have loved.” It was a statement, not a question, and the pilot nodded
“There was a woman,” she whispered. “She was smart, and beautiful, and sexy, and I loved her so much. She was everything I ever wanted, and she loved me too, more than words could say. But death ripped us apart. And now here I am, months later ... and I love this ... this man. It feels so right, but at the same time it feels wrong. Part of it feels like I’m betraying her somehow. And part of it is ... I’ve never felt this way about a man before. How do I love a man? How can I?”
Zoe bowed her head, then raised it again.
“You’re not loving a man. You’re loving Jayne. That’s what love is, Linda. It’s about the person, and how you feel about them. How they make you feel, and how you make them feel. Damn, girl, how does he make you feel when he touches you?”
All the tension leaves Linda’s face, replaced by a simple joy that answers Zoe’s question without her saying a word. Zoe reaches out and touches Linda’s cheek.
“See? You do the same thing to him, when you touch him. You make him happy beyond words. You make his world complete. That’s how you love him. Just by being ... his.”
“And ... sex?”
“I’m not thinking that’s a problem, honey,” Zoe said, smiling again. “I think Jayne’s been around long enough to know what to do with a woman once she’s in his bed. And I think you’ll be able to think of things to do to make it worth his while to keep you there.”
Wash blushed and looked down, a little embarrassed about talking like this with the woman she used to keep happy, back when her bed was their bed. She noticed a kind of twitching on the mass detector. It was barely a flicker on the display, jumping back and forth a hundredth of a percent, but they were way out in the middle of the middle of the Black, and there wasn’t a planet or asteroid anywhere near them.
She watched as the ship’s course began to change, just a few hundredths of a degree off at first, but then it started increasing, and the flickering on the display became a solid indication of something nearby, even though she still couldn’t see a thing.
Letting go of Zoe’s hand, she linked the mass detector with the nav computer and let them talk about where the heck that mass reading was coming from. The nav computer said it was straight ahead, but when Wash looked, there was nothing there but black ... just a hole between stars ... black ... hole.
Black hole. She felt her insides twist, and her blood ran cold. A quantum black hole.
The best way to stay unnoticed in a crowded universe is go places other ships don’t. So it stands to reason you would run into things other folks wouldn’t, usually. Like something way too small to see that eats anything in its path and keeps on eating until there’s nothing left to eat.
And if anyone else did run into a quantum black hole out here, it would eat their ship and everything in it long before they could ever find a port.
‘Just like it will eat Serenity,’ Wash thought, ‘and everybody aboard her.’
The proximity alarm finally sounded as the black hole’s pull increased enough, but the pilot was already kicking in everything the ship had.
“Wang Ba Dan.” she swore, wrestling with the control yoke.
“What’s wrong?” The first mate tried to stand up.
“No!” Linda shouted. “Strap in. It’s a black hole.”
Zoe dropped back into the co-pilot’s chair, and buckled the harness.
“If we don’t avoid it,” the pilot said through gritted teeth, “there won’t be anything left of this ship but a memory.”
As hard as Wash flew, all she could manage was an orbital stand-off at full burn. Serenity and the black hole went around and around each other, over and over, with each orbit bringing the singularity closer and closer to touching the hull.
Her mind raced, wondering what she could possibly do to stop this from happening, but they’d never covered this in flight school —— not even in his extra lessons with Chiang.
Chiang. The man who taught him the one thing that kept them all alive when Serenity’s electronics were fried on the approach to Mr. Universe's moon.
"Consider the leaf on the wind,"he said softly. "It does not think, or feel, or believe. It simply is. It dips, it soars . . . it flies, but only as the winds and gravity command. But if the leaf could think, could feel . . . could believe . . . it could also choose not to do what nature demanded. It could soar when the wind said to dip, or drift when there is no wind at all." His eyes found Wash's and held them, and the pilot could've sworn they flashed with a green fire that came from within. "Mister Washburne, the belief of a determined individual can be stronger than all that is, if only his will is strong enough."
‘What,’ she thought with a growl, ‘I’m supposed to just change the laws of physics ... on a whim?’’
The Chiang in her memory turned to face her, and spoke.
‘Why not? I did, when you saw me floating on air when we first met. You did, too, when you saved your ship and crew on approach to that moon.’
‘In case you’ve forgotten, old man, I died on that moon!’
Chiang’s face was stern. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, young woman, this is why you’re here.’
Then the scene changed, and she remembered her conversation with Chiang in that bar on Santo, all those weeks ago, about why she needed to come back to the Verse as Linda.
'But why a she?’ Wash had asked, confused. ‘Why her? Admittedly I wasn't always a finalist in the Mister Testosterone contest, but still --"
'Because she is our only chance. Our last chance.' Chiang's voice was cool, and Wash heard something there he didn't expect. Worry. 'Because Mal has places to be, and Linda is the last candidate under consideration before he gives up for now and leaves River at the controls. And if you're not there to save them in the next few months, another chance will never come. Serenity and her crew will die in deep space, alone and unremembered -- unless you're behind the stick. Unless you are their pilot.'
Back on the flight deck, Linda’s eyes widened.
“Wuh duh ma huh tah duh fong kwong duh wai shung!” she screamed aloud. “That’s NOW?”
Panicking, she scanned the control systems, looking for something, anything that could help. But after a few seconds, she realized the measurements and the instruments themselves wouldn’t help her at all. Even the forces they measured were all firmly rooted in the here and now, in the science that humans knew and understood.
Where Chiang wanted her to go was somewhere else -- into the mystical. It was the stuff science laughed at, the concepts that couldn’t be verified by experiments or quantified by technology. He wanted Wash to accept the stuff dreams were made of — the things you took on faith.
He wanted her to do the impossible.
‘Okay, FINE,’ she thought, putting every ounce of sarcasm she could into her mental voice. ‘I’ll DO the impossible. But if this doesn’t work, Gladys, I’m never speaking to you again!’
After a few seconds, she shook her head. ‘When letting us all die starts sounding like a win-win, it’s clear I left sanity a few hundred klicks behind. Time to embrace the madness.’
“So, I can do the impossible?” Linda muttered aloud, her mind racing. “Fine. How do I make a black hole go away? If I try to run, no matter how fast I can make the ship go, it’s just going to follow us and eat Serenity from behind. Make us really dense, like neutron star dense? That would just make us more attractive to the gorram thing.”
“Wait. So if I make the ship less dense ...” She chewed her lower lip, then shook her head. “No, no, that would slow it down some, but it would still ... well, it would still know we’re here, and it wouldn’t stop coming. How can I make it just ignore us completely? Can I make Serenity ... not exist for long enough for it to ... lose interest?”
Wash suddenly realized she was waiting for a response, and almost snorted. Who was going to answer her? Chiang? As if. She knew better than to expect anything remotely like direct assistance from the ghostly guru. Still, it was the best idea she had, as totally off-the-wall as it was, and she knew that she only had seconds to make it happen.
Linda locked the wheel on auto-pilot and sat back, closing her eyes but keeping her hands on the control yoke. She reached out with her mind through her hands and touched every part of the ship, surprised at how easy it was to do. She felt that oneness every pilot feels when she and her ship have been together as long as Wash and Serenity had been. With the smallest effort, she made the connection even stronger, until she could feel the ship as if it was part of her.
At the same time, Wash could feel the concentrated pocket of emptiness that kept chasing her in ever-closing circles, and wondered just for an instant if what she was doing was suicide. Then she remembered that if she didn’t do something, they were all dead anyway.
So she focused everything she had on remembering what she had learned, and what had happened in the sky over Mr. Universe's moon, and started whispering.
“I am a leaf on the wind ... watch how I soar ...” She felt the ship start to thin around her ...
“I am a leaf on the wind ... watch how I soar ...” Her own body began to lose its mass ...
“I am a leaf on the wind ... watch how I soar ...” She started seeing the stars through the control panel and the side of the ship.
Suddenly, with a sharp flickering of everything, Serenity simply stopped –
– and ceased to be.
Wash balanced the ship’s very existence on the knife’s edge between here and gone. Hovering in the thin almost nothingness that makes up the place where Schrodinger’s cat both lives and dies, she feels an immense something that was also about the size of a grain of sand move through the cockpit at speeds beyond imagining. The Verse seemed to vibrate all around her, making a noise like a perfect chime that went on and on and on, and Wash felt the black hole tug at her consciousness as it passed through where the ship was/might have been. It almost as if Wash’s soul was the only thing for light years around that could be touched by its passing.
Which, of course, it was.
The black hole moved through and past the where-when Serenity used to inhabit, then shot off into the Black to find something else to feed its terrible hunger.
Wash sighed, and her concentration wavered just for an instant, and with another odd flicker of inexplicable otherness, the ship –
– came back.
With a few well-practiced motions, Wash slammed Serenity into a hard burn that pushed her back into her seat. She wanted to get as far away from that gorram ship-killer as she could. Almost immediately, the proximity alert went quiet, and she watched the mass detector as the black hole faded into the space behind her until it was nothing but a memory.
“Damn,” she whispered softly. “I really am a leaf on the wind.”
There was a prolonged squee from just beyond the cockpit door, and the pilot suddenly found herself wrapped in a huge hug from behind.
“Hoe-bann,” River said as she squeezed the pilot tight. “That was so shiny! You made the ship just ... go away! You have so got to teach me!”
“I won’t get the chance, if you kill me with kindness,” Wash managed to whisper. “I haven’t figured out how to breathe without pulling air into my lungs just yet, and you’re not making it any easier.”
River kissed her just behind her ear, let go, and backed up a few steps.
“Sorry, jei jei,” she said, and Wash could hear the smile in her voice. “But you did it. You did what you came back for. You should be proud. You saved everybody, just like you were supposed to.”
“I guess I did at that,” Wash replied, her own grin growing. She spun her chair around to face the younger girl ... and came face to face with Zoe instead.
The first mate sat in the co-pilot’s chair and stared at Linda, half-confused and halfway to putting all the pieces together.
“River ... called you Hoban,” she whispered, “and I just saw you make the ship disappear while not really going anywhere at all ... and you ... you said the same ... the same thing ... that he said when he managed to land Serenity ... after the EMP pulse ...
Zoe looked up at River, then back to the pilot. Her eyes narrowed. “And there’s only one person I’ve ever known who would dare lie to a black hole and think he could get away with it.” Her voice took on a tone somewhere between wonder, surprise, happiness – and anger.
“Wash? Is that you?”
The pilot felt hot all over, then cold, and then about ten different kinds of embarrassed. She could feel herself blushing, thinking about talking to Zoe ... about Jayne. But at the same time, part of her was relieved that the hiding was over – at least between her and Zoe.
“Hi, lamby-toes,” she said weakly, holding up both hands. “Believe it or not, I can explain.”
Whatever she was going to say next was interrupted by Zoe leaping at her from across the flight deck, wrapping her in a hug even tighter than River’s was, and giving her the kind of kiss that Wash remembered oh so well from when she and Zoe were man and wife.
And gorram if it didn’t feel just as good now as it did then.
Firefly: Changing Course | Part 2: New Crew and Fresh Coin
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This is a fan fiction set in the Firefly/Serenity universe created by Joss Whedon. It takes place after the events in the television series and the companion motion picture that followed, and is also the second part of a sequel to Firefly: Double Booked, which was in turn a sequel to Firefly: Connecting Flight. This means it has SPOILERS, folks, and major ones at that. So please don't read this unless you get the chance to see the series and the movie -- and read my first two Firefly stories.
In the second part of FIREFLY: CHANGING COURSE, Wash's revelation and others lead to big changes for the crew -- and for the future.
CHANGING COURSE
Part 2: New Crew and Fresh Coin
Mal sat up and looked around. For a minute, the interior of Inara’s shuttle looked back at him in the semi-darkness, while Inara breathed softly beside him.
“Gorram,” he whispered, waiting for something to confirm what had woken him. “I coulda sworn ...”
“Could have sworn what?” He turned and Inara’s eyes were open, looking up at him.
“Coulda sworn Serenity did a hard burn.”
She smiled. “That would be a neat trick, with Linda in sick bay and the ship on auto-pilot.”
“Well, something woke me,” he said slowly, and scanned the room again as if waiting for something to jump out. “And I been trusting my instincts too long to just let it go.”
Inara reached up and touched his shoulder. He looked down at her, and her face was serious.
“I’ve learned to trust your instincts, too, Mal. Wash always used to say the ship had a mind of her own, so maybe she did do a hard burn. But I’m sure she had her reasons, and it’s not happening anymore, is it?”
Mal took a few seconds to collect his thoughts.
“You think the ship did it ... her own self? Do you really believe that, ‘Nara?”
“I don’t know for sure.” Inara shrugged. “After all, it’s a big Verse, and hundreds of impossible things happen every day. Just look at me here, in bed with you.” She smiled to let him know she was joking. “But whether the ship did a hard burn or not, it’s not doing it now. Maybe you should get back to sleeping? After all, you’ve got all those captainy things you’re supposed to be doing in the morning, don’t you?”
He looked at her for a few more seconds, then smiled and shook his head.
“Yeah, those captainy things ...” After another minute, the Captain sighed. “I guess I can tell Kaylee to check the engines tomorrow. That’s a captainy thing, too. I’ll add it to the list.”
Inara nodded solemnly, and Mal lay back down again. She melted into him as he put his arm around her, and she sighed as well. For a few minutes, there was quiet.
“Mal?” Inara whispered.
“Sorta working on that whole sleeping thing at the moment,” he replied, his voice a little muzzy.
“What would you say if I told you I wanted to stop being a Companion, and just be yours?”
She felt him freeze, and then he relaxed. He held her a little tighter, and then he turned his head until his cheek rested on her hair.
“See? It’s questions like that one that put sleep right out of mind. And comin’ damned near out of the Black, too. Not that I’m complainin’, now ... but have you been thinkin’ about this long?”
“Since before the depot on Boros,” she said softly. “I just never felt like it was the right time to tell you. And if I do stop ... companioning, I’m not sure what I could do here, other than make you happy.”
“Well, you do that pretty well.” He kissed her forehead.
“That’s not a job, though ... even if you make it difficult sometimes.” She reached over and placed her hand on his chest. “I just want to be ... useful, that all. A valuable member of the crew.”
“I don’t recall Shepard Book havin’ any sort of job description at all.” Inara felt Mal’s smile. “But he was crew, sure enough. And you’ve been crew since long before we did the Lassiter job, even if nobody came right out and said it. No need to justify anythin’, ‘Nara.”
“There is for me,” she replied. “Mal, if I’m to be your woman, yours and yours alone ... I need a purpose on Serenity. Otherwise, I’m just dead weight ... and I never ever want to feel that way.”
They held each other for a while, and she felt Mal smile again.
“You already have a job on my boat, ‘Nara,” he said. “Something you’ve been doing on the side since you first rented the shuttle. Just need to make it official ... Ambassador.”
She sighed. “Mal ...”
“Just listen a minute. I’m not stupid, but I don’t know what you know, and every time we get close to the Core we run the risk of breakin’ some gorram law we don’t know about, or worse, doin’ something we shouldn’t that’s gonna bring us to the attention of somebody we’d rather avoid, like Niska or the feds. Like as I nearly got myself killed ‘cause I didn’t understand about dueling that time on Persephone.”
“And even out on the Rim, you saved Zoe and me during the train job with some quick thinkin’, even if it did hurt a mite. As much as I hate the Alliance, you know a hell of a lot more about some of it than I do. Your job is gonna be to keep us outta trouble with the locals as much as you can — both the feds and everybody else that might have a reason to take a dislike to us on account of we ain’t from around there.”
There was another long silence. Mal sighed.
“Listen, ‘Nara. I don’t like the Alliance, and I never have. That gives me a blind spot as a Captain that could wind up hurting my crew. I need you to show me the things I’m gonna miss, and smooth the way in places where being diplomatic ain’t my first choice. That’s your job, if you’ll take it.”
She thought for a moment, and then it was her turn to sigh. Inara gave Mal a squeeze.
“I’m just crew,” she whispered. “You’re the Captain. So I guess you’ve got yourself an Ambassador.”
“And a whole lot more,” he replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
Wash, Zoe and River sat in the darkened kitchen, with cups of Kaylee’s wine sitting untouched in front of them. The story of how Wash came to be Linda took up most of an hour, leaving all three of them wondering where the conversation was going to go next.
They didn’t have long to wait.
“Jayne,” Zoe said, a touch of amazement in her tone. Wash blushed and looked down, and the first mate smiled. “Damn, girl, you look pretty when you’re embarrassed.”
“Thanks ... I think.” The pilot raised her eyes and looked at her ex-wife. “It’s easy to be embarrassed when the woman you loved more than life itself finds you entering a relationship with another man.”
“But you’re not.” Zoe put her hand on Wash’s. “You love Jayne, and he’s not another man. He’s just a man. And you, husband, are a woman. And also not my husband anymore, come to think of it.”
“Til death do us part, I know.” Wash turned her hand over and gave Zoe’s a squeeze. “But I still love you. Not even death changed that. That’s why I came back, more than anything. I couldn’t stand the thought of us being apart.”
“And I love you too, baby. I always will.” The first mate paused, and looked into Wash’s eyes. “But … you know I’m not sly. Girls don’t curl my toes the way you used to. Not even a girl as sexy as you are now.”
The pilot looked down, and then nodded. “I know. The minute I got past the shock of being a woman, I knew it wasn’t ever going to be the same. It took a while to sink in all the way, but ... I know.”
“You’re cute when you blush, fly girl.” She smiled. “I can’t believe my husband is hotter than I am.”
Wash shook her head. “It’s like vanilla and chocolate, lamby toes. Both sweet, in different ways.” River laughed, and the pilot blushed a deeper red. “I can’t believe I said that. Hell, I can’t believe I thought that.”
“You are pretty sweet, you know,” Zoe said, reaching across and taking her hand. “You make a damned fine woman. Funny thing, though. I can still see the man I loved in you, now that I know where to look, and what to look for.”
“So, where does that leave us?”
The first mate gave her hand a squeeze.
“Friends, for sure,” she replied. “And if you plan on being Jayne’s woman, you’re going to need all the friends you can get.”
“I didn’t plan it.” Wash looked at Zoe and summoned up a small smile. “Any more than you planned to be mine. But I’m sitting here, and weird as it sounds, I do love him. At the same time, the thought of being with him ... like that, it’s –”
“Terrifying.” River spoke up. “And exciting. And exhilarating.”
Zoe and Wash both turned and looked at her. River shrugged.
“I don’t have to be a reader to figure that out. For Wash, it’s the last irrevocable step towards womanhood. She has to take it, and she wants to. But it commits her, both to Jayne and to being Linda. So it’s scary.”
“It’s all manner of weird that you can just do that,” Wash said, looking at the younger girl. “Go walking through the inside of my head like it’s a park on Osiris.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true, does it?” River grinned. The pilot sighed.
“No, you’re right. I’ve come to accept being Linda … being a woman. But admitting I love Jayne crossed a line, and there’s only one line left to cross.”
Zoe reached over and took her hand. “I’ll help, baby. You know that. And it's not like it's ever been an easy line to cross, not even if you're born female. The first time is always something special, and also a little bit frightening. But at the same time, most girls know deep inside that this is what they were built for. The scary stuff is wondering if you picked the right guy, and if he'll be gentle, and if it will hurt, and what will it feel like if it doesn't hurt."
She gave Wash's hand a squeeze. "From what I can see, you picked the right guy, and he'll be so afraid of not treating you right he'll wind up taking it too slow ... and you'll probably get so frustrated, you’ll do anything to get him past treating you like you're made of glass."
Zoe stood up, and pulled the pilot to her feet.
"Right now, you need to do what Simon told you to do and rest."
"But --"
She put her finger on Wash’s lips. “I outrank you, dear. And Simon said you needed to rest tonight, not save the ship from certain doom. So go to bed ... now.” The first mate grinned. “After all, this may be the last night you get to sleep alone for a good long while.”
Wash looked at her ex-wife, and she felt her eyes fill up an instant before she suddenly pulled Zoe into a hug.
“This isn’t how it was supposed to be for us,” the pilot whispered. “It’s not fair.”
Zoe gave her a squeeze. “No, but it is what it is, baby. At least I’ve got you back. You’ve always been my best friend, and you still are. And I do want you to be happy, sweety, even if it is with Jayne.” She grinned. “So go to bed. We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”
The first mate took a step back, spun her former husband around and gave her a swat on the backside. “Now get.”
Wash looked back, gave her a shy smile, and headed for the crew quarters.
After she left, River and Zoe stood there for a while, silent.
“You’re very good,” the younger girl said softly. “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t suspect a thing.”
“Thank you,” Zoe replied, her voice flat with suppressed emotion. “Moving on is hard enough for . . . her, especially wrapped in a body like that. I’m not sure what else you expected me to do.”
“Nothing else you could do.” River moved closer and touched her arm. “It’s not like Chiang had much of a choice. Linda was available, and we needed Wash to be here, too. But I know it’s hard for you. It must feel like you’re losing him, all over again.”
Zoe’s jaw moved, just a little, and her whole body tensed an instant before she shook her head.
“I got him back,” she whispered. “Maybe not the way I hoped, but he’s not dead. I shouldn’t complain, but I want to, because she’s right. It’s not fair. But I learned a long time ago that what’s right and what is don’t usually share a bunk. In this Verse, you make your own luck, and you take what you can get. And I do want her to be happy. She’s a woman, now. Why should I stand between her and Jayne?”
The younger girl smiled, and nodded. “That’s about what I expected you to say.”
Zoe smiled back, a little sadly, and turned to go. River let her take a step before she spoke again.
“When are you going to tell her … about the baby?”
The first mate turned around, shocked. Her hand came up to touch her waist.
“How did you know?” she whispered. “Did you …?”
“Read you? No.” River shook her head. “Actually, a number of things gave it away, but to be fair, a few things helped you keep it a secret as long as you did. A woman’s first pregnancy doesn’t usually show as much in the early months, according to what I read on the Cortex. And you keep yourself very fit, so your stomach muscles did a lot to help you hide it for as long as you have. But you’re in the middle of your fourth month now, and it shows if you know what to look for. You’re walking a little differently, and half of your clothes haven’t left your cabin in weeks.”
Zoe lowered herself into a chair and sighed. “Who else knows?”
“Inara is pretty sure, and Kaylee suspects, but they both think it’s your secret to tell.” The younger girl sat across from her and took her hand. “Simon figured it out a while back but is working on respecting your privacy — although if you don’t come forward voluntarily in the next week or so, he is about ready to drag you into the med bay for a prenatal exam. Other than my brother, the men are totally clueless. Which is almost their natural state, come to think of it.”
She smiled, and Zoe smiled back. Her whole body relaxed, and they shared a silence.
“You are going to have to tell her, you know,” River said, and the first mate nodded.
“I will. She deserves to know first. After all, it’s her baby, too. But not now. She’d going through enough as it is.” Without thinking about it, Zoe’s other hand dropped and rested on her stomach, feeling the baby bump she knew she couldn’t hide for much longer. “Wash needs to get used to being Jayne’s woman before ...”
“Before she can let go of ever being a father,” River finished, “and learn to become an aunt. Or even a mother herself, someday.”
“Another reason not to tell her yet — at least not before she gets to lie down with Jayne, anyway.” The first mate smiled and patted where her child was growing. “After all, being reminded what’s supposed to happen when a woman and a man ... get together might make her hesitate, and we wouldn’t want that.”
“Not before she gets to feel why a woman might want to take that risk.” River nodded, and Zoe grinned back.
“Over and over again.”
When Wash woke up the next morning, there was a feeling of unreality surrounding her. It felt like the whole experience with the quantum black hole and Zoe finding out the truth could almost be just some kind of really vivid dream, and nothing at all would have changed for her.
But her shoulders ached in places they hadn’t right after the big damned rescue on Flynt, and she remembered Zoe’s reaction all too well from the night before. She felt tears rising, and pushed them back. Gods, she had missed Zoe so much, and had hated lying to her … especially after Zoe had made her peace with Linda taking Wash’s job.
‘But it’s different now,’ she thought as she washed herself, the cloth running over her now all-too-familiar curves. ‘She’s more than a sister, even more than a friend. But she’s not mine anymore. And I’m … I’m Jayne’s. I’m his. Damn, that feels strange, even to think it. But it’s true.’
Wash felt her body reacting to the thought, and pushed it away.
‘If I don’t finish washing and get dressed, I’m going to miss breakfast. And the Captain woke everybody over the comms this morning and told everybody they needed to be there. Sounded like it was going to be important. I wonder if he felt the ship go into hard burn last night?’ She thought for a moment, then shook her head and stared rinsing off. ‘If he had felt it last night, he sure wouldn’t wait to the morning to start asking questions about it.’
She walked across the room and pulled some lingerie from the drawer, then turned to the closet and saw herself in the mirror. She turned slowly, then bent down and slipped her panties on. When they were seated properly, Wash turned sideways again, wondering whether there was a touch too much of her around the hips. As she put on her bra and settled her breasts in each cup, she found herself worrying about whether her chest was starting to sag a little.
“Oh, please! You’re so close to perfect it’s scary.”
Wash gasped and turned to find River’s head poking down from the ductwork above.
“You said you weren’t going to read me anymore!”
River did a perfect roll from the ceiling, landing lightly on her feet.
“I didn’t read your mind, Linda,” she replied. “I read your face. I’ve seen that expression on my own face often enough to know what it means. I’ve never met a woman who was truly satisfied with how she looks. Congratulations, honey. You really are one of us now.”
The younger girl hugged her gently, and Wash wondered how to respond to a hug delivered while she was almost naked. River pulled back and grinned.
“You hug me back, silly!”
Wash shrugged, smiled back, and gave her a hug in return.
“Good. Now get dressed in something special, and climb on out of your room. Breakfast is waiting, and so is Jayne.”
“Something special?”
“Your man is waiting for you outside your door,” River said, springing back up into the ceiling, facing back towards the common room. She stuck her head back down. “He’s been there for a while. And it’s the morning of the first day of your life as his woman. You want him to remember why he’s waiting, and never forget how lucky he is to have you.”
She pulled her head back and the ceiling panel shut with a muted clang.
Jayne heard Linda’s door open, and the sound of her feet as she climbed the ladder up to the passageway where he waited. He saw her face when it appeared in the doorway, and the shy half-smile she showed him when she realized he was there. But his jaw dropped when she completed her climb and stood there in front of him.
‘That dress,’ he thought, his eyes taking her in from head to toe.
It was that yellow thing she wore on Boros, the one that wrapped all around her and hugged her body like a second skin, and Jayne saw her cheeks grow red as he took her in from head to toe. Her eyes lowered.
“Do you remember this dress?” she asked softly. He nodded, and she smiled. “Do you like it as much now as you did then?”
Jayne reached out and took her hand, then pulled her into him and kissed her. A lot.
Linda pulled back and looked up into his eyes, then took the edge of her thumb and rubbed a little lipstick off of the edge of his mouth.
“I guess I should take that as a yes,” she said with a grin. “I should’ve figured that would be how you’d answer, being the strong silent type and all.”
“Silent? You just wait until tonight, girl,” he replied, “and you’ll find out just how much noise this man can make in bed.”
She stood on her toes and kissed him gently on the lips, then put her arm in his.
“Keep talking like that, and I might not be able to wait until tonight.”
He froze for a minute, then stumbled after her as she started walking towards the kitchen, their arms still intertwined.
Mal and Inara were waiting for them, and Zoe walked in behind them, giving Wash a wink and a smile. Simon and Kaylee arrived from the passenger quarters, with River a few steps behind. After giving Jayne and Linda a quick glance, followed by a suppressed smile, he turned back to the table.
“I got two things to say this morning. First things first. I woke up last night ‘cause I thought I felt Serenity go into hard burn. Maybe it was a dream, maybe it wasn’t, but I don’t want to take any chances with my boat. Kaylee, I need you to check the engine and control systems, make sure the ship ain’t getting all notional about wantin’ to fly her own self.”
The mechanic nodded. “Sure will, Captain. Thought I felt somethin’, too, … though that might have been Simon going into hard burn instead of the ship.” She grinned, and the ship’s doctor turned red.
Linda looked at Zoe, then River. Zoe gave her the barest shake of her head, while River spoke directly into her mind. “Kaylee won’t find anything wrong, since the ship did exactly what you asked her to do. No sense getting the captain worrying about quantum black holes, so best keep quiet, jei mei.”
“Now for the second thing before we get down to the real business of breakfast, which is eatin’.” He looked at everyone, then cleared his throat. “Inara isn’t going to be renting her shuttle from us anymore.”
Five of the six crew members around the table began to speak simultaneously, River being the sole exception, but the protests only lasted a second or two before Mal raised his hand flat out, and the group fell silent.
“She ain’t renting the shuttle because she’s decided to stop being a Companion and officially become part of the crew. Sometimes I will admit, I tend to let Serenity Valley … affect my command decisions a mite. Her job is going to be making sure my hate for the Alliance don't wind up making us all dead.”
“The official title is Ambassador,” Inara said softly, letting her hand rest on Mal’s. “I’m just a resource for the Captain, really. I’ll let him know the lay of the land on some of the Core planets, maybe send me ahead sometimes to smooth things out before Serenity comes down.”
“Well, that’s a good place for you.” Zoe smiled. “Right by his side, keepin’ him out of trouble.”
“Not to mention the rest of us.” Mal grinned back and ducked his head. “Anything she can do to help a few more of our plans go smooth would be a kindness, and that’s a fact.”
River raised her hand.
“Got somethin’ to add, little albatross?” Mal said with a smile.
“There’s something Inara could probably help with right away,” River replied, smiling back. “I did move a lot of currency through a lot of banks in a hurry, and it might be nice to clean it up and make it all legal looking before someone wants to know where it all came from.”
“And how much exactly is a lot?” Jayne asked, earning him a nudge from Linda’s elbow.
The younger Tam pursed her lips.
“Too much, I think. I let my fingers have their way, and moved far more than I should have.” River’s eyes turned serious as she focused on Jayne. “Greed tends to be dangerous to the people who let it drive them, as I’m sure you know, Jayne.”
He nodded and looked down at the table top. Linda looked at River for a second, then put her hand on Jayne’s and gave it a squeeze.
“Just as long as we got enough coin to keep us flyin’, I’m happy,” he said. “As long as we took enough from those lecherous humps on Flynt to make ‘em hurt, that’ll do.”
“Not to worry.” River smiled again. “If the gas ever wears off, they won’t stop crying, I can guarantee that.”
Jayne nodded and turned his hand over, squeezing Linda’s in turn. River turned back to Mal. “Also, Captain, there is the possibility you may not need an Ambassador. In fact, considering how much I did take, you might want to reconsider your career options.”
Mal raised an eyebrow.
“If you put together all the accounts that I set up on Osiris,” she said, “there would be enough zeros on the end of the balance to restart the old Allied Spacecraft Corporation production line, build and buy a hundred brand new Firefly transports from scratch … and have enough left over to crew ‘em, fuel ‘em, and fly ‘em around in circles for the next three hundred years.”
The whole room froze. Mal's jaw dropped.
“And if that’s what you want to do with your share,” she continued with a grin, “you might want to consider promoting yourself to Admiral … Sir.”
Firefly: Changing Course | Part 3: Navigating in the Black
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In the third part of FIREFLY: CHANGING COURSE, several crew members deal with what it means to navigate in places they’ve never been, and River’s hacking skills could force the crew to chart a course back to a place that’s never been lucky for them in the past.
CHANGING COURSE
Part 3: Navigating in the Black
This is a fan fiction set in the Firefly/Serenity universe created by Joss Whedon. It takes place after the events in the television series and the companion motion picture that followed, and is also the third part of a sequel to Firefly: Double Booked, which was in turn a sequel to Firefly: Connecting Flight. This means it might have SPOILERS, folks, and major ones at that. So please don't read this unless you get the chance to see the series and the movie -- and read my first two Firefly stories.
It was dead silent in the Captain’s cabin, except for the occasional clicking and beeping of his terminal. After a while, Inara looked up from the screen. Mal looked back from where he sat on his bunk, and his raised eyebrow held the question he couldn’t bring himself to ask.
“River wasn't lying,” she said softly, looking at her man and wondering why he was so quiet. “If anything, she may have been underestimating how much she took.”
“I’m still not seein’ how it happened.” He rose to his feet and paced across the small space. “How could she get so gorram much? It's just a little moon.”
“It was an Alliance black ops moon, Mal. They built themselves an entire colony, funded with money no one knew existed. They terraformed an entire moon, just to test an airborne form of targeted mind control. Do you know how much that must have cost? And it was just the beginning. They built entire cities, like Persephone in miniature. Linda said the air traffic control systems they were using were way more than a little city like Hustler would need. If the Alliance gave a little moon like Flynt something like that, why not a planetary treasury to go with it?”
“She said she didn’t take it all.”
“You’re right, she didn’t. She was smart, and left more than enough behind to cover us taking anything at all.” Inara tapped the screen. “But the treasury wasn’t her only source. Flynt was full of wealthy and influential men, convinced to move to the middle of nowhere with the promise of a huge estate and an army of personal sex slaves. They came … and they brought access to their money with them.”
“So she also pulled millions from the accounts of each of those wealthy ‘citizens’ and sent it off on the Cortex along with the treasury money ... into thousands of untraceable numbered accounts all over the Alliance.”
“That much? Without leavin' a trail?”
Inara nodded. “River erased all the evidence of her transactions, at least as far as I can tell. She's very, very good, but that isn't a surprise. She was a genius before the Alliance got their hands on her. According to Simon, she's gifted, which means she gets very, very good at anything she puts her mind to.”
“So you're tellin' me … everything’s shiny?
“As far as I can tell, yes,” she replied. “For now. We’re going to have to find a way to make that money usable, but between River’s skills and my Companion training, we should be able to do it.”
“So we're living high, and no one’s the wiser.” He sat back down on his bunk and stared into space. “Huh.”
After a moment, Inara rose and walked over to sit beside him. “For the first time in a long time, we’re in the black in more ways than one,” she said.
Inara looked at him, seeing a tension she couldn't understand.
“What's wrong, Mal? This is good ... isn't it?”
He smiled, but there was little joy in it. “Looks like, but I just don’t know. Is it? Any time it seems like the Verse has cut us a break, it’s usually just settin’ us up to be slapped down hard.”
“There’s more to it, though, isn't there?”
The Captain nodded. “We’ve come more than a little ways from the bobble-headed dolls job, 'Nara. And maybe the air in these parts is a little too thin for my taste.”
He sighed, and Inara took his hand.
“Truth be told, I’m not sure what I’m supposed t’ do now. You and River say we’re all fùyù now, and everyone thinks that’s shiny. But you know me. I’m not the kinda man who does well not doin’ anything. With that much money lyin’ around, any job is make-work, and I don’t want to go through life pretendin’ I’m doin’ somethin’.”
“You won’t have to, Mal.” She looks down for a moment, then gives his hand a squeeze. “Tell me, what exactly are you thinking of doing with all that money?
“I'm not sure what to do, 'Nara. It's not like I enjoyed living on the raggedy edge, but you've got to admit it was an interestin' neighborhood, most of the time.”
He looked at her, and she could see the confusion in his eyes. “And I’ve seen what havin’ that kind of bank balance does to other men, and women. They turn into the kind of folks I’d just as soon not be, and that’s a fact.”
He shrugged. “So I ain't got the first idea what I’m gonna do. If you do, I'm hopin' you'll let me in on it.”
Inara smiled, and hugged him gently. “It’s not as bad as you think it is, Mal. I think you need to see wealth differently.”
He smiled and returned her hug, giving her forehead a soft kiss. “Not about to argue with you, ‘Nara. We both know this won’t be the first time you schooled me. Pretty sure it won’t be the last.”
“First, you need to see that money doesn’t have any kind of evil power. It doesn’t turn people into monsters. It just makes it easier for them to become monsters if that’s the kind of folks they are … or if they don’t see the danger. People like Niska – or Magistrate Higgins, or even Atherton Wing – they see money as a way to gain and hold power over others, because that’s who they are inside.”
The Captain nodded. “Right enough.”
“But then there are people like Sir Warwick Harrow,” she continued. “He may have wanted to hire someone to smuggle his cattle, true. But he was also a good man. He wouldn’t do business with Badger, because he knew Badger was … what did he call him?”
“A psychotic lowlife.” Mal grinned. “Nice turn of phrase, that. And true, in so many ways.”
She nodded. “But when Harrow saw the way you dealt with Atherton, he saw the good in you, too. He realized you might be a man of honor, despite your … association with Badger. He saw you as someone he could trust.”
Inara turned slightly and looked up at her man. “I’m going to ask you something now, and I want you to be totally honest. No hiding behind the man you used to want people to think you were.”
It was Mal’s turn to nod, although he hesitated for a few seconds before he agreed.
“Suppose we didn’t have this money,” she said slowly, “and two jobs came your way at exactly the same time. The first one paid more, but didn’t do anybody a lick of good. Just moving cargo, that’s all. The second job paid quite a bit less, but it got food and medicine to a colony out on the raggedy edge of the Rim. Which one would you choose?”
When the Captain hesitated again, she squeezed his hand. “Honestly, Mal … which job?”
He sighed. “The second one.”
“See? Money doesn’t have any hold over you. It never has. Because you are a good man. When you lost in Serenity Valley, it hurt you so much that you ran away from the man you were when you fought there. But Malcolm Reynolds always was – and still is – a determined cuss, and he chased you for years until the family you found here on this ship made you realize you couldn’t run anymore.”
She put her head on his shoulder. “You are who you are. Wealth isn’t going to change that. It’s just going to make it easier for you to do good … to be the good man you already are. You just need to figure out what you want to do to make the Verse a better place – and how you can put that money to work to help you get what you want.”
“Oh, is that all?” Mal smiled and kissed the top of her head. “You make it sound so easy.”
“You don’t have to do it alone, sah gwah. You know I’ll help.”
He held her close and buried his face in her hair. “I think you already have.”
Wash lay on her side, naked under a single sheet, and watched Jayne sleep.
‘Here I am, in a place I never thought I’d be, watching a man I never thought I could ever love snore,’ she thought, smiling. ‘In bed with Jayne. The Verse is truly a place of wonders. Either that, or the gods have a wicked sense of humor.’
She sighed softly, thinking about the many times the two of them had slowly pleasured each other during the night. She had aches and pains in places she never thought she’d ever have, and a taste in her mouth that reminded her of some of the things she had done for her man that she never imagined she would. But she remembered too how it felt for her to make him moan like that — and some of the things he did to make her scream.
‘So that’s what it felt like for Zoe, in the time that was.’ Wash pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. ‘I won’t deny I was curious sometimes, about what it felt like for her, but I never imagined I’d ever really know.’
Parts of her wanted to slip out of bed, brush her teeth, and clean up a little bit. Being a woman was a whole lot messier than being a guy when it came to what came after making love, and both Wash and the Linda-That-Was felt like they’d rather wake Jayne up after they cleaned up a bit.
But when she began to slip out of bed, Jayne’s hand came over and rested on her hip with a small squeeze.
“Where you goin’, woman?” he muttered, his face half covered with his pillow.
“Want to clean myself up a bit is all,” Linda replied, slipping into a half imitation of Jayne’s twang. “Can’t blame a girl for wanting to be all fresh for her man, can you?”
Jayne pulled her to him and rolled into her, then kissed her hard while his arms wrapped around her tight.
“Your man is happy with his girl just the way she is, and that’s a fact.” He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. “Fresh is nice and all, but the way you are right now reminds me of all the fun things we did last night.”
He moved his mouth to an inch away from her ear, and whispered, “And if you clean up and we wind up doin' all those things again before you go off to fly some more, you’re just gonna get all messy again.”
Wash grinned and pulled back enough to look into Jayne’s eyes.
“Oh, I see,” she purred, feeling him getting hard under her. “Juss bein’ practical, Mister Cobb?”
“Sure enough, Miss Wehr.” He smiled at her, and she could see the love and playfulness in his face. “What the doc would call ‘fective time management,’ don’t ya agree?”
“Oh yes, I do!” She arched her back, then reached down under her and slid him inside her with a twitch and a roll of her hips. “Maybe we’d best stop wasting time then.”
“I do love the way you think, missy.”
“Well, I love the way you feel, mister.”
“Really? How ‘bout this?”
She laughed, and he kissed her, and in the end, no time was wasted at all.
The crew met on the flight deck, because it was supposedly Linda’s first time back at the controls, and she didn’t want to leave Serenity to fend for herself for a while.
’Yup,’ Zoe thought with a smile as she watched the pilot checking everything. ‘That’s my man in there still.’
Then she watched as Jayne moved behind her and gave her shoulder a squeeze, and she saw the look that passed over Wash’s face before her eyes closed for an instant. Zoe sighed.
‘Looks like she’s as much Linda as she is Wash now, and that difference is getting harder and harder to see. I’m going to have to get used to my man not being my man anymore.’
“Okay, everybody, here’s how it is.” Mal stood up by the forward console. “Inara says River moved a lot of cash, maybe more than she thought she had. What we need to do now is figure out a way to make it all look legit, and ‘Nara thinks that means we need to head into the Core.”
“Makes sense,” Simon said from the flight deck door, Kaylee leaning back into him. “A lot of financial requests coming in from the Rim could get flagged.”
“They didn’t last time.” River spoke from her position in the ceiling above Wash’s station. “I was careful.”
“Yes, you were, mei mei,” the doctor replied, “but if we want things to go smooth when it comes to hiding all those credits in plain sight, being in the Core will give us less lag time for a large series of transactions.”
“Simon is right,” Inara said from her position next to Mal. “But more than this, we need someone to actually go down to either Sihnon or Londinum and set up a corporation in person, before we start moving the currency. They’re where the major exchanges are located, and either one would be a good place for us to incorporate when it comes to taxes.”
“Londinum is more conservative, and tends towards investors who want long-term growth possibilities.” River lowered herself to the deck, the exertion not affecting her speech at all. “While Sihnon is where risk-takers are likely to invest. So are we privately held turtles waiting out the end of the Verse, or are we privately funded venture capitalists out to change things and make a profit doing it?”
“That question alone raises another one,” Zoe said, leaning against the wall. “And this one is more important. Just what are we planning to do with all this money? Londinum makes more sense than Sihnon if we’re gonna live off the creds from the investment, but it seems a mite strange to start a corporation at all if we’re just going to split it up and go our separate ways.”
“The idea is to protect the money first by putting it somewhere that automatically makes it legitimate.” Inara took Mal’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “As the investment capital of a potential money-making enterprise, the credits will no longer exist as stolen currency. They will be real in the eyes of the Alliance, so if they ever come looking for what was taken, they won’t find it here.”
“As for what we’re planning to do once we’ve covered our tracks?” Mal looked down for a second, then squared his shoulders and raised his head. “I’ve got some ideas of what I want to do with the cash, or at least my share, but I don’t want to keep any of you from leaving if that’s what you want to do. I’ll wish you well if you go. After all, the Verse ain’t the safest place for us on this boat, and maybe finding a shiny hole somewhere to hide in might be appealing after running for so long.”
“But seems to me after all we’ve been through together that we’re a lot more than just a crew, and I sure enough don’t want to lose that. We’re stronger together than we are apart, and there are a lot of things we can do to make a difference in the Verse, if you’re willing to stay. For now, let’s just keep the creds away from the Alliance, and we’ll figure the rest out later. Makes sense?”
There was a small silence, and everyone nodded.
“The key to setting up this corporation is to give each of us a second identity.” Inara rose and stepped over to one of the side displays on the flight deck. Touching the screen, alternate bios for each of them came up, changing every few seconds. “These shadow people will serve as the investors for the corporation. Either exchange will hold their identities secret, after confirming that the investors are in fact real.”
“Why would they do that?” Kaylee looked confused. “That doesn’t sound like something the feds would like too much, seein’ as how they’re all about being in other people’s business.”
River grinned. “They don’t like it, jei mei, not at all But the megacorps that funded the exodus from Earth That Was made some conditions when it came to how things were going to work once we got here. Business is business, and the feds understand that they don’t get to see every business dealing free and clear. When senators can be bought and sold by Blue Sun or some other system-wide company, it’s a safe bet that’s not going to change much.”
Jayne spoke up for the first time. “So how are we going to make these ‘shadow people’ real?”
“Once we’re in the Core, I’ll put them into official records the same way I created alternate registry IDs for Serenity.” River smiled. “I already created them, based on our physical descriptions and the records of some of the oldest families in the Alliance.”
“Wait — we’re all going to be shareholder descendants?” Simon shook his head. “How? They’re the most documented people in the Alliance! New ones can’t just show up out of thin air.”
“Not from the branches of the family on the Core worlds, big brother. But every Founding family has its black sheep. There were branches that disagreed with the decisions made by the Founders when we arrived here. They broke away from their families and went their separate ways. I just tracked down the ones that nobody cares much about anymore and …added a few leaves.”
“So instead of the line ending where it used to, it continues with one of our shadow identities,” Inara said, returned to Mal’s side. “No one will dare question how any branch of one of the Founding Families has this kind of money to invest in a new opportunity.”
“And they really don’t care what that opportunity is?” Zoe sounded doubtful.
“It isn’t their business to care,” River replied. “In fact, their charters explicitly prohibit being involved in any way once a corporation is registered. They are supposed to remain completely impartial. No advice. No warnings. Just provide notification of the existence of the corporation, plus secrecy and security concerning its actions.”
“So, what next, Cap’n?” Kaylee looked at Mal.
“We find ourselves a place to fuel up, then head into the Core,” he replied, then stood up and headed for the flight deck door with Inara close behind. When he reached the door, he stopped and turned.
“And Kaylee? When we get to a supply depot, see if they’ve got any sound insulation we can use.” He looked at Jayne and Linda, and smiled, just a little. “Things have been a mite noisy in the crew quarters lately, and the rest of us need to sleep once in a while, dohn mah?”
He turned to go, and Inara looked back in apology as Linda’s cheeks burned red. Then she followed after him and punched him in the shoulder.
“Mal! Behave!”
As their voices moved down the corridor, Mal replied, “Maybe someone should tell them that, ‘Nara. They’re louder than Kaylee and the Doc, and that’s a fact.”
Zoe looked over at Jayne and Linda and smiled. Linda began fiddling with the controls, blushing even harder, while Kaylee grinned and Simon sighed.
NOTE: Sorry it took so long, Browncoats! This is what happens when you have way too many ideas and too few minutes in a day, for WAY too many days in a row. – Randalynn
Force of Will
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Will Slater wants to be as popular as his older brother John, the high school’s star quarterback. He thinks he’s found a way to make his dreams come true. The trouble with dreams is that they tend to go off in directions you'd least expect — and for most folks, trying to steer a dream can turn it into a nightmare, or take you places you'd never thought you'd go.
or control the firm resolve of a determined soul.” — Ella Wheeler Wilcox
The boy sat in the back seat, halfway between frustrated and disappointed. The family went to all of John's games every week, even the away games like this one. It made sense. After all, his older brother was the quarterback, and of course they’d want to cheer him on.
But weeks after the tryouts, it still hurt that Will couldn't be a part of it, no matter how hard he tried.
John wasn't mean about it or anything. He loved his brother very much, even if they didn't move in the same circles at school. But the younger boy was just too small and skinny to ever make the team. Will knew it, but had to try out anyway. He was persistent to a fault, although the word stubborn was also perfectly acceptable. He thought that his desire to make the team would overcome any obstacle.
Of course, he was wrong. But hopefully, with a little luck and a lot of thought, being wrong — and being the Will he’d always been — would both wind up as nothing more than unpleasant memories.
Will Slater had been doing research on philosophy for a school project, and discovered solipsism, the belief that there is no proof anything exists except for the contents of an individual's mind -- his or her thoughts, feelings, perceptions, whatever.
Will knew that the concept was rubbish, since what there was of the world outside of his head kept reminding him where he stood, sometimes forcibly. But hidden away in the back of the thirty-year-old text he had found in the library was a reference to a breakaway movement from solipsism -- a splinter group that believed perception did more than just validate existence. In fact, with determined effort, they believed it could reinvent reality.
They believed a person could remake the universe with the power of his mind.
The idea gripped Will almost immediately. He had always been intelligent and thoughtful, to the point where he often spent entire afternoons in his room, just thinking about the world and his place in it. He envied John, with his circle of friends and his busy life. Will had few friends, since he had always been awkward socially, and so he spent most of his time alone, wishing there was more to his world than books and solitude. But perhaps, with a bit of thought, he could change things for the better, and wind up out on the football field with his brother.
After all, if there was one thing Will was good at, it was thinking.
Stubborn as he was, Will spent days pouring through little-known texts in distant libraries through the Internet, trying to learn as much as he could about a group most modern historians discounted as “clearly insane.”After he had assembled an “instruction manual”of sorts, he had worked every minute he could spare on achieving that state of mental clarity they insisted he needed — the first step towards the all-encompassing vision he could use to make what was into what Will wanted it to be.
Now, at last, two days after another lonely Halloween watching horror movies all night in his room, Will was ready to try again, and hopefully succeed.
The boy closed his eyes and focused his mind, pushing all other sensations away and opening himself wide. The noise of the engine, the tires on the road, the music from the radio ... all faded as Will launched himself into the unknown. After a few moments of drifting, he suddenly felt the entire universe unfold before him. Totality rushed through him like a cold wind, taking him by surprise.
It was working!
He tried desperately to reach out and hold everything as it shot past him. At the same time, he fought to remember his goal, and bent his mind to changing his world, his life ... to becoming the person he wanted to be.
The person he should have been.
Will imagined becoming taller, stronger, more athletic, more popular. He thought about walking down the halls in school, running onto the football field with the team, listening to the crowds cheer. He smiled, thinking about the new Will, admired and loved, with pretty girls rushing into his arms instead of running away . . . someone to love . . . and be loved in return . . .
Mmmmm, girls. His mind drifted to thoughts of his brother's girlfriend, and he sighed with longing. She was so nice, so pretty . . . those deep blue eyes . . . that warm smile. And so sweet and kind . . . everybody loved her . . . what must it be like to be so beautiful . . .
"Wake up, Will! We're almost there!"
He awoke with a jerk, panicking as a wave of long brunette hair swung to cover his face. Clawing it aside, he looked down at the round firm breasts that pushed out the front of his red cheerleader sweater as it clung to his tiny frame like a second skin. His eyes traveled to the narrowness of his waist, then followed downward to his wide full hips. They were wrapped in a pleated white skirt that covered the tops of smooth athletic legs -- and then he felt the absence of anything tucked between them.
"Shit!" She yelled, shocked and frightened. Her clear soprano voice shook her to the core.
"Willow Ann Slater!" The woman in the passenger seat turned and snapped. "You watch your language, young lady, or you'll spend the game in this car instead of on the field, cheering for your brother!"
She looked down, her face red. "Yes, Mom," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm sorry."
The mother looked at her daughter, suddenly concerned. She reached out a hand and touched the girl's shoulder softly. "Is something wrong, honey? You look . . . so sad."
The cheerleader shook her head, still not looking up. "No, ma'am. It was just . . . a dream I had, that's all. A silly dream ... that turned bad."
A single tear fell.
Willow bit her lip as the car took the exit off of the interstate. She looked at her shadowy reflection in the car window, her sadness becoming anger so quickly it almost took her by surprise.
'It was all right there!' She glared at her reflection, hating herself for her failure at something this important. 'How could I have screwed up so badly? And more important, how did I wind up a she?'
Instead of looking angry, the girl in the car window looked like she might start crying again. In an instant, Willow pulled up short and looked at what she'd been doing. Making herself feel worse certainly wasn't going to help the situation, and she apologized to her reflection with a small smile. The girl smiled back, and Willow shook her head.
'Silly game,' she thought, her smile growing wider. 'It's almost like I’m flirting with myself.
Willow lowered her chin and looked up through her eyelashes, watching her reflection do the same. Still, it's not so bad, she mused. At least I'm a pretty girl. But why I ended up a girl at all is still a mystery.'
'In the end, it doesn't really matter,' she realized suddenly. 'The point is, it WORKED! I actually changed reality! And if I did it once, I can do it again. I can fix this!'
Suddenly happy, Willow closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She tried to center herself and let the world around her slip away, just as she had a few moments before. Unfortunately, a series of unexpected distractions made concentration impossible. Her long thick brown hair fell over her shoulders in soft curls, tickling the back of her neck. The cool breeze from her father's open window swept over her bare legs, caressing them and ruffling the edge of her skirt. Every breath raised her chest, making her aware of the not-quite-tight sports bra she wore under her bright red sweater.
Willow sighed and opened her eyes. Her mind was so caught up in her girl she'd become that she couldn't even begin to reach for the all-encompassing vision that brought her to this body in the first place. Just being was enough to throw her off. She would just have to get a little more comfortable with who she was now, before she could tune out the distractions and make things right.
‘But I will get what I want,’ she thought, her determination causing her to throw her shoulders back and lift her chin.
Pulling a stray piece of hair out of her eyes, Willow looked out the window and tried to settle in her new skin, not realizing how quickly and easily her body and mind leaped to comply.
The car pulled into the parking lot of the school where the team was playing today. Without a thought, she popped the door and slid out, being careful to make sure her skirt fell properly. Even though she wore a thick panty that matched the color of her sweater over her real underwear, old habits Willow didn't even know she had made her smooth her skirt all around. Without thinking, she stood straight, shoulders back and chest out, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Maybe for Willow, it was. The thought made the new girl shiver.
She noticed with a shock that she was a few inches taller than Will, around 5’6”in her sneakers, and realized that she had asked to be taller a few minutes (and a lifetime) ago. She sighed.
"Hey, princess!" Willow turned and looked at her dad. "Don't forget your kit." He smiled and pointed at the back seat.
"Thanks, Daddy," she said, smiling back and reaching in for the lavender gym bag. 'Daddy? What's up with that? I haven't called him Daddy since I was six. And why am I smiling?'
The answer came even before she finished asking herself the question. 'Because he smiled at me first. Dad never smiles at me — well, the me I used to be. Not anymore. It's like I'm more of a problem than I am a son. I'm the one who hides and thinks too much. I know he loves Will. I'm just not sure he likes him much.'
As she closed the door and turned, she thought, 'He really does seem to like Willow, though.'
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement that was almost too quick to follow. But by the time she managed to look where she thought something had been, there was nothing.
Willow felt someone touch on her arm.
"Are you okay, honey?" She turned to see the concern in her mother's eyes, and the fact that she was actually worried for Willow made her all warm inside. All she wanted to do was make her feel better.
"I'm fine, Mom," she replied with a smile. "It was just a bad dream, that's all."
"Really? You seemed so upset!" Her mother stared into her eyes, as if searching for something she could fix.
"Really!" Willow laughed, and without thinking about it at all, she reached out and hugged her mother. Surprised, her Mom hugged her back, and Willow realized that the older woman needed reassurance because she loved her children and wanted everything to be perfect for them. She blinked away a tear or two, then slipped a smile onto her face as she pulled back to look into her mother’s eyes.
"Don’t worry, Mom," the teenager said softly, with a gentle squeeze. "It's a beautiful day for a game, and I’m not going to let something as silly as a bad dream keep me and my team from cheering up a storm!"
"Rats!" Her Dad said, closing his door. "And I forgot to bring an umbrella!"
Both Willow and her Mom groaned as her father grinned. Then they all started walking towards the school, mother and daughter arm in arm.
It took only a few steps before Willow realized that moving in her new body felt completely normal, even as the boy she used to be noticed that the concept of normal had changed. She felt strong and healthy -- full of energy, with a surprising bounce in her step. The slight shifting of her chest and the swaying of her hips as she crossed the parking lot felt perfectly natural, and she loved the way her hair felt when it brushed her shoulders, and the swish of the skirt against her thighs.
In fact, everything felt exactly as it should ... which seemed extremely odd to Willow, since everything has changed so radically only a short while ago. She started thinking about it, but wasn’t able to get far.
"Willow!" A shout came from the direction of the gym. Will turned to see three girls dressed in cheerleader uniforms running across the lawn. “We need you! Amber twisted her ankle getting off of the bus! There’s no way she can lead us today!”
Willow felt a flash of concern. She was worried about Amber ... and the Will she was barely knew the girl! Just how far did this change go?
“Is she okay?”she asked as the other girls reached her.
“She’s in pain, and royally pissed that she can’t cheer today,”Wendy said, then lowered her head for a second. “Sorry, Mister and Miz Slater.”
“It’s all right, dear,”Willow’s Mom said, “I’d be royally pissed, too.”
Wendy looked up and saw Mrs. Slater smile. She blushed and smiled back, then turned back to Willow.
“She wants you to lead the squad today.”
“Me?”The whole weight of her new world seemed to drop on her shoulders in an instant. She’d never led anyone in ANYTHING, back when she was Will. No one ever wanted her to, before.
“Yes, you!”Deborah (never Debbie, Will/Willow remembered) stepped forward and put her arm around her teammate. “Come on, girl. You’re the one who put most of the routines together and worked with Amber and the squad for hours to make them perfect. You’re the natural choice to take over.”
“Yeah, Will!”Lisa said, grabbing Willow’s hand. “It’s only a few minutes before game time. We need to get out there and get the crowd going!”
Will looked helplessly over at his parents, even as memories began rising to the surface — memories she shouldn’t have. The details for all the cheers began filtering into her brain, along with which girl did what, and a possible order for the cheers. She could almost feel her own body moving in her spot in the squad, as if muscle memory was thrown into the mix.
‘I guess this is what happens when you change reality,’ she thought, her mind spinning. ‘It winds up changing you, too.’
“Better get going, Willow,”Dad said with a smile. “Your team needs you. Time to be a hero!”
Will threw a reluctant smile back at her father and let the other girls pull her back towards the gym at a run. None of this was as it should have been, but that didn’t matter now.
They needed her ... and they were her friends.
“Give ‘em a yell, now, Bulldogs!”
“BULL-DOGS!”
‘Let’s give ‘em hell now, Bulldogs!”
“BULL-DOGS!”
The cheerleaders moved in unison, the initial line spreading wider as they did synchronized jumps, with Willow at the center. When they were far enough apart, they alternated high kicks with hand claps and called out together.
“Show ‘em you love ‘em!”kick, clap, clapclapclap
“No one can defeat ‘em!”kick, clap, clapclapclap
“The Tigers can’t beat ‘em!”kick, clap, clapclapclap
“Bulldogs!!”
And the crowd stood up and roared again.
“BULL-DOGS!!”
They burst into applause and the cheerleaders broke formation and ran back to the bench to catch their breath.
Amber was sitting there, her ankle elevated and wrapped.
“You girls are hot tonight! Terrific job, Willow!”she said, smiling.
“I’m just doing what you’d be doing if your ankle wasn’t hurt,”Willow replied, patting at her face with a towel so as not to mess her make-up. “Except I’m scared half to death I’m going to make a mistake.”
“And you think I’m not?”Amber laughed. “Girl, it comes with being the leader. But you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re doing great!”
“Yeah, Will, you totally rock!”Lisa hugged her from behind, and the other girls all came over and wrapped around her in a big group hug. This much positive emotion all at once (and all aimed at her) had Willow almost in tears.
‘These girls love me,’ she thought, hugging anyone within reach. ‘Why did I have to become a girl to have someone feel this way about me?’
And why did the thought of leaving them all when the night was through ... make her feel so sad?
“Come on, team, back to work!”Amber called from over on the bench. “The ‘dogs can’t win without us!”
“You got that right!”Deborah responded. “Come on, Will! Which cheer do we do next?”
As the hug broke up, Willow caught another flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned to look, but it was gone.
“That was totally awesome!”Amber hobbled into the girl’s locker room, smiling and hugging everyone she could reach. “Bulldogs still rule! And if we didn’t put ‘em on the throne, we did our best to make sure they stayed there tonight!”
“And we owe it all to Willow!”Deborah said, pulling off her sweater and dropping it on the bench beside her. “Thanks for stepping up and stepping in, girl.”
“We were lucky she was able to take my place.”Amber moved towards the center of the room. “There was always a chance something like tonight could happen, but we didn’t have a plan for when it DID happen, and that was a mistake. But I’m going to fix that right now.”
“Everybody agrees that Willow did a great job tonight, right?”
She looked around, and all the girls shouted “Yeah!”
“And she’s always been a great team member, right?”
“Yeah!”
“All in favor of making Willow co-captain of the cheerleader team?”
A chorus of happy sounds drowned out Willow’s surprised “Hey!”as the bulk of the team in various stages of undress hugged her in twos and threes. Willow looked over and Amber, and the team captain shook her head.
“Motion carried, girl.”Amber grinned. “You can’t back out now. Besides, you deserve it!”
Willow felt tears in her eyes, and blinked them back.
‘I’m not going to cry,’ she thought, even as her lip started to quiver. ‘It’s not real, after all. Well, it IS real, but once I get back to the totality, all this will be gone, replaced with what I wanted in the first place.’
As another few girls hugged her fiercely, she felt her resolve melt.
‘But that doesn’t make this any less real now,’ she realized, ‘and I was a good co-captain. I might as well enjoy my new position while it lasts.’
After showering and changing (which turned out to be a surprisingly innocent time for a boy who had never seen a naked girl before, let alone been one), Willow stepped out of the locker room dressed in a charcoal tube top with a thin white blouse over it, a white grey stripe ruffle mini skirt, and white ankle boots with a low heel.
She felt both pretty and embarrassed at the same time, since there was a lot more of her bare than the Will she was felt comfortable with. But all the other girls on the team said she looked hot, and who was she to disagree? After all, she’d only been a girl for a few hours. Still, Willow had packed this outfit before they’d left home — in the weird “never was”before everything changed.
She was doing her best not to think about how there could be a never-Willow who actually existed before Will created her. So she was surprised when a muscular arm slipped around her waist and held her gently. As she turned towards the arm’s owner, a combination of sense memory and a familiar smell washed over her and made her whole body feel like jelly. A warmth Will had never felt before spread through Willow’s insides an instant before she felt his lips on hers.
It was Will’s first kiss, but obviously not Willow’s, as she eagerly returned the loving attention of her boyfriend (boyfriend???). A century or two later, she pulled back to look into the eyes of her Jimmy, the boy Willow knew she just couldn’t live without. After a few seconds, she realized the whole team had stopped and watched.
“Damn, girl,”Amy said, a touch of jealousy in her voice. “Where can I get me one of those?”
“I don’t know,”Willow replied, the WiIl in her still overwhelmed by emotion, “but you can’t have this one. He’s so taken.”
She melted into him, and he just held her for a few second. She heard his reply rumbling through his chest.
“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”She felt him kiss the top of her head. “Now, we have a party to go to, right? Go Bulldogs!”
Willow opened her eyes slowly, thinking about everything that had happened last night. The kissing, the dancing, the partying, the hanging out ... the making out. She rolled over on her back and sighed. Damn, that boy was wonderful. John was at the victory party, too, watching everything Jimmy did to make sure he didn’t cross any lines with John’s little sister.
‘He didn’t have to cross any lines to make me feel ... mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.’ Willow felt her whole body warming up, and her nipples growing hard against her pajama top. ’I shouldn’t have done it, though. The more comfortable I feel here, the less easy it’s going to be to fix things. And I really can’t stay like this.’
“Why not?” A boy’s voice. In her room!
She sat up quickly, holding the blanket up over her chest and looked around. It took a few tries, but in the morning light, she saw a wavering outline of a human form sitting on the window bench. It cast a faint shadow, and had just enough substance for her to recognize who it was. Or rather, who it couldn’t possibly be.
“W...Will? Is that you?”
The figure cocked its head, as if thinking about its reply.
"Sort of,”it said. “I’m still me, but at the same time, I’m not. Not anymore. It’s kinda ... well, complicated.”
“What do you mean?”
“I'm not exactly real anymore, not since that stunt we pulled in the car. Truth is, I think I'm what's left of the you YOU used to be — the you we were yesterday morning. I guess you’d call me a quantum ghost ... an echo of a might-have-been. "
"How did we get from philosophy to physics? There should be only ONE me. How are you even possible?" Willow looked at the boy, confused. "I'M me. I mean, THIS me is me, isn't it? I mean ... oh, I don't know what I mean anymore.”
"I don't know, either." The boy sighed. "It doesn’t matter. All of this ... it’s supposed to be way over our heads. We just turned fifteen! Where do we get off thinking we can rewrite everything and change the world? Hell, I was surprised it actually worked at all!"
"I’m not sure worked is the right word,”the girl said, grabbing her bear and holding it against her breasts. "After all, I wound up like this.”
“It’s not too bad from where I’m sitting,”the ghost Will smiled. “Nice going, us!”
The girl in the bed pouted briefly, then sighed. “To be honest, it really hasn’t been all that bad from where I’m sitting. Being Willow, I mean.”
She shrugged. “But we both know this isn’t what we wanted when we started out, and I think I’m ready to try again. Now that I've finally relaxed into being Willow, I think I can almost reach out and touch the totality again. I can rewrite this world the way it should have been. The way I ... we should have been."
She closed her eyes and began to reach, feeling the edge of her earlier vision begin to swim into focus.
"NO!" The word broke her concentration enough that she opened her eyes in frustration and stared at the offending ghost. He had risen and taken a few steps towards her.
"No what?"
"You can't ... you shouldn't.”
"Why not?"
"Because ... because this ..." Will reached out a hand Willow barely felt as it brushed her own. "This is really what you wanted all along. What we wanted. I’ve been thinking about this since yesterday. If you go back in and try to change things, I know you'll just get another variation of this.”
"What are you talking about? I ... you ... we WANTED to be a girl?" Willow looked shocked. "I never wanted . . . where do you get off ... I'm a GUY, damn it! WE were a guy!"
"But we were never very good at it, were we?" The ghost sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, as if worried he would slip through it and wind up on the floor ... or worse, embedded in the mattress. "We always sucked at sports, and we never got along with the other guys. We never really got what it meant to be a guy, Willow, not once. And our best friends were always girls -- never girlfriends, just girl friends."
"You're crazy!" Willow scooted back on the bed, clutching at her bear.
"I'm YOU," Will countered snarkily, a grin creeping onto his face. "That means you're crazy too."
"I've got to be crazy to listen to you," she hissed. "All I ever wanted was to be like John. Popular, wanted, loved."
"That's just what you are now, isn't it?" Will said, the grin disappearing. "Besides, if that's what you truly wanted, why didn't you get it last night when you tapped the totality? Why did you wind up Willow instead of John II, the sequel?"
"I don't know!"
"Well, I do." The ghost stood up and walked to the window, then looked out onto the street. "I've been watching you since yesterday. I've seen you smile more in half a day than we smiled in all the time since grade school. I've had nothing to do but watch you be happy and think about what happened in the car earlier."
He faced the girl on the bed. "When we entered that solipsistic state, we wished for all the things we consciously wanted, and we got them, just as we asked. But subconsciously, we also wanted to be Willow. We didn't know it up here." He tapped his forehead. "But deep down, in our soul, a part of us always knew what was missing. Since the Universe doesn't care that our conscious mind and our subconscious mind had different agendas, you wound up Willow."
He reached forward and tried to touch her hand. “Think, Willow. That’s something we’ve always been good at, right? Just think about what I’m saying, and you’ll see I’m right.”
Willow looked at her old self, and realized that Will had no reason to lie. So she closed her eyes and thought about everything her other self had said. Could this really be what she wanted? To be a cheerleader surrounded by friends? With a boy who loves her? And Mom and Dad able to show her how they feel instead of awkwardly wondering how to treat her?
After a moment, she shook her head and sighed. She was happier, damn it. No matter how she tried to deny it, her other self was right. She wanted to be Willow. She needed to be Willow.
And so she released her hold on her old life, and admitted the truth.
She was Willow. She always had been, and now, she always would be.
Will saw the realization and smiled.
"Good girl," he said, and watched her smile back. "Go and be happy. We both know you've earned it."
"But what about you?"
He shook his head. "I'm not really here, remember? I'm just an echo. The minute you let go of that vision of totality that brought us here, and fully accept that Willow is who you are and will be, I'll go back to being a never-was -- a might-have-been that didn't make the cut. I'm pretty sure that's what's been keeping me here -- because you never fully accepted what happened."
"But I have, now."
"Yes, you have. But you're still holding onto the totality — to that vision of EVERYTHING that brought us both here. That means the potential for you to go back to being me still exists. That’s all I am — potential. You need to let that go, so you can let me go, and get on with your life.”
Willow looked at the boy she used to be.
"You wanted to be Willow, too," she said softly. "Even if you didn’t know it, you do now. You wanted this life, just as much as I did.”
“And I got it," Will replied, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "We got it, through you. I'm just an unhappy memory now."
"No! You're real!" The words escaped before she could stop them.
"No, I’m not," he whispered. "I'm already fading. I'm Heisenberg's uncertainty, a figment of probability. Schrodinger’s cat played by Casper the Friendly Ghost. Face the truth, Willow. I’m just a possibility that neither of us wants to ever come true again. You can't save me."
She watched him start to disappear, and tears began to fill her eyes. But somewhere inside her, the sadness flashed into anger. The anger struck a few sparks, and an idea was born. And the part of Will where his stubborn had always come from shifted into overdrive.
"I can't?" She grinned at her old self, then leaned back and closed her eyes. "Just watch me."
With a mind-numbing click, the totality returned to wrap itself around her and rush through her as it did before. Once again she reached for it all and focused. This time, everything bent and twisted, but she’d been here once before, and experience is a great teacher. She hung on to her vision of what could be, then reached out and dragged her quantum ghost into the mix, tying it to a single probability she wanted more than anything. She felt it coming ... coming ... and
... gone. The vision faded so quickly, it took her breath away.
But a startled gasp from a few feet away made her smile, and she opened her eyes and looked across the room to see ... herself.
The other girl was touching herself all over, not really believing it was true. She was Willow’s twin, except Willow’s pajamas were yellow, and the new girl’s PJs were pink.
"How ... how did you do that?"
Willow stood up and walked over to her other self.
"Like you said, I had the totality right there, just waiting for me to use it. I never completely let it go, even when I knew you were right about being Willow. But I realized one thing was missing, and this time, when I went in, I had a different goal in mind. Not to change who I was, but to save who I used to be. So I told the universe in no uncertain terms that what I wanted more than anything was a twin sister ... and I made sure that sister was you."
“Welcome home.”Willow gave her new sister a hug, and after a few seconds, her twin hugged her back. The sensation of two sets of breasts pressed together made her gasp.
"Whoa. That's going to take some getting used to." She wandered over, slightly dazed, and sat on the bed she was sure wasn’t there a few moments ago — a twin to Willow’s bed where a bookcase once stood.
"You'd be surprised how normal it’s going to feel," Willow said with a smile. "After the third or fourth hug yesterday, it was just the way things were ... and now I know it was the way they were always supposed to be."
A woman’s voice called up from below.
“Willow! Wynona! Breakfast is ready!”
“Okay, Mom,”Willow replied with a grin.
The new girl cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “Wynona? Is that the best you could do?”
“Don’t blame me,”Willow replied, putting both hands in the air. “I didn’t pick anything. I left that part to the totality — I was too busy trying to keep you around. Besides, I think it’s a pretty name. You might have wound up Whitney. Or Wilma. Or Winifred. But I think Wynona is perfect. After all, it means ‘eldest daughter’ in Dakota, and you did come first.”
Wynona thought about it for a second, then smiled. “Well, heck ... it beats being a might-have-been.”She looked down at her feet. “Thanks ... for bringing me back.”
“I had to,”Willow said, touching her chin with a finger. Wynona looked up. “After all, I couldn’t possibly let you go. You’re the best part of me, Win. You convinced me that this was the life I wanted, even though you knew that you would die if you succeeded. You tried to sacrifice yourself to save me. I owe you so much. Thanks to you, we’re both here, and happy.”
She put her hand out, and pulled Wynona to her feet. “Before yesterday afternoon, there was only one true constant in the universe for both of us, and that was loneliness.”
Winona looked into her eyes. “And now?”
“Now, thanks to you, I’ve got friends, a boyfriend, and a twin sister I love.”She broke into a smile and gave herself another hug. “As far as I’m concerned, the possibilities are endless!”
Game Over
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by Randalynn
When Frank lost a bet with his wife, it turned out to be the beginning of the game, and not the end. Can he figure out the rules and find a way to win, before he loses everything?
Frank Warren stood by the pay phones in the shopping mall, fuming.
'I must have been crazy to make that stupid bet with her,' he thought again. 'Wrestling? I mean, come on! I knew she was stronger than me. Hell, she lifts weights! But I figured it was just the start of some sort of silly game between us. I thought she would let me win, and she would play the maid long enough for us to make it to the bedroom and have a little fun. After all, she does like to play. Or did, before this.'
'Well, it was a game all right.' Frank shook his head ruefully. 'Her game, and I'm still trying to figure out how to win.' He looked at his reflection in the store window across from the row of phones. His body was padded and perfumed and wrapped in a flowered sundress that framed the two faux breasts glued onto his skinny chest. He knew without looking that the skin color of his unwelcome additions matched his own exactly, creating a deep cleavage that no man's eye could resist. His hair had been lengthened with extensions and dyed a rich auburn, and his eyes took in the carefully arched eyebrows and perfectly shaped lips.
'Everyone knows I never back out of a wager,' he grumbled. 'She knew it, too. That's how I wound up here. So now I've got two whole months of being her maid! I'm a tenured professor of English literature, damn it! She's had me working fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, for three weeks straight already. Almost half the summer... gone! My entire vacation shot!'
Frank felt his eyes filling with tears and fought it back. 'Scrubbing the whole house until it shines! Cooking her gourmet meals, bringing her breakfast in bed, drawing her bath -- and all in those stupid black uniforms. First, she banishes me to the guest room and takes away all of my regular clothes, so all I have to wear are the maid outfits. Then when I complain, she buys me stuff like this to wear, and orders me to wear it during the few hours each night I'm not doing everything else. She says an employer has the right to ensure her employees dress to impress in their off-time, and since I'm hers for the summer, I have to do as she says.'
'Still, dragging me out of the house and arranging a makeover at the salon was too much,' Frank remembered. He stood in the entryway of their home and put his foot down, only to be cowed into submission by his wife's sharp-tongued reply.
"Do you want people to know you're a man in a dress? You look absolutely precious, but there are still enough rough edges to make people wonder. Would you like this to get out? All your friends, laughing at you? And everyone at the school? All of your colleagues? I'm doing this to save you embarrassment, 'Frannie.' So get in the car and let the girls at the salon make you pretty, or I'll call everyone and let them know what English professors are really wearing this season!"
So Frank went, although part of him was ashamed his protest ended so quickly.
Afterwards, Debbie insisted on going out to the mall and having lunch in the food court, supposedly to prove to Frank that he was completely passable. Who should be there buying his own meal but her old boyfriend Paul from college and a friend of his named Stan. Instead of letting Frank fade into the background and hide, she dragged him forward and introduced him as her cousin Fran, visiting from Cinncinnati. She told Paul that she and Frank were separated, and would probably be getting divorced soon. Frank was surprised to the point of speechlessness, and when Paul asked Debbie if she and Fran would like to double-date that night, he was stunned when Debbie said yes!
With a mumbled "excuse me," Frank turned and stalked off, his heels making his padded bottom sway from side to side. Walking faster only made it worse, but all he wanted to do was get away from that woman and her unbelievable attempts to humiliate him.
He turned the corner, out of Debbie's line of sight. He crossed his arms under his breasts and began to pace. 'She lied to those men!' He was still surprised and more than a little hurt. 'Or was she really thinking of divorce? What did I do to deserve this? Why is she doing this to me? What sort of game is she playing?'
Debbie came around the corner, her face red. She stopped inches from Frank and hissed, "What are you doing? Get back out there this instant!"
"What am I doing? What are YOU doing?" Frank replied, leaning forward until his nose practically touched hers. "Setting us up on a double date? Telling Paul we're separated? Practically divorced? What is THAT all about?"
"Well, you didn't want me to tell him the truth, did you? 'Oh, Paul, this is my husband Frank -- isn't he pretty?'" Debbie's face suddenly changed, and Frank was close enough to see it all. Her joy and hatred mixed with undercurrents of malicious glee, capped by the sudden smirk that let him see she thought she had him trapped. "All right, Frank. If that's the way you want it. I'll give you a choice. You march right out there and tell them the truth, or keep your mouth shut and go out on that double date tonight!"
The threat of exposure hit him hard, but the look in her eyes when she delivered it hit him harder still. The hatred. The triumph. Everything stopped for Frank as his mind replayed the whole summer -- everything that had happened to him since that damned bet. Up until this point, Frank had spent all his waking hours playing catch-up, with little time to think about his situation other than to kick himself for his own stupidity. Now that he could take a step back, he saw the cruelty in her face for what it really was -- the reason for this entire charade.
She had used his male pride and his love of gambling to set him up for a summer in dresses as her slave. She forced him to work for her non-stop, and humiliated him over and over again.
And because she had him dressed as a woman, she could use it as a club whenever she needed it. By threatening him with exposure if he didn't do as she commanded, she could push him further and further into her web and make him more and more feminine, so she could control him even more.
It was a vicious cycle, designed to cut him down an episode at a time until there would be nothing left but a beaten bit of fluff where Frank Warren used to stand.
And here he had thought that she loved him.
Frank came out of his freeze with a strange resolve. 'No matter what game she's playing,' he thought with a smile, 'maybe it's time I changed the rules a bit.' With that thought, he threw his shoulders back, thrust his chest out, and left Debbie behind as he marched back around the corner to where the two men still waited in the center of the food court.
Debbie watched him walk towards Paul and Stan with an evil grin. 'There was no way Frank would ever "out" himself to anyone,' she thought, 'let alone to one of my old boyfriends.' She had won ... again! When she first thought about doing this to him, it was just another game -- a way to spice up her happy but boring life with her husband. She had always secretly wondered how Frank would look in women's clothing, and this seemed like a good way to find out. She had never intended it to go quite this far, but pushing poor, clueless Frank around all summer was rapidly becoming her favorite pastime -- especially since Frank had no idea what was really going on!
The trip to the salon was priceless, and left Frank both confused and vulnerable. Even she was having trouble still seeing the man behind the illusion. Debbie wondered how girly she could make Frank before the bet ended. After all, she had just upped the ante to a price her husband never imagined he would have to pay, yet he went back out there prepared to pay it to avoid discovery. Frank would go on this date and play the single girl looking for love. He thought he had no choice.
How far she could push things? Just how far would her husband go, running on a mixture of male pride and raw fear? She couldn't wait to find out.
But for now, she decided that Frank's first punishment for walking away earlier would be to go out there alone and try to make conversation as a woman for a few minutes. Then, maybe ... just maybe ... she'd bail him out!
"Oh, God," she whispered happily, warm all over as she watched her husband walk back into her trap. "This is a blast!"
"Excuse me, Paul?" Frank's regular voice cut across the sound of the crowd, and Paul and Stan turned to find Frank standing in front of them. "I'm afraid you've been lied to. The truth is, I am Frank, Debbie's husband. Remember, we met at the wedding?"
"F...Frank?" Paul was clearly stunned, and Frank stuck his hand out. Paul shook it numbly. "Goddamn, it IS you! What the hell are you doing dressed like that?"
Frank blushed under his make-up. "Believe it or not, I lost a stupid bet earlier this summer. The loser had to be the winner's maid for two whole months. Debbie's been holding me to the bet -- making me dress as a woman and working me like a dog for the past three weeks. I'm stuck like this until the end of August."
"Whoa, that's harsh," Stan said, shocked. "Why is she treating you this way?"
Frank shrugged. "I don't have a clue. I'm starting to suspect she rigged the whole thing to turn my summer into a living hell, but I can't figure out why. I've never been anything but loving towards her. I'm just ... stumped."
Paul just shook his head. "That's wild, man. And sad."
"I'm just really surprised she took it this far." Frank shook his head and folded his arms under his faux breasts. "It's bad enough she makes me work hard every day when we were both supposed to be off for the summer, but then to force me to go out in public ... like this? I thought she loved me. I mean, we've been married for years, and I never once saw this side of her. Not once." His voice became a bit rough. "What really hurt the most was having her stand there right in front of me and tell you we're practically divorced. It's like she just wants to hurt me. A lot."
"What a bitch!" Frank turned his head and gave Stan a disapproving look. Stan backed down, slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, Frank, but it's true. You're being shafted big time."
Frank nodded. "I know, but she's still my wife. Maybe I still love her, or maybe ... maybe standing up for her is just what I'm used to. Just ... go easy with the name-calling, okay?" Stan nodded.
"Frank," Paul asked gently, "why are you putting up with this shit at all? I mean, if you think she rigged the contest, why keep doing it?"
"Well, it’s partly my fault." Frank looked down at the floor. "She challenged me to a wrestling match. Hell, I knew she could beat me -- after all, she works out all of the time and lifts weights. But I knew she knew it too. So I made the mistake of thinking it wasn't a real bet, or even a real contest. I thought it was just a silly game we were playing." He looked up and smiled. "Besides, I had my pride, and I wasn't going to just admit she could beat me, even though we both knew she could."
"Anyway, I broke the first rule of gambling, and now I have to pay the price. Never make a wager without considering what it would happen if you lose. I made the bet, so now I'm stuck with it." Frank shrugged. "You know how it is. A man always keeps his word. I've never backed out of a wager before, and I'm not going to start now. I'm in it for the long haul."
"Well, I've got to respect you for that, Frank, and that's a fact. We both do." Stan grinned and Paul nodded.
Then Stan's face lit up. "Listen," he said, "what do you say we wait on you for a while, huh? I bet that'll really piss her off when she gets back." He pulled out a chair with a flourish and a smile. Frank smiled back and sat down with an audible sigh, being sure to sweep his skirt under him to avoid giving the whole food court a free flash of panty.
"Thanks," he said, relaxing fully for the first time since the bet began. "I'm still not used to wearing heels. At least Debbie lets me clean the house in flats."
Paul grinned and walked over beside him, pretending to hold a pad and pen. "So what'll it be, Frank? My treat!"
"Ummm ... I could do with a cheeseburger, fries, and a Diet Coke, if that's okay?"
"Sure thing! I'll be right back."
As Paul walked away, Frank looked furtively around the food court.
'Where was Debbie, anyway?'
Debbie watched as Paul wandered off and Stan sat down across from Frank. He leaned forward intently.
'Better than I had hoped,' she thought, smiling. 'Stan really seems interested in "Fran." Maybe later, Stan's wandering hands will keep Frank busy long enough for me to get Paul into bed. That'll make Frank suffer in all sorts of awful ways. I can't WAIT until tonight!'
Deciding it was time to resume the game, Debbie made her way across the food court just in time to see Paul delivering a tray of food to Frank.
"Oh, how gallant of you, serving Fran that way," Debbie squealed, smiling. "But you really should be serving me. After all, I'm going to be your date tonight, remember?"
All three men turned to look at her, and with a shock she realized something had gone terribly wrong. Both Paul and Stan stared at her with a mixture of disgust and loathing, but Frank's face held a strange triumph. Somehow, the game had changed -- and she wasn't winning anymore.
Debbie felt sick.
Frank, on the other hand, felt liberated and excited. His fear was gone, and he was finally in control for the first time since this awful summer began. Instead of emasculating him as she had hoped, Debbie's offer had empowered him. Instead of facing Debbie's cruelty all alone, Frank had friends who saw her as she was, and would stand behind him. With one wrong move, she had actually given him a way to take charge again.
He almost laughed at the simplicity of it.
Thanks to Debbie, the truth really had set him free.
And with a sudden rush, Frank knew exactly how to pull Debbie's claws and keep himself sane until the summer's end.
"Oh, Paul?" he asked sweetly. "Can I borrow your cell phone? I need to make a few calls."
"Sure, Frank," Paul replied, his eyes never leaving Debbie's. He reached into his pocket and handed his phone to Frank. "Be my guest. After what you've been through, I'm happy to help any way I can. Just say the word."
"Thanks."
Debbie opened her mouth to try and forbid him from making the call, but Paul stood very close and looked down at her with an expression that clearly conveyed his true feelings. Her heart sank. She had as much chance of getting him in bed -- ever -- as she had of competing in the next Olympic games.
How did it all go so wrong so fast?
Almost numb, she heard Frank's voice.
"Rich? Hi, it's Frank. I know you haven't seen me for a while, and I'm sorry. But actually, that's the reason I called. Is Carrie there? Well, get her on the phone, would you? I've got something to tell you both, and I don't want to have to tell it twice. Heck, I'm going to have to tell everybody eventually, so might as well cut down on the repetitions while I still can, right? Thanks."
"Are you there, Carrie? Great! Now, this is going to sound really crazy, but you see, I made this stupid bet with Debbie at the beginning of the summer, and ..."
Debbie Warren sat in the dark living room, lit only by the glow of the wall-mounted flat-screen television. She stared at the game show on the screen without actually seeing it, her mind a million miles away.
The house around her was cleaner than it had ever been, and she had just finished eating a delicious filet mignon with asparagus tips in a white wine sauce, accompanied by a tasty, yet moderately priced Chablis. It had been prepared for her by her lovely, attentive maid, who stood silently behind her and politely replied to all of her attempts at conversation with as few words as possible
'I should be happy,' she thought, 'but I'm not. I'm not ... anything, really. Numb. Empty. Because I lost. We're still playing the game, but we both know it's over.'
There was noise coming down the stairs from the second floor. Although Debbie pretended to ignore it, she preferred the sounds to the heavy silence that had descended on her house since Frank's marathon telephone session two weeks ago. He had called everyone they knew, as well as all his colleagues at the university, and told them the truth. They were shocked, stunned, disgusted, and ultimately appalled at what Debbie had done.
Apparently, Frank had far more friends than she gave him credit for. And she had fewer allies than she thought she had, before this all began.
Overnight, she'd become a pariah. And perversely, Frank had become a hero, just for standing by his wager no matter how much she abused him, and for standing up to her when she gave him the chance.
She heard the clack of heels on the stairs and turned to find Frank looking down at her. One hand rested on the railing while the other held a leather clutch. He wore a little black dress that emphasized his padded curves, dark stockings, and sling-back pumps with three-inch heels. His hair was artfully arranged, his make-up flawless, and his eyes totally devoid of feeling.
"Where ..." Debbie stopped and cleared her throat. "Where are you going?"
"Out," Frank replied, his voice calm and controlled. "Fred and Jeannie have asked me to have dinner with them tonight. Afterwards, we might go see a movie."
"Can I come?" Debbie asked softly, then cursed herself inside for asking.
Frank shook his head. "You weren't invited. Besides, you've already eaten. Wasn't the meal prepared to your satisfaction?"
She nodded. Frank nodded back and started walking towards the door. Debbie turned.
"Why are you dressed like that?" Frank stopped and turned towards her. She couldn't see his eyes in the semi-darkness, and it frightened her somehow. She spoke quickly. "I brought all of your male clothes back. I've admitted that your off time was never part of the bet in the first place. You can wear your old things again."
Frank said nothing. Debbie raised her voice. "Do you hear me? You don't have to dress that way anymore!"
He shook his head. "Yes, I do. I need to wear these things to remember how things really are between us. If I accept your 'generous' gesture now, I might weaken and remember the way it used to be. I might decide to just let your cruelty slide and take you back once the bet is done. I might even forget how you treated me like dirt, and played games with my mind and with my heart, just for kicks. I might forget how mistaken I was when I fell in love with you, or how you broke my heart. Or just how much it still hurts."
Frank turned and walked to the door. He stopped, one hand on the knob. "If I let myself forget, even for an instant, I might actually come to trust you again. And I can't afford to let that happen. Not ever."
He opened the door and spoke out into the night. "I might be late, so don't wait up. But don't worry. Breakfast will be delivered on time in the morning, just the way you like it."
Debbie felt lost, as if everything she had ever known was falling apart around her. "You don't have to bring me breakfast anymore. None of it ... it's over." She felt the tears start, and her voice shook. "I just want you back, that's all. Please?"
For a moment, Frank just stood there. Then he sighed and shook his head. "That's not how it works, Debbie. I lost. I owe you. I will keep my word and pay my debts, like you always knew I would. You'll have the perfect maid for the next three weeks."
"And ... after that?"
"Well, you lose her, of course." Frank's voice took on the slightest edge. "But that shouldn't bother you much. After all, you've already lost a husband. What's losing a maid compared to that?"
The door closed silently behind him.
Game over.
-- Joshua, the WOPR computer, from the movie "Wargames"
NOTE: This story was inspired by two things -- a forced feminization story currently unfolding on FictionMania called "The Contest," and an aside about the genre by Jezzi Stewart, who wished that, just once, the "hero(ine)/victim" would choose to reveal himself rather than be controlled and manipulated through fear of discovery. I hope you liked where I took it, hon. *hugs* -- Randalynn
Holding the Line
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Wars can happen anywhere. But what do you do when you can never leave the battlefield?
The bar was crowded, and noisy. But as I sipped my drink and waited for my date, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation in the booth behind me. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that they were both soldiers from the base on the edge of town.
Both men, too. Or so I thought, at first.
"When I fell in love with Angie, I told her all about me, and she said she understood. But she made it clear she wasn’t a lesbian. She wanted me to be the man she fell in love with, not the woman I knew I was. I loved her, and I wanted her to be happy. So I made the call. To have her, I had to leave the woman inside me ... well, inside."
"Okay, that makes sense. You do a good job hiding her, too. I never woulda guessed if you didn’t tell me that night in Tikrit. So what's going on?"
There was a pause.
"Jimbo ... you got my back, right?"
"Damn straight, buddy. You know that."
"I do, but this next part ... it's hard, okay?" There's a pause, and I think the other one nodded. The first soldier sighed. “The woman inside … she doesn’t want to stay inside, and it gets harder and harder to keep her there every day."
"I'm not sure I understand, Eddie.”
“Okay, listen. The other day, I’m driving down the road on my way home from the base, and I see this woman walking down the sidewalk. She's not a knockout or anything, just somebody going about her business. She’s dressed in something casual, jeans and a sweater, some sneakers. And I catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye. Now, I wasn’t thinking about anything, really. I mean, I was just driving, and listening to the music, and I saw her. And suddenly, everything gets blurry, and I can't see the road, and I barely make it to the curb before I start crying like I just saw my best friend die. I knew something in me wanted to be her so damned much, and it hit me so hard it hurt like hell. It was like a knife in my guts, and I just couldn't stop."
"I'm sorry, man. That really sucks."
"Yeah. It's not the first time it's happened, either, and every time it does, it gets worse." For a minute, they're both quiet. Then the first guy speaks.
"I'm so screwed, Jim. I can't set that woman free. I can't be her. That would hurt Angela, and I can't hurt Angie that way. I love her. She's my wife! So what can I do? I’m fighting a war I can't win, because the war is inside me, and I’m fighting myself."
“Can’t you talk to somebody?”
“I’m talking to you, stupid. Or didn’t you notice?” I could hear the grin in his voice.
“I mean a doc, somebody who can help you more than I can.”
“Talk to a shrink? We both know that after all the talking is done, he’s just gonna tell me what I already know. He’ll either say I’m crazy to think I’m a woman, or he’ll say I need to stop fighting who I am and lose Angie. So why talk about it? Anyway, it doesn't matter. I made my choice, and I chose Angie.”
"So ... what're you gonna do?"
"What any soldier in my position would do. I’m gonna hold the line.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Eddie sighed again. “Every time the woman inside pushes, I gotta push back. Every time she wants out, I make damned sure she can’t get out. Every time I want to cry because I'm not who I'm supposed to be, I man up and remember who I love. That’s all I can do.”
"For how long?"
"As long as I have to. As long as I can."
"That's a hell of a way to live."
"Yes, it is" There was a long pause. "But it’s not all bad, right? I still have Angie.”
"She's a lucky woman, Eddie." I felt one of them get up.
“Anyway, time to get home. She’s gonna wonder why I’m late … and I feel like I lie to her enough as it is.”
“I hear you, man.” The second one got up as well. “Stay strong, soldier.”
“Only way to be, J-man. Only way to be.”
I watched them both walk by my booth and leave, and I couldn't tell which was Jim or which was Eddie.
But I guess that’s the way it’s got to be ... for her.
fighting to keep their true selves hidden every day for the happiness of those they love.
Law and the Single Man
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I am including this grouping of stories on Randalynn's page, though Angharad wrote the original story. If either author disagrees with this choice, please let me know.
-- Edeyn Hannah Blackeney
Law and the Single Man
by Angharad & Randalynn
A Legal Requirement
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by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
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Paul Merchant was a trainee accountant working for La Belle Dame. He was also a bit of a handful, quite literally. He stood about five feet five inches and weighed no more than nine stone, a hundred and twenty six pounds, dripping wet. He was twenty two but looked fifteen on a good day, on a bad one he looked even younger. His squeaky voice and lack of facial hair didn’t help his efforts to look older and more authoritative, so he developed an attitude.
Unfortunately, his attitude didn’t win him many friends and only the fact that he was good at his job kept him his job. La Belle Dame was a chain of dress shops, which sold mid range clothes, they aimed at the more sophisticated market of late teens early twenties clientele than people like New Look, who aim at the lower end of the market. LBDs clothes were good, well made and very fashionable. They ran shorter lines in their marketing and were usually quickly sold out.
The owner was a wealthy thirty something called Karen King, and she included a range of clothes within her shops aimed at the better off business woman, so suits, blouses and some dresses were included in this range, which were labelled as Queen partly as a play on her surname but also because she ruled her empire like a mediaeval monarch. She didn’t brook argument at any price, although she would listen to alternative views, they just had to be couched in careful language.
Most of her surviving staff at head office knew how to handle her, they learned by watching those who didn’t become statistics on the unemployment register. Paul of course didn’t work at head office, so all of this was merely folklore to him, possibly even urban myths. However, his boss Maisie Fremantle, knew very well–she was one of the survivors–that HQ was a dangerous place.
Paul caused Maisie all sorts of problems: he was rarely on time; took longer than the allotted thirty minutes for lunch; kept his desk like a compost heap; argued with everyone and had a nice range in put downs–which everyone had suffered. If he hadn’t been a whizz with spreadsheet software, she’d have sent him and his attitude packing.
Today, he was standing before her once again. He’d insulted one of his colleagues, a youngster, another trainee accountant called, Katie Price–no not that one–this one was small breasted and had a few functioning brain cells. She’d tried to use one of Paul’s amended programs and had messed it all up. He had to spend two hours sorting it, when he discovered the fault–a glitch in his programming. He of course immediately remedied it and suggested the fault was Katie’s, calling her ‘a brainless ninny who should be having babies and leaving things she didn’t understand to men, like him.’
This went down like a lead balloon. Paul was the only man working in the office and one of only ten in the whole company, eight of whom drove vans. The other man, was a director and the husband of Mrs King, and he was more interested in his own concerns–the weapons industry, where he was a multimillionaire entrepreneur.
Maisie looked at Paul. His long thick hair–always like a disgruntled mop; his jacket and trousers–hadn’t seen an iron since they were bought; and his shirt and tie–were the yellow spots part of the pattern or the remains of his breakfast egg?
Dishevelled wasn’t quite adequate to describe Paul’s appearance and she stared at him for a moment before saying anything.
“Paul, Katie has gone home very upset by your remarks.”
“So, she shouldn’t be such an airhead.”
“I don’t think someone who has a first in accountancy and who is getting through her exams in her articles faster than you, is an airhead, do you?”
This was one of Paul’s weaknesses. He was good on computers poor on the legal aspects of accountancy and the tax elements. In fact he’d only scraped by with a 2.2 in his degree and that was at a second attempt.
“She’s rubbish at spreadsheets,” he retorted.
“She claimed there was a problem with the program.”
“Well, you try it, I did and I can’t find any problem. In fact I’ve just spent two hours trying to destabilise it and I can’t. The program is good, like me.”
Arrogance wasn’t something Maisie liked, especially as she had had the program seize-up on her too. Paul needed taking down a peg and she wished she had a means of doing it. She was sure if he left his attitude behind, he’d be a nice kid, but as he didn’t she’d have to act.
“Paul, regardless of the merits of the program or lack of them, you can’t go round insulting your colleagues like this, and as this isn’t the first time, I’m issuing you a verbal warning.”
“What? Just because she’s on a period, I get my arse kicked–that’s bloody wonderful isn’t it. I thought this company had an equal opportunities policy. Some equal opportunity this is.”
Maisie’s blood boiled. “How dare you! Whether or not Katie was on her period or not is none of your business, and we take our equal opportunities very seriously.”
“Yeah, when?”
“The fact that you have a job here is one of them, mister. Mrs King would prefer an all female workforce because they tend to be more productive than arrogant little boys who spend all their time projecting their masculine inadequacies on their colleagues.”
“Huh?” her tirade caught him off guard.
“Look here, mister, if men had periods they’d be off one week in four–women get on with things.”
“With due respect, Mrs Fremantle, but women were designed to have babies and stay at home while men go out and do things.”
“Like farming, I suppose.”
“Yeah like farming,” he agreed.
“In the third world, women produce most of the food while men sit about on their hairy arses planning their next bloody war.”
“Yeah, but real productivity needs men, we invented the technology to produce surpluses, just like we do the technology to run things now. Let’s face it men are better at it than women–women do babies and keep home, that’s what they were designed for.”
“Men and women weren’t designed for anything, mister, we evolved to complement each other. Men were given muscles and women, brains. Quite how you missed out on both is a bit of a quandary.” Maisie had overstepped the mark, she’d made a personal remark, but then he was as good as telling her she should be chained to the sink while giving birth.
He’d heard the remark about his lack of musculature. It wasn’t his fault, but exercise wasn’t his thing, computer gaming was and you don’t get big biceps from operating a keypad. Besides, when he’d tried to be more butch, at uni, all he got was stronger and thinner. He was wiry and his metabolism just burned up calories, rarely laying down any fat for the future–somewhat like his bank account, which was equally lean.
Maisie had sent her sexist trouble-maker back to his desk because she felt she was in danger of physically attacking him. She was still seething when she was invited to dinner by her boss, who she knew socially as well.
Later that evening while Paul was playing computer games as the White Wizard, Maisie was dining with Karen King at her penthouse flat along with half a dozen other mangers and heads of department. When dinner was over, Karen asked Maisie to stay behind, Maisie felt her tummy flip.
“What happened to the central reporting, this morning. Katie was sending me the financial updates and it went down?”
“I’m not entirely sure, Karen, I think it was a software bug. I got Paul to sort it out but it took him a couple of hours.”
“Didn’t he write the program or modify it?”
“Yes. He’s pretty clever on computers.”
“But not so with his articles.”
“No, Katie has the edge over him there.”
“What happened to her, you had to send me the completed report, I thought we’d agreed that was her responsibility?”
“Yes it is, but she was taken ill and I sent her home.”
“I see, what’s wrong this time?”
“It’s her endometriosis again, poor kid, she does suffer with it rather badly.”
“I’d heard one of her colleagues contributed to her discomfort.”
Maisie blushed, Karen had ears everywhere. “That’s been dealt with.”
“The same individual who sorted or possibly caused our shutdown this morning?”
Maisie blushed again, Karen was well informed. “Yes.”
“Did you sack him?”
“No, because he’s actually good at what he does.”
“How is it we have one man in an office and he creates ructions?”
“It happens with women too, Karen, as you well know.” Maisie referred to an episode in the firm’s history when a shop manager, called Absinthe Cartier had caused Karen loads of trouble and who Maisie, then just Karen’s accountant had discovered some irregularities in the accounts for that shop. They’d been cleverly disguised but Maisie had found them and had been a close friend of Karen’s ever since.
“My sources suggest he thinks women are inferior to his masculine genius?”
“He’s got a bit to learn about himself and others, which I suspect is an over compensation for his diminutive size.”
“We talking stature or willie size?”
“Stature I think, I have no idea what he has in his underpants, nor do I wish to–can’t think of many women who would.”
“He needs to be separated from his ego a little?” smirked Karen.
“Something like that.”
“Remember this,” Karen handed Maisie a sheaf of papers.
“The equal opportunities policy–I ought to, I spent enough evenings helping your lawyer friend write it.”
“And this one?” Karen handed another file to Maisie.
“Conditions of service, I have a copy in the drawer of my desk. Why are you showing me these?”
“Because part of the contract enables me to introduce some changes without any consultation.”
“Like what?”
“Shall we say that we recently introduced uniforms in the shops and the girls liked it.”
“What’s that got to do with me other than arranging for the tax spent to be claimed back?”
“I’m thinking of doing it in the offices.”
“Oh?” Maisie nearly gasped. “Does that mean I have to wear the same as everyone else?”
“No, senior managers will have a different range to pick from, but the others will be offered a jacket, two skirts and three blouses and two pairs of shoes which will compliment them. They’ll have to buy their own tights and undies of course.”
“You’re going to stop them wearing trousers?”
“Yes.”
“I can see two of mine won’t be happy with that idea.”
“And who are those?” Karen asked smiling.
“Lizzie Perkins and dear Paul. Lizzie has legs like tree trunks and always wears trousers, and Paul of course is a member of the master sex and will scream blue murder about equal opportunities. He’ll claim it’s sexist.”
“He signed on the dotted line, which says he agrees to abide by any policy we have about corporate image.”
Maisie smirked when she thought of Paul wearing a skirt and heels–maybe he’d be less aggressive decked out like that, maybe they’d get sued, he’d almost certainly go to a tribunal claiming unfair something or other.
“Corporate image–what d’you mean exactly?”
“My office workers would be expected to wear the uniform provided while working and maintain a smart appearance commensurate with the image we are trying to project, this will include an opportunity for use of a company designated hair salon cum beauty parlour. I will be setting down standards for the use of makeup–I’ll expect my office staff to use lipstick and so on.”
“Some of them don’t wear much makeup at all, Karen, and I don’t just mean Paul.”
“But I suspect you like the idea of cutting him down to size, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I don’t want to end up in court because of it.”
“Okay, the clothes are coming from my Queen range, so they’re good stuff...”
“Indeed.”
“If Paul doesn’t want to join in, we could arrange a transfer–can he drive a truck?”
“I don’t think he can drive anything bigger than a computer–he comes by bus.”
“According to our legal team, I can enforce this. I could arrange for him to have trousers but they’d be from the same line as the skirts. I suppose that would deal with your other girl, Lizzie?”
“Oh she’d happily wear one of your trouser suits, and she’d love hair appointments and facials.”
“This is the range they’ll be wearing.” Karen showed Maisie the catalogue.
“Fuscia pink? A bit girly, isn’t it?”
“The pattern is fuscias on a black background, I’ve had it designed specifically for the office girls. My lot are quite happy with it, they get a pink a white and a black blouse, with two pairs of black courts to go with it.”
“So this was coming anyway?”
“Oh yes, Paul Merchant is simply a coincidence, and he’s got it coming. If he doesn’t want to wear the fuscia, he can transfer to one of the shops–it’s daisies there, and a dress; or if he can drive a truck, I’ll happily move him to transport where he can wear the pink and black driver’s uniform.”
“That isn’t a dress too, is it?” gasped Maisie.
“Eh, don’t be silly, it’s industrial wear shirt, trousers and coat in black with our logo in pink, and a pink stripe down the arm and leg. They get a chance to get their hair cut too.”
“Oh, so when is all this coming on-line?”
“In two weeks, I want everyone’s measurements in by the end of the week and our suppliers have agreed to have them for us two weeks from then.”
The next day, everyone happily filled in the form for sizing of uniforms. There were questions about designs and so on, but Maisie was told to say she didn’t know. Paul was quite happy, he needed new threads and if someone else paid for it, so much the better–new shoes too–better still. The staff measured each other, and Paul’s thirty four inch chest and twenty six inch waist was noted as well as his size five shoes and his inside leg length.
He wondered if the stuff would be grey and plain like Marks & Spencer’s clothing, or a bit more with it, flared trousers and broad lapels. He went home the Friday before the new uniforms were due on Monday wondering whether he ought to take in a couple of ties to match them–he was sure he had one which didn’t have soup or gravy on, and he’d wear a white shirt–well it was white before he washed it with his jeans. He had a surprise coming.
That morning the air was buzzing in the office as Paul walked in fifteen minutes later than everyone else. “Watch out, the afternoon shift is here,” quipped Katie as he came in, eating a sticky bun he’d bought on his walk from the bus stop.
She looked at him, he was pathologically untidy. His clothing didn’t so much look like a cat had dragged him through a hedge, but that a pair of them had played tennis with him through the hedge for at least a couple of sets. She even thought he had some twigs or leaves still stuck in his hair.
“The master sex is ready to start work, I take it?” Katie asked him directly.
“I am,” he retorted, he was going to ask how she was but that would be a sign of weakness, and besides he liked the banter with her, unaware how hurtful he was at times.
“I’ve sorted that program you messed up yesterday, it runs fine now.”
“I messed up? Look here you arrogant little toe-rag, it was your program that was at fault not me.”
Before he could reply, Maisie walked in and called, “Okay, ladies,” she did it because she knew it annoyed Paul, “the uniforms have arrived.” Maisie opened the door and one of the drivers appeared with a sack trolley laden with boxes. After three trips the piles of boxes nearly blocked the doorway.
“I hope they’re better than the driver’s ones,” said Paul, commenting on the pink stripes and logos on the uniform of the deliveryman.
“I’m sure you’d look delicious in pink, little Paulie,” said Lizzie who towered over her diminutive colleague.
Each worker collected a box from Maisie, signing a sheet which said they had received their uniform and would wear it in line with company policy. Paul wasn’t last but next to it, Lizzie was last. Maisie had asked everyone to wait before opening the boxes.
“As far as I know, these uniforms have been made to the specs you gave two weeks ago. They are good quality and we expect you to start wearing them from today, though obviously not everyone can fit in the loo at the same time. If you’d like to open your boxes...”
Paul used his door key to slice through the tape on the top of his box, when he opened the flaps, he gasped. Shining through the clear plastic was the fuchsia and black patterned clothing. “There must be some mistake,” he said loudly.
“Does it have your name on the box?” called back Maisie.
He checked again, “Yes, but I can’t wear this?”
“That’s the office uniform, unless you wish to argue the toss with Mrs King?”
“But I’m a bloke–this will make me look like a fairy.”
Katie laughed out loud, “Is there something you’re not telling us, Paulie or is it Pauline?”
Paul pulled out the bags and saw there were six articles of the fuchsia and black, plus a pink, white and black shirt like thing. Underneath were two shoe boxes and when he opened those and saw the two and half inch heeled black court shoes he felt really angry. “Someone is taking the piss,” he said loudly.
“That’s the uniform short-arse, at least with the heels you’ll be nearly as tall as a smurf.” Katie enjoyed his embarrassment.
“Oh good there’s trousers,” said Lizzie and took her things off to try them on in the loo.
“Can’t wait to see you in the skirt, Pauline, have you got some black tights,” Katie chided him.
“Get stuffed,” said Paul almost in tears.
“Go on show us yer legs,” called another girl, “you ogle ours often enough.”
“I’ve got some spare tights that’ll fit you,” called another. Then several of the girls looked at each other and a pack instinct took over. Seizing the tights one of them advanced on Paul, another stood behind him preventing his escape.
Ten minutes later, he’d been stripped to his underpants, fortunately clean on that day, the tights had been pulled up his kicking legs, followed by one of the tight skirts and shoes were shoved on his feet. At this point they let him stand up and handed him a pink blouse.
He was so close to tears of rage he nearly threw it back at them, then realising his semi-nakedness, snatched it and put it on, the buttons on the wrong side slowing him down a little. The jacket was almost pulled on him by two other girls, so he took it and donned it himself.
Someone took a video on their phone of him pulling on the blouse and jacket, so it looked like he’d done it himself and willingly.
“Satisfied?” he said angrily as he stood wearing the full skirt uniform.
“Oh yes,” said a new voice, “I like that, Paul, I want to see you in it every day.” Mrs King had called by to see what the office workers thought.
He tried to protest but she ignored him and went into Maisie’s office sniggering. When Paul looked round for his own clothing, it was gone. His keys and wallet were on his desk but his jacket and pants were gone, so were his shoes and socks.
That was it, he went ballistic, swearing and ranting at everyone. Mrs King emerged from the office, “What is going on?” she shouted and Paul went quiet for a moment. Then he started his incoherent rant again.
“I think you’d better go home, Pauline, and I hope you feel better tomorrow.” Everyone else laughed and Paul flung himself at her, only to be grabbed by Lizzie and pulled back. He slumped on the floor and began sobbing.
“Can somebody take her home,” said Mrs King, going back into the office.
Case Closed
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by Randalynn
Karen King sat in her office, long after the rest of her staff had left for the day. Her joy over the incident she’d orchestrated that morning had faded under the pressure of keeping her empire running smoothly, and she barely spared a thought to what had become of the crying man after she had ordered one of the other women in the office to take him home.
They’d done what they set out to do. They’d broken him. What happened next wasn’t her problem.
‘As if that scrawny little excuse for a man could ever be a problem for me,’ she thought, a savage smile playing across her lips. She pushed herself away from the desk and reached for the ceiling, trying to stretch the knots out of her back.
Then she saw the small figure in the doorway, dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans with a bundle under its arm. She thought it was one of the office girls coming in to work late, until she realized it was him.
Her smile stretched to a grin
“Well, hello, Pauline,” she said sweetly. “What brings you here?”
The man cocked his head and looked at her. He looked ... odd. Unnaturally still.
“This morning,” he replied, his voice strong but oddly emotionless.
“What about it?”
“That’s what brings me here.”
Another silence.
“Have you come to complain?” Her eyebrows rose. “Because you’ll get no sympathy here, sweety.”
“I expected none.” He shrugged. “I deserve none. No, actually, I came to thank you.”
“Thank me? For what? Humiliating you?”
He shook his head. “No. For the clarity you and the other women gave me. I’ve never seen the world and my place in it so clearly, in my entire life.” He took a breath, and let it out slowly. “It’s very liberating, knowing who you are and who you aren’t. And who you’ll never be.”
“What do you mean?” The conversation rapidly began to slip sideways, beyond her control. She hated when that happened.
“You ripped my mask off. Didn’t you know?” His eyes stared straight into hers, and she found herself shivering at the emptiness she saw there. “You and everyone in that office tore my mask off, pushed me in front of a mirror, and showed me who I was, and who I wasn’t.”
“What the hell are you taking about?”
Paul looked at her, not unkindly, and sighed.
“I am a small man,” he said, as if he were asking a stranger in a diner to pass the salt. “Always have been. Looking at me, there isn’t much to see. Soft little voice ... a pretty boy even. Not what I ever wanted to be, not even close. I almost look like a girl, but I’m not, and I never wanted to be one. Not that it mattered.”
“I grew up the butt of endless jokes about my size, my looks, my strength or lack of it. No friends, because no one would have me. l spent my years being beaten up by everyone ... classmates, my brothers and sisters, my father at home.” Again, his tone didn’t change. As if he was talking about someone else. “Everyone got to take their shot. The only things I was good at were numbers and computers. So I hid in my room, playing games online and wishing things could be different. I kept thinking that maybe, once I was out of high school, I could make a life that would be better than the one I had.”
“Eventually, I graduated, got out in the world, and discovered it wasn’t any different than before. I was still small, but now there were more people to point it out to me and rub it in my face — or worse, ignore me for being ... insignificant. After a few tries at asking women out and being laughed at, I just stopped. Why try again? It wasn’t going to change.”
“Then, as a fluke, I got the job with your company. Surrounded by women, dwarfed by many of them. I could see myself becoming a joke here, too. I certainly wasn’t going to find a friend. Past experience had taught me that friends were something other people got without even trying.”
“I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what I could do. Then one day, I realized that the one thing I could change was my attitude. If I couldn’t BE bigger, maybe I could ACT like I was. Maybe if I acted important, smarter, sharper ... like my opinions mattered more ... maybe I could get people to see me as I wanted to be seen. As something more than a punchline. After all, what did I have to lose? So I did.”
“At first, there was a feeling of confidence attached to it. I heard the laughter but ignored it, because for the first time in my life, I didn’t care what they thought. The confidence was ... addictive. I couldn’t ignore the laughter forever, so I made myself believe it was jealousy, because after all, I was so damned good at everything, wasn’t I?”
A small edge crept into his voice, his eyes still locked on hers. “The problem with believing your own lies is that eventually, you stop seeing the truth. I created the mask I wore as a sword, so I could fight my way towards something that looked like respect. It became a shield that I hid behind, because a small part of me inside knew the truth of my sorry-ass existence and didn’t want to face it. And the confidence turned cruel, and became arrogance. I went on the attack.”
“I began to bully and belittle others, because I knew ... I knew inside that they’d do it to me if I didn’t do it first. And part of me loved putting down the women I worked with, because I knew inside they’d never see me as anything but something to laugh at anyway. The idea that any of them would ever like ... or even love me? Now there was something to laugh at.”
“Then came this morning. You set me up with the new dress code and your free uniforms, then you gave everyone in the office the ammunition they needed to take me down. When I saw that the uniforms were skirts and blouses ... when they saw my reaction ...”
Paul stopped, and then laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound that felt more like the cry of a wounded animal than any laugh she’d ever heard.
“They held me down, stripped me, and dressed me up. I couldn’t fight them all. Hell, I couldn’t even fight one of them. After all, I wasn’t ever really big and strong, was it? Any strength I had — all I had to hold onto — was wrapped in that awful mask, full of ego and arrogance and stupidity. But you took that poor crutch away, didn’t you? Between the clothing, the attack, the humiliation, and your dismissal of my pain as I cried like a baby on the floor, you ripped off the mask and they tore it into a million pieces.”
“And in the end, all that was left sitting on the floor when the mask was gone was the thin, small, practice target I had always been. Actually, I was worse than I had been before, because now, instead of laughter or scorn or indifference, there was only hatred. And that was what I deserved, after all, wasn’t it? After what I’d done? For the crime of pretending to be more than I was?”
His voice was still almost a monotone, but he was still as stone, and she couldn’t look away. A thin spark of the agony he must have felt flickered briefly in his eyes, but it died as she watched. He stepped forward and put the bundle on her desk.
“There’s the uniform they dressed me in. The one I wore home. I have no use for it now. Sorry about the dirty footprint on the bottom of the skirt — that’s when the woman who dragged me home kicked me out of her car in front of my apartment before she drove off. I crawled up the stairs and stood in front of my apartment house door, and got a good look at my reflection in the front window. I saw ... myself.”
“So as I said, you ripped off my mask, pushed me in front of a mirror, and showed me who I was, and who I wasn’t. And who I can never be.”
She shook her head, still confused. He sighed again.
“I can’t go back to that office. They all hate me, and they’re not wrong. I was an asshole, and now I’m nothing at all again. Less than nothing. And I hate them, because they have jobs, and lives, and families, and friends, and people who care about them. And I’ll never have any of that. So I’m done.”
She licked her lips, her throat suddenly dry. “You could apologize.”
He tilted his head and considered it, then nodded. “I could. Then what? They aren’t about to forgive me. I know hate when I see it. And even if they do, what do I have to look forward to? Years stretching ahead of me, all alone and in pain, tormented by all the real people? That’s the clarity you gave me this morning, by the way. I know now that I can’t be anything but what I am — the human joke. It’s not going to change.”
“You could — ”
“Could what?” His eyes narrowed. “I have no options, really. What was that old saying, biology is destiny? The one the mask trotted out the other day. It fits me like a glove.”
“Once I got out of that uniform, I looked you up on the Internet. Spent the day reading about you, before I trashed my computer and left it on the sidewalk along with everything else I owned. You’ve always been beautiful, confident, in control. You rule your empire like a queen, and people respect you. So you have absolutely NO idea what I’m going through or what I feel like. And you never will.”
“Like I said, I’m done. I know you’d rather have a woman in my spot, so hire one and everyone will be very happy. You could even save some money and hire someone who’ll fit the uniform. On the other hand, you could just burn the ones you made for me in effigy, so everyone can get the rest of that hate out and get back to their lives. Think of it as a team building exercise.” He shrugged. “Whatever you choose, I came to thank you for forcing me to see the truth. It’s always best to know where you stand ... and now I know.”
The man turned and started for the door. When he reached it, she cleared her throat, and he froze, his back to her.
“Where will you go?”
“Somewhere ... not here. A place where I can be ignored, one last time.”
“What ... what will you do?”
He looked over his shoulder, and for the first time since his arrival, he smiled.
“You don’t really care, do you? After all, I'm just a man, and a poor one at that. As far as you’re concerned, I‘m nothing but a bad joke. And everybody knows that the best thing about a bad joke ... is how easily it’s forgotten.”
The door closed quietly behind him.
Won on Appeal
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A sequel to Case Closed by Randalynn, which was in turn
a sequel to A Legal Requirement by Angharad
Paul stood outside the corporate headquarters of La Belle Dame and shivered, just a little. It was colder than he thought it would be, and part of him wondered if it had been a mistake to throw away his heavier coat with the rest of his stuff. It could have kept him warm until he found the place he needed to end things, and if that end involved jumping in the water, the sodden fabric would have dragged him down like a sea anchor. Something to think about. Should he go back?
He considered it carefully, and decided against it. After all, he was smart enough to choose a place to jump from that would be high enough to kill him instantly when he hit the water. The coat might have weighed his body down enough to keep it from being discovered for a while, but in the end, that wasn’t really an issue for him, was it? After all, once he was dead, his body was someone else’s problem.
After due deliberation, Paul decided to let himself off the hook on the question of the coat. He took a deep breath and smiled, thinking that he could afford to be magnanimous, considering how little time he had left.
He was still cold, though. He frowned. There always had to be a downside.
“Paul?”
He recognized the voice.
“With all due respect, Mrs. King,” he said, without turning around, “you really know how to kill a good exit line. I was rather proud of that one, you know. I sort of half-hoped that, once I was gone, you’d pass it around to the other women in the office so they could all have a laugh.”
“I’m sorry,” she replied, in a soft voice that held little of the commanding tone he’d only heard her use before. “But you asked me if I cared, and didn’t wait for an answer.”
“Now I’m the one who’s sorry.” He smiled, even though she couldn’t see. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just thought the answer was obvious, given what you did to me this morning — and how you planned to extend it into the foreseeable future with the new uniforms.”
“The answer is yes, I do care.” Paul turned around, surprised. Karen stood there, arms wrapped around her middle to ward off the night chill. She had left her suit jacket behind to catch up with him.
“I didn’t care this morning, because all I saw was the mask.” She looked into his eyes. “All anyone ever saw was the mask, Paul, and who would ever care about him?”
“A fair point. Even I didn’t like him, in the end. I only held onto to the mask so tight because I had nothing left to hold on to.” Paul raised his voice, just a little. “But no one ever questioned the mask, either, did they? You just thought I was nothing but the mask, because that’s what you expect from men, isn’t it?”
“Not all men, but some,” she admitted. “Maybe even most. But I am married, Paul. I know there are good men out there.”
“What a shame I’ll never be one of them.” He grinned, but it never reached his eyes.
“Why can’t you?”
“Because the outside is all anyone ever sees,” he replied. “Before I came to work for you, I never met anyone who saw me as anything but a nobody, weak and powerless. When I came to La Belle Dame, I had already decided to wear the mask, and everyone saw me as pompous and cruel. I’ve learned from experience —and from your brilliant demonstration this morning — that what I was under the mask was the truth. I really am nothing. The funny thing is, nothing turns out to be way better than the how the mask made me look.”
“So what you told Maisie about men and women ...?”
His eyes got wide, and he laughed.
“Look at me! Do I really look like someone who ‘goes out and gets things done?’ And look at you, with your own company and your millions. People fear and respect you. Me? I’m a joke, remember? After this morning I may look stupid, but I’m not. I went with that argument because I had nothing left to fall back on.”
He turned away and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I resented Katie because she is a better accountant than I am. It was my mistake in the spreadsheet program that caused it to crash. She had nothing to do with it. I tried to blame it on her because she’s good, and people like her. I wasn’t, and they don’t.” His voice softened, and he sighed. “Since I won’t be around to do it myself, please tell her I’m sorry for everything I ever said or did to upset her. Hell, tell ‘em all. It won’t change how they feel, but I’ll feel better if they know I understand what I did was wrong.”
“Why not tell them yourself?”
“Because if I do things right for once in my life, I’ll be dead before morning,” he replied. “And even if I knew all their numbers, I don’t think they’d appreciate me calling them all in the middle of the night to apologize. Especially me.”
“Apologies are always welcome, if you mean them.”
“No, they hate me. That much was obvious from this morning’s little adventure.”
Karen tossed her head, and her eyes flashed. “Oh come on, Paul. They don’t hate you. Hate takes energy. Hate takes effort. They don’t like you much, and you know why. But if you gave them the chance to see you and not that god-awful asshole you’ve been, maybe ...”
“What? Maybe what?” He turned back to face her, angry. “Maybe they’d just ignore me instead of hate me?”
“Maybe ... maybe they’d actually see you.” Karen caught his eyes and smiled. “You know, you’re really not this nobody you keep claiming to be. You’re smart, and you’ve got some real fire in you, even without the mask to hide behind.”
“If that’s true, why has everyone I’ve ever known put me down?”
She gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe a long time ago, you made the mistake of believing someone you thought you could trust. They told you that you were nothing, and once you believed it, everyone else you met believed it too.”
Paul stopped to think about that for a second. Could that be why? If you spend your whole time cringing, like a dog waiting to be kicked, eventually some jerk is going to kick you.
“I don’t know ...” The words came out slowly.
“Look, why don’t you hold off on ... your plans for the evening? Just for a while?” Karen’s voice was smooth. She knew how to sell something when she had to, and she wanted him to buy into the idea that it was worth something to stay alive.
“Why should I? I haven’t got a job, and my apartment doesn’t even have a bed in it anymore.”
“You still have a job.”
He shook his head firmly. “Not with that uniform requirement in place. I know the only reason it’s there is to hurt me, and I won’t play.
Karen hesitated only an instant. “Then it’s gone.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. It’s my company, after all.” She smiled. “Wearing the uniform will be encouraged, but not mandatory for office staff. And maybe we can amend the policy to come up with something for you to wear that would complement the rest of the office. A black suit maybe, with a white shirt and fuscia tie and handkerchief?”
“I can’t possibly afford ...”
“Everyone else gets their uniforms for free. You should, too. Something off the rack for now, but we’ll visit my husband’s tailor tomorrow afternoon. After you’ve apologized to everyone, of course. You truly have been a jerk in every sense of the word.” Her eyes narrowed. “Of course, you’re going to have to do better in the personal grooming department from now on as well. I won’t have you wandering into one of my offices looking like you just rolled out of bed anymore, understand?”
Paul felt his world turning over, and he had nothing to grab onto. Everything was suddenly happening way too fast. “Yes, of course, but ...”
She stepped forward and placed a finger on his chest.
“And no more being late every morning, or treating people like dirt. The mask is gone for good. Let’s see what we can do with the Paul it left behind.”
“But ... I’m not worth the effort. I’m nothing!”
“Don’t you dare tell me what I can’t do!” She almost growled at him, and he took a small step backward. “Even if that's true, I built this company up from nothing, I can do the same for you.” Then she grinned. “Besides, I think you’re much more than you think you are. I’m going to make you see that, because I always accomplish what I set out to do.”
Karen looked him over, made a decision, and stepped back. “How tall are you?”
“Five foot, five inches,” he stammered, confused. “Why?”
“Because my husband is a multimillionaire, a businessman, and an entrepreneur in his own right,” she replied, “He is loved, respected, and feared all over the world. And he’s one inch shorter than you are. Up until thirty seconds ago, he had two things you didn’t. Now, he only has one, and I’m going to make damned sure you catch up.”
“What’s the one thing he has that I’m missing?”
“Self-confidence. He believes in himself, and now it’s your turn. I’m going to make you believe in you, or die trying. Now come back inside before we both freeze out here. You’re staying at our place tonight, until we get you set up again.”
She turned, and Paul fell in beside her, still feeling like he’d been caught in the undertow and dragged out to sea. He reached out and touched her arm. She stopped and turned, a half frown on her face.
“Why are you doing this?” He spoke softly, as if he was afraid of the answer.
“Because this morning I set out to kick a pit bull down a peg and wound up almost killing a puppy.” Karen let her expression soften. “I made a mistake, too, just like you did when you put on that mask. I’m not a heartless bitch, Paul. As you said before, I rule here. This is my kingdom. That means I have an obligation to my subjects ... noblesse oblige, if you will. And you’re one of them.”
He gave her a sideways look.
“What’s the one thing we both share, me and your husband?” He asked tentatively. “The thing I didn’t have until a few minutes ago.”
“Me, Paul.” She grinned a wide grin, and he felt a touch of hope, just a little. “Now you both have me — and God help you if you let me down.”
He found himself smiling back, and ducked his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
They walked back into the building, together.
Testimony
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by Randalynn
which was in turn a sequel to Case Closed by Randalynn,
which was in turn a sequel to A Legal Requirement by Angharad
The next morning, everyone in the office was talking about what had happened yesterday, and wondering what was going to happen next.
“You should have seen him,” Jocelyn crowed, a huge smile on her face, “Cringing and whimpering, curled up in the passenger seat trying to hide himself. When we got to his apartment building, he didn’t want to get out of the car. I had to kick him out with my foot. Then I pulled away from the curb and left him there, on the sidewalk on his hands and knees, still wearing the uniform. It was priceless.”
“Looks like Paula finally got what she deserved,” Lizzie said, satisfaction oozing from every pore. “And after how she reacted when I held her back from attacking the boss, I don’t think we’re going to see that smug little twit show his face around here anymore.”
Katie looked from one woman to the next, seeing nothing but the image of Paul, alone in a room full of enemies. Did he really deserve what they had done?
“Mister Macho Man.” Maisie’s voice was full of scorn. “Not so arrogant anymore, I bet. Did you see him on the floor, crying like a baby? He was sobbing like a little girl.”
“That’s a good question.” Mrs. King spoke from the doorway, her voice cold. Every woman in the room turned. As Karen walked into the room, they had the sense of a barely controlled anger, but none of them had the slightest idea what she was angry at. Almost as one, they realized that somehow, they had wandered into a minefield, or worse, the minefield had come to them. When it came to dealing with the absolute ruler of La Belle Dame, not knowing what she was angry about was a recipe for dismissal ... or worse.
After a silence, the one woman who could be called her friend spoke.
“What is, Karen?” Maisie said softly.
“Whether you saw him on the floor, crying like a baby,” she replied, the edge in her voice obvious. “Whether you noticed him there, sobbing like a little girl. That question.”
“Of course we did.” Lizzie spoke, still unsure of what was going on. “Hell, ma’am, we’re the ones that put him there.”
“Yes, we did. We all did.” Karen walked to the front of the office and turned around to face them all. “We banded together as one, all of us, to humiliate a man because he was an arrogant son of a bitch, and none of us liked him at all. You attacked him, stripped him, and dressed him in women’s clothing. Then I came out and, with nothing but a few well-chosen words, made sure he knew how powerless and friendless he was here.”
“So hooray for us. We showed Paul how weak he really was, took away every scrap of dignity and self-respect he had, and reduced him to a crying mass on the floor. Why? Because we didn’t like him.”
She stopped for a moment, looked down and shook her head.
“What if the same thing happened to you?” Karen raised her head and looked at each woman in turn, her gaze sweeping the room slowly. “What if you worked for a company that changed the uniform code for women so you would have to dress each day like a prostitute? And what if you found yourself in a room full of men, and they held you down, stripped you, and dressed you like a whore ... just because they didn’t like you? And what if the head of the company came out, complimented you on your new uniform, and dismissed your pain as unimportant — like you’re just another bitch out walking the street.”
Nobody answered her, because there was no answer. Karen looked at Maisie.
“If Paul had been the arrogant son of a bitch we all thought he was, he would have gone to an attorney and sued us all.” Her voice rose and shook, and the anger started to pour out with every word. “He would have risen up, sure of his own rightness in all things, and taken us all to court. And contract or no contract, he would have won. Because if a jury ever saw what we did ... in fifteen minutes of inexcusable cruelty, we made that man the poster child for sexual harassment, and he could have ripped this company apart and walked away wealthy.”
Karen took a deep breath, pulling the anger back, just a little.
“Instead, he came to see me last night. He didn’t come to tell me he was going to sue. He didn’t come to yell at me for targeting him, for humiliating him, for reducing him to tears. No, he came ... to thank me. He wanted to thank all of us for showing him how truly worthless he was ... on his way to commit suicide.”
“He brought back the uniform, with the footprint on the skirt bottom from when you kicked him out of the car in front of his building. He had trashed his computer and thrown away everything he owned, because he wasn’t going to need any of it anymore. He just stopped by on his way to kill himself — and we drove him to it!”
“Do you know why he had been such a bastard to everyone? He had been told his entire life that he was worthless ... a nothing. He had been beaten, belittled, and abused by everyone he had ever known, and when he started working here, he was sure it was going to happen again. So he tried to pump himself up, make himself feel important by acting as if he was important. He put on a mask and hoped it would become a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“It did, but not the way he had hoped. He became rude and nasty, arrogant and dismissive. Paul saw it happened, but as much as he wanted to stop himself, he couldn’t. Because if he took off the mask, the only thing waiting for him underneath was the certainty that he was ... nothing at all.”
“But we didn’t know. We didn’t ask. We didn’t see. Because we didn’t look. And really, ladies, we didn’t want to, did we? Because we didn’t see a person. We saw a target. We saw a self-important little man, and we hate self-important little men, so we didn’t see the damaged child inside. We just beat up on the symbol and ignored the pain, and in the end, there wasn’t an arrogant little prick in a skirt and blouse, raging at the humiliation he’d been given. There was just a hopeless little boy, realizing just how useless and worthless he truly was.”
The anger roared out again, and they all felt it stab them in the heart with each word she spoke.
“We almost KILLED a man last night, because we didn’t stop and look at what we’d done! We didn’t see him as he truly was ... because we didn’t want to look. We just wanted to hurt.”
“So I ask you all again, did you see him on the floor, crying like a baby? Did you notice him there, sobbing like a little girl? Because I didn’t, really ... until he thanked me last night for making him feel so worthless that death was the best of all his possible futures.”
The room was dead quiet, as each woman thought about what Karen had said, and what they had done. Finally, Maisie spoke.
“What happened? Is he ... is he okay?”
“No, he is not okay,” Karen replied, sarcasm dripping from every word. “But he’s not dead, and that’s something. I only managed to talk him out of finding a quiet place to kill himself by promising to help him see he’s more than he thinks he is. He’s coming back this morning, and he’s going to apologize for all the things he’s ever said and done to hurt anyone here. Honestly, I don’t think it’s necessary — not after what we did to him. But I’m the one who made him promise to, because I think he needs to apologize, to put all of it behind him. And because we almost killed the man, we’re going to apologize, too.”
“What? Apologize to that little prick?” Jocelyn’s eyes flashed. “Sorry, ma’am, but you can’t make me tell that bastard I’m --.”
Karen looked over and didn’t hestitate.
“Fine. You’re fired. Pick up your check from accounting and get the hell off of my premises.”
“WHAT?”
“If you don’t have enough compassion in you to realize that what we did to him yesterday was wrong, after everything I've just told you, I don’t want you working for me. Ever.” Her lip curled in a semi-snarl. “I only hire humans, you see. And you’re obviously not qualified for the position. Now get out.”
Jocelyn stared at her ex-employer for a second, then snagged her purse and her coat before marching out of the office.
“Does anyone else have a problem?” Almost as one, the rest of the women shook their heads, and Karen smiled. The tension left her, and the anger as well. None of them were truly bad, and she knew where their hearts would take them eventually. At that moment, Team Paul was born.
‘This could work,’ she thought, then shook her head slight. ‘No, it will work, or damn it, I’ll know why.’
“Thank you, everyone,” she said softly, “You make me proud of you all.”
She took a deep breath. “As you all know, the name of this company is French but I first saw it in the title of a poem by Keats, entitled La Belle Dame sans Merci. Translated, it means ‘The Beautiful Lady Without Pity.’” Karen looked at her staff, and smiled. “I think we’ll just stick with Le Belle Dame from now on, don’t you?”
Maisie smiled back and nodded, and the other women did as well.
She called her car, and told the driver to pull up and drop the young man at the front door. Then she turned back to the staff.
“All right, then,” Karen said. “Let’s see if we can show Paul that he’s more than he thinks he is — and show him that we’re capable of more than we showed him yesterday.”
He entered slowly, in his new black suit, crisp white shirt, and fuchsia tie. His hair had been cut and styled, and he was clean-shaven, but for all of that, he somehow managed to look older instead of younger. He was nervous, and it showed, and he stood by the doorway, not knowing how to begin. The women looked back at him, and as he opened his mouth to speak, a dozen voices joined his in a welcome chorus ... Karen’s included.
“I’m sorry.”
Expert Witness
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I bet you thought this story chain ended two years ago ...
It's best for new readers to begin at the beginning,
with A Legal Requirement by Angharad,
and continue through the rest of the sequels by me that include
Case Closed, Won on Appeal, and Testimony.
After the apologies and an hour of explanations, followed by even more apologies from all concerned, the office slowly became an place of business once again, although one with a much less adversarial atmosphere than in recent weeks.
In the minds of every woman there, Paul had moved from villain to victim, and a rush of maternal feelings toward him washed away any last bits of resentment anyone might have had over how badly he had treated them all. As for Paul, his only thought was to try and make up for all the pain he had caused. As a result, he was polite and deferential to everyone in the office, almost timid in his responses to even the simplest of questions. Having anyone treat him as a real human being instead of a joke was so new, he almost didn’t know how to react.
Karen King retreated with Maisie to the younger woman’s office, where she lowered herself onto Maisie’s sofa with a sigh.
“God, what a mess,” she said. “I can’t believe we almost killed a man.”
The office manager shook her head and settled down on the sofa next to her boss.
“I know. It was like something out of Lord of the Flies,” she agreed. “I’m still a little surprised at Jocelyn, though. I never imagined she had so little compassion in her. Even after she knew what that boy had been through all his life, she still hated him so much ...”
“Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say,” Karen declared, grimacing. “We’re going to need to watch out for her, you know. She may decide not to let it go. And now she hates me as much as she did Paul. If she tries something ... well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
“Are you sorry you acted so quickly?”
“No!” Karen looked at her friend. “I don’t much care about making more enemies. I’ve too many to count as it is, what does one more matter? I guess I’m just worried about Paul. Right now, the last thing he needs is Jocelyn working to make his life miserable. It’s the last thing we need, too, if we’re going to get his life back on track.”
“What are we going to do now?”
Karen laughed.
“Now is the easy part,” she said. “You go back to managing your office, and I head back to my office to try and get some work done today. I have some calls out to a few people to help get Paul resettled in his old apartment, but since he threw out everything, that’s going to take a few days. And I need to call Frank about Paul staying with us. I’d hate for him to come back from Geneva this afternoon and find a strange man in our home.”
“I can imagine that might be a bit awkward.”
“A bit.” Karen smiled. “No, the real challenge comes when the simple things are past.”
She rose to her feet, and Maisie followed suit. “How do we show Paul he’s more than he thinks he is? How do we get him to believe in himself? It might just be a matter of us treating him as a human being, and showing him we care for him as a person. If only it were that easy. Still, none of us is an expert in this. Hell, girl, there may not be an expert in this.”
The CEO gave Maisie a small hug and started for the door. Then she stopped and turned.
“For now, set up regular cross-training sessions for Katie and Paul,” she said with a smile. “Have them teach each other the things the other one knows ... about accounting and spreadsheets, at least. If they both manage to learn something more about each other, that’s bound to be a plus, don’t you think?”
She opened the door and stepped through. “Call you later, M.”
“Later,” Maisie replied to her employer’s vanishing back.
‘Just like Karen,’ she thought with a smile. ‘Take charge all the way, even in unfamiliar territory. She may think she doesn’t know what she’s doing, but whatever she decides to do, she’ll do it with all her heart.’
It was awkward at first, for both of them. Paul went first, doing his best to show Katie how he build his cascading spreadsheets, formula upon formula, based on the math he knew so well. Although Katie felt out of her depth at first, she soon began to see how Paul managed to turn accounting rules into a web of equations that led to hours saved making tedious calculations.
Unfortunately, when it came to the legal aspects of accountancy and the tax elements involved, Paul struggled to work his way through even the simplest of rules. When Katie could see his frustration rising, she rose from her chair. Paul looked up at her, confused.
‘Is she going to give up on me?’ he wondered, and part of him nodded. ‘I knew this was too good to last.’
“Come on, Paul,” she said with a smile, reaching out a hand. “Let’s get a cup of coffee. We need to figure this out.”
Paul looked at her hand for a moment, then reached up and took it. He stood, and they walked to the small kitchen together. They each took a turn at the coffeepot and fixings, then sat down across from each other at the lunch table.
“There’s something about these rules that bothers you,” Katie began, cradling her cup with her fingertips. “It’s almost like you’ve got a mental block or something.”
“Maybe everyone was right,” he said, a touch of bitterness in his tone. “Maybe I’m just stupid.”
Katie wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “No way. How could you put together those spreadsheets like that if you’re stupid?”
“I don’t know.” Paul smiled, just a little. “Maybe I’m like those people who now a lot about just one thing and nothing about everything else. What’re they called ... savants?”
She smiled back. “I think the word is ... Trekkies?”
There was a short, uncomfortable silence.
“I don’t know, Katie.” He took a sip of coffee and sighed. “I try to read one of those rules and it comes out all tangled and confused in my head. No wonder I can’t remember them.”
“That’s just ‘cause they’re written by lawyers,” she replied. “If they wrote those rules in plain English, they wouldn’t get paid by everyone and his mother to tell you what they really mean when you need to get things done, right?”
“You understand ‘em, though.”
Katie grinned. “That’s ‘cause I can read Lawyer-ese. It’s a gift.”
“Well, maybe we can find a bookstore and pick up a phrasebook I could use.” Paul gave her a small smile in return, summoning enough courage to try and make a joke. “That way, the next time I’m in Lawyer-ania, I can ask for the loo and make it sound like I’m requesting a writ of habeas corpus or something.”
Katie laughed, and Paul blushed, just a little. He couldn’t believe it worked. Then the woman across from him tilted her head slightly, and her eyes glazed over just a little.
“You know, maybe we’re doing this all wrong,” she said slowly. “Maybe I shouldn’t be trying to teach you the rules at all. Maybe what I should be doing is teaching you how to read Lawyer-ese.”
“Maybe.” Paul gave it some thought as well. “The other problem is, the stuff I have managed to learn doesn’t make sense to me. It’s all disconnected.”
“That’s because you haven’t learned enough to see the pattern.” Katie stood up, excited. “It’s like a crossword, yeah? Or a jigsaw puzzle. Once you see enough of the picture, you can figure out where the other pieces fit. You just haven’t seen enough of the pattern behind the rules to fit it together because you can’t read Lawyer-ese.”
“It sounds like it could work.” Paul looked up at her, and she could see the doubt in his eyes.
“But I could be just as stupid as people said I am. Maybe you’re just wasting your time.”
“Stop!” Katie reached out and put her finger on the tip of his nose. “I’m people, too so you can listen to me, right? So listen. Those spreadsheets you put together, they’re brilliant. And all about logical connections. So if you can do that, you can make the same connections with other things, too.” She leaned forward. “Like accounting rules.”
She reached down and took his hand. “Come on, Paul. It’s time for language lessons.”
Katie walked out of the kitchen, holding her coffee and pulling Paul after her. The young man had no choice to follow, wondering what he had gotten himself into — and why her hand felt so good in his.
Karen was so intent on her computer screen that she failed to notice his arrival, until she felt his lips on her neck and his hands gently rest on her shoulders.
“You work too hard, Mrs. King,” he whispered, and she smiled.
“So do you, Mr. King.” She spun her chair around in time to catch his lips with hers, and the two took a moment or two to get reacquainted. Eventually, Karen rose and they both walked over to the leather sofa together, her husband’s arm around her waist. “I got your message when the plane landed. Apparently we have a house guest for a few days.”
“We do.” They settled in together on the sofa, and Karen let herself relax completely. As strong as she was, she always hated it when Frank was away. “I was a bad girl, husband. I did something cruel ... and I didn’t think about the man I did it to, or what the consequences might be. I ... hurt him so badly, I almost made him kill himself.”
The tears started coming, and she began to shake. “He ... he thanked me for showing him how worthless he was.”
Frank gave her a one-armed hug and kissed her hair.
“Take your time, love,” he said softly. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
And she did.
“So he’s become your latest project?”
Frank had walked over to the small bar in the corner and mixed them both drinks. She nodded a thank-you as he handed her a glass.
“From one king to another,” Karen replied, after taking a sip, “how could I possibly do what I did to him and not do everything in my power to fix it? Noblesse oblige, Your Majesty.”
“No, my Queen.” The man sat back down on the sofa beside her and looked into her eyes. “This is more than that. I know you. I know why what almost happened to Paul was important enough to make you cry.”
She didn’t turn away, but her eyes were wet again. Frank reached out and touched her chin. “I remember when La Belle Dame took off, and you became a success. You promised yourself that you would never use your position to hurt anyone who didn’t deserve to be hurt. We talk about noblesse oblige as if it’s a joke, but we both know that we have a responsibility to be careful with the power we have over the lives of others. You abused it yesterday morning.”
“When you decided to target Paul the way you did, you forgot your promise to yourself and became what you’ve always hated — a bully. You deliberately used your power and position to hurt another person, and worse yet, you did it without thinking of the consequences. You took Paul at face value and, as a result, you almost killed him. And you did it casually, without paying attention to who you were targeting and what he really was. You just saw him as the kind of man you hate, and when you made that kind of mistake ... it made you less than who you are. Made you see yourself as someone you never wanted to be. Of course you want to fix it.”
“Oh, don’t sugar coat it, husband,” Karen said, trying for a light tone and failing miserably. “Tell me what you really think.”
“Always, my wife.” He kissed her softly on the lips. “No lies between us, not ever. The truth is, you hate to be reminded that you’re less than perfect, and now you’re going to do everything you can think of bring Paul back from the edge ... and restore your faith in yourself. If you fix Paul, you get to fix yourself as well.”
Frank sat back on the sofa, stretched out his legs and took a sip of his drink. “So, now that we know where we stand, it’s time to make everything better. Any thoughts about how you plan to make him believe in himself?”
Mrs. King smiled, just a little. “I was sort of hoping you’d be able to help,” she said.
Her husband smiled.
“I have a few ideas,” he replied.
“You always do.” Karen smiled. “That’s part of why I love you.”
“Only part?” Frank raised an eyebrow. “Thank God for that. For a moment there, I thought you only wanted me for my mind.”
“Perish the thought,” she whispered, and leaned over to give him a kiss.
The afternoon flew by, and Katie’s lessons in Lawyer-ese started helping Paul figure out the logic behind accountancy rules (what there was of it, anyway). They took a section that Paul had been having trouble with, and Katie translated it line by line. By the end of the day, he had begun to do some translation for himself, and Katie felt a warm glow of satisfaction as she watched him puzzle out a particularly difficult section of the rules on his own.
“If only we would have talked sooner,” she said, smiling, “I’m sure you could have done much better on your exams.”
“Exams are just tests, anyway,” Paul replied, returning her smile shyly. “It would have been nice to do better, but at least now I have a chance to do the job the way it should be done. It’s just ... the more I think about it, I wonder if this is what I really want to do.”
“Excuse me for interrupting.” Both Paul and Katie turned towards the new voice, and Katie popped out of her chair. Paul rose slowly a few seconds after, unsure why he should stand but feeling that he must. The man in the doorway smiled.
“Hello, Katie,” he said. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“Hello, Mr. King. Welcome back!”
“Thank you.” Frank took a step into the room. “You must be Paul. Frank King.”
He held out his hand, and Paul reached out and took it, trying his best to give a firm handshake.
“Paul Merchant. Umm ... pleased to meet you, sir.”
“I understand you’ll be staying with us for a few days.” Frank let go, and Paul took a step back.
“Just until my apartment is ... well, sorted,” the younger man replied, not sure what to say ... or do with his hands, for that matter.
“Hard to lose everything,” Frank said sympathetically. “Been there a few times myself, never pleasant. But Karen will have everything taken care of straightaway. She’s good at that.”
“So I’ve seen.” Paul managed a small smile.
“Speaking of which, I’ve gotten my marching orders from Her Majesty.” Frank looked at Paul’s suit with a critical eye. “That’s quite nice for off-the-rack, but I’ve been told to take you to my tailor soonest and get you some proper suits. When those are ready, we’ll go back and have the off-the-rack ones altered for a better fit. So, sorry Katie, I’m afraid I have to steal this young gentleman from you for the remainder of the day.”
“It’s okay, Mr. King. We’ll pick up tomorrow, right, Paul?” Katie smiled.
“I’d like that,” Paul replied, and was a little surprised to find out that he was looking forward to studying more. “See you tomorrow, then.”
After the visit to the tailor for several suits, shirts, and ties, Frank and Paul hit a few other stores for other clothing essentials to tide him over for a bit. Then, to Paul’s surprise, Frank took him into a pub not far from the center of the city.
They sat at a booth by the front windows, and Paul looked out at the people on the sidewalk and felt strangely detached. The glass was slightly tinted, and even though he was close enough to touch the pedestrians, it seemed like he was invisible to them. That was just fine, as far as he was concerned. He’d been invisible most of his life, when he hadn’t been being ridiculed or harassed or humiliated
When the waiter came by, Frank ordered a Scotch on the rocks. Having never been out drinking with anyone before, Paul had no idea what to order, so he chose the same. When the drinks came, Frank raised his to Paul, and Paul solemnly did the same. Both drank in silence, then put their glasses down.
“Bad choice, suicide,” Frank said softly. “Don’t you think?”
“Depends on your other options,” Paul replied.
“True, as far as it goes.” The older man nodded thoughtfully. “Of course, killing yourself takes any other options you might have off the table. Takes you out of the game, too, of course. But I imagine once you’re dead, you lose interest in keeping score.”
“I always thought I’d be happy just to get the chance to play.” The accountant took a small sip of his Scotch, still not sure if he liked it. “Then I got out there and found out the truth.”
“Truth?”
“That playing never gets fun if the deck is always stacked against you, and the house always wins.”
Frank thought about it for a while, turning his glass slowly on the table.
“You read a lot of science fiction, Paul?” The other man nodded, and a timid smile crossed his lips. “I do, too. Or at least I did. Read any Robert Heinlein? Time Enough for Love?”
Paul nodded. “Lazarus Long. Larger than life and twice as tough.”
“Oh, yes.” Frank grinned. “The Admiral’s idea of the perfect human. Ornery, gruff, old-fashioned, and insanely competent. But also the most confident character I’ve ever come across. He’s why I’m here, today, actually.”
“Lazarus Long? How?”
The older man pushed his glass around the table and watched the liquor moving back and forth. “When I was younger, I always felt out of place. Other people always got the after-school jobs, or the pretty girls, or pretty much anything they wanted. I always seemed to come in second, or third. Or not at all.”
“Because … you were short.”
“That’s what I thought, at first. And part of me was willing to believe it. So it kept on like this for a while, and I began to feel like I’d never amount to anything.”
Frank raised his glass, took another sip, and looked at Paul. “Then I read that book, and one of the things Lazarus said struck a chord. Changed my life.”
After a few seconds, Paul had to ask.
“What did he say?”
“Certainly the game is rigged. Don’t let that stop you. If you don’t bet, you can’t win.”
The younger man grinned, and shook his head. “It can’t be that simple.”
“Oh, believe me, it wasn’t. Agreeing with the quote was the easy part. It was the follow-through that was tough. I had to stop letting my past failures get in the way of what I wanted in the present, and the future, and that’s never easy.”
He shook his head. “You know, every time I hear someone tell somebody else to just ‘get back on the horse,’ I have to wonder if they’ve ever fallen off, and if they did, if they remember how much work it took for them to put a foot back in that stirrup and swing up onto that saddle again.”
“Because betting when I ‘knew’ the game was rigged was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. It took weeks of not listening to that voice inside of me, and they were some of the worst weeks of my life. Then I got a win. Just one, an after-school job. But the one win made it a little easier for me to tell that voice to go to Hell, every time it tried to pull me down. Then I got another win, and another, and another. And finally, the voice just stopped. I couldn't hear it anymore.”
“So here I am, today, richer than I ever thought I’d be, with a wife who loves me and a life I love. All because some fictional character told me to bet, even if I was sure I didn’t have a chance. And because every time I lost, I’d learned enough to double-down and bet again.”
He finished his drink and put the glass down. “Time for us to get home. Karen’s probably waiting for us all to go to dinner.”
Paul gave him a doubting look. “I understand what you’re saying, and I get it. But your whole life changing, because of a story?”
Frank shrugged. “There’s a lot of wisdom in stories, Paul. Look at Aesop, or the Brothers Grimm. Or Shakespeare, I suppose. But there’s wisdom to be had in the real world, too. I think Mother Teresa said something that even Lazarus Long would agree with.”
He stood up, and Paul followed suit.
“Why? What did she say?”
“God doesn't require us to succeed. He only requires that you try.”
Two weeks later, Paul was back in his old apartment. His clothes, furniture, TV, computer, and everything else he had thrown away had been replaced by the unseen hand of Karen King. His understanding of accountancy had grown by leaps and bounds as Katie had taught him how to understand the rules, instead of him having to learn them by rote without knowing what they meant.
He and Katie had also worked to expand his original program so it could handle additional accounting issues. Mrs. King was even talking about figuring out a way to turn it into a product that could be sold commercially. She said if she could, the profits would go to Paul and Katie. Katie initially refused her share, saying that she didn’t really deserve it. However, Paul made it clear that he couldn’t have gone further than the original program without her contribution. As far as he was concerned, the split would be straight down the middle … if Mrs. King managed to sell it, that is.
Although knowing her the way he did now, Paul was pretty sure Mrs. King could do anything she put her mind to.
Everyone at the company had been so nice to him, it was hard for him to believe how close he came to ending it all a few weeks ago. There were always smiles and “good mornings” when he arrived at the office each day, and even friendly lunches with some of the women. More than a few after work drinks with Frank, too. It felt weird actually having a friend, since Paul never had one before. It was so new, he wasn’t quite sure how to behave. Frank was surprisingly patient, as if he knew this was something outside of Paul’s experience and was giving him as much time as he needed to get used to the idea.
Best of all, he was about to do something he never ever thought he’d have the chance to do in all the years that came before.
He was going on a date.
Paul had pulled together enough courage to ask Katie out to dinner, and to his surprise, she said yes.
They were going to meet at a bar near work and walk together to a restaurant. He didn’t have a lot of clothes to choose from, so he opted for one of the off-the-rack black suits with a light blue shirt, and some casual black shoes instead of the shiny dress shoes he wore to work. He did everything he could think of to make himself ready … fresh haircut, close shave. Still, he wasn’t satisfied. But it was almost time to meet her, and it’s not like she didn’t know who he was, really. So he took one last look in the mirror, sighed, and headed out.
It was just turning dark outside by the time he walked into the bar. Paul scanned the crowd, looking for Katie, and found her. Unfortunately, she was at the bar, looking decidedly uncomfortable. The reason was a walking ego in a cheap suit, looming over her, talking loud, touching her arm, and not listening to a word when she told him she wasn’t interested.
Katie saw him at the door, and caught his eye. She shook her head slightly, and Paul realized she was trying to protect him. She was warning him off.
She was worried … about him.
It stunned him for a second. She was in trouble, and she was worried about him. He had never had anyone put him first before, not ever. He felt strangely calm, and happy, and warm all over. She cared about him. Katie actually cared.
It was only fair that he let her know he cared about her, too. He remembered what Frank had said a few weeks back, about the game being rigged … and about what it took to win. He smiled at her, and shook his head in return. No running from trouble, not this time. Not anymore.
This time, maybe for the first time, he was going to place a bet.
Frank King finished pouring a second glass of champagne for Karen as the two of them sat in the back of their limousine. A few moments before, they had watched Paul enter the bar.
“You knew about the date,” Karen asked. Frank nodded. “And you sent that large, scary man into the bar?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you find him?”
“Casting agent in L.A. I flew him in on the corporate jet. I wanted someone who could be physically imposing, overbearing, and threatening, but still be able to back down convincingly if Paul chose to take a stand. Auditioned him myself. Very credible.”
She looked at him over the rim of her glass. “And Katie knows nothing?”
Frank shook his head. “Not a thing.”
Karen looked at him for a while. “Why did you put this all together, exactly?”
“You know why.” Frank gestured towards the bar. “For that.”
Paul and Katie walked out together, arm in arm. Paul looked like he felt a foot taller, and Katie smiled at him like he was everything she had ever wanted in a five-foot, five-inch tall package.
“Everyone needs a defining moment in their lives, my Queen. I just wanted Paul to get his sooner rather than later.”
“Why?”
Frank’s eyes never left the couple as they walked off down the street. “Because Heinlein was right, all those years ago. The game really is rigged. As supportive as we both were, he could have spent years being kicked around by the world. We can’t possibly protect him from everything until his moment comes. So I stacked the deck in his favor, and gave him the chance to gamble on himself now, so he could get past his past and get on with living.”
“There’s something else, though, isn’t there?”
He smiled.
“Hurting him … hurt you,” he said. “Making him better will help you feel better. And as we both know, I am all about making you feel … better.”
Karen smiled, put down her glass, and kissed him gently for a long time. Then she snuggled into him and sighed.
“You are a manipulative bastard, husband.”
“Yes, I am, darling,” he replied with a smile, holding her close. “But I’m your manipulative bastard, and you know I only use my powers for good. That’s part of why you love me.”
“Only part of why, Frank. Only part.” She started unbuttoning his shirt.
“In the car, woman? You’re incorrigible.”
She finished unbuttoning the shirt and started pulling it out of his pants, while her mouth found his. He reached out and rapped on the glass between the driver and passengers.
“For God’s sake, take us home, Phillip. Right now, before she gets my trousers off.”
“Very good, sir.”
She laughed and rested her head on his chest, as the car pulled out into the night.
Loose Change
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Sophie Deems is a seventeen-year-old waitress in a small town in the middle of nowhere, just trying to get along ... or is she? A visit from a woman in a silver Aston Martin pulls her past into her present, and makes her wonder if she can ever move on — or even if she want to.
Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf on Sunday 02-28-2010 at 07:41:09 am, this retro classic was pulled out of the closet, and re-presented for our newer readers.
~Sephrena
“So, a hamburger, well-done, with fries, a chicken Caesar salad, and two diet Cokes, is that right?” I treated both customers to my best perky smile, and they both smiled back and nodded. “Great! I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
I spun on my toes, skirt flaring slightly, and headed to the service window to drop off my latest order. Then I went over to the bar and asked Jerry to get me two diet Cokes.
“How’re you holdin’ up, Sophie?” He looked me over with one eye while his hands worked the soda wand. I shrugged.
“It’s the same job, just more of it,” I replied. “We’re pretty much out of the lunch rush, and the table count should drop down for me soon.” I put my tray down for a second and gave a stretch, hearing my back crack in three places.
“You know what you need? A really good massage. Get all those kinks out.” He finished the second glass with a smile and put them both on my tray.
“Whose kinks would those be again?” I grinned and picked up the drink order. “Believe me, Jerry, when I feel a burning uncontrollable need to have a man’s hands all over me, I’ll know just who to call.” I leaned forward and whispered, “Nymphomaniacs Anonymous.”
He grabbed at his heart. “Oh, girl, you wound me!”
I laughed and headed back to the table with the drinks. Just as I finished putting them on the table, the manager came over to me, took me by the arm and walked me back to the bar.
“You’ve got a visitor,” he said, his voice serious. “Out in the parking lot.”
“No can do, boss,” I replied, and gestured to the crowd with a toss of my head. “Tell whoever it is that it’s not a good time. I can’t take a break until the lunch rush is over.”
“You can and you will.” I looked up at Dean and saw him scowling. I looked down and both hands were clenched into fists so tight, they shook. I’d never seen him angry about anything before — not even when I bumped into a tray full of pint glasses and watched them all smash to bits on the floor.
I put down my tray and held up both hands. “Hey! I’m sorry! If it’s that important to you, Dean, I’m there. Just wanted to make sure my customers were covered, that’s all. With Gretchen gone, there’s no one to watch my tables.”
Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry too, Sophie. I’m not even sure why I’m so on edge. Don’t worry, you’re right. And take your time. I’ll keep an eye on your section for you.”
“Thanks.” I reached out and gave his arm a squeeze. “I won’t be long, I promise.”
“She’s waiting for you,” he said. “Leaning up against a silver Aston Martin.”
A shiver ran down my spine. Sheila. Damn.
I put on my wool-lined denim jacket, the luckiest find ever at the Goodwill store, and walked out the front door. I stood for a second to get my bearings, and the wind gave my stocking-clad legs a brief hug and ruffled the hem of my skirt before taking off in search of another victim.
Hmmmm ... another victim, yes.
She was standing next to her parked car, resting her hip against a fender and watching the restaurant door as if she knew I’d be coming — which I’m sure she did. She was wearing a dark grey business suit with a violet blouse underneath, and modest pumps that matched the color of the suit. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but under her wind-tousled reddish-brown hair, her face revealed nothing. Her pale blue eyes, once so warm and loving, just seemed empty now, and cold.
I remembered when I would lose myself in those eyes, not too long ago. The thought made me want to cry, and I shook my head.
Not here. Not now.
I walked across the parking lot and stopped a few feet away from her.
“You didn’t have to do that to Dean,” I said, a touch of anger in my voice.
“Do what?”
“Give him the push. Make him want me to see you.” She raised an eyebrow. I sighed. “You pushed so hard, he lost his temper. It’s not like him, and now he’s worried there’s something wrong with him. You could have waited.”
“I didn’t want to wait. And why should you care?”
“Because I care. I like the man.”
“Oh, is there love in the air?” Those eyes flashed, half in amusement and half with curiousity.
“I said like, Sheila.” I raised my voice a little and let my irritation show. “He’s a good man and a good boss. He shouldn’t be messed with, just because you can. Nobody should. But if you deserved the power you’ve been given, you’d know that.”
“I needed to see you, and I didn’t want to wait.” She shrugged. “It’s small magic. You know it doesn’t last.”
“Oh, I know. Or you would have used it on me to get what you wanted ... from this.” We stared at each other for a few seconds, and I forced myself to relax. “So why are you here?”
She looked at me without expression. “No hello? No how are you?”
“I reserve greetings and polite inquiries for customers ... and for the people I actually care about,” I replied, my voice equally cool. “Since you’re neither, just state your business.”
‘Liar,’ a tiny voice inside me whispered. As usual, I ignored it and waited.
“My business?” She raised an eyebrow.
I sighed. “Tell me what you want and leave. Or just go and let me get back to work. I have eight tables today, and it’s the lunch rush. Gretchen called in sick.”
“My, my.” A smile grew on her lips. “I never imagined you could be so ... dedicated to your work.”
“Some parts of me haven’t changed. You knew me back when, Sheila. All those fourteen-hour days, the sleepless nights. I worked hard when I ran Shirai Industries. I work hard here, too. These people deserve good service, and I give it to them. That’s my job.”
She looked into my eyes. “Those sleepless nights weren’t always about work.”
I met her glare with one of my own. “One time, Sheila. One time in twenty one years, I lose my way. I find myself in bed with another woman. One stupid little drunken slip, never to be repeated. I was so ashamed, I could barely look at myself in the mirror the next day. And you acted like I’d been carrying on like Casanova."
“I don’t KNOW it was only one time!”
“Well, I do. And it’s not like you bothered to ask, is it?”
“Like you would tell the truth!”
“Did I lie about what I did?” I stepped forward and found myself looking up into those eyes. I didn’t realize she was that much taller than the girl I’d become. “When you found out, when you confronted me ... did I once deny it?”
“You didn’t tell me when it happened!” Her breath was hot on my cheek.
“Of course not! Why would I?” I took a step back, shivered and turned away. I still felt the shame of what I’d done. “I was stupid, Sheila. I felt like I had betrayed you ... betrayed us. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to happen again. Telling you would have hurt you. And I didn’t want to hurt you.” Pause. “I loved you.”
“Well, I wanted to hurt you.” Her voice cut deep.
“Obviously.” A touch of sarcasm crept into my own. “You were angry, but you did put some thought into your spell before casting it. In a way, it’s a pity I managed to land on my feet ... sort of. Sorry to disappoint you, and upset your ‘best-laid plans,’ but when I was little and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, a sex-addicted whore wasn’t one of the answers that popped into my mind.”
I folded my arms under my breasts, hugging myself against the chill, and waited for her to say something until the silence grew too heavy to ignore. I sighed. “That’s what you wanted, right? You wanted me to end up ... like that. But at the same time, you didn’t want me to lose my past. You wanted me to remember who I was, and who did that to me. You wanted me to suffer.”
More silence.
“I’ve done a lot of thinking about it,” I said, my tone conversational, “and I think I know why you went about it the way you did. My guess is that you couldn’t just use your power to change me directly into what you wanted without making me forget who I was, right?”
After a while, Sheila nodded. I nodded back. “You wanted me to remember what I once was, so I would always know what I had lost. You needed me to want sex so badly I ached for it, but only be able to get it from men, and be forced into going to them to earn the money to pay my way. After all, I couldn’t very well be humiliated and crushed every day if I actually enjoyed being a prostitute. If you made me what you wanted in a single step, I would have wound up a ‘happy hooker,’ with no trace of Ken Goldstein left behind to feel the pain. And where’s the revenge in that?”
I stood up and turned away, not wanting to look at her.
“The way I figure it, you had to set me up to fall into the life.” I did my best to keep my voice level. I didn’t want her to see how much this hurt. “Because once I did, you were sure I’d never ever climb out again. So you waited until I slept, then changed me into a big-breasted blonde teenager with legs up to here and hips that could stop traffic. Then you made me want sex so badly I couldn’t see straight, dressed me up in a Hollywood hooker outfit, and dropped me on the street in a city hundreds of miles from home, with nothing but an empty purse and an itch to scratch. Gotta give you credit for creativity, Sheila. I never saw it coming.”
“Even though I wasn’t tied up as tight as you wanted, you did the best you could to make your ‘loose change’ work for you.” I could hear the bitterness creep into my voice, even though I didn’t want it to. “What you didn’t count on was how easily I could see exactly what you wanted — and how stubborn I could be about not wanting you to have it.”
“I lost the hooker outfit as soon as I could find one of those drop-off bins for a charity — old clothes for the needy, that sort of thing. I found a tee shirt and jeans that sort of fit, and I left the things I was wearing for the charity to sort out. I asked around for a homeless shelter, but they had no openings. So I walked around the city three or four times, sticking to well lighted areas until the sun came up.”
Sheila spoke suddenly. “But the need ... the urges I gave you ...”
I tossed my head, surprised at how easily the feminine mannerism rose, and my lips formed an involuntary smile. “Oh, please, Sheila. I was a teenaged boy a long time ago, in another life. I learned to ignore the need to have sex RIGHT NOW. Some skills you never lose. It’s like riding a bike.”
“Besides, I may still want sex with a man, but back then I wanted something else more. I wanted to keep you from getting what you wanted when you did this to me.”
“So you haven’t ...?”
“Not stupid here, Sheila. Best way to avoid giving in to temptation is to keep my distance. I flirt because it’s expected socially, but the rest of my life is man-free. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if you made sex physically addictive for me. One orgasm and I’d be hooked for life.”
I shot her a quick glance, and was surprised to see a flash of guilt before she looked away from me.
“I did a little research in a graveyard a few towns over, and found the name of a dead baby girl who would have been the right age had she made it past her first week. Sophia Louise Deems. Sophie to her friends... my friends, now that I stole the life she might have had.”
“I found a place to stay, a halfway house for runaway teens. They got ‘my’ birth certificate for me from the state, and even a social security card from the Feds. I found this job on my own, though, and moved out as soon as I made enough cash to make it happen. It’s been slow going, but I’ve built a new life, and I’ll get along.”
The wind pushed some leaves across the lot, and I leaned against the fender of a nearby pickup truck that had seen better days.
“Being Sophie isn't exactly where I wanted my life to go, but it's better than what you had planned for me.” A touch of sadness crept into my voice. “I’m not exactly happy like this, but I have a good job, a place to stay, and friends who like me. All in all, it beats being fucked over and over every day by faceless men to pay the rent … and by the woman I loved.”
I turned around and looked into her eyes. “So why are you here? Certainly not to get the short life story of Sophie Deems.”
She looked away. More silence. “This is a long way to drive to not say anything, Sheila. Are you here to try again? Hell, you could have done that from home. Unless you want to watch me struggle this time instead of just throwing me to the wolves.”
Without another word, she stood up, walked around to the driver’s side, got in and drove away. I watched her car pull onto the road and disappear into the flow of traffic. Then I shook my head, wiped away the tears that had started to form, and walked back to the restaurant.
I had customers waiting.
My shift was over, and I could finally go home. Tips had been good, and Dean had been happy with how well I coped handling my tables and Gretchen’s, too. I changed out of my uniform into a soft sweater, a pair of well-worn blue jeans, and some sneakers from the discount store. After spending the day in heels, my feet thought the pink and white Walmart specials were every bit as good as a $200 pair of Nikes. As far as I was concerned, they were.
I walked as quickly as I could towards the bus stop, hands deep in my pockets, one clutching a can of pepper spray and the other curled into a fist. My nails cut into my hand slightly, mostly because I hadn’t yet figured out how to make a real fist with these talons Sheila wished on me. I’d cut them, but that only lasted a day or two. Then I’d wake up and there they would be, just as long as they were when I woke up standing on a street corner and looking like a wet dream.
It was dark, and I was tired. The bus stop was only a short distance from here, and well lit, but I was well aware of how much danger I was in as Sophie. Living with three other girls, I heard all of their horror stories about being stalked .... hunted. As wrong as it was, being a teenaged girl out alone is a little like being a kitten in a house full of Rottweilers. Like it or not, I was prey.
I had the pepper spray of course, and had taken a few self-defense courses at the halfway house, but I knew damned well I was no match for a “motivated” man, no matter how motivated I was to win. My best course of action was to spray and run, and hope to God someone came along to save me.
I was almost to the bus shelter, thankful to finally be within reach of the pool of light, when someone stepped out of the shadows.
“I can’t.”
With a muffled shriek I jumped into the air, and spun around to find Sheila coming out of a dark corner nearby. I didn’t even check the parking lot to see if she had come back. Stupid. Bad enough I hadn’t been watching for her, but what if it had been ... someone else?
I waited a second to catch my breath, and let my voice come back to me. Then I processed what she had said. “Can’t what?”
“I can’t try again.” Her voice was flat, as if she was discussing the weather, and I realized she was continuing our conversation from before as if hours hadn’t passed. “I used enough magic on you to make you immune to me doing anything else but reversing what I’ve done. Another magic user could do something to you, if they wanted. I can’t.”
I felt an unexpected wave of relief wash over me. As much as this new life wasn’t what I’d chosen, I had invested enough of myself in it to want to keep it. Although I wasn’t completely safe, if another magic user decided to take a dislike to me.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” she continued. “I don’t want to try again. I was wrong to do what I did in the first place. So very wrong.” She turned to face me, and I saw her lip quiver. “And I want you back.”
My jaw dropped. I stared at her as her eyes filled with tears.
“I was stupid to do what I did. I was hurt and angry and — and I reacted badly. But I do love you, Ken. I always have. I love you and I miss you, and I want you back.”
There was a loud hiss and the blare of a horn. I turned and saw that the bus had come, and before I could even think, I turned and sprinted for the door. I ran awkwardly, my strides too long, all bouncing breasts and swiveling hips, elbows out and breathing hard ... but I did run.
As I clamored up the bus’s stairs, I turned to find I had left my wife in the dark, both physically and emotionally. And that was just fine by me, because I was just as confused and clueless as she was.
It was stupid of me to run. Not that there was any thought involved at all, but if she found me at the restaurant, she could certainly find me at home.
Home. Now there was a funny thing to think. Sharing an apartment with three other girls for several months, I'd come to think of it as home — probably because the home I used to have wasn't really there anymore. Still, I guess home is where you make it, and as I climbed the stairs with keys and pepper spray in hand, I felt absurdly safe.
'God knows what's happening at Shirai,' I thought, not for the first time. 'A man … a CEO … just can't disappear without anyone noticing, can he?'
On the other hand, I became a teenaged girl with a little magical assist, so maybe Ken could be deleted the same way.
'Does that mean everything I did to build that company up just disappears along with me? All that work wasted?' I shook my head. 'Don't think about it. All it does is make you sad.'
Despite how many months it had been, I still hadn’t checked the papers, or looked for my former self on the Web — partly because I was afraid of what I’d find, or not find, as the case would be.
After all, a man hates to think his place in history could be so easily erased.
I unlocked the deadbolt, and used the same keys in the knob. The door swung open, and I darted inside, turned quickly and locked both locks. Then I sighed, and let all the tension bleed off of me. Safe.
Yeah, right.
“Hell, Sophie,” Carolyn piped up from the couch, lounging in her PJs and watching the Cartoon Network. An open carton of Tin Roof Sundae ice cream sat on the coffee table. “You always come through the door like you're being chased.”
I dropped my shoulder bag next to the table by the door and took off my coat. “That's 'cause the one time I don't worry about it, I will be.”
“That's a bad attitude, girl.” She lowered the sound on the TV with the remote. “It's not all bad out there, you know. You come straight home from work everyday and lock yourself in like you're a prisoner. Why don't you ever go out and have some fun? You don't see Katie and Meg here every night, wasting away in front of the tube or in their rooms with the door closed, listening to tunes.”
“Katie and Meg like to party. I don't.” I shrugged.
Carolyn laughed. “Girl, the only thing you seem to like is work!”
“As soon as I figure out who the hell I am, I'm going to need the cash to pay for the school I'm gonna need to make me who I want to be.”
The other girl shook her head. “You are way too serious, Sophie! You need to live a little — set your inner wench free, girl. A hard man is good to find, and you need somebody to loosen you up in all the right places.”
'I will never get used to how these girls talk to each other.' I thought with a smile.
Out loud I said, “Now you're sounding like Jerry at work. He wants to give me a massage and 'get my kinks out.'”
“Mmmmmmm,” she purred and fluttered her eyelashes. “I've seen the man, remember? Nice smile. Nice ass. You could do worse.”
“We work together! Who need the complications?” Suddenly I thought about Jerry's smile — and his ass. I felt hot all over, and struggled to change the subject. “Anyway, I did get chased tonight, sort of. So there.”
“WHAT?” She shut the TV off completely. I was sorry I said anything, but it was too late to take it back now. “Sophie, why didn't you say anything when you came in?”
I wrapped my arms around my middle, shivered, and tried to cover with a bit of attitude. “Because I'm not about the drama … like some people I know.”
Carolyn reached up and grabbed my elbow, then pulled me onto the couch and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. “It's not drama,” she said softly. “It's something you're afraid of, and it really scares you. So tell Mama Bear what happened. I will be comforting and discreet. Promise.”
I sighed and relaxed into the hug for a minute. “It wasn't a stranger,” I whispered, trying to come up with something close to the truth. “An old boyfriend tracked me down at the restaurant. The last time we were together, he threw me out in the street a few hundred miles from home, and just left me there with nothing but the clothes on my back. Now he pops out of the dark near the bus stop by work and says he's sorry and he loves me and he wants me back.” I felt the tears slip out of my eyes, and shook my head to clear them. “As if.”
She pulled back and looked into my eyes. “Did he follow you here?”
“God, I hope not!” I shook a little bit, and she gave me a squeeze.
“We'll call the police if he does.” Carolyn touched my cheek. “This is home, and you're safe here. That's what home means.” She grinned an evil grin. “And if he does show up, we'll staple his balls to a 2x4 and dig up a sledge hammer somewhere. An evening of wholesome fun.”
I smiled and shook my head. “You are terrible.”
“Damn straight, girl! Lover boy wants you, he gotta go through me. And no man messes with Queen Carolyn the First.”
After a few more seconds, I pulled back from the hug and reached for the ice cream. She slapped me lightly on the back of the hand. “Hey! You know the rules. You said keep it away from you for your own good. You know that stuff's going right to your hips.”
“Maybe, but it's gonna taste awesome along the way.” I grinned and snatched the carton away. I picked up the spoon and put a great big scoop into my mouth. “Mmmmmmmm.”
“Ewwwwww,” she said, shaking her head. “That is seriously ick. That was my spoon, bitch.”
'Really?” I looked at it curiously for a minute. With great deliberation, I licked the back of it, then grinned at her again. “I guess now it's mine.”
Without warning, she reached out and tickled me. I squealed and my whole body shook all over. Carolyn grabbed the spoon and took her own great gob of ice cream into her mouth, then showed it to me and wiggled her tongue around.
“Gross!”
It took a few more minutes of silliness, but eventually I relaxed and let her talk me into watching a marathon of old Warner Brothers cartoons until way after midnight.
I guess there was a reason I thought of this place as home after all.
It had a friend like Carolyn in it.
I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, trying to figure out what Sheila’s game was — wondering if she really wanted me back, or if there was another plan she was working to undermine my ruining her original idea.
I was still confused the next day when I stepped outside and found her parked at my door, once again leaning against the fender of her Aston Martin. Part of me wondered how she found me, although I supposed it wouldn’t be difficult for someone with her skills. The other part of me wondered if I should just turn around and walk back inside, but then I figured it would just be postponing the inevitable. She was there, she wanted some kind of answer, and she wouldn’t leave until she had one.
I walked down the stairs, opened the passenger side door and slipped inside. Sheila walked around to the driver’s side, got in, and pulled away from the curb. Neither of us spoke to the other until we’d reached a nearby diner and found ourselves in a booth with coffee in front of us and breakfast on the way.
“You ran away,” she said softly, her eyes on her cup as she stirred in several packets of sweetener.
“Yes.” I took a sip of my own. “Not what Ken might have done, I suppose. But as a teenaged girl, I’ve learned the value of fear. And you’re just too damned scary not to be afraid of.”
She looked up, surprised. “Scary?”
The look on her face was so unexpected, I could barely keep from laughing out loud. Then I realized that part of her just didn’t get it, and the fear rushed through me again.
She really didn’t understand.
“You rip me out of my life and thrust me into this body,” I said, trying hard to keep my voice from shaking, “with every intention of forcing me into some horror show of a life without the possibility of escape, because I was unfaithful once during our entire marriage. We’re talking about a plan that would scare the hell out of a rational, caring person if they even thought about doing it to someone else. And you’re surprised I’m afraid of you?”
“You’re not acting afraid now.”
“You’d be surprised how good an actress you become when you have to play someone less than half your age and a different sex!” I hissed, then stopped and shook my head. “Besides, you already know I’m afraid or I wouldn’t have run.”
“It’s not just me you’re afraid of,” she said softly. “It’s what I said last night. That I want you back.”
Just then the food arrived, and we waited until the waitress left to continue. As we both looked down at a breakfast neither of us really wanted, I spoke in a voice that was surprisingly calm.
“Who?”
She looked at me. “What?”
“Who do you want back? Ken? Or Sophie?” I picked up a piece of toast and dipped the end in my coffee. “I mean, I’m seventeen years old and female now, and I don’t remember you ever wanting to experience lesbian sex ... let alone with a minor. Or is there something you aren’t telling me?”
Sheila looked flustered, and I took a bite of the soaked bread.
“I want my husband back,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Ken. I was wrong to do what I did, and I want us back together again ... as a couple.”
“So you’ll change me back?” She nodded. “For how long?”
“Well ... forever.”
“And how long is forever these days?” She stared at me. “How long, Sheila? Until the next time you lose your temper?”
“What are you talking about?”
I threw the toast onto my plate. “You want to know why I’m afraid, Sheila? You really want to know why? Because your lack of impulse control changed me into a teenaged girl, dressed me in a slut suit, and sent me hundreds of miles away from home with an itch you wanted me to scratch. You did everything you could to turn me into a whore, just because you wanted me to suffer.”
“And it wasn’t an easy bullet to dodge, sister,” I hissed, trying to keep my voice down through the anger. “I lied before. I was this close to being what you wanted me to become. I almost grabbed the first man to walk by, and it took everything I had to turn away and run. It still does. I flirt with Jerry and the guys at the restaurant the same way an alcoholic with a thirty-day chip pours himself a shot of Scotch and stares at it — just to see if he can keep his hand from reaching down and taking that first drink that starts him back into the hole he climbed out of.”
“Every minute I’m in the same room with a man is another minute I have to fight the same fight over and over again. YOU did this to me — out of anger and spite! You set out to destroy me, and thank God I’m still here. But who knows what you’ll think of the next time you get angry with me?”
I stopped, breathing hard, just to let my anger fall. She looked at me, stunned into silence. I stared down at my plate, shaking all over, and waited for the trembling to stop.
“The worst part of it is, I still love you,” I whispered. “I just don’t trust you anymore. ‘I’m sorry’ only goes so far, Sheila. You betrayed me ... you hurt me ... far more than my one stupid mistake ever hurt you. The woman I married ... the woman I loved ... would never have done what you did to me. She would have seen how much it hurt me to hurt you like that, and how sorry I really was.”
I looked up into her eyes. “But then you found your power, and the sorceress you’ve become did it, without even thinking of what she was doing to the man she loved. And I’m still not sure you wouldn’t do it again. That’s the problem.”
“Right now, if what you said is true, you can’t touch me magically except to change me back. You took your shot, and I’m still standing. But if I become Ken again, all bets are off. I’m fair game. And I can’t ... I can’t make a life with you ... if all I have to look forward to is waiting for the next time you lose your temper. And how creative you might be when you do.” I slid over and stood up next to the booth.
My voice grew softer. “I do still love you. But I’d rather spend the rest of my life as Sophie Deems — periods, endless burning lust, and all — then spend it lying in bed next to you, living in fear.”
I reached onto my jacket pocket and threw some bills on the table. I had to get out of there before I broke down in tears.
“Goodbye, Sheila.”
It was a long walk home. The tears came almost before I left the parking lot, and I didn’t try to stop them. Why should I? I was a girl now, after all. Girls get to cry, right? Especially with as good a reason as this girl had.
When she told me that the women in her family sometimes manifested magical powers, I was happy for her. Not at first — after all, it took a bit of convincing to even believe in the possibility, but once I accepted her powers were real, how could I possibly be anything but supportive? Now that those same powers had taken my life and the woman I loved away from me, all I could feel was anger and sadness for everything that had been lost.
I was surprised when I realized that I was crying more for the death of my marriage than I was for losing the man I had been. Damn it, I had loved Sheila with all my heart. I still did, even after all that had happened.
But I couldn’t go back. I just couldn’t. As much as I hated to let my fear make the call for me, being Sophie had taught me that sometimes, fear was the only thing you could count on to keep you safe. The only defense I had against Sheila’s power was that she couldn’t use it against me now. As long as I stayed as I was, she couldn’t touch me magically. I was as safe as a teenaged girl could be — at least from her particular brand of magic.
So no matter how much I wanted my old life back, it wasn’t an option. It couldn’t be, not ever.
I had to be smart. I had to be strong.
I had to be ... Sophie.
So I went back to my new life, and I did my best not to look back. There was nothing left for me there.
Work was good. I liked it, because it was easy work (at least for me). I liked being nice to people, getting them their food and making sure their time at Dean’s was pleasant. It was also rewarding, because when you’re nice to people, they’re usually nice back, and that meant lots of tips. Besides, I was good at it. I had the kind of memory that made remembering orders easy, and regulars liked that I remembered them and asked about their lives and families.
As for men? I still flirted with the customers (and with danger) every day, and Jerry still flirted with me (which made me smile even as it scared me silly). The urges were still there, just as strong, but if they got to be too much, I just spent a little extra time hiding in the ladies room calming down until I could get back on the floor and keep serving.
Every night was just the same. Rush home and lock myself in, and hear Carolyn complain about how I needed to cut loose before she cuddled up with me and spent the night in front of the TV too. Maybe Carolyn said something to the others, but I wound up having to turn down nightly invitations to go out and party with Katie and Meg. I finally had to lie to them the way I did to Carolyn, and explain about the fictitious boyfriend who abandoned me, and how I wasn’t quite ready to get up close and personal with a guy again at the moment.
The truth was that Sophie was one girl who knew her limitations. Dealing with men in a work environment was hard enough, but I knew if I did the girl’s night out thing, one drink and one slow dance too many could wind up making me a slave to Sheila’s curse.
Still, it made me sad. I did like Katie and Meg, and I would have liked to go out with them and have a little fun for a change. Every time I turned them down, I felt more like a prisoner in my own skin. I couldn’t really move on. I couldn’t really be the girl I had become, because this last vestige of Sheila’s spell held me hostage.
Almost a week later, I went into work as usual and started waiting my tables. I flirted a bit with the businessmen who came in at lunch hour, but it seemed easier on me somehow, as if something was missing. It wasn’t until halfway through the lunch rush that I realized what was wrong. Or rather, right.
The urges were gone.
Oh, I could look at Jerry and agree with Carolyn (nice smile AND nice ass), but the thought of going to bed with him didn’t drive me crazy with lust anymore. On the other hand, it didn’t drive me away in disgust either. Instead, I found myself wondering what it would be like, and a little excited at the prospect of saying “yes,” just once.
Or maybe more than once.
The Ken in me wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. It scared me a little, since I’d never thought about men that way before. But since I had committed to being Sophie, I had to admit that being a girl meant thinking about men ... that way.
And if the urges truly were gone, maybe I could think about a future that didn’t involve variations of “duck and cover” when it came to the male of the species.
I was distracted and off-balance all afternoon, trying to work out how if I were truly free of the need to breed, not to mention how I really felt about Jerry and how I really felt about feeling the way I did about him.
By the end of the day, my responses to his flirting had become less put-downs and more playful. Every time Jerry smiled at me, I couldn’t help smiling back. And I had decided, I didn’t mind looking at Jerry’s bottom. In fact, I sort of enjoyed it.
And when Sheila was waiting for me in the parking lot after my shift that night, I wasn’t at all surprised.
I walked down to her car, where she waited, leaning against the fender. It was cold, and we both huddled in our coats and looked at each other.
“We could talk in the car, you know,” I said with a small smile.
She nodded. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You know, being in a space that small with me. I know you’re scared.”
“I never thought you planned to knife me, Sheila.” This time I grinned. “I’m just skittish around magic, that’s all. Since I’m still Sophie, I figure I’m still safe. And since you took the urges away, I’m better than safe. I’m almost happy.” I reached out and touched her arm. “Thank you.”
“I am sorry, Ken ... Sophie.” Shelia didn’t look at me. “I really, truly am. But you’re right. It was way too easy for me to even think of hurting you that way. I let the power take me places I never would have gone, because it made revenge so easy I didn’t even have to think about what I was doing. I nearly trapped you in a living Hell because of it.”
I saw her wince slightly. “Last week, I was so angry with you when you left me there in the diner. You loved me but you couldn’t trust me? After I told you I loved you and wanted you back, you denied me. I seethed with anger all the way home, and decided to let you suffer by leaving you as you were, wanting every man you saw while you fought every minute to keep yourself from giving in to the lust.”
“Every night, I imagined you living the rest of your life fighting this, or even better, finally giving in and becoming the sex-crazed slut you fought so hard against becoming for so long.” Her voice had turned bitter. “But the strange thing was, every time I thought about it, it gave me less and less pleasure. A small voice inside me kept nagging at me, becoming louder and louder with questions I didn’t want to answer. I loved you, didn’t I? Is this what you’re supposed to do to people you care about? I shouldn’t want to hurt you this way. What was wrong with me?”
“This morning I woke up and I realized you were right. Just the fact that I had left you still aching for a man’s touch after what you said at breakfast meant that I hadn’t grown nearly enough. You were right to be afraid of me.”
“So I took the need away.”
“Not all of it,” I said softly. Sheila turned to me, and I smiled, a little embarrassed. “Jerry really does have a nice ass. And a smile that makes me melt ... a little.”
She smiled, a little embarrassed herself, and turned away again.
“I left you with choices,” she said, “because before you had none. You’re bisexual now. I reduced Sophie’s lust for men to a more normal level, and brought back Ken’s lust for women.”
“Can I ask why?”
She shrugged. “I wanted you to have options, and not feel tied into wanting a man because of what I did. But I also remember Ken wanting a family, and how I always put him off, wanting to wait for just the right time. I thought it might be easier for Sophie to have the family Ken wanted if she enjoyed men the way Ken enjoyed ... me. And the way I enjoyed him.”
There was a long silence.
“I’ve also deposited half of our joint assets in Sophie’s bank account. You shouldn’t have to struggle to get the education you want because of my stupidity. You have enough now to go to school and be whatever you want in your new life. I wish you all the best.”
I was stunned into silence. “So that’s it? It’s over? You’ll just walk away?”
Sheila turned to me once more, and this time I saw the tears running down her face.
“I have to,” she whispered. “I have to let you go. That’s my punishment for what I did, because I do still love you, and I always will. The magic is mine forever. I can’t wish it away, because it’s a part of me now and always will be. But I wish to God I could, because it turned me into something I never wanted to be, and never want to be again — a cold angry bitch, who tried to destroy the man she loved.”
“It’s my fault you don’t trust me anymore. I’ve lost you because I went crazy with power, and I scared you so badly that you’d rather be a woman for the rest of your life than ever sleep beside me again. So my husband is gone. He’s never coming back, and I have to live with the fact that I ruined everything.”
She walked away from me, around the car and opened the driver’s side door.
“I know sorry isn’t nearly enough, but it’s all I have, and all I’ll ever be, now that I’ve lost you.” She looked at me once more, and her voice broke. “Goodbye ... Sophie.”
I stood there in the middle of the parking lot and watched her drive out of my life.
I took the bus home in silence, and walked up to the apartment door without even bothering to hold onto the pepper spray canister in my pocket. When I let myself in, the smell of tollhouse cookies hit me hard the minute I opened the door.
“Hey,” Carolyn called. I hung up my coat and shoulder bag and wandered into the kitchen. She was taking cookies off of a baking pan with a spatula.
“Hey,” I replied, sitting in one of the kitchen chairs and watching her work.
“You’re quiet.”
“I’m working on my mouse impression.” I reached out and juggled a hot cookie off of the plate. She smacked the back of my hand with the utensil but I popped my ill-gotten gains into my mouth and let the hot dough melt.
“Mice usually squeak.”
“The ones who don’t live longer. Even if they do end up alone.” I reached for another cookie, and suddenly I was sobbing, my whole body shaking. I didn’t even see it coming.
I heard Carolyn drop the spatula and I felt her come around to my side of the table. She wrapped both arms around me and just held me.
“Oh, baby,” she whispered, “what’s wrong?”
I couldn’t answer. All the pain I had held in just poured out, and I let her hold me, because I didn’t have the energy to pull away. Eventually the sobbing stopped, although the tears kept falling.
“Do you remember the boy I told you about? The one who stranded me with nothing?” I felt her nod. “He came back full of apologies, but I told him that even though I loved him, I couldn’t trust him anymore. And he went away for a while, but he came back today and met me after work. He told me he finally understood that he had done something incredibly mean and stupid, and ruined what we had out of anger. Then he said that even though he still loved me, there wasn’t any way he could regain my trust, and he had to let me go. He said losing me was his punishment for doing what he did, and then he drove away.”
She nodded again. “So what’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to let him GO!” I started crying again. “I love him so much, but I can’t stay with him, and I can’t just let him leave me again! I can’t trust him, but I want to, so much. Oh God, I’m such a fucking mess! Why does everything have to be so hard?”
I just sat there, shoulders shaking and let the tears fall. Carolyn just kept holding me, giving me a squeeze now and then to remind me she was still there, but waiting patiently until the crying ran its course. When she felt I was ready, she stood up, took me by the hand, and walked me into the living room. She sat us both down on the sofa.
“Listen, baby girl,” she said, “love isn’t logical. It’s not supposed to be. It’s deep and mysterious and full of confusion and contradictions. People click, or they don’t, but whatever happens when you fall in love is too powerful to ignore. Just because it’s not ‘smart’ to love someone doesn’t mean you can just stop. That’s why so many girls end up stuck in abusive relationships. It’s not that they want to get hurt. They just can’t leave. Because when you fall in love, logic takes a vacation and doesn’t bother coming back.”
I gave her a long look, and after a minute, she nodded. “Been there, done that, got the tee-shirt — along with the bruises, broken bones, and whatever else he did to me before I ran. Even when I was gone, I kept thinking about him, wondering if he was okay. Wondering if maybe since he drove me away, he’d learned his lesson. Part of me wanted to leave the shelter and go back, see if he’d changed. But then one of the other women did just that, and spent three weeks in intensive care before she died.”
I squeezed her hand, and she gave me a small smile.
“The thing is, Sophie ... I get it.” Carolyn shook her head. “I know exactly what you’re feeling, because I felt it too. When it happens, love is so damned special, you can’t bear to let it slip away. But sometimes, you have to. Because if you don’t ... it will kill you.”
She looked into my eyes. “This guy ... he may be sorry now. But tomorrow, or the next day, or next week, he could lose his temper again. And ...”
“I get it, too, Carolyn.” I sighed. It was a ragged thing, and as it dragged itself out of me, it left a gaping hole in my heart. “I understand. It just ... it doesn’t make it any easier, you know? To ... to let him go.”
“I know, baby. It never is. I do know something that makes it less painful.”
I raise an eyebrow. She grins at me. “Chocolate chip cookies, and ice cold milk.”
I let go of her hand and give her a push. “Damn, girl! Food is your answer to everything!”
“Not just food — chocolate!!” She rose to her feet. “But tell me ... am I wrong?”
I sighed again, then shook my head. “No, you’re not. But I’m going to need an awful lot of cookies to make me feel ... not empty.”
“We’ll see what we can do.” Carolyn put both hands out, and when I took them, she pulled me up off the sofa and led me back towards the kitchen.
She makes a mean cookie, and the baked goods orgy was well worth the tummy ache that came later.
But I still missed Sheila.
Two weeks later, it was my birthday — well, Sophie’s birthday, really, but since I was Sophie (and had reluctantly decided I was going to be Sophie forever and ever, amen), it really was my birthday, now. I was eighteen again. I still couldn’t drink in a bar, but there was a fair amount of alcohol at home. Besides, in addition to throwing me a great party that went on and on into the night (even if it was attended by lots of people I didn’t know), Carolyn and Katie and Meg gave me the best gift ever.
They invited Jerry.
He and I had been spending more time together at work — taking breaks at the same time, hanging out when our shifts were done, and generally finding out more about each other. Now that I didn’t have to treat him like the enemy all the time, I realized that I actually liked him as a person. He was still young and sort of full of himself, but then again, Sophie was pretty young, too. Even though she didn’t have a lot of her own stories to tell, Jerry seemed happy being with her ... well, with me, too.
He was smart and funny, and I enjoyed hanging out with him. But at the same time, my body was doing its best to let me know that it enjoyed his company, too. He made me feel all warm and tingly in all the places I had been doing my best to ignore for so long.
It took a little effort and a lot of tossing and turning in the middle of the night, but I finally admitted to myself that I wanted him. After all, I was a woman now, and that wasn’t ever going to change. Was it so wrong of me to want him? Because I did. I wanted him to touch me, and hold me, and kiss me. And I wanted him inside me, on top of me and under me, doing all the things to me I used to do to Sheila that made her cry out and cling to me on all those nights so long ago.
So towards the end of the party, I decided to be bold. I took his hand, then led him to my bedroom and shooed out the couple that was already making out on my bed. Before I could change my mind, I locked the door behind them and turned to kiss him gently on the lips.
“Why Miss Deems, I do believe you’re trying to seduce me.” He smiled down at me and kissed me back, slowly.
The mangled quote from The Graduate wasn’t lost on me, but I looked up into his eyes and purred, “Trying? Judging by what I’m feeling pressed into my thigh, I think I’m doing better than trying.”
I started unbuttoning his shirt, and he pushed my hands away.
“Sophie, we can’t.”
“Why? Has it been so long?” I grinned. “Have you forgotten how?”
He looked away, a little uncomfortable. “Well ... you’re underage.”
“Not anymore. Or did you miss the ‘Happy Birthday, Sophie’ banner on the way in?”
Watching his face as he processed this information was priceless. When I was sure we were both on the same page, I started working on his shirt again and kissed his smiling lips. “I’m eighteen today, boy. So shut up and give me my present ... so I can give you mine.”
We cuddled with the lights off, happy that the party guests and music were still loud enough to cover the noises we both had made. I found myself with my head on his naked chest, breathing in his scent and listening to his heartbeat. His arm was around me, his hand gently stroking my naked hip, and the wetness slipping down from between my thighs was accumulating under me to make that wet spot Sheila always used to complain about.
I didn’t care. I loved it. All of it. And I wondered why it didn’t bother me more.
Of course I didn’t wonder for long. I was cuddled up against a tasty bit of man, and I felt like giving it a bit of a taste. I moved my head slightly and gave his nipple a good lick. I felt him wiggle a bit. So I licked it again.
“Hey!” His voice rumbled through my head, from the ear pressed to his chest. “Those things don’t actually DO anything on a guy, you know.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied, giving it another lick. “This one seems to make you jump when I touch it with my tongue. I wonder what would happen if I bit it?”
His hand moved down and gave my bottom a soft smack. I laughed and buried my face in his chest again.
“Oh, from great sex to casual abuse,” I moaned. “What next?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He pulled away long enough to roll over on top of me. “Back to great sex. It’s the basis of all male-female relationships.”
I spread my legs as he rolled onto me and kissed him hard on the mouth, my hands coming up to cup his tight ass and squeeze it gently.
“I think we should leave the abuse out,” I whispered into his open mouth, “and just stick to the part where we both enjoy each other.”
I felt his naked hardness pressing into my leg. It took my breath away, and before I thought too much about it, I reached down, took hold of it, and slipped its massive head just inside me. Then I thrust my hips upward to capture it deep and tightened my muscles inside to keep him from slipping away.
“Mmmmmmm ...”
He shuddered and looked down at me. “That’s way dangerous, Sophie, and you know it. I go off inside you now, and nine months in the future, you’ll be cursing my name in a delivery room somewhere. And I don’t want that.” He grinned. “I kinda like the way you say my name now.”
I pouted, but he was right. With a sigh, I relaxed my muscles and let him slip out, then reached over and took a condom from the box next to the bed.
“It’s actually nice that you’re more worried about my getting pregnant than I am,” I said, as I rolled the condom over his erection. “That’s sweet.”
“Well, you’re going to have to meet me halfway from now on,” he growled. “Pulling out of you after being inside you like that was damned hard, girl.”
“Trust me, Jerry. It’s still damned hard.” I grinned and gave his latex-wrapped cock a pat. “Besides, I think the way we’re built, I’m ALWAYS going to have to meet you halfway ... and then some.”
I lay back and guided him inside me once more. He thrust his hardness into me, and I rocked under him as he moved above and inside me, my mouth devouring his with kiss after kiss. I felt desirable, wanted and lusted after, and oh so very wonderfully horny until I stopped thinking clearly for a while ... which turned out to be very, very nice, indeed.
Around five o’clock in the morning, I heard the last of the party guests walking out the door, and fifteen minutes later the other girls had given up on the cleaning up until later, and slipped into their bedrooms to sleep. Finally, the apartment was silent.
I lay in bed next to Jerry, both of us still naked. He was sleeping on his side facing away from me. He snored lightly, which was endearing, but when I buried my face in his back and wrapped myself around him, he smelled like man, which did interesting and frustrating things to my insides.
Of course the parts of me that were most interested in waking him and having my way with him were sticky and uncomfortable and more than a little sore. And considering everything we had done to make them that way, Jerry didn’t look to be waking up any time soon. So I decided to go get cleaned up, maybe find some food out in the mess and do a bit of thinking.
I had a lot to think about.
I stood up and wandered around the room, looking for something to wear. I picked up Jerry’s shirt and looked at it, then held it up to my body and grinned.
“Oh God, that is such a girl thing,” I whispered, then giggled. “Even thinking about it seriously... I must be crossing some kind of line ...”
Then I shook my head and laughed. ‘Considering everything you did tonight,’ I thought, ‘you crossed that line about a thousand miles back ... girl.’
I looked at the sleeping man, then back at his shirt, and before I could stop myself, I had slipped it on and was buttoning it. Of course it came down to mid-thigh, and with the sleeves rolled up and my hair all tousled, I looked exactly the way I expected to look.
Damned sexy. And I liked it.
Besides, the shirt smelled like him, and I liked that, too.
I wandered out into the hall and down to the bathroom. It was a mess, thanks to the guests, and I sighed and pulled a box of antiseptic wipes out from under the sink. I cleaned the toilet seat and the area in front of it as best I could before sitting down, which made the seat colder against my bare bottom than I would have liked. I’d been a woman long enough to get used to having to sit down for everything, but that didn’t make a cold toilet seat any more comfortable for its familiarity.
Afterwards, I thought about taking a bath, but settled instead for something quick and careful, standing at the sink with a hot, wet facecloth and some body wash. I did my best to get rinse off the worst of the night’s stickiness all over, and even though it did make me feel fresher, I kept a bath on my list of things to do later.
I walked into the kitchen, still in Jerry’s shirt, and brewed myself a pot of coffee. I sat down at the kitchen table, careful to tuck the shirttails under me, and let my mind spin a little.
It had a lot of spinning to do. Because I had liked tonight. A lot.
No, I had loved it.
It all felt so good. Actually, it felt great. Which was a bit disturbing to the man I used to be, in a way, because it wasn’t a bit disturbing. In fact, it felt wonderful. Once Sheila had freed me from that awful oppressive need, I had discovered a deep warm desire I had never expected to feel for a man. I went back to work the next day, and it wasn’t long at all before something inside me knew I wanted Jerry, even if the rest of me needed a bit of convincing. I wanted him to want me, and chase me, and catch me. And I wanted him on top of me, inside me, making love to me, making me scream with joy.
And when it finally happened, I wanted it all again. Over and over.
‘Hell,’ I thought with a lazy smile. ‘I want him right now. I want to walk in and curl back up against his naked back and press myself into him until he wakes up and takes me again.’
It was just right, and it shouldn’t have been. But I didn’t care. If this was what it really felt like to be a woman, I never wanted it to stop.
‘Damn, Sheila.’ I raised my coffee up in a silent salute, even as I felt a pang of sadness for my lost love. ‘That’s good magic.’
I leaned forward and felt my breasts shift under Jerry’s shirt, my hair move across my shoulders, my body balance over my hips. For the first time in months, it felt so right being Sophie. Being me. I smiled again.
“Wow, girl.” Carolyn stood in the doorway, wrapped in her bathrobe wearing a smile of her own. “I love that smile. You may have missed the rest of the party, but I don’t think you care.”
I shook my head slowly, still smiling.
“Jerry and I had a party of our own.” My voice came out sounding like a throaty purr, and I laughed. “God, Carolyn, you were so right.”
“About what? I’m right about so many things.” She grinned, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat down across from me.
“Weeks ago, when I was still scurrying into the house every night and locking the door behind me, you told me ‘a hard man is good to find,’” I replied, still purring. “You said I needed somebody to loosen me up in all the right places. You were right. I haven’t felt this happy in months.”
Carolyn reached over and put her hand on mine. “I’m glad. You really did need to stop being so afraid all the time. After what that other guy did to you, I thought you’d sworn off men forever.”
“I had.”
‘As if Sheila’s curse gave me any other choice,’ I thought with a frown.
Carolyn saw the look on my face and gave my hand a squeeze, and I smiled at her. “But it couldn’t last. Jerry kept flirting, and I flirted back. My body started responding, and once I finally let my guard down long enough to get to know him ...” I felt myself shudder, remembering last night. “Oh, Carolyn, it was so wonderful last night! I couldn’t believe how it felt ... how he felt.”
She grinned, and I blushed in spite of myself.
“Well, it’s true,” I said, and she laughed. “I can barely walk— heck, I can hardly sit down. But all I can think of is going back in there and making him wake up so I can have him inside me again.”
“Down, girl!” Carolyn patted my hand and sipped her coffee. “If you kill him, you’ll have to find another guy like him. And it isn’t that easy, as you’ve noticed.”
I nodded and looked down. “Honestly, I can’t believe how ... hungry I am for him. I feel like such a slut.”
She slapped my hand hard and my head snapped up.
“Don’t you DARE!” Her eyes were a little angry. “You are NOT a slut. I hate that word, and all the shit that goes with it. I knew too many girls in high school ... when some jealous bitch decided to hang that word on them, they were never able to shake it off.”
Carolyn took my hand once more and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Remember how you felt last night? How you feel now? You’re alive again for the first time since we met. Lust is a good thing, girl. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different. As long as you’re careful about who you choose to be with, you’re never going to be a slut. And this time, you were so careful, you almost let this guy get away. Hell, Sophie, you’ve practically been a nun the entire time I’ve known you.”
I gave her a small smile, then laughed and tossed my head. “I think this sister has broken that habit, don’t you?”
“Thank God!” The older girl replied, and we touched coffee cups and drank.
It lasted three weeks. Three beauttiful, unbelievably perfect weeks.
I learned what it felt like to touch and be touched again, to be held by someone who cared for me and wanted to show me just how much. And I learned what it felt like to care for a man the way he should be cared for — all the little things a woman does to show her man how much he means to her.
I would bring him breakfast in bed every day we were together, even if it was sometimes just a cup of coffee, and I always snuggled with him while he drank it. Some days, I had him for my breakfast in bed first. I would slip under the covers and wake him with my mouth or my body until he cried out and exploded inside of me, and I loved the feeling of knowing I could bring him such pleasure so easily.
Strangely, all of this made me feel even closer to Sheila. It was as if the more of a woman I became, the more I understood the woman I still loved deep inside. When we were first going out, and even into the early years of our marriage, this was the kind of loving attention she gave me, and I felt a warm feeling deep inside me remembering how things were for us both back then.
Before her powers manifested, and she changed. I pushed the thought away.
Just like Sheila used to do for me, I always tried to look my best for Jerry, even when we were alone. I wanted him to know I didn’t take him for granted, not ever. And when we went out with his friends, I never, ever dressed down. I wanted them to see that Jerry had managed to catch himself a very sexy lady, even if they kept teasing him about it. They couldn’t figure out why someone like me would ever go for someone like him.
I couldn’t tell them why, because they wouldn’t have understood. But it was the way he made me feel when we got home ... when we curled up in bed at his place or mine, and he touched me so gently, and kissed me so softly, as if I would break. Then he would do his best to split me in half with the kind of lovemaking that made me bury my face in his shoulder to keep my moans and screams from waking everyone in the building.
He wanted me to know how much I meant to him, too.
Three glorious, wonderful weeks.
And then it was over.
###
I wore black to the funeral. After all, it was expected.
But I didn’t stop with the simple black dress, oh no. Black bra, black thong, black slip, black garter belt, black stockings, black pumps.
I wore the rest to remind me of all that I had lost, because I had worn the same lingerie for him a week before the accident that took him from me. I had wanted to drive him crazy with desire, so I removed my clothing a piece at a time, revealing the sexy things beneath with a naughty smile, just to tease him.
Jerry watched my slow striptease with soft, loving eyes. Then he stood up, took my hand, and led me over to the bed, but instead of going wild, he treated me like a precious gift. He unwrapped the rest of me slowly and with great care, kissing every part he revealed until I stood there naked and a little surprised. And then he picked me up and placed me in the bed, and loved me gently into the night.
Yes, loved me. As I loved him.
I had shied away from that word since the first night we had slept together, because I still loved Sheila, and it felt wrong somehow. But that night and all the days that followed, I used it, over and over. Because I couldn’t hide from it anymore. I loved him. He loved me. And that was that.
Only now it wasn’t. I still loved him, ached for him. But he was gone. Like Sheila before him, gone.
I sat in the ladies room of the funeral home on a strategically placed sofa, hidden behind a large potted plant. The man in me still wondered what the hell a sofa was doing in a bathroom, but I didn’t mind. It was someplace comfy to sit while I waited for everyone else to go away.
The others had moved on to follow the hearse to the cemetery, but I didn’t want to be there when his body was lowered into the ground. The thought of his warm body alone in that darkness, cold and empty . . . I just couldn’t bear it.
I had bought myself a car — a used late-model VW Beetle I had bought with some of the money Sheila had deposited in my account — but it was hidden, parked behind the building, and most of the others assumed I had headed out to the burial site early. That was fine with me. I didn’t want them to think any differently. I wanted some time alone, to mourn.
But now that I was here, alone in the quiet, I felt strangely numb. The man I loved was dead, and it hurt so badly for so long that I could hardly breathe from the pain. Now, suddenly, I couldn’t seem to feel his loss. Instead, I felt cold and empty inside, as if I would never feel anything again.
“Why?” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Why did you give me another chance to be happy, only to steal it away? Jerry ...” I felt the tears start, and opened my heart to let them come. “Oh God, Jerry ... how could I lose you too?”
Memories rose up and battered me ... his easy smile, those beautiful eyes ... how he touched me ... how he made me feel, every time I thought about him ...
My whole body shook with the force of my sobbing, and I could barely breathe. I opened my mouth to cry out loud ...
... and two soft arms wrapped themselves around me and pulled me into an embrace.
“Shhhhh,” Shelia said softly, stroking my hair. “I’m here, baby. It’s okay. Let it all out.”
And I did. I cried and cried, and between the tears and my runny make-up, I made a horrid mess of her black silk blouse. But that didn’t matter. She just held me and let me know she was there. I told her all about my time with Jerry, about the joy I found in being his woman and the despair that came with his loss. I poured my heart out to her because no matter what she had done to me, I still loved her with all of my heart, and I knew that her coming here tonight and sharing my pain meant that, even with everything that had happened, she still loved me too.
Eventually, the tears stopped, but I stayed in her arms because it just felt right.
“It’s been so hard,” I whispered, not looking up. “I just ... I loved you so much, and then I lost you. And then I gave myself to him, and let myself love him, and now he’s gone, too. Is this what love is? Find someone who makes you glad to be alive, and then the world just takes them away? Is this how it’s always going to be?”
Shelia was quiet for a moment. I could hear her heart beating as my head rested on her chest. Then she gave me a gentle squeeze and kissed my hair.
“You never really lost me, Sophie,” she replied, and I could hear the sorrow in her voice. “For a while, I lost myself. I took myself away from you when I let my temper and the power push me into trying to ... do what I did to you. But when you climbed out of the trap my anger pushed you into, I realized I was so wrong, and that I loved you too much to ever hurt you. But by then it was too late.”
“I told you I needed to punish myself for what I did to you. I tried to stay away so you could live your new life without me. I managed, but it was so hard, like losing half of me. Just now, when I felt you hurting so much, I didn’t even think. I don’t know how I did it, but I wound up here with my arms around you. I love you so much, I couldn’t bear thinking of you going through this alone.”
I put my arms around her, and it was my turn to hold her. With a shuddering sigh, I knew deep inside that what was past was finally past. Sometimes, when you love someone, the only path open to you is forgiveness. No matter what Carolyn said, I loved Sheila too much to ever let her go again. I could sense her feeling the change in me, and I felt the wetness of her tears as they fell on my neck.
“I love you, too, Sheila,” I whispered. “I never stopped, not even when I woke up like this. Even when I was so in love with Jerry, you were still there, always in my heart. I can’t bear not being with you. I can’t let you go again.”
She nodded and held me tighter.
“Always and forever, love,” she replied softly, and kissed my forehead.
My stomach picked that moment to make a noise like an angry kitten, and I felt Shelia tense up.
“When did you eat last, baby?” I shook my head.
“Can’t remember.” My voice was muffled as I spoke into her breast. “After Jerry died, it didn’t seem important anymore.”
“Well, it’s important now.” I could hear the smile in her voice through her tears. “I just got you back, honey. I’m not about to let you waste away.”
I raised my head and looked into her eyes. “That diner where we almost had breakfast isn’t far. Want to try for dinner this time?”
She kissed my forehead. “Absolutely.”
###
It was wonderful just being with her again, even as Sophie. No more fear, no more doubt or worry. No more being separated from my other half, the woman who made my life worth living for so long.
Even though I still mourned for Jerry, the woman I had loved for longer than Sophie had been alive was mine once more, and I felt her love surrounding me. She kept reaching out and touching my hand, as if she wanted to make sure I was real ... that this was all real. I kept smiling back every time she’d reach out.
The waitress smiled at us both when she brought our coffee.
“It’s so nice to see a mother and daughter care the way you two do,” she said, and headed back towards the kitchen as the two of us looked at each other and smothered a laugh.
“It’s sort of understandable,” Shelia said, looking at me with her head tilted to one side. “Except for you being blonde and ... very much more blessed by the breast fairy than I ever was, I am old enough to be your mom now. And there is a sort of family resemblance.”
I squeezed her fingers. “Well, not for too much longer. That is, if you want your husband back instead of a surrogate daughter?”
She pretended to think about it. “Well, I don’t know. You seem so comfortable as a girl now — more so than you ever were as Ken. You’ve grown into being Sophie somehow, and it seems to suit you. Won’t you miss it?”
I thought for a moment, then smiled. “A lot of it, yes. I love the closeness I felt with Carolyn and the other girls in the apartment. I loved being Jerry’s woman, more than I thought possible. When I thought I’d be Sophie forever, I wondered about having my own children, and I wondered what it would be like to be pregnant with his babies. I actually liked the idea a lot. You know I’ve always wanted kids, and being the one to give birth didn’t seem nearly as scary when I thought Jerry would be the father.”
“But I could do without the fear of being ... attacked whenever I’m out alone.” I took a sip of coffee and stared out the window into the parking lot. “I won’t miss the periods, or the PMS and the mood swings, or always having to watch what I eat. And I’ll happily say goodbye to the wandering hands of the drunk guys at the restaurant when it gets close to closing time.” I looked back at Sheila, and she felt my sadness. “I will miss Carolyn and Katie and Meg. But once you change me back to Ken, they’ll forget I was ever there, won’t they?”
Shelia nodded. “Pretty much. I’ll remove the spell, the magic will all bounce back to me, and everything will be as it was.”
A thought occurred to me. “Jerry was on his way to pick me up at Walmart when he was killed. Since I wasn’t there to change the flow of events, will he ... will he still be alive?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, giving me a small smile. “I’m still new at this, remember? It would be nice if things changed enough to bring him back, but then again, he won’t remember Sophie either.”
“That doesn’t matter.” I grinned back at her. “Truth is, as Carolyn said, a hard man is good to find, and Jerry is a good man as well as being ... well, you know. I’d love for her to find him, and for both of them to share the happiness I felt with him.”
“Well, maybe we can make that happen, if things work out. After all, the power itself isn’t evil. I’m supposed to use it to do good, not just throw temper tantrums. Maybe I can start a new career as a magic matchmaker.”
“I wonder if there are rules about using your abilities. After what you did to me, I would think the ability to rewrite ... well, everything ... could bring world peace, or end hunger and disease.”
Sheila shook her head. “Gran said there’s a reason for everything, and some things shouldn’t be tampered with because the Goddess made them that way for a purpose. Part of my training is to see what should be touched and what should be left alone.”
“Amanda is teaching you? I knew you were going off for training, but I guess it never occurred to me to wonder who you were training with.”
“Yes, Gran is my mentor. She’s the last in the family with the power before me. It’s her responsibility to teach me to use it wisely.”
I looked over the rim of my cup. “Does she know what you did to me?”
She looked away, and her voice became hushed. “Once I realized what I’d done, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. She would have been so disappointed in me. I know I am.” After a pause, Sheila looked back and smiled.
“Anyway, now I won’t have to tell her! Ready to come home?”
I took her hand. “I’m already there.”
We paid for the meal and went out to my car. The parking lot was empty, and we stood there facing each other, silly smiles on our faces.
“So ... what do we do?” I asked.
“You just wait, baby,” she replied. “I’ll do all the work.”
She closed her eyes, and I closed mine too. I felt something rush through me, or over me. It was almost like a cold wind that wrapped itself around me, but then it passed. I expected something different, but I was still Sophie, still dressed in her black dress and lingerie under her Goodwill denim coat. Sheila’s eyes opened, and her face went white.
“Goddess!” she breathed. “Something’s wrong!”
She closed her eyes again, and I felt the cold wind again, but the result was the same. Still Sophie.
“What is it?” I whispered. She took my hands, and I could see her fear.
“I’m not sure. I could be wrong, but ... the spell I used on you ... it’s gone.” I looked at her, confused. “The spell I used to change you ... it’s like it never existed. It’s like you were always Sophie, clear to your core. And Ken is just ... gone. Or he’s so much a part of the woman you’ve become that I can’t bring him back anymore.”
I could see her thinking hard, and then her face became a mask of grim determination. I reached out and touched her cheek with my fingertips, and she took my hand and kissed it gently.
“I guess I’m going to have to tell Gran after all, if I want my soul mate back.” She kissed my fingers again. “And I do.”
I stood on tiptoe and kissed her gently on the lips.
“I’ll drive,” I whispered.
It was a two-hour trip to her grandmother’s house. Since Sheila didn’t know how she teleported to the funeral home, we took my Beetle. We held hands almost the whole way, except when I needed to shift, and when we pulled up to the family homestead, it was just approaching dark.
It was a huge house, imposing in broad daylight and just a little ominous as the evening shadows rose.
We both got out of the car, and I stood there on the gravel drive next to her, balancing precariously on my stiletto heels.
“We should go in together,” I said softly. “She needs to see we still love each other, even after all that’s happened.”
Sheila shook her head. “That comes later, I think,” she replied. “First, I need to tell my teacher I misused my power. Then I need to bring you in and show her just how much and how badly I messed up. And then I need to beg her for her help.”
“No need to beg, child.” The voice came from the doorway.
“Gran?” Sheila’s voice trembled, and an older woman stepped into the courtyard. It was Amanda.
She was just as I remembered her from the last time we had met. An older version of Sheila, her eyes were a deep vivid green, and her hair was grey but still long, and gathered at the back of her neck with a turquoise and silver clip that looked Native American. She was an anthropologist, and had spent many years in the field, so her skin was weathered by sun and wind, but it enhanced her innate beauty instead of detracting from it.
When I met her, shortly before the wedding many years ago, she had seemed a bit cool to me. I got the vague impression at the time that she felt I was unworthy of her granddaughter, but I wasn’t quite sure why. Eventually I realized that she disapproved of me just because I was a man. We had seen her at family functions over the years, and although Amanda had thawed somewhat towards me, I didn’t think she’d ever embrace me as part of the family.
It came as some surprise to me when, after quickly hugging her granddaughter, she walked over and hugged me as well.
“Welcome, Sophie,” she said softly, and when she pulled back, I could see her smile. “Despite the mess Sheila tried to drop you into, you’ve turned out well.” My eyes widened, and the smile became a grin. “Yes, I know who you were, and who you are, and why you’re here.”
Amanda took my hands in hers and stared deep into my eyes, then sighed and shook her head.
“Did you think I wouldn’t know what you did, Sheila?” She spoke without turning, and her voice contained both sorrow and a touch of anger. Sheila looked down, clearly ashamed. “You let your rage fuel your power, and did this to the man you loved. Now, you want to fix it and have your husband back, and you can’t. I can tell you why you can’t — but I don’t think it will help.”
The older woman put her arm around me, and began leading me inside.
“This conversation is better held sitting down, over a cup of tea,” she said. As she passed Sheila, she reached out and pulled her close, hugging her with her other arm. “Don’t look so down, child. I still love you. Just ... disappointed, I guess. In both you and myself.”
The kitchen was warm and cozy, and the tea was warm and sweet. Sheila told her grandmother everything that had happened since she cast her spell, and Amanda listened in silence. After she was done, Sheila and I waited as the older woman thought for a moment. Then she sighed softly, looked into her cup, and began.
“I’m not mad at you, child. I should have watched you closer. I’m sad that you didn’t come to me sooner. Not that it would have changed anything.”
She looked up at her granddaughter. “Sheila, the reason why you can’t change Sophie is because of how you changed her — and why. One of the first things I taught you was that it was important to keep your emotions under control when using your talents. This wasn’t just to ensure that spells were done properly, although the prohibition serves that function, too. No, the reason is far more devastating, for you and Sophie, and for the world. Because the emotion with which a spell is cast determines how strongly that spell affects reality — and how much the results of that spell becomes the reality we all share.”
“You weren’t taught this at the time because the spells we were working with were simple. Once you had mastered control of your emotions, I would have explained why you needed to before we could move on to more complex enchantments.”
Amanda turned to me, “But you went way beyond our lessons when you did this to Ken. You were never supposed to do change another human being like this, let alone do it with your heart full of anger. And that anger ... had consequences.”
She reached out and took our hands, and squeezed gently.
“As a result of your rage, the magic was so powerful that it made Sophia Louise Deems real. Even though Ken stole her name from a gravestone, your spell latched onto it and worked to make a place for her in the reality we all share. Now, Sophie’s actual mother and father died in a house fire six months ago, leaving her to the mercy of the state. When her ex-boyfriend threw her out of his car and left her hundred of miles from her foster home with nothing but the clothes on her back, she decided to make her way on her own, and Ken’s struggles to make a new life for himself became Sophie’s.”
“When you cast your spell, you chose to hide Ken’s absence by having him die in a plane crash. Again, the spell made that a reality, albeit in a roundabout way. There is no way back for Ken, because Sophie is a fixed point in our reality. No magic can touch her now. No magic can change her. She is who she is, and that’s who she will always be.”
Sheila looked stunned, and shook her head. “That can’t be, gran! I did change her. I took the blinding lust off of her. I even made her bisexual, so she could have more of a choice in her future!”
Amanda sighed. “No, child. You could take most of the lust away because it was the last thing you placed on her when you transformed her. That’s how powerful you are. But the lust is still there, although not as strong as it was. Sophie fought it for so long that even lessening it as you did made her feel like it was gone ... that she was completely free.”
“As a result, Sophie is a girl who loves making love. She enjoys loving and being loved by a man, as her time with Jerry proved. But more than that, the magic continued to work on her until she became a woman all the way to her core. She’s become Sophie. She loved Jerry with all her heart and soul. She would have married him in a heartbeat, and had his babies without a second thought.”
“But you couldn’t make her bisexual, because she’s a permanent fixture of our reality as you first made her. Your original spell irrevocably changed her sexual orientation ... towards men. You wanted her to want men, and so she does, even as the woman she has become. She has no desire for sex with women. None at all.”
Amanda took both of Sheila’s hands and squeezed. “So even if you changed your own orientation to want her as she is, she can’t possibly reciprocate. She loves you, but she can’t ever want you that way again. The spell saw to that.” The older woman looked into my wife’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Sheila, but your marriage is over.”
I saw the color drain from her face, and the tears began to fall as she realized her one instant of anger had ruined everything ... for both of us. She started trembling all over, and her whole body shook from the force of her sobs. Amanda stood up and pulled Sheila into her arms and held her. I stood up as well, and started around the table to hug her as well, but the older woman’s eyes flashed and I froze in my tracks.
‘I know you mean well, Sophie,’ her voice echoed in my head, ‘but right now, you’re a living reminder of what she did. She knows you love her, but she also knows that her actions destroyed her marriage and killed her husband, and left you in his place. I think you need to go for a while, and I need to help her heal as best I can.’
I couldn’t move my lips, but I thought back at her as hard as I could.
‘NO! I love her and she needs me! How can I just leave her like this? I won’t.’ Amanda looked at me thoughtfully, and I grew angry. ‘You can’t make me go!’
‘I can and I will,’ she replied, ‘because right now she needs me more. But Sophie ... if I can figure out how to fix this, I will. I promise. For her ... and for you.’
I saw her lips move, and suddenly the world shimmered ...
... and I was standing in my bedroom at home. The freeze lifted instantly, and I howled at the ceiling in frustration and began to cry.
“No!” I yelled through the tears. “Why did you do that? Why?”
The rage quickly turned to tears as I realized I was too far away to get back there in time to do anything to help, and I felt as if I had failed her when she needed me most. I fell on the bed and cried until I was too tired to stay awake, and finally slept.
Two agonizing days passed, and I was forced to acknowledge my own limitations in the face of a magic user who truly knew what she was doing, and didn’t want me around. Amanda had erased the location of her home from my mind, so I couldn’t find my way back, even if I had my car, which I didn’t. Apparently transporting an eighteen-year-old woman is easy if you leave her Volkswagen behind.
Or maybe she did it on purpose to keep me away from Sheila.
I went back to work, but I just couldn’t concentrate, and Dean sent me home, thinking I needed more time to get past Jerry’s death. I spent a lot of time alone, listening to music and trying to reach out to my wife across the distance between us. But if she felt me, or answered, I didn’t know.
I felt so alone, so hopeless and powerless.
And then, in the middle of the second night, I woke up and heard Amanda calling me.
‘Sophie? Sophie, can you hear me?’
I sat up and stared straight ahead. ‘Yes! I can hear you!’
‘Good! I think I’ve found a way to make things right,’ she said, ‘but I’m going to need your help.’
I thought about how angry I had been with Amanda, and she felt it and sighed. ‘I’m sorry I had to keep you away, but I needed her to focus on helping to find a way to get past this, and you being there to remind her of her mistakes would have kept her from thinking clearly. Now I think we can fix this, but you need to be a part of it.’
I took a deep breath and sighed, letting the anger go. ‘Of course I want to help, in any way I can.’ There was a short silence. ‘What do I do?’
Then I heard Sheila.
‘Ken?’ Her mental voice trembled with emotion. ‘Sophie? Can you hear me?’
‘Yes, beloved, I can hear you!’
Suddenly she was there, in my mind, her face drawn and tired from lack of sleep, those beautiful eyes filled with tears and red from days of crying.
She burst out crying again. ‘Can you ever forgive me?’
‘I forgave you already, remember?’ I reached out mentally and touched her face. ‘I’m fine with being a woman. It’s who I am, now. But I’m not going to give up on us, not ever. Magic or not, love always finds a way. And I will always love you. Always and forever.’
I stepped forward, into the dream or vision or whatever it was, and wrapped my arms around her, kissing the remnants of her tears away. The love I felt for her swelled up and ran through us both, and we both shuddered from the strength of it as it warmed us, lifted us, and wrapped us in its embrace.
While we reeled from the sheer power of what we shared, I felt Amanda touch our minds and release a flood of memories of our lives together that were so vibrant and alive, they brought us even closer, and fueled the fire of our love with shared experience. The passion that led us to the altar and stayed with us through the years ... the good times we had shared, and the challenges we had overcome together ... it was like living our lives over again.
Each shared memory brought us even closer, raising the strength of our connection to heights I never dreamed possible, until we reached a point where we stopped being two women locked in an embrace ...
... and became two souls united by a love that burned so brightly, nothing could stand in its way.
I heard Amanda’s triumphant ‘YES!’ in my mind an instant before the two of us were torn from each other’s arms, and my vision of Sheila disappeared in a swirl of lights and sound as everything went black.
I opened my eyes, and the room was full of light. It was morning, and I wondered about what had happened in the middle of the night. What exactly did we do? Or did we do anything at all. Was it just a dream?
I was curled up on my side at the edge of the bed, facing towards the door and snuggled under covers. I felt warm and safe, and strangely content for the first time since that night when Amanda sent me away and cut me off from my beloved.
So it came as quite a shock when I felt two strong arms wrap themselves around my middle and pull me into a very warm, loving, and undeniably male embrace. For a second, I relaxed into it, enjoying the sensations that flowed through me. It felt so right, like a continuation of the dream.
Then I remembered I had been alone the night before.
‘Who was in bed with me now?’
As I started to struggle, a strong hand placed itself on my tummy and gently pressed me back into the warmth of him, and a hardness that made my inside stir with possibilities.
“Shhhhhh,” whispered a familiar voice, although it seemed a few octaves lower than the last time I heard it. “It’s me, baby. Everything’s going to be just fine now. If you still want me, that is.”
I turned in his arms and found myself looking into those eyes ... those beautiful eyes that had captured me so long ago, framed by a young male face with a soft smile that widened into a grin as he saw the look in my eyes an instant before I kissed him.
After an instant of hesitation, he kissed me back, and I melted into the arms of the man my wife had become, and enjoyed the sensation of being well and thoroughly loved.
A long, wonderful time later, I lay in his arms and breathed him in, and felt him sigh.
“Sheila? Not your name anymore, I’m thinking,” I whispered. He shook his head.
“Shel, now,” he replied, one hand coming up to cup a breast and squeeze gently. “Amanda’s little joke, naming me Sheldon. A bit geeky, but I sorta like Shel.”
“And you’re as young as I am.” Pressing my face into his neck, I licked gently, then bit, just a little. He shivered, and the other hand slid down to caress my bottom.
“A little older.” He paused a second. “I’m actually supposed to be ... our son. The one we never had. Sheila died in the same plane crash that Ken did, and I inherited everything. Amanda thought it would be best, to keep us from losing all we had.”
I raised myself enough to look into his face, and Shel looked back, his face a little uncertain. “Is it ... is it okay?”
I smiled and kissed him.
“Of course, love,” I said, and kissed him again. “In fact, I see a bit of Ken in you. The nose ... and the lips, I think. It’s nice that some of him survived ... other than what’s in here.” I touched my chest, and noticed I was wearing an engagement ring. It was the one I had given Sheila, and I held it up to the light to see it sparkle.
“I guess this time around, I get the pretty ring.”
“That’s okay,” he replied and kissed my forehead. “I get you, so it’s all good.”
I felt warm all over, and snuggled back into him with a contented sigh. We lay there like that for a while, and then I thought of something.
“So why did it take two days?”
“It took a day and a half to convince Amanda that this is what I truly wanted, and another half a day to get her to agree to give up her granddaughter for a great grandson.” He sighed. “The fact that I would lose the power didn’t help my argument, until I promised her we’d have a daughter to pass it on to, eventually.”
I raised my head again, and gave him a sharp look. “Did you? Without asking me?” I hmphed, and put my head back down on his chest.
“Well, you did say you wanted a family, and I thought ...” Shel stopped suddenly, feeling me shaking with silent laughter. He slapped my bottom. “Hey!”
I kissed his chest. “I’m sorry, love. I just couldn’t resist. You know I still want to raise a family with you. Of course, we’ll have to work very hard to make that happen.”
I could feel my beloved look down at me, and I looked up and grinned. “Remember, honey ... getting pregnant takes a while, and hundreds of time, nothing happens at all. So if great-grandmama wants a girl child to carry on the legacy, persistence is the key.”
Shel grinned and stroked my hair. “You’ve always been an industrious sort.”
I nodded. “Oh yes, you know I’ve always been a hard worker.”
He shook his head. “No, I think that’s me, now.”
“Really?” I reached down and wrapped my free hand around the length of him. “Oh, yes, very hard indeed.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Hey, you two,” Carolyn said, her hand rattling the doorknob. I let go of Shel and scrambled to pull the covers up before the door swung open. I just made it in time.
“Hey yourself!” I shot back. “Do you mind?”
“No, I don’t, actually.” She grinned. “I’m more than happy to come in here and pull Shel out of ... bed before you make each other sore.”
I stuck my tongue out at her.
“We were all going out to breakfast today, if you remember,” she went on, still grinning. “Unless you’d rather do breakfast in bed, Sophie? Fancy a bit of ... sausage?”
I groaned. A familiar voice piped up from the hallway.
“Oh, come on, babe,” Jerry said, stepping into the doorway. I almost screamed until I remembered that the times had changed for the better ... and not just for Shel and I. Then I just smiled.
It was good to have him back.
“Stop teasing the poor girl. That’s my job.” He leaned against the doorjam and crossed his arms. “Hey, Shel.”
My fiance raised his hand in a lazy wave and smiled. “Hey, Jer. Fair warning -- don’t you ever tease Sophie again.”
I smiled up at him. “Thanks, honey.”
He grinned down at me. “From now on, that’s MY job.”
I pouted and slapped his chest. It felt like I hit a wall, and as I yelped and shook my hand in the air, I suddenly remembered how much Sheila loved to work out.
“Oh God,” I muttered into his shoulder. “I bet you lift weights, too.” He nodded, and I sighed. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
Shel laughed and hugged me close, and I realized there was an upside to the weight lifting. It felt wonderful to have two strong arms holding me tight.
“So ... breakfast?” Carolyn asked brightly, wrapping her arm around Jerry’s waist. ‘It’s the most important meal of the day!”
“You’re so into food, it’s scary,” I said, giving her a small smile.
“I’m not nearly as into it as I used to be, since I found Jerry,” she replied, giving him a squeeze. “Besides, a girl needs fuel, Sophie, you know that ... particularly if she needs to keep up with this guy. So ... breakfast?”
“Tell you what,” Shel answered for both of us. “If you get out of here right now and let us get dressed, I’ll pick up the check.”
“Whoa,” Carolyn said. “Free food? I’m in. Come on, love, let’s wait in the kitchen.”
She grabbed him by the hand and dragged him away. I popped out of bed and closed the door. I locked it quickly, then turned to find Shel looking at me with a wicked smile on his face.
“What?” I put my hands on my hips and tilted my head.
“This being a guy thing is going to take some getting used to,” he said, blushing a little. “I see you standing there like that, and all sorts of ideas start running through my head.”
I walked slowly to the edge of the bed, adding a little extra swivel to my hips, and watched his eyes follow me the whole way. Then he pulled back the covers, and I got my first look at my beloved’s new body from head to toe. I felt weak all over, and warm, and Shel held out his hand ...
... and suddenly I was back in bed beside him. I was back in his arms before I realized I had moved, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being anywhere else.
“I know exactly what you mean,” I whispered, my lips just touching his. “All sorts of ideas ...”
I lay there in his arms again, my head on his chest, and sighed. I knew that Carolyn was going to want breakfast soon, and as much as I loved that girl, breakfast meant we were going to have to get up and get cleaned up and put on clothes, and I’d have to share Shel with the rest of the world for a while.
‘Still,’ I thought, ‘I suppose I can’t expect us to spend the rest of our lives in bed. Damn.’
I listened to him breathe for a bit, then I had a thought.
“Shel?”
Not a word. I sighed. Silly man went back to sleep. So I gave his chest a kiss. Nothing. I sighed, then moved my head slightly and gave his nipple a tiny bite. His whole body twitched, and I grinned.
“Shel?” I said again.
“Hmmm?”
“Why did you and Amanda come to me last night? Why did you need my help?”
He stirred, and one hand began to gently stroke my hip.
“In order for all of this to work,” he said slowly, “Sheila had to die with Ken in the plane crash, and Sheldon needed twenty years of past history. We also had to overcome just enough of your status as a fixed point in history to slip me into your life. That meant we had to counter some small parts of the spell I cast, powered by Sheila’s anger and hatred. According to Amanda, even the smallest change was impossible. But to me, it just meant we needed more power than even Gran and I had combined. So we reached out to you. And it worked.”
“But I’m not magical.” I held him tighter. “Never was.”
“Yes, you were,” Shel replied. “We were. We still are. You and I, Ken and Sheila, had the one thing we needed to make it all happen. It’s the same thing Sheldon and Sophie have now, something so powerful that it pushed against all my hate and anger, and your feelings of loss and betrayal, and brought us back together even after everything I did to you. It’s the one thing we never lost, really — and that’s what saved us both.”
I was sleepy and a little confused. I tilted my head back and found him looking down at me, and the emotion in those beautiful eyes gave me the answer to my question before I even got the chance to ask.
“It was love, Sophie,” Shel said, just before he kissed me. “Just the power of love.”
Make one man weep, make another man sing;
Change a hawk to a little white dove.
More than a feeling, that's the power of love.”
“Tougher than diamonds, rich like cream;
Stronger and harder than a bad girl's dream.
Make a bad one good, mm, make a wrong one right.
Power of love that keep you home at night.”
“You don't need money, don't take fame.
Don't need no credit card to ride this train.
It's strong and it's sudden and it's cruel sometimes.
But it might just save your life.
That's the power of love.
That's the power of love.”
-- The Power of Love, Huey Lewis and the News
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Another BigCloset TopShelf story, and my first ever completed TG tale. Jack's early-morning trip to the supermarket winds up a textbook example of why there truly is "no such thing as a free lunch." A cautionary tale about not being able to read the fine print in a verbal contract, and the dangers of a free demon-stration...
Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf on Friday 08-14-2005 at 6:55 pm, this retro classic was pulled out of the closet, and re-presented for our newer readers. ~Sephrena
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Another BigCloset TopShelf story, and my first ever completed TG tale. Jack's early-morning trip to the supermarket winds up a textbook example of why there truly is "no such thing as a free lunch." A cautionary tale about not being able to read the fine print in a verbal contract, and the dangers of a free demon-stration.
Part 1
A lot of years have passed since then, but I'll always remember how it started. With four words.
"I can help you."
Four words, spoken clearly across a supermarket parking lot at six a.m. on a cool October morning, when the moonlight kept pace with the overheads in the parking lot to guide me to the car. Four words. They could have been an offer to help with my bags, but I only had two, and they were light. As far as I could tell, I didn't need help at all. At least not the kind a stranger in a parking lot could provide.
"I can help you, Jack."
I was old enough to know that the phrase "don't talk to strangers" wasn't an effort on the part of my parents to turn me into some antisocial maniac. And when the aforementioned stranger seems to know your name, a quick exit suddenly looks pretty damned attractive. I ignored the voice and headed towards my car at a brisk walk. I had other reasons to move fast. Two kids and one wife were waiting for me at home to get them out of bed and on their way. If we hadn't run out of milk for cereal and drinks for lunches, I wouldn't be here now. And the clock was running at home, so I really needed to get gone.
"I can give you what you've always wanted."
The voice again. It was deep, and compelling, but with a teasing quality that made me want to stop to ask what the hell he thought I wanted, and how dare he think he could give it to me. Still, there was a hitch in my step as the meaning sank in, and a little voice deep inside asked, "could he know?"
"Of course I know, Jack." The voice now held a smile. "It was the power of your desire that brought me to you. And yes, I can read your mind, when you think in a straight line. Something you don't do as often as you think you do, I assure you."
I stopped by my car, put the bags down on the ground, and turned to look. On a bench in front of the beauty salon, only a few feet away, sat a man. I was surprised I hadn't seen him, because dressed as he was, he would have been very hard to miss. He wore red, from head to toe. Red shirt, red slacks, red socks, red shoes. He had black hair and a short goatee, and his eyes were so unsettling I had to look away. Not because they were odd or out of alignment or anything. They were just penetrating, like they were looking deep inside you, beyond what a normal person would see, and finding the parts of your soul you'd rather hide. He saw me looking, and his lips curled up into a cold grin.
"You've always wanted to be female, to be a woman," he purred at me. "It's driven you since you were four years old. You've pushed it away time and again. Dated. Married, fathered children. Yet even now, in the midst of everything you've built, it still rises in the back of your mind to torment you. I can change that. The might-have-beens, should-have beens, could-have-beens can become your reality."
He was right, of course. I had spent my life running from my need to be female. My wife Carolyn knew. I told her long before I proposed, because it was something she needed to know. She sympathized as best she could, but I knew she was just as thankful for the love we shared as I was, and happy I was her man. The children had never suspected, and I didn't plan to tell them. What good would it do? Telling them wouldn't change what I was, but it could hurt our relationship. And I loved them both too much to want to do something like that. No, Dad was Dad and always would be. How could he be anything else?
I gave the stranger a good once over, still avoiding those damned eyes. I was more than a little angry that this stranger knew my secret, and his impossible promises only made it worse. I took a deep breath, then leaned back against my car and folded my arms.
"Of course you can give me the impossible," I said, my voice so empty of emotion that I could have worked in Mission Control at NASA. "Hell, I should have realized right off that you had the power to bend and shape reality, any way you want. I can see it in the cut of your clothing, in that spiffy haircut, and those snappy shoes! And that beard? Why, you practically reek of demi-godhood. When can we start?"
His eyes flashed once, and I could see him set his teeth. He stood up, clearly angered.
"Ignorant mortal," he hissed. "It's always the same. It's the mark of the times. You all think you know so much. You can't imagine how many times I've had to put up with that attitude, ever since your so-called "Age of Enlightenment" began. Enlightenment? HAH! In the distant past, minds were more open to the possibility that the universe was stranger than you could possibly imagine. Now you humans are so sure you know how everything works, you can't even admit the possibility that creatures like me exist! Even though history is filled with tales of our power. So, time and again, you disparage us -- trot out your poor excuse for wit, so you can distance yourself from the truth that you humans are NOT the lords of creation."
I thought about it some. He had read my mind a few minutes ago. My deepest desire yanked out into the open, and apparently without his breaking a sweat. Followed by promises that he could bend reality to his will. My reality. And now I'd gone and made him angry.
Suddenly, I didn't seem as smart as I had thought I was a few minutes ago.
I looked him in the eye, and he bared his teeth in a smile only a vampire could love. I shivered, then caught myself.
"Okay, you find my 'wit' tedious and disrespectful. I get that." I smiled. "My apologies. I'll skip the jokes. We'll try to keep it strictly business then, if that suits you."
"Perfectly," the red man replied, his anger fading almost as quickly as it had come. "My business is your happiness. I want to give you what you want, and that's all."
"Why?"
"Because making you happy will please me."
"How?"
"Not your concern."
I sighed. "How can you change my reality?"
"It is not something I can explain," he said with a hint of irritation. "I don't know precisely how we do it, anymore than you understand how your body digests food. I do know it's not a skill that can be taught. It's just what my kind does. It's what we've done for thousands of years. If I did know, I certainly wouldn't tell you. My people keep their secrets well. But we can, and have, changed reality for more humans than I care to remember. And it would be my pleasure to do it for you."
I considered him and his proposal as dispassionately as I could, considering what he was trying to offer me. He was right. He knew what I had wanted, what I had always wanted, and claimed to want to give it to me. But I had heard and read enough cautionary tales about genies and demons to know nothing comes without a price.
"As Robert Heinlein once said, 'there ain't no such thing as a free lunch,'" I said slowly, my voice neutral. "So how much is this world-altering magic going to cost?"
"Cost? Don't be stupid. Money is worth less than nothing to me. After all, I could create as much currency as I need, in any denomination. Besides," he replied smoothly, "you can't put a price on happiness."
"Forgive my natural caution," I said carefully, "but in human literature, creatures with abilities like yours have a reputation for trickery. What assurances do I have that you won't deceive me for your own purposes?"
"Absolutely none," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "You are a smart one, Jack. A lot of mortals don't even try to think it through. But magical creatures like myself are bound by the oaths we make." He raised his voice and began to chant. "A bargain struck is a bargain made, but not if trust has been mislaid. No falsehoods will I spin for true, or slates wipe clean and this day I'll rue."
A loud bell, something like a gong, seemed to sound from all around me, and a crisp deep voice spoke from just above us both. "Spoken and witnessed, you are bound in these dealings. Break this oath on fear of punishment most foul."
The man looked at me and shrugged. "Can't lie now, Jack."
My mind was in a whirl. "Is this really true? I can get what I've always wanted ... for free?"
"Even better. I can give you the life you've always wanted. Not just the body and soul of a woman, but a home, a job, friends -- whatever you wish."
Could this ... guy be real?
"Well, as to my reality," he said, reading my mind, "truthfully, this body is not really mine. It's just a shell I created to make it easier for us to communicate. I can change it, too." Faster than my eye could follow, his form melted like quicksilver and reformed into a well-shaped redheaded woman, also dressed in red. "See?" Her voice had become sultry and lilting. She struck a few poses and smiled.
"Would it be that easy for me?" I asked, suddenly curious.
"Pretty much," she said, brushing a bit of fluff off of her blouse. "Would you like me to demonstrate? Just to show you what I'm capable of?"
I hesitated. "No obligation?"
She smiled. "No obligation. None at all. As your ... commercials say, you can cancel at anytime and owe nothing."
If I heard her right, there was nothing to fear. I looked back to the car, then glanced at my watch. It had stopped. I turned to the woman.
"I've stopped time for the two of us, for the moment," she purred. "So you can give my offer full consideration ... without worrying about your family."
I nodded. "Thank you."
She smiled. "My pleasure. Remember, I want you to be happy. So, may I demonstrate?"
"Please," I replied. She closed her eyes.
"So what can you do ..." my voice had become a delicate soprano. My hand flew up to my throat, and on its way there my arm brushed against a round firmness that could only be a breast. She gestured towards the window of the hair salon across from the supermarket, and I turned and saw ... me.
Smaller than I had been, and more petite overall. The new me was red-haired and green-eyed, with a full rounded figure, small waist and generous hips. There were hints of the man I was in the cast of my face, the curve of my jaw, the shape of my nose. But all seen through a prism of femininity. The nails on the hand at my throat were longer and painted red, and I wore a female variation on the tee-shirt and sweatpants I had thrown on to make the store run before the children woke up. All I could think was "whoa."
As I looked closer, I could see this woman in the plate glass had seen my share of years. She was still trim of figure and fair of face, but there were laugh lines around the eyes and some gray among the red.
"The age is easily changed," she spoke softly, coming up behind me. "See? Ten years gone, with a touch."
She touched my shoulder, and suddenly years dropped off of the figure in the glass. I could see the difference, feel it all through me. Lines and gray all gone, figure even firmer, skin softer, such a fine complexion. I shivered.
"The clothes, too," she whispered. I watched my clothing shimmer and shift, felt the sweats become stockings and a short black skirt, panties shift to a lacy thong that crept up between my cheeks and nestled there, tee-shirt becoming a dark green silk blouse with a deep scoop neck revealing generous cleavage, held in place with a bra that matched the thong. Sneakers morphed to become slingbacks with three-inch heels.
"Here, you're thirty two years old, Jennifer," she said, her voice almost a sigh. Of course she knew my feminine name. "So much of your life past, but the prime of it still to come. Career, girlfriends, finding the right man." I stared, entranced. The hand at my throat drifted down to cup a breast. She watched me. "Or is this still too far along in a woman's journey? Maybe younger still? More to feel, more to cherish?"
She touched my shoulder again and more years fell away. My clothes changed as well, becoming painted-on jeans and an oversized sweater, with my hair raised in a ponytail.
"Ten more years, Jen. Just out of college, so much in store," she murmured, and I could only stare at the woman I had become. Incredible, so close to perfect, so close to the dream I'd always held. Time passed, at least for us, and I could feel her becoming impatient.
"Not enough?" she asked with an edge to her voice. I started to shake my head no, this was fine, when she grabbed my shoulder and squeezed hard. "Ten more years then, just barely a woman." I felt myself shrinking all over, watching my reflection become shorter, smaller, hair clipped back away from my face, breasts barely budded and hips newly spread. My clothes shifted, changed, became a plaid skirt and white blouse, white socks and shoes, private school uniform, plain white panties and plain white bra. I felt a cramping deep inside and a wetness at my crotch, and I doubled over and fell to my knees.
"Awww, poor baby," she said with a small sneer. "First period is always a bitch. Let me help." I felt a pad fill my panties between my legs, and felt it become wet with my blood as the cramping got worse. "Ready to stop yet?" I looked up at her from the ground, my hatred apparent. She'd spoiled it with her temper. Her eyes widened and so did her smile. She spread her hands.
"Oh, come on, Jennifer," she said cloyingly. "It's all part of being a woman. The blood and the pads come with the curves and the clothes. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?" Then her eyes narrowed and the smile turned nasty. "Or do you need a few more years to get used to the idea?" She reached down and took my hand, and I felt it become so tiny in hers. She grew right in front of me, above me, scaring me with her phony smile and I cried out as she yanked me up and into her arms.
It was a baby's cry. She turned me toward the window and I saw myself as a tiny baby, in a pretty party dress, bright red hair held back from my face with little butterfly clips. The dress was too short, showing off the plastic rhumba panties covering a thick cloth diaper, and the white socks and little shoes on my tiny feet made me realize I probably wasn't old enough to walk, yet alone run. I opened my mouth to find bare gums surrounding my tiny tongue.
"How about this, little baby Jenny?" she crooned. "You can start at the beginning, with daycare and teddy bears and potty training. Oh my, you are sooooo cute!"
I moved my lips and tried to speak. "Caaa! Caaaa!"
"Oh, isn't that precious? You're way too little to speak yet, Jenny girl. Not more than a few words, if that. You'll have to learn all over again, too. Although with two children, I should think you'd know that." My face scrunched up and I started to cry. She turned me around and put me over her shoulder, and started patting my bottom. "Awww, don't be sad, baby. All I really wanted to do was make you happy. Did I go too far?"
I nodded, and she said, "Well, you tell me what you want, baby. I'll do my best to give it to you." She sat me down in front of her on the bench, and crouched down to look in my eyes. "Change me back," I thought, as hard as I could.
"Oh, little Jenny, you're so hard to read now," she cooed. "Try harder, please."
"Change me back!" I pushed, with everything I had in me.
Her brow furrowed. "Change you? But baby, you're not messy."
"CHANGE ME BACK!" I screamed in my head, and I cried aloud with frustration.
"Well, if you really want a change, okay. But first, I need something to change." She touched my stomach, and I felt it twist and suddenly the diaper was full of everything a diaper is supposed to be there to catch, and she reared back and waved her hand. "Wooooo! That's my little one. Little Miss Stinky." She picked me up and held me at arm's length. "NOW I can change you." A diaper bag materialized under her arm. "I wouldn't do this for any client, Jenny. But I did want to make you happy, so a changing we will go."
I cried again, louder, and I saw her shiver all over. Her eyes rolled back, and she smiled wide. Then she shook herself all over and took a deep breath. Suddenly a pacifier appeared in my mouth. My lips closed around it, and I sucked it like a nicotine addict after a cross-country flight.
"That's better," she said, still smiling. "Stinky and noisy I can do without. Don't you like your binky?" I shook my head no, and she smiled at me. "Well, too bad. That's what being a baby is all about. Babies don't get to choose. Mommy knows best."
She started walking towards the supermarket, and I saw time start again. Carts moving, cars weaving their way through the parking lot on the far side of the market. She walked through the sliding doors and approached the closest cashier.
"Excuse me," she said sweetly. "Is there somewhere here I can change my little girl?"
The cashier, a young woman in a red vest with the name "Sherri" on her nametag, said, "Oh, isn't she a cute one?"
The woman holding me smiled. "Yes, she is, thank you. But right now she's oh so stinky. Is there a changing station in the ladies room I could use?"
"Yes, ma'am," Sherri replied. "Straight back past the pharmacy and to your right."
"Thanks," the woman smiled. She walked straight back to the ladies room and lowered the changing table. I sucked helplessly at the pacifier while she smiled down at me, peeled off my plastic panties and undid the pins on the thick white diaper.
"Eeeew," she breathed, "what an awful mess you made, little one. Well, we made. I DID help." She grinned as she buckled me into the changing station and dumped the diaper in the toilet, then wrapped it up in a plastic bag from the diaper kit. Next, she took a handful of wipes and cleaned me up totally, then powdered me and sealed my bottom back up in a thick disposable that she covered with the rhumba panties.
"All done," she crooned, closing up the diaper bag and unbuckling me. She scooped me into her arms, and held me close as she walked back to the front of the store.
"Thank you very much," she said to the cashier, and Sherri smiled at her in return. Two other cashiers were setting up registers, both women. My mouth suddenly loosened and the pacifier fell to the floor. I suddenly started howling, babbling in baby talk trying to get anyone to listen. They just looked at me, and I began to cry.
"Awww," said Sherri, "what's wrong? She lost her binky!"
"Oh, Jenny's probably hungry," the woman said, finding a seat near the front window. 'Is it okay if I feed her here?"
"Sure, hon," Sherri said. "It's slow this early, and there's nobody here but us."
The woman settled me lying down in her lap, then undid her blouse and unsnapped part of her bra. She pulled her breast forward, and it hung over me, the nipple sweating with milk.
"Here, Jenny," she laughed as she spoke, raising my entire head and slipping the nipple into my mouth. "Have some breakfast."
The other women laughed, and I felt her finger brush my cheek. Suddenly, I began to suck again, hard. My tears still fell as warm sweet milk rushed into my mouth and down my throat, filling my stomach, and I could do nothing to stop it. My whole body fell into the rhythm of suckling, and it had an almost hypnotic quality. I could do nothing but drink, and I didn't even have the strength to protest when she took me from one breast and switched me to the other.
Suddenly I realized that time was passing. I couldn't see a clock. How long had I been this way? How long would it take everyone at home to realize something had happened to me? What would happen to Carolyn if she came looking for me and found this ... thing instead?
The woman bent her face towards me. "Careful, Jenny," she whispered. "You're getting easier to read, and I don't like being referred to as a 'thing.' Remember, I'm here to help you, aren't I? And don't you worry about your precious Carolyn. I wouldn't ever want anything to happen to her. Or your precious kids." She looked into my eyes. "Now finish up, baby girl. Mama's tired of being a cow."
Sure enough, my mouth released her, and I lay there, half in a stupor, as she spent a few seconds restoring her bra and blouse to their former state. Then she pulled a clean cloth diaper from the bag and threw it over her shoulder. She lifted me up and put my head over the same shoulder, then spent a minute patting me on the back while smiling at the other women and cooing sweet nothings in my ears. Sure enough, a milky bubble found its way up and out of my mouth onto her shoulder, and she removed the diaper and put it back in the kit, then waved a cheery goodbye to the cashiers and took me back to the bench in the lot.
"There, now," she said briskly, settling me on my diapered butt in the center of the bench. "I hope I proved my point." I looked at her, goggle-eyed, and she gave a heavy sigh and waved her fingers at me. "You can talk now."
"Pwooved wat poin?" I said, then snapped my mouth shut. She laughed out loud. She had gifted me with "widdle-gurl" speak, so everything I said came out way-too-cute. "Nawt punnyy, bit." I tried to growl in my little kitten voice, then pouted. She laughed louder. I sighed, and tried to cross my arms, but they were too short. I let them fall to my sides. "Wat waz yaw poin?" I asked, resigned.
"That I can do whatever I want with you ... with your body," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "And that you'd better act quickly to take me up on my offer. My patience is not ... infinite."
I spoke slowly, with difficulty. "Dis duz nawt mayk mee twust yoo." She smiled, and leaned over me.
"I am offering you the life you want, tailor-made," she said. "It's a straightforward offer. All I want from you is a yes, and you get paradise on Earth. Why do you need to 'twust' me?"
I looked up at her. "Beecawz all yoo need i' a yesh an' yoo cantrul wat I beecum. Look wat yoo di too mee beecawz yoo 'ot anngree. Geev yoo a yesh, den wat yoo doo? Watevah yoo wan."
She looked down at me, a little anger in her eyes. "I do whatever I want, whenever I want, little one. But if we strike a bargain, I have to live up to it. Just like I can't lie to you while we ...negotiate, or that's cheating. It's the law."
Can't lie? I thought. That's right, she's bound. I rolled that around in my head a little. She can't lie, but I bet she's probably is a wiz at misdirection. This baby thing proved that generosity and good will has absolutely nothing to do with any of this. So what does she get out of it? What hasn't she told me?
The woman shifted uneasily. Does she not like where my mind is headed? She turned those disturbing eyes on me. "Yes, or no, baby? I haven't got eternity, you know. Unlike you, I haven't even had breakfast yet." She grinned.
"Twee qwesstons, kay?" I asked quietly. "yoo annseh awl an' tell twoos, and I give yoo my annseh, kay?"
"Only three?" she asked. I nodded eagerly. "Okay, ask."
"if I chooz nother liif, wat hapnz to Carolinn an' kidz?"
"Nothing. You disappear from their lives and they go on."
"Dey don' member mee?"
"Oh, they remember you," she smiled. "You just disappear from their lives ... period." And she smiled just a little bit wider.
Suddenly the penny dropped, and I knew. Me gone without a trace, and the family hurting, wondering why. Grieving without a body. Always wondering where I went, if I'll ever come back. Am I hurt? Am I dead? Carolyn crying herself to sleep every night, then haunted by memories. The children feeling abandoned, empty, lost without their Dad.
And I asked my last question.
"Den ... yoo feed, right?"
She nodded. "Smart girl. Then I feed."
Just like she fed on my fear and anger and humiliation before. I could see it then, and now it all fell into place. No such thing as a free lunch ... for her. She pays for it with my new life, my happiness. Then she feeds on the sadness, the despair, the pain I cause by leaving the ones I love to fend for themselves. A world of hurt to feed this vulture in a red dress. Caused by me, by what I wanted. By my selfishness.
She nodded at me. "Three questions, asked and answered. Now, it's your turn. You know the truth. Everything you ever wanted is waiting on one word. Will you take my offer?"
And at that point, I realized something. She'd said "no obligation" before, when this all started. But in the end, love carries its own obligations. And when it comes down to making a choice, you find there's really no choice at all.
I looked up at her, towering over me, anxiously awaiting her version of the dinner bell, and I smiled.
"No," I said firmly. "Fin' youself 'nother meal ticket. I won' hurt peepul I luv fur yoo. Fur any won."
She frowned. "You're giving up a lot. Maybe more than you know."
"Bee givin' up moor to give in too yoo," I lisped in my little girl voice. "gaym ovah, bit. Itz dunn."
There was a long pause, like she couldn't believe I was doing this. Maybe she'd been banking on human selfishness and greed a little too long. Then she shook her head.
"Okay, baby, if that's how you want it." She turned to leave.
"Wayt!" I said. "Mayk mee wat I wuz. Mayk mee MEE agin."
She turned back, again with a smile. "Why should I?"
I got angry. "I sad nooo. Not fair. Not right. Yoo cheet. Yoo pruhmiss. Boun' not to lie!"
And she laughed. "Oh, no, baby girl. This" and she waved her arm at me "was never part of the deal. It was just part of the demo. And I never said I'd change you back when the demo was over." She got right down into my face. "As I said before, 'you can cancel at anytime ... and OWN nothing.'"
OWN nothing? She said OWN?
She grinned. "Yes, own. That's what I said, but like all humans, you heard what you wanted to hear. You really need to learn to listen better, baby. But I guess you've got the time to practice, now. A whole childhood of time."
She put her nose to mine and spoke loudly, biting off each word with a savage joy as she stared straight into my little-girl eyes. "NOW the game is over, bitch. And I win. You stay a baby girl, and your family still loses you. I get fed, and you get ... nothing. No family. No new life. No gold ring."
She laughed at the look on my face, and then saw her eyes shut tight as she threw her head back. Her whole body tensed. I watched her savor my shocked disbelief, the realization of everything I had lost, and my own despair at what a fool I'd been.
She was feeding ... on me. Again.
As the tears rolled down my cheeks, she bent down and tasted some. She shuddered all over and a low moan escaped her. "So sweet," she whispered, and grinned.
She stood up and checked her reflection in the salon window. "I usually do win, you know. You humans have always been way too easy."
She turned to me and grinned. "Try to enjoy your new life of diapers and playdates, Jenny, however it turns out. You're soooo cute. Some other nice family will adopt you. But I'm sure you'll find growing up female isn't half what you thought it would be. And you'll always remember the pain you've caused. You'll mourn what you've lost, always, while I feast for years on what I've gained. All because you were stupid."
And she vanished. Like the Cheshire Cat, her vampire smile remained.
###
I sat on the bench for a while, tears falling silently. I didn't know how much time had passed. I was totally numb, with grief and rage and sadness fighting inside me. Soon, I knew, someone would find me sitting here, and pick me up and whisk me away from my family and everything I knew. I trembled all over, and even though I knew it wouldn't help, I couldn't stop the anguished cry that was bubbling up inside me. I opened my mouth, and my eyes scrunched shut--
-- and suddenly I was picked up and held tight, in arms that felt strangely familiar.
"Sssssssh, Jack," her voice whispered, in that sweet tone I'd heard her use with our own two children, when they were way too young to stop their own tears. "Don't cry, baby. I heard it all. If you cry, she wins. And after what you sacrificed, we can't let her win."
"Ca ... Cawolyn?" She nodded, and patted me on the back as I sniffled. "Yoo ... hurd?"
"Yes, baby, I heard everything. I heard you turn her down. I heard you give up your dreams, to protect us." She kissed the side of my head, and let me slide down into her lap. I looked up at her. Carolyn's eyes held only love. "It was the most noble thing I've ever seen."
I looked down at my little shoes.
"Ah fuhked up, hunny," I said to my shoes in that tiny voice. She laughed, and I looked back up quickly. She kissed my nose.
"Never expected to hear a sentence like that come from such a cute little girl."
My eyes filled up with tears. She took me by the chin and tiled my head back. "She tricked you, hon. It's what her kind do. What she's done for thousands of years. If they can't play by the rules, they cheat inside the rules."
"How ... how ..."
"How do I know about her?" I nodded. "Because her kind have natural enemies, and one of them has been living with us, in our home, in secret, for years." She took my little hands in hers and squeezed. "He is part of a group that feeds on happiness and good feelings--not negative emotions, like her. That's why he was with us. Our love, our happiness, kept him thriving for years. I didn't know until this morning, when he came to me and woke me. He told me what was going on. It wanted me here to stop her--to protect you, since it can't interfere directly. I just wasn't fast enough."
"But I heard everything, Jack. Heard what she offered you. Heard you puzzle it out. And heard you tell her no." She took me back in her arms and hugged me tight. "I knew I married a knight in shining armor. I never expected him to wind up a tiny princess." She squeezed. "My little princess."
I started crying. "Duh kidz, Cawolyn. No Dahd anymawr. My fawlt."
She held me tight. "No, Jack, ssssh. It's okay. They don't blame you. They know what happened. They know it all."
"Dey doo?"
Carolyn nodded. "He helped me explain. And I brought them with me. They saw it all, too." She raised her voice. "Come on out, kids."
The car door opened, and both children stared at me. I stared back, and blushed.
"Da ... Dad?" Jeremy said slowly. I nodded. He approached me timidly. "I'm sorry you're a baby now."
"Mee too." I said, and we both smiled. Jeremy looked at his feet. "I guess it's our turn to take care of you, huh."
"Afrayd so, spurt," I looked down. "Sawry."
"It's okay, Dad, honest." Jeremy said. "She tricked you. I don't know why you wanted to be a girl, but it's okay. I guess you are one, now. Littler than you wanted, but ..." I looked at my tiny feet, sticking out from under the dress, and started to cry. He came real close and put his arms around me, a little awkward. "Hey, Dad. It's okay. You'll grow up, right? And we didn't lose you. You're still here. We're still a family." I snuffled into his neck. He grinned. "The only bad part is, I have to put up with another sister."
"HEY!" Emma dope-slapped Jeremy. "Having a sister is a privilege, not a pain. YOU'RE the pain!" Jeremy reached back and tickled her, and she collapsed on the ground next to the bench, trying to push his hands away.
"Children!" Carolyn snapped, and both kids immediately stopped. "Sorry, Mom," Emma said, head bowed. Jeremy stepped back and she moved forward.
"Hi, Dad," she said softly. I looked up at her and said hi back, then looked down. "Ahm so sawry, Emma." She crouched down next to the bench and lifted my chin with her hand.
"Nothing to be sorry about, Dad," she whispered. "You got suckered. But like Jeremy said, we didn't lose you. You're just ... different, that's all. Still family." Emma paused, then kissed my nose. "I always wanted a little sister, instead of just Stinky over there." Jeremy stuck out his tongue. "I'm going to miss the old you, though."
"Steel inn heer, hunn," I said softly. She nodded, then held out her arms. "Can I ... can I hold you, Dad?" I nodded, and she picked me up and cuddled me close. It felt so good, I sighed.
"Mom?"
"Yes, Jeremy?"
"We can't keep calling Dad ... er, Dad."
"No, we can't. Jack?"
"Yesh, hun?"
"The other creature, the one who's been living with us, says he can fix things. Change reality for us."
"Can 'ee chain' mee bahck?" I asked hopefully.
"No, baby," she whispered. I slumped in Emma's arms. "He's not allowed to interfere that way. But he can make it so you're real, and have a place with us. So everyone will remember Jack's ... death soon after you were born. And everyone remembers the little girl as being just another baby Barnes." She smiled. "Remember how hard we tried for another baby, for all those years? I guess you're it." I smiled back, then laughed. It came out a giggle. Everyone laughed.
"So what shall we name our new baby?" Emma asked, giving me a squeeze.
"Dad's choice, Emma," Carolyn said. "He ... she's going to have to live with it all her life, after all."
I thought for a moment. She ... that THING ... had spoiled Jennifer for me. I couldn't use that NAME anymore. And anyway, Jennifer was a fantasy. The girl I had become was all too real. Then I remembered the names Carolyn and I had talked about when we were still trying for our third. "Rebecca. Rebecca ... Jane." I smiled. "Becca fur shawt."
I felt a wave of ... something rush out from the family, moving through reality around us, and when it stopped, I noticed my car had disappeared.
"My cahr! It's gohn!"
Carolyn took me from Emma and hugged me. "Silly Becca! The only cars you have now are toys." I smiled and shook my head. "Sawry ... Mommy. Oh noooooo!"
"What is it now, princess?"
"Food in cahr gawn toooo! An' juss bawt."
Emma walked over to Carolyn's car and opened the door. Three bags of groceries -- not the two I had bought before -- and a huge bag of disposable diapers sat on the seat. I buried my face in Carolyn's shoulder. "Dis ish goin' tayk getting' ooosed too."
Carolyn patted my bottom. "Not even the half of it, princess. I bet your office at home is now a bedroom fit for a pretty baby girl. Can't wait to see. But have to wait until after work, precious. We're all late. Mommy needs to get you to daycare this morning. Won't that be fun?"
"Daycare?"
"Can't leave baby Becca at home alone, hon. And Mommy needs to get to work."
Playing baby all day for strangers, every day. I guess I had to pay for my stupidity somehow, and I was sure this was just the start. I sighed. "Yesh, Mommy."
She took me around the other side of the car and bent over to strap me into my car seat. As the belt clicked, I looked up. "Mommy?"
"Yes, baby?"
I lowered my voice so only she could hear. "Ahr yoo ... b'est feeedin?" I blushed and looked down. Carolyn smiled and closed her eyes, and I felt another reality ripple. I watched her chest expand, just a little bit.
"I am now." Her voice held a little laugh. "Still the same Jack inside, after all." She kissed me on the forehead, still smiling as the car door shut.
And the door to a new life opened.
Notes:
To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 2
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Tricked into becoming a six-month-old baby girl, Jack Barnes tries to adjust to his new life as Becca, along with his family. His first major hurdle -- surviving his first day as an infant in more than forty years.
Part 2
Carolyn drove well. As I sat there, strapped in my car seat facing backward, I watched her in the infant mirror attached to the corner of the rear window. It was there apparently so she could check on me (well, the baby I had become) while driving, but it worked pretty well in the other direction. too. I had always admired how well she watched the road. How carefully she approached stoplights and stop signs. How diligently she signaled her every turn and lane change. She was truly magnificent behind the wheel. Then again, it was no surprise that I was impressed. After all, I was the one who helped her learn.
Her parents had thrown up their hands and abandoned the project as hopeless. They kept trying to push her to do it their way, and I knew that would never work with her. After two years of dating, I had learned something her parents didn't seem to grasp. Carolyn was as stubborn as she was beautiful. Pushing didn't help. She had to want to do it your way, or it wouldn't happen.
Even though her parents refused to help, she still wanted to get her license. So I offered to teach her myself. Maybe "teach" isn't the right word. I just opened the driver's side door, handed her the keys, and gave her the opportunity to learn. She knew the rules of the road. The rest was just practice. I'd sat in the passenger seat and watched her get confident, answered questions when she asked, and gave her a smile when she looked over quickly to see how she was doing. Everybody drives in their own way. She just had to find hers.
Less than a month later, she walked into the DMV and walked out with her license and a big smile. I don't think her parents ever completely forgave me for showing them up. But Carolyn's smile was payment enough.
I sat in my car seat and watched her for a while, turning my head now and then to look out the window at what I could see of the passing scenery. Demoted to passenger for at least another fifteen years, I thought with a mental sigh. And I really did like driving. It was all about control - about making the right choices to get where you wanted to go. But as that ... demon thing pointed out, babies don't get to make choices. They ... we don't have control.
I'm pretty sure that, at that moment, I wasn't entirely sane -- and with good reason. In one short hour, my life as I knew it had been ripped away, twisted into something that still looked very much like my life but wasn't. I had been confronted with a bitter truth. Reality was not immutable, bound by space and time and circumstance. Instead, everything you knew ... everything you WERE ... could be gone in a heartbeat, stolen at a whim by creatures whose motives were cold, and as clear as a winter's night. We were cattle, to be played with, fed on, and discarded.
Everything was so big, and more than a little scary. I was tiny and weak, totally dependent for the first time in more than forty years. I couldn't be more than six months old, and probably younger. I didn't remember how old Emma or Jeremy was when they got their first teeth, but certainly younger than a year old. I was pretty sure I had none. My tongue moved around my mouth in a futile hunt before I stilled it with an angry thought.
I felt both very far away and fiercely connected to the here-and-now. The last time I had felt this way was a few years before, right after a major fender-bender. All during the time following the collision, the world appeared strangely sharp, in pinpoint focus, while sounds seemed to rise from the background noise of the highway traffic like bubbles rising in a bottle of molasses. I didn't seem to track well then, and an echo of that same feeling held me in its grip while I sat in that car seat, watching my reality reset.
Part of me was calm, rational, focused. I watched the world pass by the window, wearing my pretty dress with my hair held back with little butterfly barrettes, and I kept thinking, "Oh, there's the bookstore. New Sue Grafton novel coming out soon, better pick it up." Or "Home Depot. Got to remember to change the oil in the mower." Then it would hit me, and I'd remember. These hands couldn't change oil. They couldn't change anything. I couldn't even change myself anymore.
My stomach roiled, and I felt my body shudder. I suppressed my body's need to get rid of my "breakfast," and sighed. I still had control over that much, thank God. For all the good it would do me. Eventually, I'd have to give in to the diaper, at least until I was old enough to use a potty chair. I wasn't happy about it, but facing my new reality had to start somewhere. Apparently, today was the day I would have to get used to a lot of things. And my family was going to pay the price as well.
They had an obligation to me, because they loved me, to see this thing through. To treat me as Rebecca Jane Barnes, daughter, baby sister. But it wasn't going to be easy for them. They just lost someone dear to them, even though I was still here. No more playing baseball in the yard with Jeremy, not for a long time. No more shuttling Emma to soccer or to the mall to meet with friends. No more Sunday mornings in bed, just Carolyn and I, making love and sharing breakfast over the Sunday paper. We'd still share breakfast ... sort of. But instead of a partner, I'd become another dependent. Someone else to take care of. Another mouth to feed, literally.
Through my own stupidity, I had just given the people I love the most in the world a big kick in the head, and they were shrugging it off as best they could, because they knew I had been kicked harder and lost more. They'd lost me, but I'd lost ... myself. I felt my tears start and didn't try to stop them. They were from a mix of sorrow and pride, and I didn't think that demon thing could stomach the combination. Frankly, I hoped she'd try. I hoped she choked. Bitch.
Jeremy reached over and took my hand. I looked at him, and he saw the tears. He squeezed just a little, and gave a small smile.
"It's hard, Dad," he said, then caught himself. "I mean, Becca."
I smiled softly, but there was little pleasure in it. "Yoo ment Dahd, spuht. S'okay." I looked down. "Luks liyk no bays bawl fur a whyul, Jehmmy. I emm soh sahwwy."
He looked down, too, and I caught a hint of a tear in his eye. The he spoke, in a low voice. "I liked playing ball with you, Dad. But the ball wasn't what I liked about it. It was being with you. If you ... you had disappeared forever, it would have hurt so much. The not knowing." He squeezed my hand harder, and I gave a little yelp. He looked up and let go of my hand. "Sorry. Did I hurt you?"
I nodded. "Ah wittle. Noh wurries." I wiggled my fingers at him. "See? Awl bettah."
He relaxed a little. "I'm glad you chose to stay, even if it means I've got another sister. Because you're still my Dad inside, and I still love you." The tears came faster. "Always, Dad."
I put my tiny hand on his. "I knoh, Jehmmy. Ah'll twy too bee a gud sis'er, an' ah Dahd too if I cun puhll i' off leyk dis."
We pulled up in front of Jeremy's school. The buses were still coming in, so he wasn't late yet.
"Come on, Jeremy," Carolyn said, popping the locks from the driver's seat. "Still need to get Emma to her school and Becca to daycare."
"Kay, Mom," Jeremy said, wiping the tears off his own cheeks with the back of his hand. He grabbed his back pack off the floor and opened his door. Then he paused for a minute, turned, and gave me a kiss on the forehead. "Bye, Becca. Love you." Then he slipped out without looking back.
"Luv yoo too, Jehmmy," I said to the closed door. Carolyn pulled away, and I saw him straighten his shoulders and keep walking, backpack on his shoulder.
###
It felt lonely in the back seat. I watched the back of Emma's head in the mirror, and Carolyn's hands on the wheel.
"Cawolyn?" I piped up in my little voice. No reply. "Cawolyn?" I said, louder. I saw her hands twitch on the wheel, and her head turned just a little. She heard me. Why wouldn't she --?
Suddenly I realized, and heaved a sigh. "Mawmy?" I asked softly.
Her shoulders relaxed. "Yes, sweetie?"
"Waht time iz it?"
"Seven twenty, Becca," she said with a glance at the clock. I shook my head and looked at my little white dress shoes, and my lacy socks.
"Ur yoo layt?"
"Not yet, honey," she replied. "But the time spent dropping off the kids will make me late, a little. You should have been at daycare by now, on a normal day."
I laughed out loud, a little bark that sounded almost like a squeal. She looked back at me, and I shrugged. "A norrml day? Nut shaw wut dat iz aneemur."
She just smiled and looked back at the road. "I guess we'll find out, princess."
###
When we reached Emma's school, she was almost late. Still, when she got out, she opened my door and gave me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Bye, sis," she said with a little smile. "Love you. Good luck today, k?"
I nodded and touched her cheek with my hand. "Luv yoo, Emmah. Danks." She shut the door and hurried into the school with a wave. Carolyn pulled out of the parking lot and started driving.
"Doo yoo knoh weer yoo gohin?" I asked, splaying my fingers on the safety bar that held me in the seat.
"Yes, I think I do," she said softly. "If we had managed to have another child, we would have taken her to Harmony House for daycare, just like we did Emma and Jeremy. It ... feels right, somehow, Becca."
"'kay, Mawmy," I said, looking out the window again. "Seeeemz liyk nuttin feelz wite too day."
"And it won't, hon." Her voice had become a little sharp, then she was quiet for a moment and her tone softened. "Not for a long time, and especially not for you."
We both went silent for a few minutes, until Carolyn pulled the car up to the curb in front of Harmony House. She shut off the engine and turned around to face me.
"This is where it gets harder, hon," she said. "You need to be a baby for everyone here, all day long. Can you do that?"
I looked back at her seriously. "Haff too, Mawmy. Can' be anyting elz."
Carolyn nodded. "That's my girl. OK, then. First things first. That's a pretty dress, but it's not for everyday. We need to get you into something else."
She opened her door and grabbed what I knew to be a diaper bag from the floor of the passenger side. Then she slid out and got in the back seat with me.
"I know you think you sound like a baby, but the truth is you seem to be around six months old, and even one-year-olds don't speak as well as you do now," she said, unbuckling my seat. She reached down, took the clips out of my hair, and pulled the dress over my head. I shivered in just my baby tee. Out of the diaper bag, she took a pale yellow one-piece cotton play dress, with short sleeves, a round collar, and a little ruffle of a skirt. On its chest were the words, "Mommy's Princess" in flowing lavender script, with little purple butterflies flittering around the words. She pulled it down over my head and helped me put my arms through the sleeves.
"It's important that you not try to make sentences, Becca," Carolyn continued smartly as she picked me up and laid me down on the seat. "Words here and there are all right, but you need to do baby babble most of the time." She pulled off the rhumba panties, exposing my disposable diaper, and replaced them with an unruffled pair that matched the yellow of the dress.
"Ah'm nut suhr Ah cahn doo baybee babul, Cah -" she shot a look at me, and I stopped. "Mawmy."
"Don't forget that, either, Becca," she said sharply, untying my little white shoes and replacing them with baby sneakers. "Calling me 'Mommy' is just barely your speed at this age, or should be. Slip up in front of others and they'll wonder where 'Cawolyn' came from. As for babbling, let me think on it for a moment. It seems difficult for you to form words now. Is it?"
I nodded. She sighed. "Try something for me, princess. Say something, anything you like, but don't even try to make it intelligible. Let your mouth go, and raise and lower your pitch once in a while."
I thought for a second, got very quiet, then spoke in a singsong voice. "Maaah gah gibbeee otts oiiizzzes." She smiled down at me, and I gave her a small smile back.
"See? Told you you could do it. Your mouth doesn't really have the control for speaking at this point, so it should be easy to babble. What did you try to say?" she asked, scooping me up in her arms with the diaper bag on her shoulder.
"My gurl gibs mee 'otz ob 'isses," I replied, blushing. Carolyn smiled, lifted me up to her face, and kissed me over and over again as she walked up to the door until I was giggling uncontrollably.
###
Being carried into Harmony House sobered me up quickly, and the giggles trailed off before Carolyn and I were two steps past the threshold. The low murmur of caregivers and children interacting mixed with a CD of children's favorites was my first impression, since Carolyn was carrying me in such a way that I faced the door. She held me up in front of her halfway to the check-in desk and looked deep into my eyes.
"Be strong, baby," she whispered, and kissed the tip of my nose. "This is where your new life really starts." I nodded, and she turned me around so I could see my future.
The whole layout was wide open, with only low walls separating each different area. It hadn't changed a bit from when Jeremy went here as a toddler. Straight ahead was the check-in counter, with its sign-in book and bulletin board of notices. To the right of the check-in, the counter dipped down, so a parent could deposit a little one still strapped into his or her infant seat. The small gate next to that was closed with a simple bolt on the side facing the door, so no child could even attempt to open it.
Past the gate was a long aisle that connected several areas, each with a specific function. The first area on the left was administration, right behind the check-in counter. Tucked in past the check-in counter was a small kitchen area for food prep, and a little bathroom with the door open. Inside I could see a small sink at child height, and a tiny toilet. Further down the central aisle, still on the left, was the entrance to the eating and several small play areas with a door to the outside playground. The left side ended with a row of diaper-changing stations and a wall of cubbies that held changing supplies. I could see one labeled "Becca" in flowing script on a yellow card, surrounded with stickers of daisies and happy cartoon honeybees. I shuddered again, still keeping hold of my breakfast.
On the right side of the aisle were only two areas, both for sleeping. One area held several rows of cribs, one with my new name on it near the front. The other area had nap mats for the older children, with heavy curtains on the windows that could be drawn to make it dark.
"Hi, Ms. Barnes," said the girl behind the desk. Girl, I chided myself silently. She was at least fifteen years older than me. Her nametag said "Gina."
"Hi, Gina," my wife replied, lifting me up and over the check-in counter. Gina took me easily and tickled my nose with hers.
"Hey, Becca becca," she said in a singsong voice. 'How's my favorite little girl today?" I caught Carolyn's eye over Gina's shoulder, and she looked back and nodded. "Babble," she mouthed. I gave Gina a big smile and said, "Giga berri pweddigubble donuutin'?"
Gina smiled. "Awwwww, I just love the way she talks," she said, and hugged me to her. I looked at Carolyn again and rolled my eyes. She smiled. "Get used to it, Becca," she said aloud. "You're too cute not to hug."
"That's the truth," Gina said, and hugged me again. I nodded at Carolyn and hugged Gina back.
Carolyn took three bottles out of the diaper bag and placed them on the counter. They were transparent, topped with nipples protected by transparent caps. From the yellowish color of the liquid inside, I realized they were filled with breast milk. I sighed inside.
"How is Becca on supplies?" Carolyn asked in a matter-of-fact tone. I thought I heard a little quivering in her voice.
"Just fine, Ma'am," Gina said, bouncing me in her arms. "A little low on wipes, but we can borrow from a neighbor if we have to, until you bring in some more."
"I'll try and bring some in tonight when I pick her up." Carolyn came over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Be a good girl for Gina, baby. I love you."
I nodded and mouthed "wuv yoo" back at her, then she turned and left quickly. Gina walked me over to the window by the cribs and pulled the curtain back. I watched as Carolyn got into the car.
'Wave bye-bye, Becca," Gina said happily. "Wave bye-bye!" She took my hand and moved it up and down. She was too busy playing with me to notice Carolyn slump behind the wheel, and I could clearly see her shoulders shaking. She was crying. Oh, God, she was crying, and it was all my fault. She had been strong all morning, trying to keep everyone's spirits up in the face of the disaster I made. But once she was alone, she couldn't hold it in.
When I realized what I'd done, I started crying, too, silently. Gina saw my eyes filling and my lip quivering.
"Oh, sweetie, don't cry, Mommy will be back," she said, holding me tight, patting me on the back. And I thought, "yeah, Mommy will, but my wife is gone. My life is gone." And I started crying in earnest, my whole body shaking in Gina's arms. I tried not to be loud, because I didn't want to wake the babies in the cribs, the ones who had come in sleeping. But I still cried and sniffled and mourned for the life I had lost.
Gina took me over to a rocking chair and sat down with me in her lap. She started rocking, and singing a soft song - nothing I recognized, but sweet and lilting. She was just hoping her voice would make me feel better, and it did, a little. But what stopped my tears turned out to be a vestige of pure male stubbornness. I suddenly remembered who did this to me. And I realized that every time I cried, I was actually giving that bitch exactly what she wanted. I was feeding the one who left me like this.
Well, I won't give her the meal she craves, I thought savagely. She won't get the satisfaction of drinking my tears again. I will get past this. WE will all get past this. I will hold it together, no matter what happens to me.
SHE won't win. I won't LET her win.
###
After I had calmed myself down, Gina picked me up and carried me over to the play area. Other parents were bringing in their babies and toddlers, and several other women were checking them in as they arrived. She took me through a small gate (that also bolted on the outside) into the infant area and sat me down in front of a bunch of stuffed animals and a small stack of building blocks. Then she ran her fingers through my hair, gave me a little smile, and went across to check on a toddler on the other side of the room.
I looked around, then down at my tiny hands, framed by the yellow ruffled skirt behind them. I could just see the little Velcro-sealed sneakers on my feet with their lace-trimmed white socks. I sighed, this time out loud. After all, no one was paying attention to little Becca, not in the bustle of getting the kids checked in so parents could get off to work. I looked up at the clock on the wall. Only ten minutes since Carolyn had gone? I felt like this day was going to go on forever.
I spent a while just thinking, mulling over this morning's trip to the supermarket and everything that had gone wrong. Just how many cautionary tales had I read or heard in my lifetime? Hundreds? Thousands? And yet there I stood, haggling with a supernatural creature instead of running as fast as I could in the opposite direction. I should have ignored her, I thought. I could have just walked away. I had plenty of time for Monday morning quarterbacking now, and with little else to do, I kept beating myself up over and over for thinking I could outsmart a creature who might have been thousands of years old, with extensive experience in tricking humans for its own gain.
I shook my head. Stop being negative, I scolded myself inside. This is who you are, now. You may not look like it, but you are old enough to take responsibility for your own stupidity. My family needed me and still had me, this way. I had to play the part, because at this point, the part was all I had. I didn't want to be this way, but I was, and would be until I grew out of it. In an odd way, it was like I was before. Once again, I was stuck in the wrong body. And once again, all I could do was hunker down and get used to it.
After spending almost forty years wanting my body and my mind to be as one, I had eventually managed to put together a philosophy that helped me get along day to day: "Play the hand you're dealt. You may not like the cards, but they're all you've got, so make the most of them."
Yes, it was simplistic, but worked pretty well in getting me past the dark times when I thought my need to be a woman would eat me alive. It went hand in hand with a bit of wisdom delivered by Robert Heinlein's Lazarus Long: "Certainly the game is rigged. Don't let that stop you. If you don't bet, you can't win."
Yes, I've read Heinlein. And as I thought of it that morning, I vowed I would read him again - as soon as I could pull the hardcover editions off the shelves at home without anyone thinking I planned to teethe on them.
So, this game was rigged, but that didn't matter. I still had to keep betting. For Carolyn and the children, I had to stay in the game. That meant I needed to learn how to be a baby girl. I had to at least try to blend in, be inconspicuous. I couldn't just sit here. Or could I? I looked around. No one seemed to care what I did. I guess everyone was happy when a baby was quiet. Theoretically, I could sit here and stare into space as long as I cared to. Something else would happen eventually. That's how the universe worked. Maybe the key to babyhood is learning how to do nothing and do it well.
But even as an adult, I'd never been very successful at doing nothing. Vacationing at the beach bored me silly. An empty afternoon with no plans or chores drove me crazy. Oh, God, what a nightmare. An overachiever like me in a body that couldn't do anything.
Maybe I'm going about this the wrong way, I thought. I'm not totally helpless. Maybe I just needed to find things I could work on - actions I could take to make me feel better about being stuck this way. I started thinking furiously. I need to learn to talk more clearly, I thought. That's true enough. Unfortunately, I couldn't practice there - it would call too much attention to me, and Carolyn said no.
I looked around and saw a boy standing near a corner, steadying himself against the low wall around the play area with one hand and struggling to keep his balance. I smiled. There it is, I thought. I'd work on walking! Walking would make me feel less helpless, less dependent. And judging from my friend against the wall, it wasn't out of the ordinary for a baby to get the urge to strut their stuff.
Then I tried to get to my feet.
The key word there was "tried." Getting my body to listen to me was a major undertaking. I could just about handle keeping my body in a sitting position, as long as I didn't move. When I leaned forward to try and get my legs under me, I wound up with my forehead touching the play mat. Pulling back from that to an upright position was pretty much impossible. I had to roll to one side and wound up on my tummy.
So much for walking.
I lay there, tears in my eyes, and fumed. DAMN it! This stupid body isn't ready yet. I'm not ready yet. I felt the tears leaving tracks down my cheeks, and pushed the sadness away. No food for the bitch thing, I thought savagely. Not on my watch. If she's still around, that is. Can she still prey on me, I wondered, even when our business is concluded?
I looked around for something, anything, to do. To help me keep my mind off all of this. Hell, they had a lot of things to play with here. Maybe I could actually ...well ... play!
I looked over at the toys in front of me. Some blocks, and a few stuffed animals. Hmmm. Beyond that there were other things to play with - some big plastic cars, a doll house. I could hear the same music from when Carolyn and I arrived start playing again. The CD seemed to be on some kind of endless repeat. Terrific. If this kept up, I knew I was going to get mighty sick of "The Wheels on the Bus" around lunchtime.
I looked back at the toys again. That big teddy bear looked inviting, kind of soft and cuddly. Good for a couple of minutes, sure. But I bet the long-term entertainment value would be small. A few hugs, and I'd have to move on. Blocks? Maybe. I could build something. I used to do a pretty good job on birdhouses, and I built Jeremy a terrific bed to fit in an awkward place in his old room. Different order of magnitude, though. And anything I built here would be transitory at best.
Suddenly I realized what I was doing, and I laughed out loud. It came out a giggle, which was kind of embarrassing because up until that point, I didn't think I could giggle. But I supposed it was standard issue for the little girl I had become, so I was stuck with it.
I laughed because I realized I was still thinking like a grown-up. I was sitting in a daycare center in a play dress and a diaper, worrying about wasting time -- when all I had was time, and nothing else to do with it but waste it. I had no job, no money, and no way to experience any kind of adult forms of entertainment. I wasn't going skiing any time soon. No pick-up basketball games in the park. No William Gibson, David Weber, or Neal Stephenson novels in the immediate future - unless they were printed on thick cardboard pages with rounded edges. And I wouldn't be taking a day off work to go see Joss Whedon's Serenity movie on opening day. Hell, I thought, I'd be lucky to convince Carolyn to buy me a copy on DVD when it came out.
I had just come to the realization that I had time to kill, and lots of it. Years, maybe. So what if the big teddy bear's charms were limited? I was pretty sure he was soft, and cuddly, and I KNEW I was bored and needed a hug. So what if I couldn't walk? Maybe I could crawl. And why not crawl over and hug him? What was I losing in the attempt? Dignity? Self-respect? I had neither. I was a baby girl now. I had absolutely nothing to prove.
Maybe it was time for me to let go of Jack a little, and embrace my inner Becca -- for now, anyway. At the very least it was something to do.
Focusing all my energy, I pushed myself up on all fours with my legs half-tucked under me. A good start. I sort of rested for a second, getting my bearings. It had been a long time since the last time I had crawled, and I needed to think about how to go about it, at least in this body. I twisted my head and looked behind me. My little ruffled skirt had raised up, exposing the plain yellow panty that hid my diaper. I smiled, just a little. Modesty was not really an issue for a baby girl. Hell with it. Let 'em look.
I moved one hand forward, placed it on the soft floor, and stopped. Opposite knee, I figured. I pulled it forward, out from under me, and placed the knee firmly. I moved the other hand, then the other knee, and just kept going forward. Left, right, hand, knee. Head back, mouth open, eyes wide on the prize. Teddy bear at twelve o'clock. I felt my butt wiggling back and forth, heard the diaper crinkling, but the bear kept getting closer ... closer ...
Then my head bumped it, knocking it onto its back, and I crawled on top of it and collapsed on its tummy. I laughed again, this time with pride, and wrapped my arms around it tight and squeezed.
It was just as soft as I had expected. Cuddly, too. I couldn't stop smiling as I wallowed in the feel of it, the touch of its fur against my skin, and the fact that I had charted a course, mustered the will, and captured it. "Sometimes you get the bear ..." the old saying went. Well, I got him, I thought proudly.
Unfortunately, my joy at the accomplishment lasted for all of five seconds, before the bear spoke in a deep voice that rumbled up from inside its chest.
"You forgot the rest, Jack," it said, and I could hear the smile in its tone without actually seeing one on its face. "Sometimes, the bear gets you." His furry arms closed around me, and his whole body rippled with silent laughter. "Good work, by the way. Glad to see you're keeping busy."
Damn.
Notes:
To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 3
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Jack encounters a possible ally, adjusts somewhat to life as Becca, and learns the demon thing hasn't forgotten its defeat -- or Jack's weak spot.
Part 3
"Once the bear's hug has got you,
it is apt to be for keeps."-- Harold MacMillan
Uncoordinated as I was in my six-month-old state, getting free of the bear's embrace was pretty near impossible. It clung to me as I rolled, impervious to my attempts to shake it loose. I did my best to push it off with my tiny arms, but it held fast. And the more trapped I felt, the more frightened I became.
"Really, Jack," it protested, appearing surprised at my reaction,"Why so upset? I thought you wanted a hug!"
Truth be told, all I wanted at that point was to get as far away from the thing as I could. I had learned a valuable lesson that morning, and was doing my best to prove that my earlier stupidity was indeed curable. If that bear was a reality-bending demon thing, I wanted nothing to do with it. Period. Bad enough I was stuck as a baby girl because I was foolish enough to think I could deal with one of these creatures and not get burned. Who knows what the hell else could happen to me? Or my wife? Or my kids?
I opened my mouth to cry, thinking Gina or one of the others could get this thing off of me, but I shut it just as fast. I couldn't put them in danger just to save me from this, I thought. I wouldn't put it past the bitch thing to hurt them if she thought it would buy her something.
"OH!" The bear immediately released me, and I rolled clear, shaking and panting. As I struggled to sit up, I noticed that the damned toy had scared the crap out of me, literally -- along with everything else in my digestive tract. I sighed, debated what position I should put myself in, and gingerly twisted myself around until I was on my hands and knees again. I had no illusions about being able to crawl away from HER, but until I managed to get a diaper change, there was no way I was sitting down -- and I sure as hell didn't want to be on my belly or back with one of these things in the room.
"A thousand apologies, Jack," it said, making weird motions with its paws. It took me a second, but I realized it was trying to wring its non-existent hands. It might have worked if the bear HAD hands -- or if the bear's stubby arms could actually reach each other. "I had no idea you thought I was the Other. I didn't mean to frighten you."
"Well, you did a hell of a job, whoever you are," I shot back, still panting. Then stopped. I could talk normally -- sort of. My new voice was very high-pitched, and sounded sort of familiar. I reached back into my memory and came up with an unlikely candidate.
"A Smurf?" I said. The bear nodded as best it could without a neck, and I sighed. The only girl Smurf, if I remembered correctly, although for the life of me I couldn't remember her name.
"Smurfette, actually," the bear replied without being asked. "Not a conscious choice on anyone's part, I assure you. Just how your adult female voice would sound given a child's larynx and vocal apparatus. We thought you might be pleased to abandon the pidgin English the Other had cursed you with. Especially considering how hard it was for you to actually use what she gave you effectively."
"Terrific," I muttered, then stopped again. "Damn! I'm not supposed to be talking at all in front of the people here," I hissed, and the bear gave a little smile.
"Do you see anyone noticing?" It asked, and waved a paw.
Sure enough, as I looked around, I saw no one paying Becca and the bear the slightest bit of attention. Unlike my previous encounter with one of these things, time went on, but events occurred around us without anyone nearby noticing anything different at all.
"Not as flashy as stopping time," the bear sniffed, as if it was disgusted at the very thought, "but we aren't here to impress ourselves with our own power. Or you either, comes to think of it. Stealth is our watchword, or should be."
"What exactly are you doing?" I asked, peering around at life passing in real time.
"We've created what you'd call an avoidance field. It basically makes anyone in the area choose not to look at this particular spot, or even notice us until we allow them to. Their eyes just pass right over and move on." The bear huffed back into a sitting position, and invited me to do the same. I shook my head.
"Thank you, no. It's bad enough I have to wear a diaper, worse yet that you scared me into using the damned thing. Last thing I need is to sit in it. The day's bad enough as it is."
"Again, my apologies, Jack," the bear said, managing to look a little sheepish. It wrinkled its nose and I was once again clean. I nodded my thanks, and, after much rolling and twisting, assumed a sitting position. The bear waited politely until I was through.
"As I said," it continued apologetically, "I never meant to frighten you. I thought you wanted a hug and I gave you one. I never realized you would mistake me for Her."
"Well, my experience with magical creatures in the real world is somewhat limited. You're only the second one I've ever met."
"Really? My word, that is impressive." The bear shook its head. "To do what you did with such limited experience. I've seen mages with hundreds of years of dealing with the Otherworld fall prey to its denizens through lack of just the caution and intelligence you displayed this morning."
I snorted, which is no mean trick with a nose as small as the one I'd inherited.
"No, really! I actually came by to offer my congratulations."
"Congratulations?"
"Yes."
"For what? Making a damned fool of myself?"
"First, for figuring out what HER game was. You'd be surprised how many mortals let themselves become totally convinced the Other's goal is noble, just because they want it to be."
I shook my head. "I fell for some of that, myself."
The bear nodded. "Only some of it, Jack. But you knew from the start something wasn't right, and you kept working at it under tremendous pressure until you figured out what she was up to. That doesn't happen very often. You are -- were -- a singular man."
I blushed, and said nothing. The bear looked at me with a small smile, and nodded again.
"I also wanted to congratulate you on the choice you made. You did the right thing, Jack, and you have no idea how truly rare that is. Most of the other humans throughout history who were smart enough to get the Others to reveal their intent ... well, they abandoned their families and friends to the mercy of the Others without a second thought. They didn't give a damn what happened to the people who cared for them, as long as they got what they thought they deserved. Once you realized what was happening, you turned down the offer without a thought. That took courage."
"Not really." I shrugged. "I couldn't let it hurt my family. I couldn't let it use me to hurt them, for any price. I couldn't live with myself if I did. I don't see that makes me special. I don't see that I had any other choice, but thanks for the compliment."
"Honor, then," the bear insisted, holding up a paw. "A victory of love and honor over greed."
I looked at the bear for a long time, and finally sighed. "I won't argue the point. If someone wants to see me as something more than a damned idiot, I would be a fool twice over to argue with them. Still, I did wind up sitting here in a diaper for the foreseeable future making goo-goo noises while SHE roams free to do this to some other idiot. And my family is still hurting, even though I did the right thing." I looked down at my tiny feet and sighed again. "As victories go, it kinda sucks, don't you think?"
"As a matter of fact, we do."
I looked up at it, slightly annoyed. "Well, who are you, anyway? And why do you keep saying 'we?' I only see one of you, and I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but if you're using the royal 'we,' you're looking a little worse for wear, 'Teddy.' Not exactly majestic, if you catch my drift."
The bear tsked at me, and its chubby face twisted in a parody of irritation. "Really, Jack. I'm surprised at you. The 'we' is not royal. I represent a group -- one you should be familiar with. Don't you recognize my voice? After all, it wasn't that long ago that you heard it last."
He held up a paw with a dramatic flourish, and I heard it again. That bell, or gong, followed by a voice I finally recognized as his. "Spoken and witnessed, you are bound in these dealings. Break this oath on fear of punishment most foul."
I thought it through. He waited, his paw still in the air. "So," I said slowly, "you're ... the referee?"
It nodded. "For want of a better term, yes. And it's referees, actually. We are the Arbiters of all dealings in magick, great and small." The paw came down as his chin lifted, and he looked down his long snout at me. "Bargains can be struck without our intervention, of course, but not without our knowledge. Only true idiots deal in reality-altering magicks without invoking the oath, since in those dealings humans are essentially turning control of their own reality to a supernatural entity. Our judgments are true and our punishments absolute, and too terrible to contemplate. Oath-breakers have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. We are the law, and our justice is swift and without mercy."
I snorted again. I was starting to get good at it. He shot me a look full of disapproval, and I lowered my eyes. "I'm sorry, Your Honor," I said softly, "but the oath didn't seem to help me much. She still managed to trick me in the end."
"That oath, infant," he said menacingly, "is the only reason I am here. It took a certain presence of mind to push the Other into invoking the oath. Usually, they avoid it like the plague. It called our particular attention to you. If that oath had not been given and witnessed, we would never have seen your courage and strength, and felt compelled to act."
"Act?" Suddenly the world became very quiet, like the silence you experience just after a heavy snowfall.
"Yes, act. You have earned the respect of the Arbiters, and that means we can grant you some measure of peace, and save you from some of the consequences of your dealings with the Other."
My mouth became very dry, and I felt the world spinning, just a little. This was what hope feels like, I thought, when it creeps up behind you and smacks you hard upside the head. I struggled to hold it together, to try and keep myself from falling too fast.
"But ... but the one who revealed himself to my wife this morning, the one who has been living off of our happiness," I stuttered, "he said he could not reverse what had been done."
"That is correct," the bear said. "He could not reverse it, and neither can we." It leaned over and touched my arm with a paw. "The oath is very specific. 'A bargain struck is a bargain made.' And although the demo was not part of the deal you were negotiating with HER, it was a separate bargain nonetheless -- one created specifically with a loophole you didn't see ... or rather, didn't hear. So none of us can change you back to the Jack you were. All the one who fed from your joy could do was create a place for what you have become in What Is." The bear sighed. "Even doing that had its price, for him. I suppose that's why the universe allowed him to do it."
"A price?"
"Oh, yes. His kind live off of what you would facetiously call 'free range happiness.' They feed on joy that occurs naturally, as opposed to happiness manufactured by magick. The joy eater did what he did for you all out of love for your family, and in recognition of the tremendous debt he owed you for years of sustenance. But as a result, he has had to leave you to forage for happiness elsewhere. Any joy your family creates from now on will be tainted by his gift. It was a difficult choice for him, but one we were proud of all the same."
I bowed my head, embarrassed by his gift. "He tried to save me, tried to warn my wife. He showed her and the children what was happening."
"Well, that was hardly as heroic as you make it sound," the bear smiled, just a little. "After all, it was as much about protecting his food source as it was protecting you. But sacrificing his connection to your family to make it easier for you all to go on ... that has value beyond measure, and we will not forget."
There was a long pause, then I spoke, asking the question I couldn't hold back from asking. "If you can't reverse the change ... what exactly can you do?"
The bear started to speak, then stopped. It sat up very straight, then cocked its head as if listening to something far away.
"No," it breathed, almost in shock. Then its voice changed to a angry growl. "No!"
I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, and the bear collapsed in a heap, like a puppet with its strings cut. The Arbiter was gone, just like that.
###
"Aw ... bit... ur?" I said tentatively. Damn, I thought. Back to the stammer and grind. Just as well. I hated having to make the extra effort to make myself understood, but it also made it more difficult to speak too well in front of someone outside the family. Considering how my luck has been going, at least this voice could support the argument that I was just a precocious six-month-old and not an underdone midget with delusions of Smurfhood.
"Hey Becca becca!" Gina arms swooped down and spun me around in the air. I squealed, half frightened as the word spun around me. Then she stopped and pulled me close, her face only inches from mine.
"Where on Earth have you been, little one? Here all the time?" I smiled, thinking she got it right the first try. She smiled back, and rubbed my nose with hers. "Well, you're the best hider I've ever seen, baby. And I love that smile."
She held me so I could just peek over her shoulder and carried me over to a high chair, where she put me down and buckled me in tight. Gina walked over to my cubby and pulled out a pink plastic bib, and tied it around my neck with a flourish.
"Snack time, Becca," she said melodically. I noticed several other infants sitting in high chairs, being tended by others. The toddlers had apparently just finished eating, and had gone off to a story time in the play area. I could see them all sitting in a circle around an older woman reading them a book. I turned back to see a spoon coming at me, and I opened my mouth reflexively and closed it around the spoon.
Sweet and sour hit me at the same time, and I shuddered. Apricots. I opened my mouth and tried to push them out with my tongue, but Gina kept spooning them right back in as they passed my lips. With a mental sigh, I accepted the apricots and swallowed. Gina gave me a big smile.
"See, baby?" she said happily, preparing another spoon. "Isn't solid food wonderful? I knew you'd like apricots."
Oh yeah, I thought unhappily. Just love 'em.
When the little jar was finished, she wiped my mouth off and took off my bib. Then she took me over to the rocker where we had sat earlier that morning, and I saw the bottle in her hand.
"Now I know you love this, little one." She settled down and held me in the crook of her arm, then placed the nipple in my mouth. I closed my eyes, heaved a sigh, and started sucking. The liquid just slid into me, and my mouth did all the work without me having to think twice. I tried to think about the Arbiter's sudden disappearance, and his last words, but the sucking and the warm milk and the feel of Gina's body pressed against mine had me asleep before I even noticed I was sleepy.
###
I woke up suddenly, and found myself staring up at a ceiling I had never seen before, surrounded by bars. Just above my head was a mobile with a stampede of unicorns and a flight of cute girl fairies hanging from it in pastel colors. I was still a little sleep-befuddled, and I turned my head. Another baby slept in the crib next door, and the lights seemed to be turned down low.
I guess it's naptime, I thought. I wonder if I made it through that bottle. I moved my legs slightly and felt the damp in my diaper. Oh yeah. I finished it all right. And apparently I can't hold anything in when I'm asleep. This baby thing just gets better and better.
But for all the uncomfortable wetness, I wasn't keen on attracting attention. I had some thinking to do, and as addictive as Gina's smile was, I always had to be Becca with her, and I needed my inner Jack right now.
The Arbiter had just ... gone. Slipped out of the bear and ran. But he didn't look afraid. I shook my head. Like I can read the expressions on the face of a stuffed bear, I thought. But you could, I insisted. First he was shocked. Then he was angry. Then he was gone.
Something had happened that he really didn't like. If it was enough to disturb someone with as much power as he seemed to possess, it couldn't be good. Nevertheless, he seemed about to offer me a hand, although he did take quite a while to explain why I couldn't be Jack again.
Apparently, there was a whole slew of rules, checks, and balances to these magical transactions. As if the system had developed over millennia to control the power of those who could change reality on a whim. I could imagine the threat to the continuity of the Universe these magical creatures represented. Rules had to be created or chaos would overwhelm the natural order. And Arbiters had to be created to enforce the rules, since mere ethical integrity wouldn't stop something like the demon thing from doing whatever it wanted to get its way. I'm sure it hated the rules, but obeyed them because the Universe gave it very little choice. Apparently. the alternative was too frightening to bear.
So what would make the Arbiter react that way? I turned it over in my head, but got nothing. And none of this seemed to fit any known conception of how the universe works. In short, I didn't know enough. I snorted. That's nothing new, I thought. All I can do is wait.
The lights came back on above, and I saw Gina come over to my crib and look down on me. I looked up at her and smiled in spite of myself.
"Awake, baby?" The smile was in her voice as much as on her face. She picked me up and felt the bottom of my diaper, and made a little face, "Oh, is Becca wet? And you didn't make a sound! What a good girl you are. Must be icky for you. We'll fix it fast, though, don't worry."
And she did, too, taking me over to the changing table nearest my cubby, cleaning me up and putting me in a clean diaper with the fast professionalism of someone who has changed hundreds in the course of her career. It was a bit embarrassing to me at first, but as she worked, I realized it wasn't like it was with the demon thing at all. The Other was trying deliberately to humiliate me and show me how powerless I was. To Gina, my powerlessness was her reason for being. It was her job to care for me, since I couldn't care for myself. And she seemed to really like me. Keeping me fresh and clean was just part of what she had to do to keep me happy, and I could tell from her attitude that she enjoyed her work.
I kept that in mind while the day progressed.
More play time for a while after lunch. I practiced crawling, set myself some goals, and barreled through. Gina was overjoyed I had mastered the moving thing. I grinned a toothless grin. Anything that makes her smile is a plus. I kept close to the bear, though, in case the Arbiter made a surprise reappearance.
Lunchtime was some kind of oatmeal, made with breast milk from the bottles Carolyn brought. I was okay with it. Tasted different from the last oatmeal I had eaten, but it beat apricots, so I didn't even fight.
After food, another bottle in the rocker, another long nap. When I woke the second time, I was pretty messy and not at all happy about it. I found that Becca possessed an awesome howl that elicited an immediate response. Gina clicked her tongue at me and whisked me to the changing table, then brought me back to the play area for more crawling practice. I was thankful for the naps, since the crawling used a lot of energy that this body just didn't have yet. Eventually I lay down on top of the bear to rest for a minute, hoping it would rumble to life once more.
The bear said nothing. I worried a little, but dismissed it with a shake of my little red head and a wave of my pudgy hand. The Arbiters had a universe full of magic users to monitor and police. They would get back to me when time permitted, and truthfully, I was okay with it. I wouldn't say I was happy, but I wasn't miserable, and that surprised me. I had thought I would be in a state of constant embarrassment and humiliation from the minute Carolyn and I walked through the front doors, but eventually I realized I had nothing to be embarrassed or humiliated about.
Gina didn't see a grown man. She saw a baby girl. They all did. I needed caring for, and they did it happily, because they liked caring for little ones or they wouldn't be here.
As I thought more about it, I realized that this wasn't really torture. It would get pretty boring being baby Becca all the time, but it wasn't painful, and Gina's smile more than made up for being changed and fed. It even made up for the Apricots, and I hated them since the last time I wore diapers. And eventually Carolyn would come to take me home, and I could talk about her day and find out how things were with the children. Normalcy waited for me, or something close to it, at the end of the day, so I watched the clock and waved goodbye to the other babies when their parents came and took them home.
It was five minutes to six, and I was one of the few infants left. Carolyn came through the door like a whirlwind, and handed Gina a box of wipes.
"And how was my Becca today, Gina?" Carolyn was happy, a big smile on her face as she took me in her arms and rubbed my nose with hers.
"She was terrific, ma'am," Gina said. "Ate all her apricots at snack-time without much of a fuss, and practiced crawling most of the day. You should have seen her scooting across the floor."
Carolyn smiled at her and kissed my nose. "I'm sure I'll get my own demonstration tonight at home. If Becca's discovered a love for crawling, she's going to need more watching anyway."
Carolyn signed me out, took the empty bottles from Gina and put them in her purse, and waved a cheery goodbye as we left.
"Hi, Mommy," I started to say. But what came out sounded more like "heyah bah dah dee bah." I closed my mouth with a snap.
"Talkative tonight, baby?" she said, a smile in her voice. "I can't wait until you start saying words, and then sentences. And you're so smart, that's going to happen soon, I just know it."
Huh? I was shocked into silence for a moment, just long enough for Carolyn to slip me into the car seat and buckle me in.
"But I can talk!" My brain formed the words and sent them towards my mouth, but what came out was "Bububububu AWK."
She kissed my forehead and closed the car door, and I kicked my legs in frustration. Why was Carolyn treating me like I had always been Becca? And what had happened to my voice?
The bear took away the upgrade it gave me, but I had tested my voice afterward, and I could still talk like Cindy Brady after one too many six packs. From what I knew, the only one who could take away what was given was the thing who gave it in the first place.
So if it was gone ...
My blood ran cold.
"Yes, Jack. It was me." That voice. I looked up into the mirror over my head and saw the face of the demon bitch smiling back at me.
Why? I thought furiously, and kicked my feet again.
"Because I want to make you suffer," she purred. "And because you won't be needing it anymore. It will take you a year until you start putting the vocabulary together that a real baby uses, and I'll be loving every minute of it. Think of it! The great communicator, reduced to nothing but babble for a whole year. And then just 'Momma, Babba, Up!' for another year after that. It's priceless."
Carolyn knows I'm in here, I replied hotly in my head. She'll find a way --
"Oh, but she won't." The bitch smiled. "Because she doesn't know you're in there anymore. Neither do the children."
That wasn't part of our agreement! I was stunned.
"Oh no, baby," she cooed. "That was part of my bargain this morning. The one I made with Carolyn."
I was speechless ... so to speak.
To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 4
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The demon thing brags about her latest victory, erasing the memory of Jack's ill-fated bargain from the minds of his family and leaving him trapped as baby Becca with no way to communicate. But from the depths of her voiceless despair, Becca realizes there may still be a way to win.
Part 4
-- Miyamoto Musashi, the Book of Five Rings
The demon thing smiled. "I'm very proud of the way I played her, Becca. She was a wreck today, all red-eyed and sniffly, sleepwalking into work, staring at the picture of Jack on her desk. She was trying so hard to be brave, and to stiff me out of a meal. And honestly, on the surface, she was succeeding. I could see, over time, how she could come to terms with what I'd done." She frowned, and anger flashed in her eyes. "That meddling joy eater! I could have been fed for years on your disappearance -- not to mention your ongoing sorrow for causing your family such pain."
I kicked my feet and pounded the seat with my tiny fists, and the face in the mirror brightened. "Now at least I have you to feed on again. The anger and frustration, seasoned with sadness ... mmmmmmmmm."
You lost all three of them to get even with me? In spite of the pain, I smiled at her. You're stupider than you look.
"Oh, your family has its stubborn side, Becca," she replied happily. "Got it from you, I imagine. Eventually, they would have accepted the change in you and gotten on with life as best they could, if for no other reason than to keep me hungry. They still had you, after all. Now to them, Jack died a while back. They lost dear old Dad, but they still have baby Becca. Such a cute bundle of joy you are!" She smiled. "Now the happiness Becca brings them doesn't hurt me at all. But when they treat you like the baby you are instead of the man you were? Ooooh, yes, I can live quite nicely on what you're going to be feeling for some time to come."
I don't believe this, I thought furiously. How could you possibly get Carolyn to even talk to you? She knew what you were, what you did.
"Oh yes," the demon thing sneered. "She wouldn't let ME get within a thousand feet of her. But that would presuppose she knew her visitor was me."
The image in the mirror blurred, and a view of Carolyn's office took its place. Carolyn looked so sad, so broken up, my heart melted for her. All my fault, I thought, and I heard a small contented sigh come from somewhere above me.
"Every time you kick yourself, you're ringing my dinner bell, baby!" I could hear the derision in her voice. "So tasty."
Suddenly, the space in front of Carolyn's desk seemed to shimmer, and a young man appeared. Carolyn looked up from my picture and smiled.
"Hey," she said softly. "I thought you had gone. That you couldn't stay."
"I can't," the man replied. "But I feel as if I haven't done enough."
I heard the demon thing laugh in my ear. "Too true," she snickered. "I didn't get to do nearly as much as I wanted to, to any of you."
"Oh, but you have!" Carolyn protested, looking up at the newcomer with grateful eyes.
The figure shook his head. "There's still so much I could do. You're so unhappy, you and the children."
Carolyn sighed, and looked down at the desk. "I know. We shouldn't be. I mean, we didn't really lose Jack. He's ... well, she's still with us. And what you did allowed us to keep her. Even though ... she'll never be the father and husband he was, he didn't disappear. And that's ... well, that's something."
"But it makes you sad, thinking about what you and the children will miss. Every time you look at Becca, you'll think about the Jack that was. All of you, seeing Becca and remembering the husband and father who isn't there. Always remembering." The young man shook his head, and as a tear fell down Carolyn's face, I could see him shudder slightly. Carolyn nodded, her lips tight, unable to speak. The man came around the table, and put a hand on her shoulder.
"I think I can help," he said simply. Carolyn's head jerked up, and she looked into his eyes.
"You can?"
He nodded. "I can make you and the children feel better, right now. Make it easier for you to live with the change and move on with your lives. I can't tell you how, but it's the last thing I'll be able to do for you. If you're willing." The figure leaned forward. "You need to trust me, though. Do you?"
Carolyn nodded eagerly. 'Of course! After what you've already done for us, how could I not?"
The man grinned, and squeezed Carolyn's shoulder. I squeezed my tiny fists and pounded on the arms of the car seat. The demon thing laughed a laugh only I could hear.
"Okay, Carolyn," the figure in the mirror said. "Before I can do anything, you need to give me a dollar."
"A dollar?" she asked. He nodded. She nodded back and reached for her purse. Grabbing her wallet, she pulled out a crumpled bill and slipped it into his hand. He smiled.
"Now, close your eyes." Carolyn did as she was told, and I felt my own tears start to flow. He bent down over her and whispered a single word in her ear.
"Forget."
I saw rather than felt the reality wave ripple out from the two figures behind the desk. Then the mirror blurred again, and the bitch thing was back.
"Not a single lie in the entire conversation," she purred. "I AM good. And once again, you humans see and hear only what you want to." Her eyes closed, and her lips twisted up in a grotesque smile. I could feel her savoring my grief and despair. "Pitiful, really. 'A bargain struck is a bargain made.' And such a deal -- all that grief erased for a U.S. dollar." She opened her eyes and grinned down at me. "Of course, it buys me all your grief and then some, so it's a win-win for me. And a lose-lose for you."
Her face disappeared from the mirror, and I caught Carolyn's eyes looking at me with concern.
"Are you okay, baby?" she asked, and I looked down and just cried.
The tears had stopped by the time we reached home. I was red-eyed and blotchy from crying, but I had gone numb from shock. Every time I start getting a handle on all this, the game changes, I thought bitterly. How many jerks on reality's chain will it take before I just snap?
Carolyn opened my door and reached down to unbuckle me. She saw my runny nose and my stricken expression, and I watched her heart melt for me.
"Oh, Becca baby," she said softly, picking me up and cradling me against her. "What's wrong? You had so much fun with Gina today, and now you're all sad! Do you miss her so much?" She took a tissue from her purse and wiped my nose, then she held me close and gave me a squeeze. I closed my eyes wearily and relaxed into her arms. I was totally spent, without hope or any chance for redemption. I was stuck as Becca, voiceless and doomed to babyhood. I had no more tears to give. I had nothing. Even thinking of the Arbiter didn't raise my spirits. He had left and not returned. Maybe I wasn't worth the effort on his part.
I felt her pick up the diaper bag and her purse. Still holding me tight and murmuring softly, she closed the car door with her hip and made her way into the house.
It was chilly and dark outside, but being carried into our home was like entering an oasis of light and warmth and noise. I still felt numb, but my spirits seemed to lift almost immediately. It was ... Home. A little neater, maybe, with some of the furniture moved around. The television was on, and Jeremy was watching some technology show on cable. I could smell something cooking in the kitchen, something Italian with garlic and tomato sauce, and the smell filled me with hunger.
Carolyn walked into the kitchen to find Emma hovering over the stove.
"Hey, honey," she said, giving her a kiss with me still in her arms.
"Hi, Mom," Emma replied, focused on the cooking but smiling when she felt Carolyn's lips. "Dinner will be ready in a few."
"Good to hear," Carolyn said, walking through the kitchen to the living room.
"Jeremy? Would you watch Becca for a few minutes?"
Jeremy didn't even look away from the screen. "Sure, Mom," he said, holding out his arms. Carolyn handed me to him, purposefully blocking the screen until he looked up at her. When he did, she kissed his nose.
"Mo-om!" He ducked his head, protesting with a grin.
"Honey, Becca's sad for some reason," she whispered. "She cried in the car nearly the whole way home. She needs extra attention. Give her some cuddling, okay?"
"Sure, Mom!" He held me close against him and squeezed.
"Thanks, Jeremy. You're the best!" She kissed his nose again, and danced backwards away from him, still smiling. She disappeared from the room. I didn't know where, and I obviously couldn't ask. It stung briefly, but drifted away with a squeeze from Jeremy. I sat there in my son's lap with his arms around me and watched the tech show with him for a few minutes. Life felt almost normal, except for the diaper and the play dress. Every once in a while, Jeremy would give me a little hug, or a tiny kiss, and it felt oddly comforting.
I was just getting interested in a report about wireless technology for gaming when Emma's face popped between mine and the screen. I started, eyes wide, and opened my mouth to scream --
-- and Emma popped a pacifier in it and kissed me on the forehead. My mouth closed around it and started sucking automatically, much to my chagrin, as she picked me up and put me on a play mat on the floor. Internally, I cringed.
"Come on, Jer," she groaned, "don't you know what a baby wants? Not that tech stuff, that's for sure."
"She seemed pretty interested to me, sis," Jeremy said, smiling. "Couldn't take her eyes off the screen. I think she's gonna be a great gamer someday."
"Is that what you want her to grow up to be -- a couch potato like you?" Jeremy threw the TV Guide at her, and Emma laughed and threw it back. Jeremy ducked and laughed, then went back to watching the show.
Emma rolled me over on my back and put a bar full of hanging toys right over my face and hands. Then she touched different toys to make them move, and started talking to me in a singsong voice.
"Who's the prettiest girl I know?" she asked me, spinning a multicolored plastic wheel to try and make me look. "Who's the cutest girl in the world? Becca, that's who!" I sucked on the pacifier and dutifully turned my head every time she made a toy do something. She seemed disappointed, and my heart went out to her. She really was trying to cheer me up -- Carolyn must have said something -- and I wasn't responding. I couldn't make her sad. Quickly I gave her a toothless smile and gurgled a bit around the pacifier, then banged on some of the toys with my hands.
Suddenly she sniffed the air, then looked panicked and ran to the kitchen. I stared up at the ceiling and sucked, occasionally kicking my legs to break up the monotony. I couldn't see the television from here, and I thought briefly about rolling over to face the screen. But I wasn't sure about being able to do it without getting tangled in the hanging toys, and I didn't want to get Emma in trouble for leaving me like this if I did manage to get myself stuck. So I waited, listening to the television drone without actually hearing it. Every once in a while, I'd nudge a toy with a finger, trying for precision over brute force. Got to live in this body, I thought. Might as well learn to use it effectively.
I worked a little rhythm with the different sounds of the different toys. Eventually my mouth got tired of sucking, and the pacifier slid out and fell on the play mat beside me.
Right after my conversation with the demon thing, I had felt utterly empty and alone. I felt like even the semblance of control had been snatched away, and all I had left was the palest shadow of my life as Jack. I should have been angry, or outraged, or crying a blue streak while they all tried desperately to stop me. I had cried like that in the car, and Carolyn fretted the whole way home, talking to me as best she could, trying to calm me down. I only stopped because I had no more tears left in me.
But then I came home. And it calmed me, because it WAS home.
It was odd, because in some strange way, it wasn't. Odd, I mean. The last vestige of the me I used to be had been stripped away, leaving me a powerless infant. But I didn't feel particularly powerless, or humiliated, or embarrassed. In fact, I didn't really feel much of anything. Even though I couldn't do anything except lie there, it felt okay. I had my family back again -- and damn if they weren't happier than the last time I saw them. In spite of all that had happened, it felt good to see them smiling.
Carolyn's smiling face appeared above me, and her arms pushed aside the hanging toys and scooped me up. She swooped me up over her head and wiggled me, and I giggled in spite of myself.
"Dinner time, baby!"
She had changed into sweatpants and a scoop neck tee -- comfy clothes, she used to call them. The table was set for three, with a high chair next to Carolyn's usual chair. The chair I used to sit in sat empty, still in the same place at the table. She slid me into the high chair, buckled me in carefully, and clipped the small tray table in front of me. Then she tied a pink plastic bib around my neck. I watched everything very carefully. Jeremy finished setting the table, then brought out drinks and a salad. Emma brought out the pasta with a nice tomato-based sauce on it, smelling of garlic, along with a loaf of garlic bread and a tossed salad.
Carolyn came to the table last, with a small jar of orange-colored food and a tiny rubber-tipped spoon. I realized belatedly that none of the other stuff was for me, and I frowned and heaved a sigh.
"Oh come on, Becca," Carolyn said with a smile. "You liked the carrots last time you had them."
My eyes grew wide. I did? Since this was my first night as Becca -- heck, as far as I knew, it was Becca's first night ANYWHERE -- the demon thing must have managed to create a whole back history for the baby I had become. How far back did it go? How many memories did it have to spin out of whole cloth to build a past for a six-month-old? Or had there really been a Becca in a parallel dimension somewhere, just waiting for the thing to steal her life?
As my mind spun in circles, Carolyn unscrewed the jar, took a little bit of the carrots on the end of the spoon, and put them in my mouth. I half sucked and half scraped them off of the spoon and tasted them. An explosion of flavor filled my mouth, and I realized I did like the carrots. A lot. At least this body did. As I swallowed, my arms and legs jerked spasmodically with pleasure, and I smiled. Carolyn smiled back.
"See? Not icky at all!" She put another spoonful in my mouth, and I swallowed it eagerly. Not pasta and sauce or garlic bread, but surprisingly yummy. Apparently these taste buds hadn't been exposed to anything but breast milk since birth, and solid foods were something new. At daycare, the apricots were hatefully sweet, and the oatmeal was pretty bland, but these carrots? Damn, they were good. After a while, Carolyn gave the jar to Jeremy, and he took over feeding me so she could eat. All around me the family chattered about the day, and I took it all in with the carrots, smiling all the while. Before long the jar was empty, and everyone else's dinner was done.
But not mine, apparently. Carolyn lifted me out of the high chair and wiped my mouth with the bib. The children took the plates from the table and shared a look as we walked out of the room. She put me over her shoulder and walked over to the rocking chair in the corner of the living room. She sat down, lifted her tee shirt, and unhooked her bra from the front.
"Our time now, baby," she whispered with a smile, and I smiled back. Carolyn adjusted me in her arms, getting us both comfortable, and raised my mouth to her breast. I began sucking, and my eyes drifted closed.
As I lay there in the arms of my former wife, drinking the rest of my dinner and listening to my children bantering in the kitchen over the dishes, I just stopped thinking -- about the day, about the evening, about my family, and about my own stupidity. I opened my eyes slightly and saw Carolyn looking down on me, a small smile playing around her lips. She stroked the side of my face gently, and I heard her humming a lullaby. I sighed, and felt loved. And with a shock, I suddenly realized that I still had one weapon left with which to fight the demon thing. Despite my powerlessness, I had one move left that would stop her in her tracks. The one thing she would never expect.
I smiled around the nipple in my mouth, without stopping.
Afterwards, Carolyn burped me gently, then took off the diaper I had messed while feeding -- still not fun, but when you're as small as I was, toilets tend to be more dangerous than useful. Then she put a small plastic bathtub inside the regular tub, filled it, and gave me a bath with a tiny washcloth. The soap and shampoo she used smelled nice, like lilac and chamomile (according to the side of the bottle it came in -- and yes, I AM a compulsive reader, thanks for asking). When she talked to me, I smiled -- primarily because it made her smile. When she washed me, I stayed very still so as not to make it harder for her. This made her smile, too. I'd always loved making her smile.
After the bath, Carolyn powdered and diapered me, then dressed me for bed in a large pink sleep sack. She sat down in a rocking chair next to my crib and cuddled me, rocking and singing until my eyelids began to flutter. Then she kissed my forehead and placed me carefully in the crib. I was asleep before she left the room.
I woke quietly in the middle of the night. The nightlight on the wall by the changing table gave the room a warm glow, but that wasn't what woke me. It was the cartoon moon in the center of the mobile over my crib. The happy face on it shifted and twisted until it resembled the demon thing's female guise, and it smiled down on me in anticipation.
"How was your first night, baby Becca?" it gushed happily. "How did it feel? Humiliating? Just terrible to be treated like the infant you are?" I said nothing, thought nothing, felt nothing. The demon thing reached out, probed my mind, and grew angry. "Come on, baby. It must have been awful for you. Why not share your anguish with me?"
I just looked at her and let the silence expand. She grew uneasy. Finally I couldn't hold it in anymore, and I played my card.
I smiled.
"I can't share what I don't have, bitch," I thought at her, and the smile grew to a toothless grin as I saw her confusion mount. "Not that I'd want to feed you in any case, but in all your scheming and playing with me and my family, you overlooked the one thing I could do to take away your food supply."
She frowned, and her eyes grew fiery. "Ha! What could you possibly do?"
I looked back at her with triumph.
"I could get over it, and move on."
She was too shocked to speak.
"You gave me the idea, actually," I thought smugly. "While you were explaining why you helped my family forget, just so you could feed off of me. You said, 'Eventually, they would have accepted the change in you and gotten on with life as best they could, if for no other reason than to keep me hungry. They still had you, after all.'"
There was stunned silence from the demon thing. I smiled.
"So I realized that if I accept the change and get on with my life as best I can, I can keep you hungry, too. Because you need me to fight this in order to feed. You need me to rage and suffer and howl at the injustice, and hate you for doing this to me, and hate THEM for treating me like an infant. But I don't HAVE to do what you want. And I don't WANT to -- if for no other reason than to keep you hungry." I gave her another grin, along with a giggle. "As you said, my family IS stubborn -- and yes, they do get it from me."
"But ... but ... you're a grown man, trapped in a baby's body!" She sputtered. "You can't talk! You can't move! It should be hell on Earth in there for you! You should be a mass of raging hatred and despair right now."
I smiled. "Being a grown man wasn't exactly high on my list of things to want to be, remember?"
She howled so loud it shook the bed. "But the Jack I knew, the overachiever, the control freak -- he must be drowning with frustration. MY frustration! Where's my frustration, Jack!?!"
"Chew on your own, bitch," I kicked my feet in the sleep sack and settled back down, giving her a measured look. "Because you'll get none from me. I'm NOT the overachiever, or the control freak. I'm not JACK anymore. I'm Becca. And Becca's just fine the way she is." She stared at me like I was insane. "I'm not saying it's going to be easy, because it won't be. And God knows I wouldn't have picked this life, but I've been through a lot worse in my forty years as Jack. I'll survive."
"I ... I'm hungry, damn it! FEED ME!"
"I can't. I'm not hurting anymore. The one thing that brought me the most pain earlier was the way I'd hurt my family -- because I was the one who made them suffer. I took away their Dad and left a baby girl in his place. That would have taken a long time to heal." I gave her my biggest smile. "But then you went and erased all that hurt, took away that memory so you could hurt me. Now they're doing just fine. Better than fine, because they have Becca, and they love her. Love ME. The way they loved Jack."
The eyes on the cartoon moon were filling with an equal mix of hunger and hatred, but I wasn't scared. There wasn't anything she could do to me without making a deal, and at this point my family didn't desire anything enough to bargain with her. They -- WE -- were content.
"And this is the best part. I may not like being a baby, but in the end, it's only temporary. I will grow up again, and time will bring back everything you took away. Speech, walking, everything. I can wait. I've got my family back. The rest will follow." I gave her the biggest smile yet. "And since I wanted to be female in the first place, you've actually gone and done me a favor." She trembled, and the mobile shook. I put my hand up and pointed at her. "Now shut up and listen, because I'm going to do you a favor in return, and give you some advice. And I'm only going to say this once."
I focused all of my attention on her and put all of the determination and strength I had behind my thoughts. She froze, almost mesmerized by my intensity. The look in my eyes was serious.
"Stay the hell away from me and mine. You're outgunned and outclassed, and you won't get fed here. EVER. You had two shots at me. You won, then you lost. Now it's over. There's enough misery in the world for you to feed on. Go find a banquet somewhere else."
She snorted. "Why should I listen to you, infant?"
"Because if you keep on coming after us, I will kill you." She felt my resolve in my mind. She knew this was no idle threat, and her eyes widened. "It might take a lot of time and research to find a way, but I'm no idiot. I've talked to the Arbiters. I know humans can wield magic. And since you gave me forty more years of life to work with, it would be my pleasure to spend them figuring out a way to make you die."
I realized suddenly that I would dedicate my life to seeing her dead, if I had to. And at that realization, words began to pop into my head, and I smiled. "It might take a few years to find a copy, but I could start with Ostragon's 'Hunting the Demonic,' or perhaps Matsumoto's 'Quelling the Demon Hoard.' Both good choices for a demon assassin just starting out." I felt a glimmer of fear come from the demon, and I tried to keep my amazement to myself by smiling wider as more thoughts appeared. "Of course, come to think of it, I bet many human mages have beaten your kind in the past. Perhaps I could find a mentor to help me along. After all, my cause is just. Or WILL be, if you don't leave me and mine alone forever. Starting now."
"This is my last bargain with you, bitch. Leave now, never come back, and I leave you alone. Stay and you die." I felt my eyes flash, and felt her shock as a wave of energy rolled over her. "Make your choice. NOW!"
I saw and felt her terror solidify into an almost tangible force. When she saw the determination in my head, she -- and I -- knew that she was beaten.
With a scream that shook the room and my soul, she rose from the mobile and exploded in a burst of light that soared up and through the ceiling, leaving no trace. The echo of her scream reverberated in my mind as I felt her leave, and suddenly, all was quiet.
I was feeling zen-like. Placid and unruffled, like a cool lake on a windless day. The anger and frustration I had felt earlier in the day was completely gone, replaced with what felt like an endless calm, tinged with satisfaction. I don't know where all of that came from -- the reference works, that burst of power -- but I had beaten her, finally. She wouldn't be back. I could feel it.
And I meant what I said to her, all of it. I had to accept my status and move on to defeat her. And truthfully, I didn't really mind just being Becca. I knew I would grow out of it eventually. I still had my family, and they were happy again. Best of all, they all loved Becca deeply, as they loved each other. As they had loved Jack.
Suddenly I realized that I had wet myself without even realizing it, and I sighed. I'm not going to get Carolyn up to change me, I thought, so I'll have to lie in it for the rest of the night. Not that big a deal, and probably something I'll get used to, in time.
But there was still that loose end, and I started wondering. Where did that flash of power come from? And those words -- the ones I threw at her toward the end to fuel her fear? I knew I had never heard of those books before, or even thought about how human mages could defeat her kind. I'd only just found out about the existence of human magic users that very morning, from ...
... the Arbiters.
I smiled and kicked my feet.
From the bottom of a pile of stuffed animals in the corner of my crib came a muffled female voice. "Well reasoned, Jack!"
I smiled. "It's Becca now, and thank you," I thought at her.
"You're welcome," she replied with a smile I could hear but not see as she pushed herself out from under the other toys. The bear that emerged was very feminine, lavender with long lashes, a cute pink bow around her neck, and a little ruffled skirt around her waist.
"A pleasure to meet you, Becca," she said, fluffing her skirt. The voice was decidedly female, but the speech rhythms and word choices were clearly those of the bear I had met this morning. "You had her beaten. She just needed an extra push to run. I was happy to see you figured out how to defeat her."
I shrugged -- hard to do lying down, but worth it. "Suddenly I realized it wasn't torture to be loved by the people I loved, and that treating it that way was giving her exactly what she wanted. I had to truly surrender to Jack's death and embrace Becca. I had to become what I fought against becoming. Once I did, she held no power over me. In giving up my life as Jack, I found ... victory."
The bear nodded, and sat beside me. "Not many could do that -- find victory in accepting defeat. As William Booth once said, 'the greatness of a man's power is the measure of his surrender.' Congratulations."
We were silent for a time, me on my back, her sitting beside me. As I lay there, I remembered something else from that morning.
"Earlier today, you said you might be able to help me," I thought, "before you were ... called away." Then I paused. "What DID call you away?"
The bear shook her head and looked at me. "What the Other did, to your ... mother, actually. Not strictly against the rules at the time, but extremely bad form. Personal demonic involvement with a particular family over time upsets the balance of chance and history. Tampers with free will and causality. She lost ... and won ... but she couldn't let it go. She knew the Universe frowned upon vendettas, but accepted its displeasure knowing she was within her rights, within the rules." Her voice trembled with suppressed anger. "It infuriated the Arbiters. We spent the time since I left you arguing amongst ourselves, considering how much interference with the activities of the Others the Universe would countenance, and presenting a proposal to the Omnipresence. It was accepted."
"Now we want to offer you the help we promised."
I felt a chill and turned on my side to face the bear. "I'm listening."
The bear looked at me, and her gaze was as serious as you could get from a cute face with button eyes and a stitched-on smile. "As I told you earlier, we cannot change you back. You cannot become Jack again. To do so would invalidate her bargain without just cause."
I waved my hand. "As I said before, I've already let go of my life as Jack. Tell me what you can do for Becca."
"We can strike a new bargain that preserves the essense of what she did to you without violating the previous agreement. Do you see?"
"Honestly, no," I thought. "But I'll take your word for it. It's your business, not mine."
The bear hesitated, and I caught a hint of something hidden. I looked at her critically, and she paused, then nodded.
"You are very perceptive, Mister ... Miss Barnes. And it's true. Our gift doesn't come without a price."
"Then it's hardly a gift, is it, Arbiter?"
Her button eyes flashed. "We could have just left you and your family to your fate, Becca. We chose not to, because you have earned our respect. But the truth is, we can't just 'give' anything to you. There really IS 'no such thing as a free lunch.' It happens to be one of the guiding principles of this universe. There is an echo of it in your laws of physics, particularly the one that states matter can neither be created nor destroyed. You can't get something for nothing."
"But you altered my voice before without even asking me, let alone haggling."
She heaved a tremendous sigh. "We were able to alter your voice without striking a bargain because as Arbiters, we are allowed to make small changes in transformed individuals to help us communicate more effectively. It makes it easier to reach an understanding in the course of our own deliberations. But it is beyond even our power to give you something as large as what we want to give you without 'haggling," as you call it -- even if we wanted to."
I thought about it for a while, and she let me. I sensed the time passing, but the Arbiter didn't seem in any particular hurry. Finally, I nodded.
"Okay, it makes sense. So what do you have to offer?"
"We can twist the fabric of space-time in your favor, to free you from this prison of infant flesh. We can make you older, add as many years as you wish ... to a point. And we can change other things to help you become part of this reality again, in an older form."
"So basically, you're offering me a life where I have some control again, given the constraints of the existing bargains." The bear nodded. "And in return, you want... what, exactly?"
There was a long pause, and the bear looked right into my eyes.
"We want to offer you a job," she said calmly, "which would make our business your business, unless I'm very much mistaken."
Notes:
To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 5
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Becca, formerly Jack, contemplates a job offer from the Universe, and considers whether she is truly worthy of the position they wish her to fill.
Part 5
to him that is inspired, not by any maudlin sentimentality, but
by the higher duty I owe myself." -- Eugene V. Debs
"A job?" I was surprised to say the least. "What sort of job?"
"One well-suited to your talents and intelligence," the lavender bear said, sitting primly and spreading her skirt out around her stubby legs. "As amply demonstrated in the events of the last few days, you're smart. You think quickly, and think well under pressure. You also see things differently, finding solutions where others might not."
I wriggled around, trying to sit up, but the sleep sack kept making it impossible to put my legs where they needed to be. Finally I stopped struggling and rolled over to face the Arbiter.
"You are very resilient, and can adjust to new and unusual circumstances without difficulty," she continued. "You bend, where others would break. And most important, you have a clear understanding of right and wrong, and a sense of honor that will make you sacrifice your own needs if necessary to protect those you choose to protect."
"That's all your assessment, not mine," I thought with a smile. "But you're the ones who want me, and it's not my job to convince you that you're wrong."
The bear flashed me a stitched-on smile. "We aren't wrong. This position we wish to offer you is something unprecedented. To petition the Omnipresence for an opening like this is unheard of in the history of … well, history. And our offer comes after an extensive examination of your own personal timeline. Rest assured, we would not offer you this position if we were not absolutely certain you were the right person for the job."
"Which beings me back to my first question. What IS the job?"
"We require a … well, I suppose the word is troubleshooter. Someone who can go into situations where people are being abused by magic and … fix things. The official title is 'Advocate.' Someone who stands up for those who are powerless." The bear smiled again.
"I wouldn't be standing for long. In case you haven't noticed, I'm powerless, too."
"That would have to change," she said curtly. "Your current state has nothing to do with your innate ability. In fact, you are the perfect candidate for training. You will have to become a mage."
I felt a chill, but it was more than just me. It seemed like the bear's last statement changed the very air around us. The light in the room shifted as if a cloud moved across the sun, but it was still night. The bear saw me notice everything, and nodded approval.
"You are very sensitive, Becca," she said. "The Universe fears and mistrusts human magic users, and with good reason. The fact that you have been offered this opportunity should convince you of how unique you are."
I looked hard at the bear, hearing what she hadn't said. "Why does the universe have good reason to fear humans who wield magic?"
The bear sighed. "Because the 'free lunch rule' does not apply. Humans have unlimited direct access to magical energies, with no bargaining required."
"Why?"
"Why?" She looked startled, as if the question had never been asked before. Then again, maybe it hadn't. She shrugged. "No one knows for sure. Perhaps because your very existence is a direct slap in the face to the second law of thermodynamics. After all, human life moves from chaos to order, at least for a time." She shook her head. "For whatever reason, the normal rules of magic do not apply to your people."
"And that ability alone is a threat?"
The bear nodded. "Oh, yes. Too many human mages in the past have used this unlimited access to gain power and wealth. Some enslave their fellow humans, and all of them eventually upset the balance between chaos and order -- between chance and history. Normally, the power is too much for any human to wield without becoming corrupted by it."
I nodded. "But you think I'm different."
"We know you're different. The only question in the mind of the Omnipresence is whether that difference will be enough to protect you -- and the rest of us -- from the temptation such power holds."
"It holds no temptation for me."
"You haven't experienced it yet." She shook her head. "It's easy to deny yourself the forbidden fruit when you have no idea how good it tastes. We're hoping your sense of honor and justice will keep the lure of power at bay. And apparently the Omnipresent has enough faith in you to allow us to make the offer."
I thought about it some. "Are there any human magic users out there now?"
The bear played with the ruffle on her skirt. "Oh yes. None of them are full mages, however. Most of what they do is small against the backdrop of a universe full of magic. But part of your new position would be protecting innocent humans against their abuses."
"Sounds like a full plate," I mused. "When do I get a life?"
"You will not be alone. You will have help," the bear said decisively. "First to train you, then to assist with your duties." She reached a stubby paw over and touched my hand. "This is not a punishment, Becca. This is a commitment, and an important one. But you will have time to be the girl, and the woman, you have always wanted to be. This I promise."
"And what if this commitment is wrong for me?" I asked. "What if I try to be the best Advocate I can be, and fail? What then?"
"Then you stay as the Becca you will become, if you choose to accept. No tricks, no games. That is not our way. Arbiters are champions of fair play. You know that. There really is no obligation. You may cancel at any time and owe … OWE … nothing." She gave a small sigh, then looked at me seriously. "This position … it's something you have to want to do, Becca. Becoming a mage is not an easy thing. To become as powerful as you must be, to be the Advocate, is harder still. If you choose to try, we know you will give the job everything you have, and then some. But you have to choose."
"You MUST choose."
I thought about the Arbiter's offer for several days. Or rather, I tried very hard not to think about it, and failed more often than I succeeded.
The midnight session with the Other and the Arbiter had worn me out. I half-woke in the morning while Emma changed and dressed me, then Carolyn fed me. I napped in the car all the way to daycare. While I tried to preserve my thoughtless state from being crushed under the weight of the decision I needed to make, I worked hard at being the best baby in the world for all my caregivers. I ate whatever they provided without complaint, usually waited patiently to be changed, and smiled happily at whatever attention anyone gave me. I did this for several days, and both Carolyn and Gina agreed that I had been unusually well-behaved and oddly quiet. They worried I might possibly be coming down with something.
The truth was much simpler. I was actually enjoying being baby Becca for a while, because I could escape from the more grown-up part of me -- the one who longed for resolution.
On the one hand, I could just say no and get on to the business of growing up. Being baby Becca would be easy. All I would have to do is just lie back and let others take care of me. First, be a baby girl, then work on the little girl part, and eventually I'd wind up a teenager. You might think it would be the lazy way out, but I knew it would be much harder on me in the long haul. I would have to be alert all the time, playing "let's pretend" for 24 hours a day, seven days a week, for years and years and years. I would have to pretend to learn things all over again, to smile and be entertained by baby dolls and ballet lessons and sleepovers with other little girls. In short, I'd have to lie for over a decade until I reached a stage where I could finally be myself, or a reasonable facsimile thereof. It would be a long-term exercise in deceit, and I had never been much of a fan of lies -- even though I spent much of my life pre-Becca lying by omission about my transgendered state. Still, from a practical standpoint, it was probably the right thing to do for me. Growing up as Becca the long way would give me a lot of the experiences I would need later. Many of the things I would do as a little girl would provide some context for my new life as a woman.
But being Becca for another decade or so would also put an unfair burden on Carolyn and the children. Daycare costs alone would probably chew up a lot of her income, making it harder to make ends meet, let alone send Emma and Jeremy to college. It would eat at my pride to indulge in taking the scenic route to womanhood while she and the children had to struggle just to get by. It would make me feel ashamed for shifting the responsibility that was mine as Jack onto them. If I just became … older, it would create less of a problem for all of them, but would raise the weight on my own shoulders considerably.
Because to be older, I would have to accept the Arbiter's commission and become their Advocate.
On the third day after the midnight meeting and job offer, I spent a big chunk of the afternoon in the center of the play area at the daycare center, behind an avoidance spell. When the Arbiter had sensed I wanted to talk, he returned to the big stuffed bear to visit with me and answer any questions I might have. He also returned my squeaky little Smurfette voice for the duration of our negotiations, a kindness for which I thanked him most politely. Not that I enjoyed sounding so damned cute, but mind talking involved intense concentration on my part and made me tire easily if I had to do it for a long period of time.
What I thought it came down to for me was a simple question. Did I really want to be a superhero? The whole Spider-man axiom kept popping into my head. "With great power comes great responsibility." But my dilemma was sort of the flip side of Peter Parker's problem. By accepting a great responsibility, I would have to become a great power -- the first Universe-sanctioned human mage. Also, being the Advocate would be like being a gunfighter or a police officer. I would become a target for any magical being who might want to take me on. And apparently, there were thousands of different types of magical creatures, each with its own quirks and eccentricities, and I would have to learn them all along with magical counter moves.
The Arbiter assured me it was not as daunting as it sounded.
"We will provide all of the information you need," he said, his voice once again the rumble I remembered from our last daycare visit. "We will place it all into your mind when we age you. You won't have to memorize anything. But to turn that information into useful knowledge, you will need experience and training. There will be teachers, carefully woven into your daily life as Becca, who will help you to master the skills you need."
"If I choose to grow up slowly, I won't be much use to you as an Advocate for years."
The bear nodded. "This is true. We would have to wait for you to reach an age where you would be less defenseless and command more respect, and where your body would be strong enough to withstand the rigors of training. And we would have to protect you and your family for more than a decade from those who would see you dead before you could assume your new post. However, if you choose to become a teenager directly, we could begin your training almost immediately."
"It makes sense to me," I said slowly. "I would dearly love to miss out on the whole potty-training and finger-painting segment of the growing up thing. But if I agree to grow up as far as you can take me in a single jump, I will lose things I need. I'll miss out on what it means to grow up as a girl. And I won't develop the social skills and attitudes needed to just jump into being a teenager."
The bear looked down for a moment, then raised his eyes and looked into mine. "We have given that possibility much thought, and there are ways around both the lack of experience and the need to fit in as a teen," he replied. "If you choose to become a teenager, you will be gifted with an innate understanding of who the older Becca is and how she fits into the landscape of her time and place. Think of it as a personality overlay. It will give you access to her responses, skills, and feelings that you wouldn't ordinarily have, making it easier for you to fit in. Eventually, that overlay will become part of who you are -- merge with the ego that is still very much Jack."
"Will I still be … me?"
The bear smiled. "Very much so. You will never lose Jack. After all, you spent far more time as Jack than you have as Becca. And your soul is your own. It always has been, through all of this. That won't change. This overlay process will just give you the ability to … 'hit the ground running,' I believe the expression is. It will allow the Jack inside you to slowly become the Becca you've always wanted to be, without losing those things about Jack you and we wish to preserve."
As I thought about it, I suddenly realized my thumb had crept into my mouth and I had been sucking it absently. I quickly removed it, even though the actual sucking part had a definite calming effect. "And the experiences I'll miss?"
"We can send them to you as vivid dreams. You'll experience everything as if you're actually living them, as both the Becca you are inside and as the Becca you would have been had you been born the way you are now." The bear looked at me, and I could see him weighing something in his mind. Then he spoke.
"This is not what bothers you, truly. I feel a deep sadness in you that you won't confront, but can't dismiss. Something that makes you want to find ways to refuse what we offer. Why does this decision bother you so much? What's wrong, child?"
For a while, I said nothing. Then I avoided his eyes, and spoke to a small stuffed duck near my right foot.
"The truth is, I'm wrong. The wrong choice for the job. I don't deserve this," I whispered. "Not any of it. I wanted to be a woman for so long. Almost every day of my life, it lurked there in the back of my mind, this need. Even in my happiest moments as Jack, it would rise up and taunt me, taking the pleasure out of everything." I reached down and plucked at my play dress. "Well, I finally got my femininity, didn't I? I got my wish, in the end. But I made so many stupid mistakes getting what I wanted that my family wound up fatherless, and I wound up in diapers."
I looked right at the Arbiter, and tears filled my eyes. "You all seem to think I'm the perfect choice for your 'Advocate,' but none of you seems to remember that it was my stupidity that got me involved with the Other in the first place. Maybe I did better than most out-thinking her, but I caused the problems in the first place! I should never have even talked to her. I knew how much it would hurt everyone I loved if I took her up on the offer, and I knew I should just walk away. Instead, I let the need have its way. I gave in to my own weakness, and I hurt myself, and my family. Now you want to put me in a position of authority, so I can screw up the lives of total strangers? And on top of that, you want to give me the kind of raw power that can REALLY cause some damage when I make another mistake! What makes any of you think I can DO this?"
I sat there and cried, and the Arbiter watched me. He let me sob and waited for me to stop. And when I finally wound down, exhausted, he put a well-worn paw on my arm and lifted my chin with the other.
"You can be the Advocate precisely because of the mistakes you've made," he rumbled from the depths of his furry chest. "You weren't a bad or evil person. You just wanted something so much, and you always believed it was forever out of reach. You were played, that's all. Anyone can be played, if someone knows what they really want, deep inside. How do you think the Others survive?" I looked away, and he moved closer and put both arms around me.
"Despite what you think, or feel, or believe, this experience has not been all bad," he whispered in my ear. "You have bested one of the Others and made them all cautious, and less prone to cause grief instead of harvesting what is already out there. Your family has lost Jack, true, but they also gained Becca and a closeness that only comes by overcoming a loss."
The bear pulled back and looked me in the eye. "And you have learned things that make you the perfect defender for those threatened by magical attack. You know how dangerous magic is, and how easily even the smartest can be fooled. You understand the needs of both predator and prey. And you know the cost of magical power misused firsthand. You won't forget that your first duty is to protect the innocent, because you're all that stands between them and a living hell on Earth."
He wrapped his stubby arms around me again and just held me.
"You can do this, Becca. You won't be alone. We want you to succeed. And we want you to be happy. Just say yes."
I couldn't trust myself to speak, so I nodded. I could feel him smile.
"Good. We'll do it tonight, then."
Just before I opened my eyes, I woke up.
You may think this is an example of stating the obvious, but maybe I'm not making myself clear. When I say I woke up, I mean I became aware of all of the millions of tiny things that make up a person's world. They all hit my senses at once.
And they were all radically different from the signals I had received when I had closed my eyes the night before.
First, there was a sense of bigness. From last night's stubby arms and legs and compact body, I had become … long. And thin, everywhere, except for a warm softness at hip and chest level that felt different, but not wrong. I felt one breast pressed into the bed, half-compressed under me, but I didn't move. Not yet.
I was laying on my side, with my legs drawn up and one hip slightly cocked to accommodate the curve of hip opposing my narrow waist. Again, not wrong, but definitely different. And the feeling of nothing between my legs as gravity pressed them together was just … right.
And I had hair. LOTS of hair. Instead of the wispy cap of soft curly red that covered my head yesterday, I could feel a mane curling around my neck and shoulders, spread out across the pillow and partly covering my face. A few strands were stuck between my lips, as I discovered when my smile began. It was a grin that bubbled up from the bottom of my soul -- a happiness that had finally escaped being trapped under the weight of the thousands of disappointed mornings that had come before.
You have to understand what this meant to me. How it felt. For forty some-odd years, I'd woken up every day knowing I was in the wrong body. I'd go to bed, and the last thing that went through my mind every night before I drifted off was a simple prayer.
"Please, God. Let me wake up in the morning as the woman I was supposed to be."
Then I'd wake up, and Jack would still be waiting in the bathroom mirror. He would stare back at me with a slightly sad expression, the night's stubble waiting to be tackled with Gillette's latest morning machete, and I'd sigh and get on with it. Over time, I learned to adjust, even found some measure of happiness with wife and family, but I'd never stopped hoping that, just once, God would hear me and make it so.
Oh, I knew it would never happen. Logically, rationally, I knew. But the hope was still there, that I would one day be whole. Lurking under my suit as I met with clients. Hiding beneath my sweats when I played catch with Jeremy. Even when I made love with Carolyn, I always wondered how it would feel to BE her -- to be loved by a man, yielding to his touch, melting in his arms.
Now, suddenly, I woke up, and I knew, I KNEW I was right where I belonged, in a body that finally fit, and I was so happy I could feel the tears running down my cheeks and wetting the pillow.
Part of me didn't want the moment to end, but just then the clock radio went off. It took me a minute to realize that the song it was playing was by Counting Crows, "I Wish I Was A Girl," and when I did, I laughed out loud, breaking the spell. It was a big laugh, but definitely female, and I pulled back the covers and sat up, swinging my legs out over the edge of the bed. I watched the cooler air raise a few goose bumps on my exposed and definitely hairless calves, and my eyes traveled down to my feet (so tiny!) and the coral polish on every toenail.
I pulled those stray strands of hair from my mouth. When my fingers brushed the rest of my hair, I laughed again, and shook my head just to feel it slide over my shoulders. The shaking made my breasts shift underneath the nightgown, and my nipples rubbed slightly against the soft fabric. Not an explosion of pleasure, not anything close. Just a little … spark, a hint of something more. Another confirmation of the me that was me, now.
I slid out of bed, standing easily on those tiny feet at the ends of those long legs. My bottom added a bit of bounce to the bouncing of my breasts, and I waited a short second for all of me to settle. I held up my arms in front of me, thin and hairless, and stretched out my fingers. The nails were longer than I used to keep them as Jack but not excessively so, and painted the same shade of coral as my toenails. I could barely make out the tips of my toes past my chest, but I didn't need to see them to use them, and I twirled happily in place with another laugh.
"Well, somebody woke up happy today."
I stopped, facing the door. Carolyn was looking in with a warm smile.
"Morning, Mom," I chirped, smiling, hands behind my back.
"Morning, Becca," she replied. "Sleep well? No, wait. Stupid question. I wish I felt that good waking up." I nodded, still smiling. "Just remember, it's a school day. Plenty of time tomorrow morning to dance around in your nightgown, 'kay?"
"'Kay, Mom." She pulled her head back, but I rushed over to the door. "Mom?"
Carolyn stopped, and turned towards me. "Yes, baby?"
I wrapped my arms around her in a big hug, eyes scrunched tight. "Love you," I whispered. I felt her sigh, my chest against hers, and her arms came up to hug me back. "Love you too, Becca." She squeezed and let me loose.
"Where did that come from?" she asked tentatively, looking me in the eye. I took a step back and tapped myself once in the middle of my chest.
"Right here," I answered, smiled again, and twirled back into my room.
"Teenagers," I heard her mutter as she walked down the hall.
That's me, I thought happily. Just another teenager. Thirteen makes me a teen, and thirteen I am. Teen, teen, teen. I stopped and waited again for various body parts to realize the rest of me wasn't moving.
This was exactly how I wanted to wake up. The Arbiter told me that, since the last age jump the Other put me through was from my first period back to babyhood, I could theoretically advance my age to anywhere from what was at the time my current age of six months to immediately before my first menses and still be within the boundaries of my agreement with her. I almost told the Arbiter yes -- after all, I wanted to be as old as possible, as quick as possible. Then I realized that this would mean my first day as a girl would be full of cramps and aches and mood swings and blood, so I wisely decided to roll back my new age to several weeks prior to my first period to give me a chance to adjust. And hopefully to have some fun before getting my face rubbed in the downside of being a woman. Again.
I twirled again. Not for a few weeks, Becca, I sang in my head, and my spinning put me in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door. I had that "just woke up" look going for me, with my hair tousled, my face puffy, and my green eyes just a little squinty. The sky blue nightgown fell to mid-thigh, and on its chest just above my breasts was the words, "chicks rule." Underneath the words was a tiny cartoon of a baby chick, wearing part of its egg as a hat. I smiled, then reached over to the door and eased it closed. I didn't want an audience.
I reached down and pulled the nightgown up and over my head. It caught slightly on my chest on the way up, but the small bounce as my breasts settled down afterwards actually felt nice. Heck, everything felt nice. I knew I would get used to it all eventually, living as Becca day after day, but I hoped I would never take it for granted. It's good to be reminded how precious it is to be who you are, and who you want to be. I wanted to hang onto everything that reminded me of the girl I had become.
A small voice in the back of my head whispered, "you don't deserve it," but I did my best to ignore it. This was me, now. I was about to take on a job that would require all of my energies and dedication. If anyone deserved to have her dream delivered with a pretty red bow as payment, it was me.
At least, that's what I kept telling myself.
As I draped the nightgown over the back of my desk chair, I glanced in the mirror at the young girl in the plain gray bikini-cut panties. I slipped the underwear over my hips and let it slide down my legs to the floor, then bent at the knees and picked it up to put in the hamper. I watched the girl in the mirror follow suit, the smile never leaving her eyes. My breasts rested on my knees just for a second, then swayed slightly as I rose. My eyes flickered down to see the small mount of reddish-copper hair between my legs, and my hand moved an inch or two towards it, just to feel what I knew was there beneath it. I willed it to stop, and shook my head. You don't need to touch it, Becca, I said to myself. It's been there since you were born. It's part of who you are, now. I smiled, slipped my bathrobe on and headed for the bathroom.
Same old kid's bathroom, I thought as I closed the door. Stuff scattered around the sink, towels hung askew. I turned on the shower and tucked the curtain in around the bottom of the tub, then brushed my teeth with the brush I knew was mine. Then I went to use the toilet -- a new experience in this body, but a welcome one, considering my recent escape from several years worth of diapers. I had to touch myself there, then, and felt the strangeness beneath my fingers that wasn't really strange, just different. The Becca template in my head warred briefly with the remnants of Jack, then settled down and accepted the here and now. I shivered.
I couldn't afford to get my hair wet this morning, so I put it up in a bun before getting in the tub and kept my head well away from the shower's spray. Just a fast wash and rinse today, or I'd keep Emma or Jeremy from getting ready in time. I soaped up quickly, then started rinsing.
Sure enough, there was a knock.
"A shower, Becca?" Jeremy's voice was plaintive. "Oh, come on!"
"I'm almost done, Jer!" I shouted back over the water. "Only be a minute!"
I turned the water off and reached for my towel, then stepped out onto the bath mat and starting drying myself.
"Becca," he yelled, "I need to GO!"
"OH! Sorry!" I wrapped the towel around me, snatched my robe off the hook on the back of the door, and ran across the hall to my room as Jeremy slipped past me. I heard a muffled "thanks" before the bathroom door slammed, and I closed the door to my bedroom to finish drying myself. After I was dry enough, I let the towel slide to the floor and walked over to the dresser. I applied lavender-scented body powder from neck to calves, then opened the top drawer and started digging through bras and panties for something special to wear.
Fiifteen minutes later, I danced into the kitchen. Jeremy was sitting at the table, eating cereal, but the spoon froze halfway to his mouth when he caught sight of me. Emma was making her lunch, and when her eyes rose from the sandwich she was making, she looked at me and smiled.
"Well, look at you!" she said. "Way too pretty for the eighth grade, Becca!" I laughed and did a twirl, causing my skirt to flare slightly. I was wearing a scoop neck pale green tee shirt with a thin white button-down blouse over it, open. The blouse ended just above my hips. On the bottom I wore a short dark green skirt that fell just above mid-thigh, in a very light fabric with several layers of ruffles. On my feet were white sneakers with gray trim over white socks. My hair was back in a loose ponytail held with a dark green scrunchy, and I wore just a touch of eyeshadow and lip gloss.
After I completed my twirl, I curtseyed at Emma. "Thank you, Em!" She wore a purple tee with a pair of worn blue jeans and dark blue sneakers, and her hair was loose around her shoulders.
"You're going to make me look bad, sis," Em growled slightly, still smiling. She went back to her sandwich. "Mom's going to want me to start dressing all girly too."
"And what's wrong with that?" Carolyn asked, surprising both of us as she glided into the kitchen in her work wear. "In case you haven't noticed, Emma, you are a girl. Might be nice for you to go through the motions once in a while." She turned and saw me. "Oh my, Becca! Very nice, hon."
I threw a curtsey at her with a smile. "Thanks, Mom!"
"Do you have your kit for dance class and for tae kwon do ready?" I looked over by the door. A lavender sports bag sat by what I knew to be my backpack, so I turned back to her and nodded. "Good!"
I grabbed a banana from the bunch on the counter and started peeling. Jeremy kept staring at me, cereal dripping from the end of his spoon.
"Earth to Jeremy." I took a bite of my banana and spoke around the mouthful. "You're dripping, Jer."
He put the spoon down. "What are you all dressed up for?"
I smiled and swallowed. "Because I can, dufus. I just wanted to feel beautiful today."
"Well, you look good," he said, and blushed. "How do you feel?"
I cocked my head to one side as I finished the banana. Then I put the peel on top of his head
"Just right," I replied and giggled.
He started to get up to chase me, and Mom took the peel off his head and pushed him back in his seat gently. "Jeremy, finish breakfast. Becca, make a lunch. Everybody get moving, because it's almost time to leave!" She glided out of the room with a purposeful stride, dropping the peel in the kitchen trash. God, I loved it when she took charge, back when she was my wife. It was pretty impressive from my Mom, too. I sighed.
As I threw a yogurt and plastic spoon in a bag with an apple and a granola bar, Emma sidled over and spoke softly. "You all dressed up for Tommy?"
I gave her a sideways look. "Nope. I'm all dressed up for me." Then memories of Tommy flashed through my head -- and my body -- and I shivered with the sensations they created. Then I smiled at her. "Of course, if Tommy likes it too, that will definitely be a plus."
"I bet," Emma smiled back, then she grew quiet. "Be careful, sis. I've seen how you look at him, and I know how he makes you feel. But in the end, he's just a guy. And he'll hurt you without even realizing it if you give him too much room in your heart."
I shook my head. "You don't know him." More memories of hugs, kisses, casual touches, soft words came bubbling up inside. "He's … special."
"Maybe, but he's still a guy," she whispered as Mom came back into the kitchen. "Just be careful, 'kay?" I nodded and gave her a quick one-armed hug.
"Out, everybody," she announced, clapping her hands. "Remember, bus drivers wait for no one, so leave now before they leave you." Shaking his head, Jeremy got up and rinsed his bowl in the sink, I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and shoved it and my lunch into my backpack as I headed for the door. I snagged my shoulder bag from the doorknob of the hall closet on the way, and slipped the sports bag and backpack over the other shoulder.
"Bye, guys!" I called. "Love you!"
"Bye, Becca! Love you too!"
And as I slipped out the door, I realized that they really did. We all did. And I smiled.
It was going to be a good day.
Notes:
To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 6
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Jack's first day as teenaged Becca starts out cold, but warms up fast when she meets Becca's boyfriend -- and learns firsthand why short skirts and crowded hallways don't mix.
Part 6
told you're successful at it." -- Rita Hayworth
As soon as I'd gone halfway down the walk to the street, I knew I'd made a terrible mistake.
It was October. It was cold. And I was dressed for a lovely day in spring.
When I had gotten dressed this morning, I wasn't thinking about practical things, like the weather. Practicality was the furthest thing from my mind. I had just begun my new life as a teenaged girl. I wanted to be pretty, and wear pretty things. I wanted to jump feet first into the ocean of femininity and swim for the farthest horizon I could reach.
But by the time I'd reached the street and started walking towards the bus stop, I realized maybe I should have waded in slowly, just to get used to it.
Goosebumps rose on my bare arms and legs. The light breeze that drifted through the October morning pushed the chill air up under my ruffled skirt where the thin cotton panty offered no insulation at all. And my nipples swelled up hard and round, easily seen through my light bra and tee-shirt combined, and not at all hidden by the thin white blouse over them both.
I shivered a little as Jeremy reached the street behind me.
"Cold, sis?" he said, carefully NOT looking at my chest. I shivered, hugged myself tight and nodded. "Could go back in and get a sweater, or maybe a hoodie?"
I looked at my watch, a tiny thing on my left wrist. "No time, Jer," I replied. "Bus is going to be here any minute."
Jeremy gave me a look. "I'll go grab something for you," he said, turning to head back to the house.
"No!" I grabbed for his arm, but he dodged away. "Jeremy! You'll miss the bus!"
"Not if you stall him for me," he called back over his shoulder, halfway up the walk.
"How am I supposed to do that?" I shouted, but by then he was in the door. I sighed and kept walking towards the bus stop. The movement warmed me some, but the goosebumps remained, and my nipples refused to relax their vigilance, even for an instant. By the time I reached the bus stop, I saw everyone else dressed in jeans and hooded sweatshirts, or denim jackets, and I felt a little silly. When they saw me, the girls spoke quietly among themselves, and the boys stared in a way I found slightly disturbing. As I came closer, I saw my friend Amy staring at me.
"My GOD, girl, do you want to get sick?" She was sensibly dressed in jeans and a long sleeved tee with a flannel shirt on over it, unbuttoned. I shivered again, and envied her. She wrapped her arms around me, and I shivered again. "What were you thinking?"
"I … I … wasn't," I said softly, my teeth chattering.
"Apparently not," she agreed, and rubbed my back. "I'd give you my shirt, but then I'd be freezing, too."
"Jeremy went back to get me something warm."
"Good! I knew that boy would be good for something eventually."
I laughed. Amy hugged me tighter, and her chest pressed into mine. It was weird and not-so-weird at the same time, but the overwhelming feelings that flooded through me were love and friendship. Amy and I had been friends since she moved into the neighborhood when we were both seven. Well, Amy and Becca. I sighed. You ARE Becca, I growled at myself. We told each other everything, and spent way too much time together -- not that either of us complained.
I felt warmer in Amy's arms, and the shivering slowly stopped. When I breathed in, I noticed her long dark blonde hair smelled like almonds and strawberries. It was curly and somewhat tousled, framing a face that was just a shade too thin to be classically beautiful but nevertheless managed to be. Her green eyes were a shade brighter than mine, and her mouth wider, but none of it really mattered to me. She was my best friend, and always would be.
"Whoa! Serious girl-on-girl action!" The voice was snide and sarcastic, and definitely male. Amy rolled her eyes.
"Go away, Hunter." Amy's voice held a mixture of scorn and disgust. I turned my head. Hunter was short, dressed in a Rob Zombie tee shirt with a flannel shirt over it, jeans that slipped down to expose dingy gray boxers, and boots only a drill sergeant could love. His hair was long and greasy, mostly hidden under a baseball cap worn sideways, and through the smirk on his face, I could see yellowing teeth that hadn't had a visit from a toothbrush in some time.
What really freaked me out, though, was the black aura that seemed to surround him, like a lazy shadow that wouldn't quite keep up. It felt wrong, almost evil. I was sure no one else could see it -- probably part of my abilities as the Advocate. But I couldn't tell what it was. Was it riding him somehow, like some malevolent spirit? Or was it something his attitude generated? Was it demonic, or do all jerks wear ill-fitting shadows?
"Leave? Not likely, Simmons," he said, smiling. "I'd have to pay good money to see this on the Net. Here I can get it for free." He lowered his voice and leered. "Why don't you French her, Barnes? You know you want to."
Angry, I pushed away from Amy and turned to face Hunter. "You heard Amy," I snapped. "Go away. Be somewhere else."
He took a step back, hands up in mock surrender, and his eyes went right to my chest. "WOW! Are there marbles in your bra, or are you just happy to see me?" Some of the other boys at the bus stop laughed. Instinctively, I clutched at the blouse and pulled it shut over my tee shirt. Hunter grinned. "Or maybe it's Ay-mee you happy to see?"
Amy snapped at him. "It's COLD, asshole. That's what happens to girls sometimes when it's cold. Not that you'd know, since girls tend to stay far away from you. Far, FAR away. Your breath -- and your attitude -- probably have something to do with that!"
Hunter smiled at her, a lazy grin like he couldn't care less what she said. He turned his eyes back to me, and they drifted downward.
"I wonder if other girl parts get bigger when it's cold," he said mockingly. "Let's find out." The darkness around him seemed to grow as he reached for the hem of my skirt. At that point, I realized I was going to have to hurt him to make him stop. I sighed, then shifted positions, planting my feet and making my arms ready. I just had to remember not to break anything, or I'd never hear the end of it from Sensei.
Another Becca memory. I had a martial arts teacher.
Just as his hand came close enough, I heard a voice come from behind him.
"Hunter," it said, and it sounded like Jeremy, only different somehow. Colder. "A moment of your time."
A hand appeared on Hunter's shoulder and yanked him away. It was Jeremy. And he was angry.
A huge thick sweater drifted into Amy's arms an instant before Jeremy spun Hunter around and slammed him face first into the stop sign on the corner. It rang softly, like a gong struck a hundred miles away. Jeremy pulled him away from the sign and tripped him as he moved backwards. Hunter wound up on his back in the wet grass,with Jeremy's foot on his chest.
"Hello, Hunter," he said with a small smile. "My father always taught me to be direct. 'If you have something to say, say it,' he told me once." Jeremy pushed down hard with his foot, and Hunter grunted. "'And if you can say it with a little … emphasis, so much the better.'"
"What you doin', man?" Hunter squealed, and tried to rise. Jeremy moved his foot up to just below Hunter's throat and pressed. Hunter immediately froze and went quiet.
"I'm talking," Jeremy said reasonably, but with an unmistakable edge to his voice. "And you're listening." Hunter stayed silent. "Now, you were being all manner of rude to my sister and her friend. That's stupid in a lot of ways. Usually, I'm here with her, and you know I don't like you. So you would have stayed away. But today … oh, today I had to go back for something. And since I was a little late, you decided to mess with her. Do you know why that was dumb?" He shook his head no. "Because you would have gotten hurt."
Hunter looked confused. Jeremy smiled. "She's dangerous, stupid. Wicked good in Tae Kwon Do. Got a red belt, which is pretty high up. And it puts you to shame, since you don't even have a belt to hold up your pants." Hunter's eyes flashed, and he looked at me. I smiled as I shrugged my way into the sweater Jeremy had brought, even though my teeth were still chattering. Hunter looked back at Jeremy.
"Now normally, I would have just let her kick your ass into next Sunday. I like to watch her fight. But since trashing you herself might have given you a look up her skirt, which is what you were after in the first place, I took it upon myself to educate you for her. This time." He bent over and looked Hunter in the eye. "Next time, though, I will just let her beat you up. Not just because she can do her own fighting, which she can. But truthfully, Hunter, Tae Kwon Do is just beautiful to watch, when you aren't on the receiving end. She's poetry in motion, slime boy. Trust me."
The bus pulled up and honked once. Jeremy stood up and took his foot off of Hunter's throat. Still, he stood over Hunter and looked down at him.
"I guess I did go on a bit, so here's the short direct version. Stay away from my sister and her friends." He waited a second, then shrugged. "You're warned. We're done. Have a nice day."
Jeremy turned and left Hunter lying there. There was scattered applause from all of the girls and a few of the boys at the stop. Hunter just lay there as people filed onto the bus, until the last person before me had climbed the stairs. As I turned to go in, he raised himself off of the ground and scurried towards the bus, snagging his backpack as he walked. I climbed the three stairs and was up inside long before Hunter reached the door. I found a seat with Amy as he reached the top of the stairs, smoothing my skirt under me as I sat, as if I'd done it a thousand times before. I could feel the cold vinyl against the back of my thighs through the skirt and in the inch or so of bare flesh between it and my knees.
There was a hush in the bus as Hunter made his way down the aisle. He slowed down a little as he passed my seat, then again as he passed Jeremy's. I ignored him, but Jeremy gave him a smile and a wave, and Hunter unconsciously increased his speed towards the back of the bus. I noticed that the aura had subsided. Either it had gone completely, or had shrunk to the point where it had retreated inside Hunter's skin. More food for thought.
"Well," Amy whispered, leaning in to my ear. "That was … interesting."
"I'll say," I responded in a soft voice. "I never realized Jeremy could be so … forceful."
"Direct, Becca dahling!" Amy smiled, settling back in the seat. "I think the word is 'direct.'" Then she giggled. "Wow! Watching Hunter squirm. What a great way to start a morning!"
I looked at her, and suddenly found myself giggling as well. It was more of a release of tension than anything else, but it was a good feeling to have a friend to laugh with. "And it's always nice to have proof the male of the species has redeeming qualities." I whispered.
Amy nodded. "Even if the male is your brother." She turned her head and eyed Jeremy across the aisle. I gave her a nudge.
"Especially because he's my brother!" I hissed, and we both broke up laughing. The object of our conversation turned his head and looked at us both, giggling like idiots.
"Girls," he breathed, and shook his head. Amy and I looked at each other and laughed again as the bus headed off towards school.
When the bus arrived at school, we shuffled off as we always did. The discontinuity between Jack and Becca seemed smaller every time a disruption occurred, and I decided not to dwell on it anymore. I was Becca now, and always would be. Let Jack and Becca come together at their own pace.
Once we were off the bus, I turned to Jeremy as he disembarked.
"Thanks, bro," I said softly, giving him a little hug. He smiled.
"My pleasure, sis." We started walking into the school with the rest of the students. "After all, somebody has to step on creeps like him. He makes the rest of us guys look bad."
"That's not hard to do," Amy said with a smile, and I gave her a little shove. "Hey! Be nice!" She gave me a sideways look, and turned her attention to my brother.
"Thanks, Jeremy," Amy said, holding out her hand. He gave it a quizzical look, then reached out and gave it a shake.
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," he intoned solemnly, then broke into a grin and let go of her hand. "Got to get to my locker now. Laters!"
With a small wave, Jeremy faded back into the river of teens rushing down the hall and disappeared. I wondered briefly if I was the only Barnes with a touch of magic, and shook my head with a smile.
"Hard to believe he's younger than we are," Amy mused as we walked in the other direction. "If only the boys our age were as nice as he is."
"HEY!" I said, and nudged her with my shoulder. "I do have a boyfriend, you know. And he's pretty darned nice."
"Why, thank you!" A voice beside me murmured, and I turned to find myself nearly face to face with a boy I knew instantly as Tommy. He was taller than I was by a good four inches, and as my eyes rose to meet his, his lips came down to meet mine.
A long slow wave of warmth mixed with pleasure started at my lips and rolled through me, clear down to my toes. My eyes closed automatically, and my lips parted and my arms went around him and it was all I could do not to moan. Every inch of me felt … indescribably good, as if this was the way I was supposed to feel all the time. I felt him holding me, and I swear my leg bent and my foot rose up behind me, just like in the movies.
I felt someone give my hair a yank, and the moment was broken.
"Hey! Get a room!" Amy was standing there with a smirk on her face. "Come on, you two. I can feel the heat from here." I shook my head to clear it, then buried my face in Tommy chest and laughed. I could feel him laugh too.
"OK, Amy," he said, giving me another hug before letting me go. "But next time Becca dresses like this, bring your sunscreen. You know she sets me on fire." Amy stuck a finger in her mouth and pretended to gag, then we all broke up laughing.
"Going to do him right here in the hall, Becca?"
Reba Fine and her glossy posse laughed from across the hall. Amy turned just a little to snap back something biting, but I touched her arm.
"I was thinking about it, Reba," I said innocently, with a small flutter of my eyelilds. "Not at first, because my mother brought me up better than that. But after he kissed me for a while, I started to wonder 'what would Reba do?' And then I knew I had to let him have me … in every way possible."
The other kids in the hall laughed, and Reba gave me a look that could have killed before flouncing off in a huff with her girls around her. Amy gave me a high five, and we started walking towards the lockers.
As we walked, Tommy's arm immediately snaked around my waist and pulled me to him. His hand gave my hip a squeeze, and I cuddled into him as we walked. God, this felt so right. My nipples were back at high alert, and my panties were so damp I could feel it when I walked. No wonder Emma was worried about me -- I was seriously addicted to this boy, and I-as-Jack had only just met him. I could feel Becca's love for him mixed with her desire, and from what I could tell from the way he held me and the bulge in his jeans, the feeling was VERY mutual.
I would have to watch myself with Tommy, or I'd be a parent again before I hit sophomore year in high school.
Somehow, though, keeping my distance was not what I wanted this morning. Becca wanted Tommy's arms around her again, and I did, too. I wanted to feel his lips on mine. I wanted him to make me burn again.
Oh, God, I had it bad.
We reached my locker, and Tommy let go of me. Amy came over and gave me a quick hug.
"See you at lunch, k?" I nodded, and she smiled. "And you two keep the lustage down to a dull roar, or you'll both be late for homeroom."
"Lustage?"
"Poetic license, girl!" Amy started down the hall. "I can make words up, use them any way I like. It's GOOD to be a poet!" She giggled and gave a casual wave as she wandered off. I turned my attention to the locker. The combination was right where I needed it, hovering in memory, and I opened the door easily and put my sports bag in. I pulled out a history book and slammed the locker shut, giving the knob a twirl to secure it. As I did, Tommy snuggled up close to me from behind, and I felt the hardness in his jeans pressing softly into my bottom through my skirt. I shivered.
"You cold, babe?" he breathed into one ear.
"No," I said, putting one hand over his two on my stomach and pressing back with my hips to hear him gasp. "I'm HOT. Can't you tell?"
Tommy bit my ear softly, and I shivered. I turned slowly to face him --
-- and found Mr. Hawkins, the assistant principal, giving us both a hard eye over Tommy's shoulder.
"Mr. Santino, Ms. Barnes," he snapped. "If you're finished with the floor show, you have classes to get to. I suggest you get to them."
I nodded and smiled. "Thanks for the warning, sir. Sometimes we students get … distracted." He nodded, and Tommy took a step back, holding his books over his crotch. I picked up my backpack and started walking, and Tommy just stood there a second. As Hawkins turned in the other direction, I blew Tommy a kiss, and he smiled and caught it. I buttoned my white blouse just enough to cover the bumps raising the fabric of my tee shirt, cuddled the heavy sweater over that, and headed off to class. I felt hot and sexy and flushed and wonderful.
Damn, it was good to be a girl!
I made it to homeroom with seconds to spare, and slid into my seat with legs together just before the bell rang. I put my bag on the floor beside me and looked around. Becca's memory identified the others in the room — acquaintances all, no friends or hostiles. As the morning announcements droned through the TV mounted high on the wall in the front of the room, I wiggled some in my chair, trying to ignore my damp panties and the small almost-itch between my legs that thinking about Tommy produced. To keep my mind off of it (and Tommy), I thought about what I'd seen during my encounter with Hunter this morning.
The darkness around him was a real, palpable presence, even though I seemed to be the only one who saw it. It was obviously part of my new role as the Advocate, although I was unsure of what it meant. Was Hunter possessed? Or was the dark aura not evil but stupidity incarnate? I closed my eyes and tried reaching for the implanted knowledge the Arbiters said would be accessible when I needed it.
Nothing.
Did that mean I didn't need it now? Or that this wasn't really my concern? I opened my eyes and tossed my hair back over my shoulders. Even though being Becca feels wonderful, and her overlay is helping me adjust, I thought, part of me really wants the training to begin. I smiled. It seemed like old goal-oriented Jack was still with me, no matter how comfortable I became as my own youngest daughter.
The bell rang, and I realized abruptly that the announcements were over and I had to move on. I rose from my seat, snagging my backpack on the way up, and glided out of the room and into the hallway.
I was very conscious of how different it felt to move, hips rolling and swaying with a little bounce up top as I navigated my way through the rushing crowds. Different, but nice. The hair brushing against my shoulders felt comforting and familiar, as did the air flowing over my bare legs. I let Becca's memories steer me towards our next class, and let my mind wander back to Tommy standing behind me, his body pressed against mine, and I smiled.
Suddenly a hand snaked under my skirt, gave my bottom a quick squeeze, then slipped out from under and disappeared.
"HEY!" I squeaked, but whoever owned the hand was gone, swallowed up by the river of people. I heard a boy's laughter and felt a flash of anger. That's my body, damn it! I stopped and turned, and the person behind me ran right into me and knocked me back. I managed to keep my feet, but several others brushed past me, and one boy deliberately put his hand on my chest, squeezed, and kept moving. I saw his other hand rise above his head to share a congratulatory slap with the boy next to him.
Angry, with tears in my eyes, I started after him, only to have a slender hand snag my elbow and pull me back out of the hall into an empty classroom. I spun around and found myself looking up into the eyes of a well-endowed blonde woman with a frown on her face. Mrs. Moore, my math teacher.
"I --"
She raised a hand. "Sssssh," she said softly. I stopped. She smiled just a little, and nodded.
"Somebody touched you out there, didn't they?" It was my turn to nod. "More than once?" I nodded again. "You can't tell me this was your first time dealing with wandering hands, Becca. Not someone as pretty as you are." I stopped, then Becca's memory rushed in and filled the blanks. I looked down and shook my head. She took my chin and raised it, and looked into my eyes.
"It's not right, I know," she whispered. "It's your body, and they shouldn't touch without permission. But you're stuck with it."
I shook my head. "No! It's —"
She reached out and touched my lips with her finger. "Listen. Those thirteen-year-old boys are still eight-year-olds in their heads. They think touching girls in places they shouldn't is a game. But thirteen-year-old girls are old enough to know better. You know what your body is for, or at least you're starting to."
Mrs. Moore sat on the edge of her desk. "It's not your fault, but it is your problem. You need to be more careful." I looked at her, confused. "You were daydreaming out there, girl. I saw you. You weren't paying attention, and they saw and took advantage. I know it's hard, but you have to watch out for them. It's like babysitting, hon. They don't know better, so you have to keep watch. If you catch them, maybe you can teach them what not to do. But if not, you need to let it go, or you'll get bitter and angry. And that's like babysitting, too. Doesn't make sense to get mad at a baby, right?" I shook my head. "Why?"
"Be … because they don't know any better."
"Good girl." She smoothed my hair down. "Now, get to class before I have to write you a pass. The halls are pretty clear now."
I picked up my backpack and headed for the door. Just as I reached it, I turned around.
"Thanks, Ms. Moore," I said softly
She nodded, and smiled. "Get going, Becca. I'll see you later in class."
The rest of the morning passed without incident. I waited a little while before leaving each classroom, and made sure I had a comfort zone around me wherever I walked. It was annoying to have to worry about something this stupid. But I had wanted to be a woman, and this was part of the price of admission. Always being a target for some male's random lust. I kept a close eye on the boy coming at me from across the hall, and slowed down to give him plenty of space before moving on.
I met Amy and Tommy for lunch. After being on the alert for unauthorized touching for so long, it was nice to feel Tommy's authorized hand resting gently on my hip when he wrapped his arm around me. We stayed that way most of the way through lunch, and I leaned into him and felt all warm and loved. Eventually, one of the teachers insisted we move apart, and he reluctantly withdrew his arm, only to link his foot with mine under the table. We both smiled at each other and went on chatting with Amy.
When lunch was over, Tommy and I gave each other a squeeze and a quick kiss, then Amy and I went off to P.E.
The locker room was just like every other locker room I've ever been in, except for being filled with adolescent girls well on their way to becoming women. Tall, skinny, round, curvy … there were as many body types as there were girls, but I didn't dwell on any of them. After all, I didn't want any of them dwelling on me. As wonderful as Becca's body looked (and felt) to me, she still had issues with how she looked. As Jack, I'd never met a woman who was truly happy with her body. From this side of the gene pool, I could see why. Becca knew deep in her heart that no matter how good she looked, there was always some paragon on a magazine cover or a movie screen who looked better. And there always would be.
Amy and I had lockers side by side, and we hurried to get changed into our gym clothes before the gym teacher, Miss Spinoza, came in to read us the riot act.
"Wow, your brother was really something this morning," Amy said, already down to her panties. I tried not to notice, but her nipples were getting slightly erect in the cool air, and her chest was big enough to sway a bit as she turned and grabbed the sports bra from her gym bag.
A little embarrassed, I turned towards the lockers and reached back to unhook my bra, something that turned out to be much easier than I had expected it to be. Huh, I thought briefly. Live and learn.
"He's really something, most of the time," I replied, letting the bra slip off of my arms and reaching into my bag for my own sports bra. Amy gave a small laugh as she pulled the bra over her head and settled it in place, then repositioned her breasts in it for comfort. I copied her movements quickly, not at all happy to be naked among strangers. I never liked it as Jack either. I guess some things never change.
"You know I'm happy for you and Tommy, and … well, I haven't really been looking for a guy for me." She looked away, and her voice lowered almost to a point where I couldn't hear her. "But ever since this morning, I've been thinking about … Jeremy."
I stopped, gym shorts half-pulled up over my hips. "Girl, you get that idea out of your head right now!"
Amy looked at me, and grinned. "What, Becca? I'm not good enough?" She punched me lightly on the arm. "I'm crushed."
I finished pulling up the shorts and grabbed my gym shirt. "It's not that at all. You know I think you're awesome, Ames. But it's … like incest, kinda. You know you're practically my sister, and since he's my brother …"
"Eeeeeeeeew!" Both of us chorused at once, and broke into giggles.
We both sat down to put on our sneakers.
"Seriously, Bee," Amy said after a moment. "What do you think about Jeremy and me? As a couple?"
Miss Spinoza walked in and shouted, "All RIGHT, girls, get your tushes on the gym floor right now!"
I wound the scrunchy tighter, pulling my hair up in a high ponytail, and stood up.
"I think we'd better get out on the floor before she has a heart attack," I said softly.
"I heard that, Barnes," she said in a normal voice as she wandered past. "The shouting is just for show. I'm sure no one would move if I asked politely."
"Sorry, Ms. Spinoza," I replied, and scurried off with Amy to the gym.
Gym class was uneventful, some stretching and exercises followed by a few games of volleyball. I was sweating some, but not a lot, and I decided to just do a quick wash, then powder and dress. I noticed all of the others girls did the same. I guess baring that much flesh in front of all these other girls wasn't appealing to any of us.
I grinned when I thought of myself as part of "us." Just one of the girls, Becca, I mused as I powdered under and between my breasts before slipping my bra back on. Just one of the girls.
Instead of putting the same panties on, I powdered down below and put on a fresh pair Becca kept in her -- MY -- shoulder bag. I slipped the damp ones in the plastic bag that had held the clean underwear. Between puberty and the effect Tommy had on her, Becca been running around damp a lot in recent weeks, and had taken a few precautions. Not the most comfortable way to spend a day, I thought, finally dressed and headed for the door. It's nice to have the option to change.
Amy met me in the hall. "About time, girl!" she hissed, grabbing me by the elbow and swinging me around towards the cafeteria. "We seriously need to talk."
I put my arm through hers and matched her pace.
"Chill, Ames," I said cheerfully. "Still on about … Jer?"
"Still thinking about him, yes. Can you blame me?"
We turned the corner and headed for the study lounge. I shrugged. "Hard to say, sis. He's my brother. I can't even think of him as a possible hunk. Against the code."
"Beeeeeee!"
I sighed. "Honestly, girl, I guess I don't understand. Why Jeremy, and why now? Just because he beat up Hunter?"
She shook her head. "No. More like how he didn't beat him up." I looked at her, confused. "Look, he had the chance to go all macho on Hunter, and beat him stupid, right?"
"Well, stupider, anyway." Amy laughed, and gave me a shove.
We reached the lounge and found an empty sofa. I curled up on one side, pulling my legs under me and giving my skirt a tug down for coverage. Amy just plopped down on the other side of the sofa, legs akimbo, arms spread wide. I guess you can get away with that in jeans, I thought with a smile. She sighed, and spoke to the ceiling. "Instead of showing how tough he was, he put Hunter down quick and gave him a warning. To Jeremy, it wasn't about proving how much of a man he was. It was about delivering the message and moving on."
I thought about that for a while.
"I have to admit, Jeremy is pretty special," I said. "I've never seen him lose his temper, and he's always been there for me and Emma, and Mom."
"Do you think we'd be good together?" Amy looked down at her feet, and I smiled.
"Well," I said slowly, "He's clean, with good teeth and a nice smile. Few bad habits aside from hogging the television and leaving the toilet seat up. Probably good enough for my best friend in the whole world." I reached across and patted her on the knee. "What the heck, sis. You have my blessing. You want him? Go get him! Mazel Tov!"
"You mean it?" She seemed stunned. "What about us?"
I smiled. "We'll always have Paris."
She picked up a pillow and hit me with it. I squeaked and covered my head.
"You know what I mean!" she said, wacking me again. This time I reached up and grabbed the pillow away from her.
"Amy, we're fine." I wrapped my arms around the pillow and hugged it to me. "We'll always be fine. We've been friends so long it would take more than you dating my brother to mess us up. I love you both. So chase him already!"
She squealed, bounced across the distance between us and hugged me hard, laughing. I laughed, too, because she was so happy it was hard not to. Then she grabbed both of my arms and stared straight into my eyes.
"You have GOT to help me!"
I stared back, surprised. "Whoa, girl! Help you snag my brother?"
Amy narrowed her eyes and spoke out of the corner of her mouth. "Or would you rather he get 'snagged' by some biotch like Maddy Garvin? She IS in his class, you know."
I shuddered. "Point taken. Okay, I'm in!"
She wriggled like a puppy on the sofa, and I suddenly saw an aura explode around her. It was multi-colored, all blues and oranges and yellows, and I realized I was seeing her happiness, and her excitement, and our friendship flaring up around her.
I held up my hands. "But we'll have to meet later to discuss how we'll get him interested. We have two classes still before end of day, and then I need to get ready for Tae Kwon Do, and dance class."
I saw the auras fade, and she sighed. "Girl, you like the weirdest mix of things."
"So do you, Miss World of Warcraft wonder woman," I shot back, and she giggled.
"You like that, too!"
"So? Like you said, I like the weirdest things!" We both laughed. "How many of the girls you see running around WoW are really girls, you think?"
"Not nearly enough," Amy thought for a second, then smiled. "I think they just like to watch the female night elves walk and run from behind. And when they get impatient, they do that full body shimmy things that makes their chests bounce."
"I like the way they walk, too," I said with a smile. "Sometimes I wish I could strut like that."
"Oh, it's not so hard … if you have legs four feet long and a body built by some uber-geek based on what he thinks a girl should look like." We laughed again and got to our feet. "See you tonight, 'kay?"
"Sure thing, Ames. After dinner, come on over and we'll start planning. Jeremy won't stand a chance!"
Two classes later, I was at my locker putting my books in and taking my sports bag out. Tae Kwon Do came first, and it was in the smaller gym near the weight rooms. I hurried to the girls locker room and changed into my dobok, with a sports bra and tee shirt under the top so I wouldn't worry about showing too much if it opened slightly during sparring. I had memories of past classes — learning kicks and forms, and earning my belts in succession. I remembered learning some of this as Jack as well, and was looking forward to getting a little physical and working off some of the lust I had built up all day with Tommy on my mind, and in my arms.
When I reached the small gym, it was empty and half-shrouded in darkness. I was a few minutes late, so having no one here ahead of me brought me up short. I stopped just outside the door, my bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor, and I listened. Silence held sway in that room, like the quiet you feel just before lightning strikes. I stayed still and left the silence alone. I was sure my friends were not there, and if enemies were, why make it easier for them to find me?
As I waited, I realized I was feeling something I'd never felt before. It was like an itch down deep in the center of my soul, and a feeling of anticipation mixed with a touch of fear welled up inside and made my skin crawl.
Something was very wrong in that room.
My first impulse was to turn and run, but I knew I couldn't. I didn't want to be a hero, but if there was something weird going on in that room, I couldn't live with myself if I let one of my classmates walk into it unprepared. After all, I was supposed to be the Advocate, right? I had accepted the deal, and the job. I had a responsibility to protect those who didn't know what I knew — that the world was a dangerous place in ways they couldn't even begin to understand. And I had powers (at least the Arbiters said I did), even I didn't understand exactly how to use them.
So I pulled my body into a readiness stance, balanced and aware. Then I slowly moved forward through the open doorway, ready for just about anything.
Except, of course, for what happened next.
I heard it before I saw it, a rumble like distant thunder, only WAY too close to be far away. Then I heard a woman's throaty chuckle and turned toward the sound. There was to a tall slender blonde standing in the far corner, wearing a wicked grin and a dark green dobok of her own. A ball of green fire hung in the air in front of her, cupped between her delicate hands, seething with power.
"Took you long enough, Advocate," she growled, baring her teeth in a savage smile. "Time to play." She raised the fireball over her head. "And the name of the game is Dodgeball!"
As the flaming orb shot across the room directly at my head, I closed my eyes and sighed.
The day had been going so well, too.
Notes:
To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 7
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Jack's first martial arts class as Becca becomes a personal duel with a teacher who thinks death is the ultimate failing grade. Then she meets her new dance instructor, receives her first lesson in how the Universe works (and how she's supposed to work with it), and discovers how satisfying it can be to get ... physical with some boys.
Part 7
the conditions in which they can learn." -- Albert Einstein
I fell back without thinking, letting the ball of green fire pass over me. It flew neatly though the spot where my head had been. Using the momentum of the fall, I did a backward roll and wound up on my feet, facing the strange woman in green. She seemed disappointed.
"A physical defense, Advocate? Duck and cover?" She scowled, hands on her hips. "Where is all that power I've heard so much about?"
"I don't bring it on for the small stuff," I bluffed briskly, my body falling back into a ready stance. "Besides, you DID say the game was Dodgeball."
"Yes, I did," she admitted. The fireball she had thrown had turned around and returned to her hand. "But how am I to train you if you don't ... bring it on when I attack?" The ball grew larger and became two, both hovering over her extended palms. With a single gesture, they flew away from her to swoop in and try to hit me simultaneously.
"Train me?" This time I waited until the last second before dropping straight down to the floor. The two fireballs collided above me in a flash of energy that made the air around me shimmer. I bounced back to my feet, nerves singing with adrenaline I didn’t need. "This is training?"
"Haven't you ever heard the expression, 'what does not kill you makes you stronger?'" The woman summoned three green fireballs and set them spinning directly above her head. "It's like that."
"Ah." I nodded, eyes intent on the orbiting spheres. "The problem is, how many of your students die before they learn something? If you use that cliché for a lesson plan, you'll wind up with a very small graduating class ... and a lot of bodies to answer for."
"Since I only have one student, the body count will be minimal." She smiled, and the fireballs spun faster. "And if you die in training? Well, I didn't really want this job anyway."
All three orbs shot straight at me. No finesse, no curves -- just straight at my chest, at high speed. My brain went into overdrive, trying to find a way out.
And failed. Damn, I thought. It was shaping up to be a nice life, too.
Just as all three fireballs were about to hit, a section of my mind seemed to come to life. It pulsed once, almost like flexing a muscle, then threw out a flash of energy that absorbed the three orbs and bounced back towards my 'teacher.' The wave hit as she closed her eyes, and it seemed to wrap around her and fade into a harmless light show by the time it reached the wall.
"At last, some measure of skill," she crowed. "Defense and offense from a single spell. A measured response, as well. Just enough energy to take my attack and make it your own."
Weirdly enough, that was exactly what I would have wanted to do, if I had known how. Strategic and tactical doctrine from Sun-Tzu to von Clausewitz was kicking around inside my head like an academic soccer match. Directed attacks deserve directed defense. No sense shielding everywhere when the attack was to my chest. Unfamiliar knowledge flowed through my brain, and suddenly I knew how far from the wall she was, what spell she was using to attack, and a rough approximation of her energy level (based on what my mind insisted was the 'taste' of the fireballs).
“And you’ve adapted well to your new form,” she sniffed, raising her arms and spreading her fingers wide. Power arced between them. “Although why anyone would want to be ... a girl ... is totally beyond me. You had so much power as a man. Handsome, too. Now you’re just ... weak.”
“But you’re a —“ Her eyes flashed with anger and a very sharp blade thrust upward through the supposedly solid wood floor below me. I found my attention oddly split between watching the woman in green and keeping track of the blade headed straight for parts of me I had grown rather fond of since I woke up that morning. Everything seems to slow to a crawl, and before I could realize the sheer idiocy involved in attempting to declare gravity irrelevant, I found myself upside down on the ceiling. I was suspended above a three-foot-long piece of curved sharpened steel, my ponytail hanging down behind my head. The woman in green looked up and laughed.
“Oh, that is truly magnificent,” she crowed. “Such imagination! We are going to have so much fun, you and I. Until I kill you.”
“Now wait just a minute.” I felt my anger flaring just beneath the surface. “Am I your student or your prey?”
“Both,” she replied. “And neither. Life defines words. Seldom is the reverse true.”
I summoned up a bolt of energy and threw it at the base of the blade. It broke free from its base and rose into the air. I used a second spell to start it spinning end over end, faster and faster. I could hear it singing as it cleaved the air, and as I sent it toward her with a wave, I sincerely hoped it would cut this fight short.
Literally.
Her eyes widened, and she barely managed to turn the sword into mist before it touched her flesh. It did however manage to cut the belt of her dobok. It fell open, revealing a well-shaped bosom wrapped in a sheer black bra with a lot of lace trim. Her skin was pale, almost milky white and pure. Her eyes widened as she realized she was exposed, and I could see the panic in them clear across the room. For the first time since this bizarre episode started, she was off-balance. Time to push her a little further, I thought. Maybe she’ll fall.
So I reached out mentally and made her pants non-existent.
Her bottom half was every bit as lovely as her top, with the front of a matching black thong framed between full white thighs connected to round hips that made her tiny waist seem so much smaller.
Feeling suddenly cooler, the woman looked down and made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a squeal. I dropped down from the ceiling, spinning as I fell until I landed in a ready stance. When she heard me land, her head snapped up. I could see anger had replaced the fear in her eyes.
“Stupid bitch!” she growled. “So childish!”
“It put you off your game, didn’t it?” I snapped back, and my hands glowed with a cool fire. “Being exposed makes you nervous. But if you really WANT something childish to wear ...”
The fire shot out and covered her completely from head to toe, then flared and disappeared. She was wearing a giant version of a little girl’s pink party dress, and her hair was a mass of ribbons and pigtails. She looked down and tried to scream, but her mouth was filled with a large lollipop, so all that came out was a gurgle. It was my turn to laugh.
“Don't like the dress?” I grinned at her, and she shook with anger. "Since you don't seem to like being a woman, I thought you should go back a bit and try being a little girl for a while."
She pulled the lollipop out and threw it aside with a growl, then tried to place her feet in a ready stance of her own. Unfortunately, the bottoms of her shiny black Mary Janes were brand new and still slippery. She fell back and landed hard on her well-padded bottom. When she suddenly realized she was wearing a thick cloth diaper, she roared and shot several bolts of energy at me from the floor.
Without thinking, I spun to one side. Both of her spells hit the mirror behind me and flashed back at her. I watched her own magic slam into her, making her new outfit disappear completely and leaving her quite naked. But before she could react, the second spell hit and she vanished.
I was alone.
“Where the hell did she go?” I asked the empty room. A voice came from behind me.
“Right now, she is exactly where she had planned for you to appear.”
I turned. My own reflection was leaning against a wall INSIDE the mirror, smiling.
“And where would that be, precisely?”
“The food court at MacPherson Center, on the other side of town. A very popular after-school spot for teens, if I am correct. A ... shopping mall?”
“Completely naked?”
“Completely.”
“And you are ...?”
“The Arbiters, Becca.” My reflection laughed and smiled at me. I had a nice smile, I decided. “We need some level of manifestation to speak with you. This was all we had available to us. We hope you don’t mind?”
“As long as nobody puts me away for talking to myself, I’m fine,” I replied. “Should I be ready for ‘teacher’s’ return?”
“Not right away.” The mirror Becca sauntered over to the other side of the glass and sat down. “Part of the last spell she shot at you was a magic nullifier, so you would be forced to remain naked in the food court for a time without magic to hide you or teleport away.”
“So now she’s stuck there herself.” I shook my head. “And judging by her reaction when I saw her in her underwear, she’s probably curled up in a ball trying not to cry. If she hadn’t been psychotically obsessed with killing me, I’d feel sorry for her.”
“Our apologies for not warning you about the nature of the training,” the mirror Becca said softly. “It would have defeated the purpose.”
“So this was authorized?” I stared at myself, stunned.
“Not to the extent she planned to take it, but yes.”
“Why?”
The other me rose to her feet and began to pace. “You need to understand, as we told you before, that the abilities and knowledge we gave you have to be brought out by experience and training. Once you have these skills, they’re yours. But they need to be summoned from the recesses of your mind by need. That’s where Leander’s ... teaching style ... comes in.”
“Oh, come on! She could have killed me!”
“Did you die?” My other self smirked at me through the glass.
“Well, no.”
“We did not send you into this room unprepared, Becca. You were never unarmed. You just didn’t know what your weapons were, until you needed them.”
“Hmmph.” I folded my arms under my breasts and turned away. “And what about this Leander person? Who is she and where did she get all that power?”
“He was once a powerful mage, who abused his power so abominably that the Universe exacted what was to him a terrible price.”
“He? You mean --“
“Yes, Leander was once a man. He used his powers to degrade and humiliate women, take them at his pleasure and crush them with his will. As punishment, he became a she.”
Not much of a punishment, I thought. From my point of view.
“To you, becoming a woman would be a reward,” the Arbiter answered, reading my mind even as she pushed my ponytail back over her shoulder. “To her, it is a reminder that she is ... less than what she was. And the rest of her punishment ensures that it will always be so, for all of eternity.”
I stared at myself, totally confused. “Excuse me?”
The Arbiter sighed. “She has been punished like this for four hundred seventy six years, through seven lifetimes. Since the Universe changed her, she has spent every lifetime as the subservient helpmate of a large, domineering, boorish, and insensitive man. He takes everything she gives and demands more, and externally she is more than happy to comply. To call her a doormat would imply he lets her lie still long enough to wipe his feet on her. While she is in his presence, she cannot say no to him. If he tells her to do something and leaves, she cannot rest unless that thing is done. No matter what sexual act he commands her to perform with him, she is always enthusiastic and eager to please. Always. And no matter how often she has intercourse, she never gets pregnant.”
“Why?”
“It wouldn’t be fair to the children. She would not love them, and they would know it.”
I thought about it for a while. "Being a woman doesn't make her less."
"No. But she thinks it does. And being a subservient woman without access to magic even more so. On many levels."
"So you brought her out of forced retirement after almost five hundred years, gave her back access to powerful magic, and said, 'We have a new associate who will go after people like you, and we need you to train her.'"
The other me smiled. "Something like that."
"Knowing she would cross the line and try to kill me."
"Expecting it, yes. So your true powers would emerge in the crucible of fire. As they had to." The Arbiter put her hand up against the glass on the other side. "You were never alone with her, really. We were watching. But we were sure you would rise to the challenge, and you did. As you will again."
"Again?"
"Oh, yes. This was only your first lesson with her. And now that you've publicly embarrassed her with her own spells, she will be even more determined to make you suffer. But every attack, successfully countered, will make you stronger. Eventually, there will be nothing she can do to hurt you."
"What about my family and friends?"
The Arbiter smiled my smile at me again. "Fully protected. Her magic has only two focal points -- herself, and you. The only person in the Universe she can do anything to is you. And since you're an extension of us in her mind, she will be more than happy to vent her frustrations with us on you as well, even as you create more reasons for her to want to kill you for your own sake."
"Lovely." I looked around the empty room. "What now?"
"Now it's time for the other half of your lessons for today," my reflection said. "Mrs. Graymalkin is waiting."
"My dance teacher?"
"Oh, yes," the Arbiter replied. "She's your instructor in strategy and tactics."
"What about the Tae-Kwon-Do class I was supposed to take before Professor Psychopath interrupted?"
"As far as your Sensei is concerned, you were there and excelled the whole time." She glanced at the clock on the wall on my side of the mirror. "As a small apology, let me help you to your next class." The Arbiter's eyes flared, and suddenly my dobok was replaced with a skintight black leotard, shiny lavender tights, and black soft-souled dance shoes. My belt became a lavender scarf tied around my middle, and I was ...
... somewhere else. A long room with mirrors down one wall and a ballet bar along the other. Big windows on a third wall let in natural light, and I could see people walking past on a sidewalk outside. Next to the windows, the reversed writing on the door proudly proclaimed "Graymalkin's Dance."
"Greetings, child," a voice behind me said sharply. "You're early. I do so admire enthusiasm in one so young."
I spun around to see a older woman, dressed in a leotard and tights. "Are you --?"
She tutted at me. "Manners, Miss Barnes. The correct response to a compliment is, 'thank you, Mrs. Graymalkin.'"
My lip twitched, and I threw my shoulders back and centered my weight over my hips. "Thank you, Mrs, Graymalkin," I said, and threw in a perfect curtsey, completed with a head bob. She threw me a stern look, mitigated by the twitching of her own lips in an almost smile.
"Sass will not be tolerated, Becca."
"Yes, Ma'am." I stood at attention. "Apologies, Ma'am."
"Already forgiven." She gave me a full smile. "With your history and your intelligence, I should expect at least some whimsy, with a modicum of wit. But I do have much to teach, and I would hope you will not allow your need for ... personal expression ... to get between the lessons and the student."
I nodded. "Never, Ma'am. These lessons are very important to me."
"Especially now that Leander has awakened your power, and is so intent on killing you before you can use it effectively." My eyes flashed, astonished. She tutted again. "Really, child. How good a teacher could I be if I did not keep up with current events?"
I couldn't help it. I just laughed. Mrs. Graymalkin smiled at me again, and I could see the laugh lines around her eyes.
She was my height, but darker. Her tousled brown hair was streaked with gray, and cut short until it formed an almost-halo around her head. Her body was that of a dancer, fit but not overly muscular. Her deep brown eyes always seemed to hold a twinkle -- something I would continue to see as our lessons progressed, no matter how serious they became.
"There are two sides to being the Advocate, Becca," Mrs. Graymalkin began. "One side is the power, and learning how to use it for maximum effect. Sadly, it means that for a time you will be stalked by a tremendously powerful psychotic sorceress. But it can't be helped. Once Leander has taken you to a certain level, her services as a ... sparring partner ... will no longer be needed or tolerated."
"But the other side is learning when and where to use your power, what to use it for, how much of it to use, and to what end. That is why you come to me. Well, that ... and to dance."
I fidgeted slightly. "Ma'am?"
"Yes, Becca?"
"Can I ... dance?"
"Oh, most certainly," she said, somewhat surprised. "You are quite good, actually. The skill has been honed for almost a year, in terms of the young girl's history you now possess. Would you like to see?"
My heart took a little leap. I had always wanted to dance, but as a man I always felt ... awkward. It may not have been true, but just thinking that way made me clumsy and ill at ease. I tried once, but the phrase "dancing bear" popped into my head the first time I saw myself trying to move in a studio. My teacher at the time said I was wrong and I moved very well, but all I could see was Gentle Ben under a circus tent. I dropped out soon after, but the dream was always there.
"Yes, please," I replied.
"Very well," Mrs. Graymalkin said. "But before you dance, you must warm up and stretch completely. And while you do that, I will talk. On the mat, please."
My body slipped gracefully to the floor, and I found myself moving into an extensive warm up regime that came as naturally to me as brushing my hair did this morning. It was almost as if my body knew what to do, and my mind followed along until neither one knew which was doing the thinking. Once again I wondered at Becca's history before all of this. Where did it come from?
As I worked my body, she descended to the floor beside me and began to stretch. I looked at her, a question in my eyes.
"Why are you surprised, child?" She reached for her foot and stretched her entire torso, looking at me the entire time. Then she smiled. "Oh, yes, that's right. You haven't been ... one of us for so very long. When you get ... older, you will find that your joints and muscles are not as responsive as they used to be. And when it comes to pleasing a lover, it is better to be more ... flexible. When you have as many years as I do in this body, it becomes even more important. So I may not dance right now, with you, but tonight ..." Her smile became slightly wistful. "Tonight is a different matter... a different partner ... and a very different dance."
I blushed, and she tutted at me again. "Come, come, Becca. Between women, together without men present, such talk is a confidence, a sharing. A bonding. I have a man who pleases me very much, and I would like to think I make him happy, too. It takes a little extra effort on my part these days, but for the right man, a woman ... prepares."
She smiled at me, then twisted her body and stretched using the other foot. " I may be your teacher, but I would also like to be your friend. Since you are so new to being a woman, there may be things you need to ask that you cannot ask your mother, for obvious reasons. I would like to be here for you to ask, as a teacher in being a woman as well." She looked at me with a question in her eyes. "If you would have me, that is."
I nodded, and felt tears come to my eyes. After Leander's "lesson," this was a welcome change. She saw the tears and smiled, then reached out with a finger and brushed them away. "No need for tears, child. Even tears of joy, which I see these are. I just offer friendship, after all. Woman to woman." She traced my jawline with her finger. "And you are already becoming a beautiful woman, after only a day." She looked me in the eye and cocked her head. "You already have a man, don’t you?" My jaw dropped. "Well, a boy, given your age."
She shook her head. "Again, surprised? As I said before, Becca ... current events, yes? Or maybe I should say current affairs." She grinned, which made her look years younger. "And keep working, please."
She did a backward roll and put her legs together, pushing them out in front of her and stretching her back muscles. Mrs. Graymalkin did all this without a hint of strain, and she even continued talking through the stretch -- while I, in my younger body, found it hard to even breathe.
"So, you have a beau, Becca," she said easily. "I am not surprised, a pretty girl like you. How does he make you feel?"
I blushed, and looked down before answering. "Like ... like nothing I've ever felt before, even ... with my wife. It's ... overwhelming, Ma'am. I know what love feels like. I've felt it before. But now I love Tommy so much, it hurts ... and I burn for him, too. I've only been in this body for half a day, and I can't stop thinking about him. Thinking about what I want to do with him. What ... what I want him to do to me. It's ... scary."
For a while, the older woman was quiet. Then she reached out a hand from her stretching position and patted my shoulder.
"Before, you loved as a man," she said softly. "No less strong, perhaps, but not quite as ... powerful. A woman feels much deeper, I think. Our barriers are lower ... our commitments more intense. It is good for you to feel that heat -- the fire that comes from being wanted, and wanting. You will feel it all your life. But you must learn to control it. Because it is so strong, your passion can overcome your reason, Becca. And as strong as that passion is, it isn't enough to carry you through motherhood so young," she said, eyeing me. I shook my head.
"I don't want that, Ma'am," I spoke quickly. "At least, not yet. Someday, with the right man. But for all the years that came before, I'm still very much a child ... like this."
"But not for much longer, I think. You burn with a woman's fire, and it is almost time for you to become one. I can see it in your body, your time is near. That may be part of your trouble, as well. Your body wants him, and your heart does, too." She rolled into a sitting position and folded her legs beneath her. "There are things you can do to make the fire more ... manageable, Becca. But that's for another lesson, I think. We really should get back to work."
I nodded, slightly embarrassed to think about where that lesson would take us — the "things" we would be talking about.
"So," she continued, "let's discuss when to use your power and when to leave things be. It's a difficult skill to master, because every situation is different. The Arbiters believe you are both smart enough and 'grounded' enough to master it, and given what I know of you, I would tend to agree. Still, just as your powers grow stronger with use, so will this skill becomes sharper. It is complicated, of course, by the needs of the Omnipresence."
"What ... do ... you mean ... Ma'am?" I huffed, bending my new form in ways that would probably make Tommy VERY interested in taking off this leotard.
"Come now, Becca," she said, smiling again. "Things happen for a reason. Most of the time, that reason is the Omnipresence. It has a plan so vast, it's impossible for us to see it, let alone understand it. It's like standing on a raft in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and trying to see it all, from Japan to California, from the Bering Strait to Antarctica. And even if you were to fly into space and look down, all you could see was the surface, not the depths beneath. With your limited senses, seeing it all would be impossible."
I rolled over onto my stomach, spread my legs by pulling my knees up on either side of my body, and pressed my torso into the mat.
"The Universe is a nearly infinite tapestry, child. Every life intersects with every other, and the Omnipresence manages the weaving of those threads so they become stronger, learning and growing. Often, they grow by being tested in ways that might seem cruel to those of us who cannot see the tapestry -- just the small section where our own threads reside."
"So ... if I cannot ... see the plan, Ma'am ..." I mused, pressing up with both arms and listening to joints crack. I felt parts of me stretch I'd never felt before. "How can I choose when to act and when to let events take their course?"
"Even though you cannot see the plan, your sense of what is right and wrong connects you to it. Part of what the Arbiters saw in you was evident in the decision you made not to agree to the Other's offer, once you knew it would hurt your family. That quality of knowing the right action and listening to that part of you over anything else is very rare. We will focus on strengthening that connection as part of your training, so it will guide you where rational thought does not. Part of being the Advocate is listening to the part of you that feels how the tapestry is woven, and taking steps to make the Omnipresence's plan work better."
She rose to her feet and walked over to a small stereo in the corner, continuing to speak as she picked up and discarded CDs from a stack beside it. "Even though many see right and wrong clearly, there are those who use their free will to do what they think is right when it is not, or do what they know is wrong simply because they can. Those are the ones you must stop. You must undo their efforts to tangle the tapestry, and make things right. Like almost everything truly difficult in life, you'll have to feel your way through it."
"Up, Becca," she said, without turning around. "Warm your muscles before you dance."
I rose to my feet and began an abbreviated aerobic workout, feeling my body flexing and stretching, the sweat rising, lubricating muscles and tendons. The heat warmed me throughout.
Mrs. Graymalkin watched me from across the room.
"Look at how you learned to raise a child," she said. "Before your first child, you knew nothing about what it meant to be totally responsible for another human being. But you rose to the challenge by feeling your way through it. You made judgment calls based almost entirely on intuition. And both of your children -- all of them, including Becca -- came out just fine."
"How could I ... have raised Becca, Ma'am?" I puffed, breasts bouncing just a little, hips rolling. "I AM Becca."
"That takes more explaining than we have time for today, child. Especially if you want to dance." She smiled at me. "And you are ready to dance, now."
She held up a CD case. I recognized it. It was the Talking Heads Naked album. "Last month you worked up a routine based on a song from this disk." I opened my mouth, and she put her other hand up. "Don't ask now, girl. I told you it's complicated. Just trust me. It's all inside you, just waiting to come out. Take your position, please."
I moved to the center of the room, legs and feet together, hands at my side, head bowed. I heard Mrs. Graymalkin place the disk in the player, and my whole body trembled with anticipation.
Then the song "Big Daddy" came on, full of horns and bass and bouncy guitar, and David Byrne's cryptic lyrics ...
"She has such tiny tears
Just like a barbie doll
She likes to shop at Sears
And visit shopping malls ..."
Suddenly I felt the music moving through me, and I moved with it -- hips swaying, arms out, fingers spread wide, head back, eyes shut, and a grin just beginning to make my lips twitch at the ends. My new responsibilities and Leander's vendetta just slipped away, and I found myself dancing across the room, spinning, arms over my head, hips swaying and a little bit of a laugh coming up from deep inside.
I felt alive, deep inside the music, letting my new body guide me. Mrs. Graymalkin watched, a smile on her face, as I hit every mark without a thought, floating like a leaf on the wind with the precision of an arrow on its way to a bullseye. Laughing like a child, I pulled the scrunchy out of my ponytail and let my hair fly wild around my head. The music didn't let me down or let me go, and I found myself slipping into an impromptu belly dance, hips rolling, hands above my head. It wasn't part of the routine. It just felt right -- a celebration of becoming the woman I always knew I should have been.
The girl I had become.
My whole body wiggled and bounced through a full head-to-toe shimmy shake, ending with a spin as I slipped soundlessly to the floor, heart pounding and adrenaline flowing. As the song ended, tears slipped down my cheeks and I found myself sobbing and smiling at the same time.
I'm home, I thought to myself, crying happily. Oh, thank God, I'm home.
An hour later, I was home ... almost. After working on a few more routines with Mrs. Graymalkin, I had changed back to street clothes and taken the bus back to my neighborhood. She had offered to transport me using magic, as the Arbiters had done, but I didn't want to set a precedent of using magic whenever it was convenient. She gave me a nod of approval when I explained, and a warm hug as I left her studio.
"Be careful, Becca," she said as the door closed. "A girl alone can be a target. I know you can take care of yourself, but you're not invulnerable. Get home before dark."
Walking down my street, I felt the chill of the early evening seeping through the impractical outfit I wore this morning. I'd left the comfy sweater in my locker. I was thinking about today's lessons, and wondering what the heck I had actually learned, when I heard a girl's voice, pleading.
"Leave me alone!" I looked up to see a small brown-haired girl scurrying down a cross street, being harassed by four older boys. I recognized the boys as some of Hunter's buddies, and I sighed. What kind of people is he bringing into this neighborhood? I thought sourly.
The girl wore a black scoop-neck tee, a short denim skirt with lace trim, and sandals with platform heels that made it very hard for her to walk. She must be as cold as I am, I realized. She was pretty in an anime-like way, with huge green eyes and small full lips. She wore her hair loose in tumbling curls down to her shoulders, although she kept tossing her head back like it was getting in her way. Fear made her clutch her purse tightly to her chest, and she hunched her shoulders as if she wanted to hide the curve of her breasts.
If I were being chased by those four, I'd want to hide my breasts, too. I had stopped moving and watched from the shadows, trying to decide whether this was teasing or something more. There was something about her ... I didn't think I knew her, and yet ...
The lead boy reached down and snatched at the lace on the bottom of her skirt. He laughed when she squeaked and pushed his hand away. "Stop!" she said plaintively.
"Come on," he said, reaching for her again. "You said we were friends. Why can't I see what color panties you're wearing?" All of the other boys laughed, and suddenly anger boiled up inside of me.
"Because ... because they're mine," she whimpered, and he reached out again. She slapped his hand away. "Get AWAY!" she shouted.
The leader's eyes narrowed, and he shoved her backward, right into the arms of two of his buddies. They held her tight, and he moved forward. She struggled, but couldn't break free.
"Now, baby ... you know it's important to share," he purred, as his fingers gripped the edge of her skirt. "Let's see ..."
"Excuse me," I said, directly behind him. He froze, and turned slowly. His eyes traveled from my feet clear up to my chest, where they stayed for a few seconds longer than necessary before wandering up to my face.
"Well, well," he said. "Fresh meat."
I smiled at him, and he paused, confused.
"Since you seem so intent on seeing her panties, I thought I'd give you an opportunity to see mine first."
The others laughed, and the leader gave me a small, confused smile. It lasted all of two-tenths of a second, until my foot buried itself deep in his stomach, and my knee collided with his forehead on its way down to the street. As he lay there, eyes glazed, I stood over him and smiled again.
"Like the view?" I asked sweetly. "I knew you'd get a better look from down there."
One of the others ran at me from behind, but I could sense him coming. Before he took two steps, my fist collided with the bridge of his nose and my elbow with the nerve cluster just under his ribs. He staggered back and fell on his ass, an instant before his head hit the pavement. The other two let go of the brown-haired girl and just stood there. She collapsed to the ground in a heap, shaking and crying.
I smiled at the two still standing. It was neither pleasant nor pretty, and both of them turned pale.
"This is my neighborhood," I said softly. "And you're not welcome in it. So leave my friend alone and go. Take these two with you. If you come here again, I'll make sure you never leave. And they'll never find your bodies. Understand?"
They started nodding enthusiastically and backed away, picking up their buddies and half-carrying them back the way they had come.
The one I had hit first looked back over his shoulder and couldn't resist a parting shot.
"Don't worry, Heather baby," he shouted. "We'll meet again -- and without your 'girlfriend' to get in the way."
She didn't react, except to cry harder. I stood over her and looked back at him.
"Touch her and die," I said, catching his eye and holding it. He froze for a second, then made kissy noises at me while his buddies dragged him away. When they were gone, I crouched down next to her.
"Hey," I whispered, touching her shoulder. "Heather? It's okay. They're gone now."
"Not okay," she sobbed into her hands. "It's crazy. How did I get like this? Where did these clothes come from? They're my friends, and THEY DIDN'T EVEN KNOW ME!"
I put my arms around her, and she stiffened. I gave her a hug and patted her on the back, but she pushed me away, still crying.
"I bet you think this is funny, Barnes," she whimpered, scrambling away from me while trying to pull down her skirt and cover her chest. "Or don’t you know me either?"
I felt a chill run down my back. Oh, God, no, I thought. It can't be.
"Hunter?" I said softly. "Is that you?"
Her head snapped up. "You KNOW me?"
I nodded, still unbelieving myself. Her eyes got wide, and suddenly the tears started again.
"You KNOW me!" she blubbered happily, and launched herself at me from the ground, hugging me tight. I hugged her back, just holding her while she cried, and thought deep thoughts about the infinite perversity of the Universe.
Who would have thought that, less than twelve hours after he tried to look up my skirt, I'd be comforting Hunter while she wore one herself?
Notes:
To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 8
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Becca's first real client comes home with her for dinner, and her very existence reveals a much bigger problem than either she or Becca could have realized. Also, Hunter's transformation into Heather has her afraid to go home -- and Becca's blood boils when she finds out why.
Part 8
Why can't you wake up as a different person?” -- Chuck Palahniuk
I waited while Heather cried her eyes out on my shoulder. Apparently, whatever had happened to her since she changed gender had really ripped her up emotionally. Hell, I thought, the sex change alone probably tore her concept of reality to shreds. I guessed it was no surprise, really. The whole idea of a spontaneous sex change belonged in an episode of The Twilight Zone. And when Hunter started looking for help and found everyone convinced she had always been a girl named Heather? Well, even I expected a fast camera pan to reveal a skinny man in a dark suit -- standing in a corner, smoking a cigarette and delivering wry commentary directly to the audience.
And I knew magic was real. Imagine how Heather must have felt, knowing it wasn't.
I guess she knew better now, for all the good it did her. But not even Hunter deserved to have his whole reality taken away from him in a heartbeat. I felt cold all over.
I need to fix this, I thought. First, because it's the right thing to do. And second, because ... well, because it's my job.
Her voice against my shoulder was one long high-pitched sentence that never seemed to find a period.
"Oh God thank God you know me oh man you have no idea what this feels like someone rewrote my life and I'm a fucking GIRL oh God I am sooo sorry about this morning I was a real jerk and I'm sorry and oh Becca you KNOW me thank God --"
And the sobs started again. I held her for a few minutes more, but eventually the time to be a comforter gave way to a need to move forward.
I couldn't stand out here all night trying to make her feel better. We needed to talk.
"Hunter." Nothing. She kept on sobbing. "Hunter!" She clutched at me and hugged me again.
She was still trembling a little when I pushed her a few inches away, trying to make eye contact. She gave out a mewling noise, almost kittenish, and looked down to avoid looking at me. Suddenly, she stopped crying for a second, then started to giggle. I looked down as well to find her nipples clearly showing through the fabric of her tee-shirt -- just like mine.
"Look," she said, laughing. "We match!"
I heard her laughter starting to move towards hysteria, and I reached over under her chin and tilted her head up until her eyes met mine. Even with those awkward platform sandals adding a few inches to her height, she had become smaller as she changed gender, and had to look up at me. When she realized this, she started shaking all over, and not just from the cold.
"Hunter." I spoke forcefully, trying to pull her away from the edge. I could see her come back to herself, just a little, and I gave her arm a squeeze.
"Stay with me, hon. I know this has got to be freakish in the extreme for you, but if I'm going to help, we need to talk for a while. Someplace where we can concentrate without worrying about freezing to death."
"How ... how can you help me? I'm a g-g-g-g-girl!" Tears started falling again.
I couldn't stop myself from being irritated. "It's not a disease, 'Heather.' Half the population seems to cope just fine. You’re not sick or crippled, you're female. Get a grip!" She moaned, frightened by my sudden anger, and turned to run. I realized I was being cruel. I took her arm. "I'm sorry, hon. Really. But listen. This didn't just happen. Someone or something DID this to you. And until you stop crying and start talking to me about exactly what happened, there's no way I can help you fix it."
'Heather' turned those big green eyes on me, and her jaw dropped. Then her lip started to quiver.
"You can fix it?" Her voice rose into uncharted territory -- at least for Hunter.
Then she grabbed my arm and squeezed, hard. I winced, and she backed off. "How?"
"It will take time to explain," I said softly. Not that I wanted to tell anyone my secret, least of all 'Heather,' but I really had no choice. "Just trust me for now, 'kay? I might be able to help, but not if all we do if stand out here and let you cry. All right?"
She nodded and sniffled, and dried her eyes with the back of her hand, still trembling. "First thing is, we need to get you home."
"NO!" 'Heather' shook violently. "Not my house, please. You don't know -- you can't --"
"Okay, sssssssssssh." I gave her a small hug. "Okay, not your house. You're coming to mine, then. Mom won't mind another person for dinner."
"I couldn't ..."
"Yes, you can, and you will. I need to get home, and I may catch a little bit of hell for being late as it is. But if there's a guest, I might just get off with a warning. And we still need to talk, right?"
She nodded reluctantly. I nodded back with a smile, linked my arm in hers, and started walking. She stumbled once on those damnable sandals, and then locked step with me.
We walked a bit in silence. Heather seemed to be doing better with those sandals, although they made the going slow. I felt the silence turn awkward, and turned my head to find her looking at me.
"Why are you doing this?" Her eyes were full of curiosity and gratitude, but also a touch of suspicion. As if my help was all part of the elaborate joke her life had become. "Why are you being so nice? I was a real jerk this morning, and I know you hated me ... before. So why are you helping me now?"
I thought a moment before answering. "The easy answer is because you need me to, but I'm not sure that's enough." She shook her head, and I sighed. "Okay, it's true. I didn't like Hunter. He tried too hard to be tough and grown-up -- to be what he thought a man should be. Instead, he wound up just being nasty and cruel." She flinched, and I gave her arm a squeeze. "But I never hated you, hon. Not even this morning, before Jeremy stepped in. I could have hurt you the way I hurt ... your friends a little while ago. But not out of hatred. Just because you needed to learn not to push."
"But I think someone else out there decided you had crossed some kind of line, and did this to you. Maybe they wanted to punish you, although I don't think being a girl is so awful."
"Maybe because you grew up this way!"
I sighed and smiled inside. "Maybe they wanted to teach you a lesson. Or maybe they were just having fun. No matter why they did it, it's wrong. Being a jerk is not a capital offense, and maybe you might have grown out of it someday, if they had let you."
We had reached the walk up to my house, and I stopped and turned to face her.
"We may not have been friends before, but I'd like to be one, now," I said. She looked surprised -- almost as if she'd never had anyone want to be her friend before. "Heather needs a friend, and Hunter needs one twice as much. So I'll help them both. If I can."
Heather looked down for a second, then looked up and gave me a little smile and a nod. "I'd like that ... Becca," she said. "I'd like to be your friend, if you'll have me." Then she frowned. "But what about ... after? If you do fix this, and I go back to being Hunter?"
I smiled, and gave her a hug and a little peck on the cheek. Her eyes got very wide, and I laughed, just a little.
"Well, that will depend," I said with a grin, "on what kind of Hunter you go back to being."
Heather and I walked into the house, arm in arm. There was music playing — a CD of some jazz quartet Carolyn liked. I could smell dinner cooking, and heard her and Emma talking.
"Becca's okay, Mom," Emma was saying as she set the table. "You know she can take care of herself."
"But she's only thirteen," Carolyn replied. "Martial arts or no, she shouldn't be out alone after dark."
"And I'm not," I said cheerily. "See? I'm home now. And I brought a friend."
"Heather! What a surprise!" Carolyn said, then looked closer. "Have you been crying, dear?"
Carolyn knows Heather. Hmmmm I turned to look at Heather, and saw her eyes were red and swollen and her face all blotchy. She nodded at Mom and looked down.
"There were these four boys," she said softly. "And they wouldn't leave me alone. Becca came along and ...stopped them, Ma'am."
Ma'am? I looked closer at Heather. She had become much more feminine since we walked into the kitchen. The way she stood, how she held her hands, the way she spoke. Must be part of the spell, I decided. So she fits into the new reality without raising questions.
"Stopped them?" Mom's voice was sharp.
"She ... made them stop, Ms. Barnes," Heather said haltingly, still looking at the floor. "You know ... with that fighting thing she does?" She rushed on, trying to get it all out. "So it's really my fault she's late. I'm very sorry."
Emma looked at Carolyn, happily. "See? Told you she could take care of herself."
"And everyone else, it appears." Carolyn gave me a hard look and I shrugged.
"A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, Mom," I said, and behind Carolyn I could see Emma catch my eye and shake her head. I kicked myself mentally. Don't be flip, Becca, I thought. That doesn't really fly with Mom. Never did, even when you were Jack.
Carolyn walked over and gave Heather a hug. "It's not your fault she's late, Heather," she said sternly. "Don’t you go blaming yourself for anything. If you want to blame someone, blame those boys." Heather nodded timidly. "I'm just glad you're okay."
"Mom, can Heather stay for dinner?" I asked quickly. "Is there enough?"
Carolyn nodded. "Of course, dear. We always make enough for twelve, the way your brother eats. And he'll be happy to see Heather, of course." Her face shifted into concerned parent mode, and I looked back and sighed. I could feel a lecture coming on.
"Heather, would you help Emma set the table?" She nodded, and Emma smiled at her as she handed Heather a stack of plates. "Becca, can I see you for a moment in private?"
I nodded, and gave Heather's shoulder a squeeze before going into the living room with Mom. Once we arrived, she wasted no time.
"You fought four teenaged boys?" she said sharply. "In the street?"
"Only two, Mom, honest," I replied. "After the first two went down, the other two got scared of me and decided to leave."
"Scared of you?" Her voice went up an octave, then she stopped, took a breath, and shook her head. "I'm not sure how I feel about this, Becca. On the one hand, I'm proud you stepped in and saved Heather from God know what. She's sweet, but not as ... capable as you are." Her eyes narrowed. "On the other hand, I don't want my little girl brawling in the street. You're only thirteen, and if you lose even one fight ... you could wind up beaten and raped, or dead."
"I know that, Mom," I said quickly.
"Do you, Becca? You don't seem to act like it." She took my hand and sat down with me on the sofa. "Sometimes it seems you're too confident for a thirteen-year-old. Too ... sure of yourself. Like knowing how to fight makes you invulnerable. But it doesn't. Out there in the street, there were lots of things you could have done. You could have screamed for help. You could have run to the nearest door and pounded until someone came out. Instead, you went and took on four boys single-handed." I saw tears glistening in the corners of her eyes, but her voice remained steady. "It was brave, but ... baby, if just one of those boys had hit you from behind while you were 'playing' with the others ... if two of them had grabbed you ... I might never have seen you again." The tears finally fell, and I realized this wasn't a lecture.
It was a plea.
I gave her a hug, and she squeezed back. We held each other for a little while, and I shed some tears, too. Then I pulled back a little so I could look into her eyes. She looked back, and I sighed.
"Mom, I'm sorry if I upset you, really. I don't mean to. But you and ... and Dad taught me how to be the person I am. Because of the values you taught me, I can't run away and do the 'safe' thing if someone is in trouble. What if I screamed or pounded on the door and no one came? How far could they have gotten with Heather if I took the safe way out and ran for help?"
Carolyn did not look happy. "Becca, I --"
"Mom, please let me finish." She stopped and waited. "I promise I'll be careful. You know I don’t want to worry you, but you also know I'm not stupid, and you taught me how to use my head. I won’t take chances, but I won't turn away if someone needs me. Because that's not the kind of person you raised me to be. Okay?"
She looked at me for a long time, then sighed. "I swear, Becca, sometimes you sound just like your father. So rational, so in control. Aren't teens supposed to be wild and impulsive? Just how did you grow up so quickly?"
"I had help." I smiled, and gave her a hug. "Love you, Mom."
"Love you too, baby." She hugged me back. "Please be careful."
"Always." I closed my eyes and hoped I could keep that promise.
When we walked back into the kitchen, Emma was telling Heather about how she had scored the winning goal in her soccer match last week. Heather was riveted, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted. Just as Emma finished her story, Jeremy walked in from the hall where the bedrooms were and broke into a smile.
"Hey, babe!" He moved over to Heather and hugged her tight. I saw Heather's eyes shut and watched her whole body wilt in Jeremy's embrace. Her arms came up to hug him too, and his mouth moved to hers.
"A-hem." Carolyn stood directly behind Heather. "Mom in the room, Jeremy," she said pointedly. His lips brushed Heathers, just for an instant, and he let her go.
"Hi, Mom!" he chirped, a little too enthusiastically. "Dinner ready?"
"Just about," Carolyn replied in a softer tone, and started for the oven.
I looked at Heather, but her eyes were totally on Jeremy. He took her hand, and she responded by moving next to him and putting her arm around him. His arm came up to hold her automatically, and she rested her head on his shoulder. She seemed totally happy.
Whoever did this has a strange sense of dramatic irony, I thought. In love with the guy who beat him down this morning. Or maybe this is just how it would have been, had Heather been born ... Heather. I wonder how Hunter is feeling inside the girl he's become. Because on the outside, she seems ecstatic. I smiled. I wonder if that's how I look with Tommy.
We took out seats. Jeremy held Heather's chair for her, and she smiled and thanked him as she tucked her skirt under and sat primly, knees together. She sat up straight, ate with one hand on her lap (no elbows on the table), and was an attentive and respectful dinner companion. At the end, she tried to help clear the table, but Jeremy took the plates from her hand and shooed her away.
"We need to talk anyway, right, Heather?" I said happily. "Girl stuff, Jeremy. No listening in."
He was bent over the dishwasher, putting in plates. "Go ahead, have your fun. But don't keep her too long, sis. We need time too."
I took Heather's hand and guided her down to my bedroom. When I closed the door, she seemed to shudder all over, and collapsed on the bed in a heap.
"God," she breathed. "That felt so good, it was scary. He really cares about me ... about Heather. And when I'm out there, all I can think about is him."
"Pretty strong, huh?" I flopped down on the bed next to her.
She looked down, and her voice became hushed. "Becca, I never felt like that before. Ever. I thought about ... sex a lot, you know? What guy hasn't? But deep inside I knew, when I looked in the mirror, that I'd always be sniffing after it like a junkyard dog on a bitch in heat. I knew nobody would ever want me. No matter how much I wanted it."
"So I wanted sex. But I've never loved anyone. And I've never been loved." Heather started shaking. "I didn't know what love felt like. And suddenly, there's this guy, and he sees me, and his eyes light up ... It ... it felt so good out there, Becca. His arms around me, wanting me, loving me." She looked at me and her eyes were red again, and her lip was quivering. "But it's not real! I'm not really this girl, and when I go back to being me, he'll just hate me again. Just like everybody hates me."
I put my arms around her and gave a squeeze. "Sssssssssh. It's okay. I don't hate you, hon. Never did, remember?"
"But he did," she sniffled. "And he will again."
"Jeremy may surprise you, Heather," I smiled. "He sure surprised me this morning."
Heather smiled in spite of herself. "Me too! Man, he took me down hard ... without breaking a sweat." The smile slipped from her face. "Maybe if he had been my friend in the first place, I wouldn't have chased after the jerks I wound up hanging with." She shook her head. "I was pretty damned stupid, wasn't I?"
"Pretty much, hon," I said, and her head snapped up, surprised. I smiled and gave her a squeeze. "Truth between girlfriends, always, Heather. No games, right?" She relaxed and nodded. I pushed forward. "Listen, if you don't tell me what happened today, Jeremy may wind up being more than a friend for the rest of your life."
Heather got up and took a few steps away, her back toward me, her arms folded under her breasts. I meant it as a way to get the conversation headed toward what happened, but she seemed to be giving it serious thought. Then she shook all over like a spaniel coming out of a river, and looked at me with a rueful smile.
"Sorry," she said softly. "I guess I got distracted."
"Love does that to you, hon." I smiled. "Believe me, I know."
She turned away again. "I know I can't stay like this, not when -- I just can't."
She's hiding something, I thought. But now's not the time to pry it out of her. Instead, I nodded. "Tell me about what happened today."
She shrugged. "I don't remember it all. It was late in the day, I know that much. I had a free period, a study hall." She sniggered. "Like I'd study, right?"
I watched as bits of the old Hunter slipped out of Heather as she talked. Her shoulders hunched just a little, and her weight shifted in a way that just didn't work quite right with her new hips.
"So ... I was hanging out by the girl's locker room, trying to get a look inside when the door opened ... you know, when someone left?" She ducked her head, embarrassed. Her hands did that weird shuffle move I'd seen Hunter do a thousand times before, and she tried to slip them in her pockets before realized she didn't have pockets to slip them into. Uncomfortable, she folded her arms under her breasts again. "Yeah, I know. It was stupid and childish, but we already covered that, right?" I nodded and gave her a small smile.
"Anyway, I was waiting there, and suddenly this girl grabs me by the arm and swings me around. 'Hunter, you little perv,' she shouted, 'trying to peek at the girls!' I tried to shake her off, but another girl grabbed my other arm. I struggled a little, but the two of them were pretty strong. Which was weird, because I might be small, but I'm not weak, ya know? Or at least I wasn't, before."
"'Let me go!' I yelled, more than a little freaked. The first girl smiled like I said somethin' funny, and she said 'oh, we'll let you go all right -- right where you want to be. Enjoy the ride, pussy.' A third girl opened up the door to the locker room, and the first two threw me hard right through. Then ... nothin'. I thought I hit my head or somethin', because I was just ... out. Everything went black."
"When I woke up, I was in the nurse's office, lyin' down. She called me Heather, and at first it sounded right, ya know? But then part of me realized it wasn't my name. She said I had fainted in the locker room and some of the girls had brought me there. When I tried to sit up, I knew that more than my clothes had changed. But instead of going insane, my brain shifted inside, and I smiled at the nurse and told her I was feeling much better, and I really wanted to get back to class. She smiled back at me and wrote me a pass, and before I could say 'hey I've got boobs,' I was out the door and standing in the hallway."
She sat back down on the bed and looked at her feet.
"It was totally weird, you know? Suddenly I'm standing by myself, and everything feels wrong again. I'm balancing on these stupid sandals, purse over my shoulder, standing up straight, hair curling down past my shoulders, and my tee shirt showing major cleavage with my tits sticking out like they're on display or somethin'. I start walking towards my next class, hips moving like a snake, trying hard not think about any of it. Just trying to hold on to ... me. Then the bell rings, and suddenly there are about a thousand people in the hall. Half of them are boys, and it felt like half of them liked to ... to touch. Everywhere."
Heather shuddered, and I put an arm around her. "And then I was her again, trying hard not to let them touch me. I barely made it to class without bawling like a baby, and it turns out I had walked myself to 'my' fashion design class. A memory surfaced and I realized I ... Heather was learning how to design and make a dress for the Homecoming Dance. I'm thinking, 'Damn, this is so going to suck,' right before I walked through the door. But the instant I do ... it doesn't. All of the sudden, I'm smiling, joking with the ... other girls, having a great time, talking about colors and fabrics and things I never wanted to know in a millions years. It's not horrible. In fact, it feels pretty good. But deep down inside, I know it's not what I'm supposed to be doing. It's not ME."
"That's when I started to worry. Everyone thought I was this Heather chick. I mean, here I was, sewing this dress and hanging -- with girls -- and I was having fun." She stopped, thought for a moment, and looked at me. "Becca ... when I was Hunter, I ... I NEVER had fun. Not really. I used to just kill time. This is going to sound weird, but part of me began to wonder if I really was her. Like, maybe I really was Heather, and this was just some kinda breakdown she was going through, you know? Maybe Hunter was just somethin' she made up. So I decided to just go with it, and relaxed, and kinda went with the program."
"Anyway, class ended and I got up with everyone else and we all put our materials away and left. Then I started thinking, out in the hall. This whole thing started by the girl's locker room. Maybe if I find the girls who took me to the nurse, or the ones who threw me through the door, I could figure out what's real."
"So off I go, walking through the halls being Heather, watching for stray hands and smiling and saying hey to people I didn't know before a few hours back. I get to the hallway outside the gym, and it's quiet. Suddenly they grabbed me from behind -- the same girls from before. And they are seriously pissed."
"'So, bitch,' the one who threw me said with a smile. 'How does it feel to be the prey instead of the Hunter?' And they all laughed, like it was funny, and one tugged on my hair hard and the other reached over and pinched a tit until I cried, and ... and a third reached under my skirt and I tried ... I tried ... so hard ..."
Heather just lost it again, and I just held her tight and let her cry it out. Inside I was seething. Now the gloves come off, I thought savagely. Bad enough to rip his reality away, but to torture him when he's so close to the edge? And for what -- trying to peek in the locker room? Somebody is going to pay.
"When they finished ... playing with me, they left me in a corner of the locker room curled up in a ball, sobbing. I could hear them laughing all the way down the hall. I didn't move. I was ... afraid. I was afraid it was all a trick, and I'd get up to leave and they'd come back for me. Finally, I realized I was alone. And I also knew that Hunter was real, and they'd ... turned me into Heather somehow. Changed everything."
"I stood up slowly, tremblin' all over, like I was cold. All of my clothes were twisted. My ... bra was ... pulled up over my ... breasts and it ... hurt. I ducked into a stall and locked it behind me. Then I reached into the neck of the tee shirt to straighten straps and ... slip my boobs back in the cups ... move 'em around until it felt okay again. When I left the stall, I walked over to the mirror and saw what my hair looked like. So I sighed, took a brush from my purse and pushed it all back into place like I was doing it all my life. And my ... make-up was all smeared and smudged, so I opened the purse, took out some stuff and fixed it without even thinking twice. By the time I realized what I was doin', it was done. That was scary, too."
"I couldn't go home." She said it so decisively that I didn't dare ask why. "So I thought about it and wondered if maybe it was just ... just here at the school. You know? Maybe someone out in the world would remember Hunter and know what to do. So I left and went to the only friends ... Hunter had." She shivered and wrapped her arms tight around her middle. "You saw how well THAT worked. They treated me ... like I tried to treat you. I'm sorry."
I gave her another hug. "All past, hon. What's important now is getting your life back."
Heather gave me a look that was both hopeful and wary. "Your turn to talk, Becca. How can you help me do that?"
I stood up and walked across the room, then turned to face her.
"Here's the short answer. What happened to you — someone messing with reality — it's something that happens all the time, and something the Universe frowns upon. I've been chosen to be a kind of ... defender for people like you. They call me The Advocate, and it's my job to push back when someone uses magic to be cruel or gain power over someone else."
She looked at me, and her face crumpled into disbelief and despair. "Oh, come on! What are you, Buffy the freakin' Vampire Slayer?" She started shaking. "Here I thought you were being serious, and you come at me with a story like that."
"It's true. You know magic is real. You're living proof of it right now."
Her laughter came out shaky as her whole body trembled, and she looked down between her breasts to avoid looking at me. "Yeah, maybe. But that doesn't mean you're Wonder Woman all of the sudden. You were just stringing me along. And I thought you were my friend." Her shoulders started shaking as Heather began to cry again, and I sighed.
She's so fragile, I thought. Must have been hurt alot in her life before this. Too many disappointments. I sighed. Time to show my "badge" and put my magic where my mouth is.
"Heather?" I said softly. "Look up."
She did. Her eyes met mine, upside down, as I stood on my own ceiling with my hands pressed on my thighs, trying hard to keep my skirt from flipping up -- well, down -- to expose my panties. She froze, and then wilted onto the bed, not quite fainting.
I dropped back to the floor and kneeled down in front of her. "Heather, honey? Are you okay?"
She nodded, just once, and pulled herself into a ball on my bed.
"Do you believe me now?" She nodded again, and peeked at me through one eye.
"I'm sorry ... for doubting you." Her voice sounded small and timid. I reached out to touch her arm, and stroked it gently.
"No problem, baby," I whispered. "You've been through a lot today. I wouldn't believe it myself if I weren't living it."
She pulled herself upright on the bed, brushed her hair out of her face and looked at me with new respect. "What ... what else can you do?"
"Honestly, I'm not sure," I admitted sheepishly. "I've only just started learning how to be the Advocate, so I don't know everything I'm capable of, yet. But I do need to help you now, so I guess we'll file this under 'on-the-job training.'" She gave me a small smile. "Did you recognize any of the girls who hurt you? The ones who did this to you?"
Heather shook her head. "No, but I can point them out to you if I see them again."
"Good. I need to do some research, and --"
There was a knock on the door.
"Yes?" I raised my voice.
"It's Jeremy," a muffled voice proclaimed. "I've come to claim my girl!"
"Well, you can't have her yet!" I said as Heather's eye flashed. The door opened, and I watched her shift into lovestruck girl mode almost instantly. Jeremy stood at the door, his hand on his chest, hamming it up for all it was worth.
"You shall not keep me from her," he boasted. "Even if a thousand men block my path, I will prevail. Through swamps and thickets of deadly poisoned thorns, through dragons and ogres and ..."
She giggled and threw herself into his arms. "Save me, oh brave knight!" She proceeded to wilt in his arms, and I could barely keep from laughing. He bent over her and gave her a long deep kiss that ran through Heather's whole body like a wave. I saw a flash of her aura — love and desire and acceptance and peace. It was nothing like the blackness that filled Hunter this morning.
Jeremy broke from the kiss and looked at me. "She's mine!"
Heather looked at me with a plea in her eyes. Was it to get her away from him or to let her be with him for a while? I thought about it for a few seconds and realized that being with Jeremy was one of the few things about this whole experience that made her feel better.
God knows she could use some safe time with someone she trusts, I thought, and nodded.
"She's yours, for now, good Sir Knight," I cackled maniacally, hunching my shoulders just a bit to achieve the "evil crone" look. "But I will have her in my clutches again before the night is out."
I saw her whole body relax, and knew I'd made the right call. She needed to be loved and held and cared for, and to feel that someone cared for her just because of who she was. Even if Heather wasn't who she really was inside, she was real to Jeremy, and Jeremy's love was real to the girl she had become.
"Thanks, sis," Jeremy said with a smile. He lifted her to her feet, took her by the hand, and walked her out and down the hall. She turned and gave me a weak smile as they left.
I closed the door behind them and flopped down on the bed on my stomach. I rested my upper body on my elbows to avoid squashing my breasts under me, and settled my chin on my intertwined hands.
Four of them that we know of, I mused, and wielding enough power to totally reshuffle reality on a whim. I should have tried to shuffle it back as long as I had her here. Maybe I should go and --
"I'm afraid it won't help." A familiar female voice came from the pile of stuffed animals at the foot of the bed, and a worn purple bear in a lavender skirt pulled her way out of the pile.
I smiled. "Well, isn't that a blast from the past. I'm glad I kept that bear."
The bear straightened her skirt and sat down next to me.
"As are we. This form brings back fond memories of our earliest meetings, Becca. We are happy it is still here to inhabit." There was a short companionable silence.
"So ... why won't it help?" I rolled over and sat cross-legged on the bed. "Why can't I try to transform her back?"
"Oh, you can try, but this is an unusual situation. Usually a transformation can't be reversed unless you know how it was done, exactly. We have given you the ability to ... I believe you call it 'reverse engineering?' You can deconstruct most magical spells and incantations and create 'anti-spells' to counter them. But whatever they did to her used a different type of magic -- one that reconstructs reality and actively fights any attempt to reverse its effects." The bear's voice held disapproval. "It's something we haven't seen since long before the Roman Empire — a form of sorcery that was particularly dangerous, even in the hands of highly trained and educated mages. In the hands of a group of middle-school girls with revenge on their minds, the results could be catastrophic."
"And why doesn't the Omnipresence step in and take it from them?"
"Free will," the bear replied crossly. "That delicate balance between Chance and History. Events conspired somehow to put it in their hands, and if The Omnipresence acted directly against them, it would create repercussions that could seriously undermine The Master Plan ... or so I'm told. The Omnipresence does not choose to break its own rules lightly. Doing so would unravel decades -- if not centuries -- of meticulous work. That's part of why it empowered you."
"Because I can also exercise free will against those who wield this kind of power?"
The bear nodded. "You are the wild card in The Omnipresence's deck. If you triumph, it will be because your will, your knowledge, and your judgment will lead you to victory."
"Terrific. So ... how do I fix this?" I asked, looking down at the bear. She in turn looked down at her stubby paws.
"Frankly, we're at a loss," she said sadly. "From its use in the distant past, it requires some kind of focal point ... a talisman or idol, as well as knowledge of the correct way to address the powers involved. Unfortunately, the focal point can be nearly anything, as long as it has been permeated with the proper essense."
"Can't the Omnipresence tell us what it is and where?"
The bear managed to pout with its stitched-on mouth. "The Omnipresence does not deal directly with anyone. And giving us information that might help us could jeopardize --"
"--the delicate balance between Chance and History. I know, I know." I flopped backward and rolled over onto my tummy facing the Arbiter. "For someone all-knowing, all-seeing, and all-powerful, the Creator of all Things seems perpetually ham-strung by its own rules."
"Hmmmmm." The bear stroked its chin with a stubby paw. "Just as a good scientist is constrained by the scientific method. Look at it this way. The Omnipresence is attempting to ... change the universe 'in flight' as it were. It is constantly juggling people and events to influence the choices made by the inhabitants of the Universe as they move forward towards the future. The result of all these choices is a future built by everyone to fit the Creator's Plan. And the only way to achieve the Plan properly is by allowing the inhabitants to exercise their free will ... freely. The Omnipresence obeys its own rules to achieve its own goals. By breaking them, it only defeats itself. You see?"
"So in other words, we're on our own."
"Essentially, yes."
I spent an hour chewing on it after the Arbiters had gone. Every minute I spent just made me more frustrated. I'm supposed to be so powerful, I growled at myself. I'm supposed to help her. How can I help her if I don't know where to start?
With a heavy sigh, I pushed it to the back of my mind and pulled my backpack over. I had homework. Not as easy as I'd hoped, but easier than it had a right to be for a thirteen-year-old girl. I guess learning all this stuff before doesn't mean I've got easy access this time around, I grumbled. I took a glance at the clock, and wondered when the new Heather had to get home. She might have a curfew on a school night, and I didn't want her to get in trouble because she forgot she was a teenaged girl, instead of a guy used to coming and going as he pleased.
I wandered out into the living room to find Jeremy and Heather cuddled up on the sofa watching an episode of Firefly. I stopped for a second to watch them, and sighed. They looked good together, and happy. It seemed a shame to ruin the moment. But if Heather got grounded for being late, it would be harder to help her. She'd be confined to quarters, unable to move freely.
"Hey, girlfriend," I said softly. They both looked at me. "When do you need to get home?"
All of the color drained from her face at once, and she shivered. Jeremy cuddled her tighter.
"Cold, hon?" he asked. She shook her head quickly and looked back at me.
"Please excuse me for a second, Jer?" Heather asked. "I need to talk to Becca about something."
He gave her a quick squeeze. "Sure, Heather. Hurry back!"
She rose from the couch and grabbed my arm, hustling me back down the hall. When we reached my room, she shut the door quickly and leaned against it. Tears were already falling.
"Becca, I can't go home!"
"Sure you can," I said softly. "Nothing to worry about. They'll just see you as everyone else sees you, as a girl."
"THAT's the problem!" She ran across and threw herself on the bed.
"What do you mean?"
Heather's face was buried in my bedspread. "There is no 'they,' Becca. Just me and Dad."
"So your Dad will --"
"NO!" She lifted her head and looked at me. "You don't get it yet. When I ... was Hunter, he used to hit me all the time. Just punch me around, you know? Because he could."
That explains a lot, I thought.
"My Dad drinks. A lot. And he buys porn ... stacks and stacks of it. He doesn't like me pawing through it, but I've seen some of the mags around. High School Hotties, Teen Queens, Young Meat ..."
In the back of my mind, pieces began to fit together. And I didn't like the picture they made. I started shaking my head.
Heather nodded. "It's why I couldn't go home before. Why I couldn't even think about it. I know he wants to ... he LIKES teenaged girls, Becca. And if he hit me all the time when I was Hunter, just because he could ... what do you think he'll do to Heather? What does he already do to Heather?"
She moaned and curled up in a ball on my bedspread.
"If I go back, I'll act just like Heather would around him. If I used to let him hit me, then Heather will ... will ... NO! I won't go back. I can't!"
I went over and put my arms on her back. I could feel her quivering.
"It's okay, Heather," I said. "It'll be okay."
And it will be, I thought grimly, patting her gently while my blood ran cold. THIS I can do. Nothing mystical about it. No fuzzy areas to worry about, no 'delicate balance of Chance and History.' He beat Hunter and raped Heather, and no one ever noticed? He's done hurting her. I'm going to stop it. Now. Tonight.
And it will be a pleasure.
Notes:
To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 9
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Becca's vow to protect Heather runs straight into a complication she hadn't seen, and a limitation she can't avoid. With time running short, can The Advocate do what must be done -- without using her power?
Part 9
that comes with his freedom." -- Bob Dylan
of conservation of energy. For another, how can it be the survival of
the fittest when the fittest keeps putting himself in situations
where he is most likely to be creamed?" -- Solomon Short
As I held Heather, I tried to think past the rage, and realized that the situation was trickier than I first realized.
The nature of the spell that had changed Hunter made her feel and act like Heather whenever she was around other people. Thanks to my status as The Advocate, I was apparently immune to whatever made everyone else see her as Heather -- and she was immune to whatever made her be Heather around others when just we two were together. This added another dimension to the problem.
I had to get her away from her father, but not placed in state custody or a foster home. If that happened, she'd be forced to be Heather nearly every minute of every day -- never alone, always surrounded by people who only saw her as a young girl, abused by her father. I didn't know enough about the magic those girls had used to change her reality, so all I had were questions. Would having to be Heather all the time destroy what was left of Hunter? I just didn't know. I needed to keep her here with me, until I could get this whole magic mess sorted out.
Besides, I thought, she's fragile. Heather needs me ... and right now she needs Jeremy, too. I can't have her out there alone and friendless when the whole point of all this is to keep her safe and whole until I can fix things. If ... no, when I manage to get her life back as Hunter, I want him to know he has friends.
Suddenly, the beginnings of a plan began to form in the back of my mind, and I pushed Heather away slightly to get her attention.
"Hea ... Hunter?" She looked up at me, tears streaking her pale face. "Can you ... remember Heather's memories when you're with me?"
"Sort of," she said. "More emotions than memories. For example, I can still feel Jeremy's ... love surrounding me, and my ... how I feel for him. It's stronger than what Hunter felt, so it pushes my old feelings aside, kinda."
"Can you remember ... exactly what your father does ... to Heather?"
She shook violently all over, and I hugged her tighter. "Just the fear ... and pain ... and disgust when its over and he leaves me and I ache and I'm messy and all I want to do is cry..."
"Ssssssh, baby," I whispered, just holding her. "It's okay. I told you I'm going to fix this, and I am. I'm just trying to figure out how." Heather nodded, and I let the shaking subside some. I began again, tentatively. "I need you to try something for me. I know it's going to hurt if it works, but I need you to go down the hall away from me and try to remember how things always start with your Dad ... as Heather."
She started shaking her head. "I can't!"
"Ssssssh," I said softly. "You don't have to remember anything else, just how it starts. I know it's going to be rough, but I have the beginnings of a plan, and I need to know." Tears flowed out from under her eyelids as she bowed her head, and impulsively I gave her a squeeze. She looked up, surprised, right into my eyes, and I smiled. After a bit, her lips twitched, and a smile slowly crept onto her face as well.
"You're my friend, hon, and I wouldn't hurt you for anything. But if you can do this, I think I can get him out of your life ... well, Heather's life ... forever." I spoke solemnly, and held her eyes with mine. "He will never touch you again."
"Can't you just ... you know ... use magic or something?" Heather rested her head on my shoulder, trying not to look at me at all. "Can't you just make him stop, or just ... go away?"
I thought about it for a second. "I'm pretty sure I could do both. But I'm not sure I should."
She pulled back and looked at me, confused. "Why?"
"Well, I'm new at this," I replied tentatively. "I'm still not sure exactly what I'm supposed to use my powers for. I do know I'm here to stop magical abuses, not cause them for my own purposes. Maybe I can do whatever I like and hang the consequences, but I don't know. It's also possible I could confuse or even corrupt the magic those girls used if I use my magic to change the Universe they created ... when they changed you. If I change the pattern too much magically, they might not be able to set things right later."
I shook my head. "I'm still too new at this to know for sure, but when it comes to fixing what your life is now, we have to do it the old-fashioned way. Or as close to the old-fashioned way as we can." Heather put her head back on my shoulder and we sat like that for a while.
"So ... can you try to remember? For me?" I felt her nod, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "That's my girl!" She laughed. "What's so funny?"
She looked up into my eyes, and smiled. "I never thought I'd ever be happy to hear someone call me their girl," she said. "First Jeremy, now you. Even if I had to lose everything I had, it feels good to finally have ... friends." Heather looked down, avoiding my eyes. "Thank you for being here for me, Becca. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along outside."
"You'd have done your best, which is all anyone can ask of herself," I said seriously, and touched the tip of her nose with mine. She laughed. "Now go see what you can remember, hon, while I think this out some more. If it hurts too much, you come right back and we'll think of something else, 'kay?"
Heather stood up unsteadily on her heels, gave me a half-hearted salute, and walked over to the door and out into the hall.
I have to make this work, I thought. I can't let anything happen to her. I won't.
I was amazed at how quickly Heather had become family -- and how determined I was to keep her from harm.
"You shouldn't be surprised," the lavender bear piped up from the corner of the bed, near the pillows. "It's part of what makes you a good choice for Advocate. Your ability to care -- to even forgive and embrace those others in your position would have considered enemies -- is what gives you the balance to use the powers we have given you wisely."
"It's just being human ... and humane," I snapped, irritated and embarrassed at another compliment. "I keep trying to tell you I'm not so special."
"And we will continue to tell you how wrong you are," the bear replied formally, with a touch of irritation in her cultured British tones. "By overestimating humanity as a whole, you overestimate the virtues of the humans you will be dealing with. As a result, you run the risk of being unprepared for the level of treachery and deceit you will face in your position." The bear sighed, and softened its tone. "Becca, the Omnipresence has entrusted you with powers and authority never before given to a human. Although you are loathe to admit it, the reason for the trust placed in you is that, in many ways, you embody the best of what humanity has to offer."
"And the minute I start believing you when you tell me that, I'll become as big a jerk as Leander," I said softly, settling back on the bed and folding my legs under me in a position that should have been uncomfortable, but wasn't.
The bear shook her head. "Impossible," she said. "I think you believe it could happen, but it won't. It isn't in you."
Still embarrassed, I changed the subject. "You overheard my conversation with Heather?"
The bear nodded. "And caution is definitely indicated. Mixing different magicks is a tricky affair, and sometimes results in unforeseen consequences. With the age and power of the magick these girls are using, there's no telling what might happen."
"Still, there is a chance I will have to go up against them, my power against theirs," I said. "What will happen then?"
Suddenly I heard a thud from the hallway, and I leaped towards the door. Opening it, I found Heather collapsed on the floor, crying. Carolyn's door flew open and Jeremy appeared from the kitchen simultaneously, and as Heather curled up into a ball, I got down on the floor with her and cuddled her in close, hugging and shushing as best I could.
"Oh, Becca, I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "It just hurt so much to remember, and when I did, I ... remembered what came after, and ... and ..."
"What's going on?" Mom said, obviously confused.
"Heather? What's wrong?" Jeremy stood at the end of the hall, unsure of what to do.
Suddenly a piece of the plan clicked into place, and I knew what we needed. I just knew.
We needed allies.
We sat at the kitchen table an hour later. With my urging, Heather had finally spilled everything about her father's abuse in a flood of tears as she lay there on the hallway floor. Jeremy and Mom were furious and horrified, and even though everyone there was clearly on her side, she kept looking everywhere in the hallway except at Jeremy.
"Why didn't you tell me this was happening, baby?" He had asked her softly, a touch of hurt behind the words. She turned her face to the wall and sniffled.
"Because ... because I thought, if you knew ... you wouldn't want me anymore." Her voice was so small and hurt, I ached in sympathy. "I'm ... used, aren't I? Just a little slut, he calls me. You can do so much better."
Once again, Jeremy showed me a depth I never knew he had. He kneeled down next to her and touched her shoulder.
"You thought that, did you?" She nodded. "Well, then, you're a dummy." Heather turned and looked at him in surprise, and he smiled and gave her a small kiss. "I love you, stupid. The fact that your Dad is an evil lecherous hump doesn't change that. That's not how love works. You're not 'used.' You're perfect. And there's no one better for me than you. So come get hugged, okay? God knows you could use all the hugs in the world and then some."
All this from a twelve-year-old boy. I was so proud of my son I could burst.
She gave a little mewling sound and threw herself into his arms. Mom and I exchanged a warm glance over their heads, and a few minutes later we found ourselves around the kitchen table with steaming mugs of cocoa and a whole lot of rage between us.
Heather and Jeremy were holding hands, with frequent squeezes. Emma had heard everything in the hallway and had joined us in the kitchen, as angry as the rest of us. I had a plan -- one I believed would work perfectly -- but Carolyn was the true adult here, and I couldn't just step on her prerogatives as Mom.
"We have to call the authorities," she said decisively. "We can't let her go back to that house tonight."
"We have no proof," I replied softly. "Just Heather's word versus his."
"Social services will take her side." Carolyn's voice was flat. "She won't be with him anymore."
"But this will go on for weeks or months, and with a good lawyer he could beat the case." Again, my voice was soft, my eyes down, focused on my cup of cocoa. Non-confrontational, that's tonight's exercise in being Carolyn's daughter instead of her husband, I thought. "In the meantime, she'll be shuffled from foster home to foster home. And who knows what kind of monsters she could meet out there ... alone in the system?"
"I can't not call the authorities, Becca," she said with a spurt of anger. "Not with what I know now. And I can't just let her stay here with us without getting the courts involved. What do you want me to do?"
For a long time, I was silent, with Mom glaring at me. It seemed like everyone else was holding his or her breath, waiting for one of us to say something. And she asked the question, opening the door for me. It was my turn to speak, and I was about to try and take command.
What I still hadn't figured out was whether Carolyn would let me.
"We need to get her Dad dead to rights, with something that will stand up in court," I said, looking up into her eyes. "And we need to do it now. Tonight."
Everyone turned and looked at me simultaneously. The silence was deafening.
"And we need to get her away from the system and bring her home with us, before social services latches onto her. It's where she belongs -- with people who love her."
Then ... I told them all my plan.
"ABSOLUTELY NOT!"
"It's the best way, Mom. We can --"
"You can put yourself in danger is what you can do," she said. "Cutting corners works well on TV, but in real life, you're going to get yourself hurt or killed trying to pull a stunt like that. Both you and Heather."
"Police officers do it all the time," I said, trying to remain reasonable.
"Yes, they do." Carolyn's voice held an unmistakable edge. "With backup, warrants, and weapons. You have NONE of those!"
"You're right." I nodded, and she looked startled. "But what we do have is surprise. He's ... been doing this to her for a long time, and Heather never told anyone before. So he won't be expecting this."
Carolyn turned to Heather, her voice softening. "Heather, baby?" She looked up. "Why didn't you ever tell anyone?"
Heather looked down, and Jeremy squeezed her hand.
"First, he told me ... if I told anyone, he would make it look like ... it was all my idea," she whispered. "He'd claim I came on to him, and the more time passed ... the longer I kept quiet, the more it would seem like I ... like I really wanted him that way." She shuddered all over. "But I didn't! And the first time I said no to him, he ... beat me so badly I had to stay home from school for a week, it hurt so bad. After that, I just ... just ..."
Jeremy wrapped his arms around her and held her as she cried soundlessly, tears pouring down her face.
"It's okay, baby," Carolyn said gently. "It's not your fault, no matter what he said."
"This is not about whose fault this is." I looked down into my cocoa. "It's about how he could make her look in front of a jury ... or on the front page of a newspaper."
I could feel Carolyn's anger from across the table, matching mine. We all stayed quiet for a minute, then I looked up at the woman who used to be my wife and spoke. Calmly. Rationally.
"Mom, you're a lawyer. You know we need evidence, and we can get it tonight. And you know people ... judges ... police officers. You can call the authorities in, and get custody of Heather once this is over.
"Becca, I --"
Then I just lost it. "Mom, please listen. We can do this! We have to do this!"
Her face hardened, and I knew the conversation was over. She stood up, towering over me.
"What I just heard tells me I don't want you anywhere near that man. Heather either. He beat his own daughter to a pulp, and you want me to let you walk in there? No! You're thirteen years old, Becca! We call the police and we do this by the book." The resolve in her voice told me that, for her, the case was closed. "I'll pull whatever strings I can find to get us to keep Heather once her Dad is in custody. But that's as far as I can go." She sighed, and bowed her head. "Now, you take Heather into your room and wait for the police to show up."
"But --"
Her head came up. "NOW, Rebecca!"
I rose, took Heather's hand, and stormed off down the hall to my bedroom. Once we were in, I slammed the door, breathing hard.
Heather collapsed on the bed and sobbed. I waited for the walls to stop shaking and for my anger to subside. As I stood there listening to her cry, I ran the whole thing through my brain one more time. The plan felt right. Logically, it was crazy and dangerous as hell, but when I first agreed to become the Advocate, the Arbiters told me to trust my instincts. Deep down, in my soul, I knew this was the best way to make things come out the way they should.
And I knew I had to follow that feeling, no matter how right Carolyn was about how mind-bogglingly stupid this little adventure really was.
Almost mechanically, I went over to the closet and took down my video camera, I checked to make sure the battery was charged, and I had a blank tape. I went through my purse, but I had no lipstick, just gloss. That won't do, I thought numbly.
Heather stopped crying and watched me, her head tilted to one side. I searched through the desk drawers for electrical tape, but found nothing.
"What are you doing?" she sniffled.
"Getting the goods on your Dad, if you'll help."
"Wha ... what can I do?"
"First, do you have some lipstick? Something dark and heavy, like you were wearing earlier tonight?"
She shook her head. "Sure. In my bag, I think. Not your color, though." Heather froze, stunned. "Where did that come from?"
"From the Heather part of you, hon." I smiled, and she looked surprised. "She's leaking all over Hunter. Just look at you. In here with me, all alone, and still sitting like a girl. Back straight, knees together." She froze, realizing I was right, and I smiled and patted her hand. "Not to worry, girlfriend. After the emotional beating you put yourself through tonight, I'm not surprised. You've been through so much. I'm sure it will fade, given time."
She seemed to think about it for a second, then shrugged and searched through her purse. It had been lying discarded by the side of the bed, and it wasn't long before she came up with a black tube. "Here!" I caught it and opened it, then covered the power and recording lights with reddish goo.
"Now comes the hard part." I opened my window and popped the screen. "You're going to have to be brave, okay? We can't get what we need without you, and I'll be backing you up the whole time."
"You want me to ...?"
"Not want, hon. Need. He's only going to talk freely in front of you, because you're the only one who knows what he's being doing." I took her hand and looked into her eyes. "You trust me, right?"
"Yes," she said, then looked off toward the kitchen as if she could see Carolyn. "But your mom --"
"My mom has too much faith in the law and not enough faith in her daughter," I said. "Believe me, I know how easy it is for someone to find a loophole, no matter how good you think a rule is. Your Dad needs to be stopped, and we're the only ones who can make that happen. By getting the evidence we need to put him away. Okay?" I started climbing over the windowsill, and stopped halfway. I felt the edge pressing up between my legs through the thin panties I wore. "Coming?"
Heather just looked at me. "You're going over there ... like that?" I looked down at the same skirt, tee shirt, and blouse combo I'd worn that morning. My hair was still back in a ponytail, and for a second, I couldn't see the problem. Then I smiled.
"Remember when I got those guys off your back earlier?" She nodded. "I couldn't have kicked half as well in a pair of tight jeans. And since your Dad's kink is young girls, I can also use my legs as a distraction ... maybe. If I have to."
I shifted my weight slightly, and the windowsill pushed up hard into a part of me that was way too sensitive to be treated so roughly. Pulling my other leg up and over, I dropped to the ground outside my window with the camera bag slung over my shoulder. Heather's skirt was longer and tighter, and she had to sit on the window ledge and swivel both legs over before dropping next to me on the lawn. I half-caught her, and we smiled at each other before slipping as quietly as we could across the lawn to the street.
As we walked along hand in hand through the chilly night, I suddenly realized I was afraid. All evening, the anger and my concern for Heather had focused me on my mission, but now I felt frightened. Even though I tried to get past it with Carolyn, I had to admit she was right. No matter how many years I had lived as Jack, Becca was only thirteen years old, and she was about to go up against a man twice her size and three times her age.
For the first time since I woke up this morning, I felt ... tiny. Thin and delicate, and undeniably female. The cool air brushing against -- and between -- my legs, coupled with the swing of my hips and the soft bounce of my breasts as I walked, made me realize how defenseless I truly was against an opponent as big as Heather's father. Attitude and anger won't get you far, I thought sourly, especially against a ruthless thug who doesn't care who gets hurt. I shivered in spite of myself.
Of course I was the Advocate. I still had powerful magic on my side, and I was getting pretty darned good at using it effectively, even after just one "lesson." Unfortunately, if I used it directly against Heather's father to defend myself, I ran the risk of destroying any chance of getting Heather back to her life as Hunter.
I sighed. This is sounding worse by the second, I thought. Maybe I should turn us both around and head for home ... let Carolyn sort this out.
Then Heather squeezed my hand, and I looked at her. She smiled at me through her own fear, and I realized I couldn't back out now. She was taking charge of her life, and counting on me to back her up. She was my first client, and my friend. And I made her ... and myself ... a promise.
The Advocate doesn't cut and run. I smiled and nodded at her, and she ducked her head, a little embarassed. Break a promise to myself the first time out, and what the hell good am I?
So, no magic then, I mused stoically. It's just me, Heather, a video camera, and a red belt in Tae-Kwon-Do -- all against the biggest piece of slime it has been my pleasure to avoid meeting ... until now.
The slime won't know what hit him.
My thoughts shifted to my conversation with the Arbiter earlier this evening. Heather's father was a prime example of the point she had been trying to make -- the inhumanity of man. And yet, I still couldn't bring myself to tar the entire species with the brush he represented. Maybe being immortal has made the Arbiters jaded, I thought. I know some police officers get that way over time, being exposed to so much hate and fear, pain and death. It must be far worse for someone who lives forever, in a job that shows them too much of humanity's greed and none of its nobility.
For a fleeting second, I wondered if I would come to see the world the way the Arbiters did, someday. Then suddenly, I realized that I couldn't. Unlike the Arbiters, I was human, and for good or ill, these were my people. Keeping them safe was my job ... and, I was surprised to discover, my honor.
I had never had any reason to go to Hunter's house before, but it didn't surprise me to find it was not so very far away. After all, we had shared a bus stop in her previous life, if nothing else. The house was big -- surprisingly so for just Heather and her Dad -- and mostly dark. The lawn was not overgrown but not recently mowed either. Being October, I guessed that her Dad had let the last mowing of the season go, just as I had when I'd been Jack.
I hated having something in common with him.
A dark-colored BMW 735i was parked out front at the curb. It was a few years old, but seemed in good shape. We crossed the front lawn as quietly as we could, avoiding the sidewalk and the street. On pavement, Heather's sandals made more noise than a castanet orchestra performing the 1812 Overture. I was counting on that noise later, but right now, quiet was the order of the day.
"He's in the living room?"
Heather nodded. "Usually. He comes home late a lot, and if I'm not here, he pours himself a drink and waits for me to come back. In there." She gestured towards the big window.
I looked, but didn't see any light against the curtains. "He just sits and waits ... in the dark?"
She shrugged. "Heavy curtains. He doesn't want anyone to see what goes on in his house. Anyway, the TV is on the far side of the room, facing away from the entryway. He's probably watching ... movies ... getting himself ... ready for me." She shivered, and I took her hand. Heather gave me an uncertain smile. "More ... leakage, I guess. I'm starting to remember the hell he's put her through."
"It ends tonight, right?" I looked into her eyes, and she gave me an uncertain smile. "We're going to end it, you and I. Starting now." I pulled the camera from the bag and turned it on. The viewfinder lit up, but the lipstick on the ready and record lights kept them dark. I didn't hit record yet. I didn't want it to save what I was about to do for posterity.
I had thought a lot about using magic for this part, and decided that something small wouldn't have a lot of effect on the template the girls had used to alter Heather's existence, if any. After all, I wasn't planning on making any wholesale changes to reality, magically speaking. I just wanted to perform a little sleight of hand ... without the hands.
I looked toward the house, and willed my eyes to see past the window and its dark curtains. I felt dizzy as my point of view swept right through the glass and fabric and into the house, hovering at waist level and getting a clear look at Heather's Dad. He was there all right, in a big easy chair with a highball glass in his hand, in a white dress shirt with his tie loosened. He was handsome but soft, as if a good-looking man had melted slightly over time. But I caught an edge of cruelty coming off him in waves -- a focused aggression that could win him victories in the conference room, but seemed out of place in this domestic setting. Or maybe not, I mused, watching him watching television. Maybe he's one of those people who want what they want and go for it at any cost.
Even if it was Heather paying the price.
On the screen, two "boys" a little too old for the football team were having their way with a girl just barely old enough to cheer. Heather's Dad was breathing a little shallow. His eyes were a shade too wide, and I could see the bulge in his dress pants clear across the room.
Terrific. I brought my viewpoint back outside and turned to Heather.
"He's there all right," I said softly. "Showtime, hon. Remember, I'll be right behind you."
To her credit, she didn't hesitate. Heather stood up straight, threw her shoulders back, and gave me a shaky smile. "Showtime," she whispered, and headed over to the driveway where her sandals would make the loudest noise. As the click-clacking of her sandals started, I looked around inside again and picked a good spot for the camera -- a small table near the window. I adjusted the lens for the widest field of view it had, then "imagined" the camera inside facing the man, the television, and the arch leading to the entryway. It disappeared from my hand, and I moved my sight back inside the room to find it exactly where I wanted it to go.
Damn, I thought, I am good.
With my mind, I looked through the viewfinder. Nothing to send to the Cannes Festival or Sundance, but I wasn't looking to win awards. I visualized pressing the record button, and was rewarded with a tiny whirring sound from the camera that went unnoticed under the orgasmic moaning of the "cheerleader" and the video's cheesy soundtrack. Heather was approaching the door, and I ran up behind her, soundless in my sneakers as she opened it with her key and walked inside. I slipped in behind her and let the door swing shut behind me.
"Well," said a deep voice with a touch of a Southern accent. "About time, missy. Keeping your Daddy waiting all night for you to get home."
I looked through the wall and saw him reaching for the remote. A second later, the sound on the TV lowered to almost nothing.
"Hi, Daddy," Heather said in a small voice. She stood just inside the living room on the other side of the arch, with her head down and her arms crossed under her breasts.
"Come on over and give your father a kiss," he said, a little bit of teasing in his voice. "Then we'll play. Tonight you're going to be my cheerleader." He grinned. "Shake your pom-poms at me, then take one for the home team. You know you want to."
Heather shook her head. "No, Daddy."
He froze, just for an instant. "What did you say to me?"
Heather's voice barely quivered. "I said no, Daddy. I don't want to. I never wanted to. You forced me."
Although he never changed expression, I watched a surge of anger burst out of his aura like a flash fire before he pulled it back with an effort. Then he ducked his head and came up smiling.
"Of course I did, angel," he said, almost kindly. "Little bitty girl like you. A package like mine is a scary proposition, especially for your first time and all."
"Oh, no. You forced me." Her voice was flat. "Every time."
He shook his head. "Oh, no. You wanted me."
"I never did!" She exploded. "Not even once!"
He looked down into his glass, and his voice was cool. "You only said no once, as I recall."
"And after I said no, you ... you beat me bloody."
He nodded, and his voice took on an edge. "That's right, I did. Do you know why?"
Startled, she shook her head reflexively.
"Because you needed to understand whose house this is," he replied, some of his anger rising up to the surface. His voice grew a little louder. "You said no ... to me. So I made you see that 'no' was not an option. Not in my house." The anger ebbed slightly, and he took a long pull at his drink. " You needed to see who was stronger. After that, I never had to beat you again. Because you knew I was strong, and you wanted me because I was strong."
"I didn't! I wanted not to be hurt!" Heather's voice shook as she shouted. "I wanted not to be afraid in my own house! I just wanted you to leave me alone."
"Me? Leave a pretty thing like you alone?" He grinned and downed the rest of his drink in one swallow. "No, darlin'. Not going to happen. Not in my house. Best get used to it, cause it isn't going to change. You're mine until you move out. Now you come in here and give me a kiss, and whatever else I want. Or I will make you remember what I already taught you once."
Heather looked at him coldly. "No," she said in a small voice.
I watched the rage grow in him, and knew she'd crossed a line.
"Oh, baby." His tone was flat, and his voice shook as he spoke. "You are in so much trouble now, you're going to have to work really hard to make it up to me. You come in here and kiss me right now, and even though I know you don't like it, you get on your knees and take me in your mouth and make me feel real special. Or I'm going to hurt you so badly, you'll look like a puzzle with pieces missing when I'm through."
She trembled all over, and then her anger overcome her fear. "Then people will know, won't they?" She screamed, using her whole body to throw the words at him. "If you scar me, or beat me until I die, then everyone will finally know what you did to me, for months and months. Then who'll do business with you, Mister 'Incest is best?' Why would anyone buy anything from a bastard who rapes his own daughter every day for kicks?"
Without any warning, he threw the glass straight at her face.
Without thinking, I leaped forward and knocked her out of the way with my body. The glass flew by her head and hit the wall behind us, shattering hard and showering us with fragments. Neither of us really noticed. We were both focused on her father.
He froze, surprised at my appearance between him and his daughter. There was a long awkward silence. Then his anger seemed to pull back, and he smiled, very slowly.
"Well, well, lookee here. You brought a friend ... as a witness?" Heather nodded slowly, and he laughed. "As if anyone is going to believe the two of you over me."
I gave him a look of pure contempt. "Do you think any judge would believe you over us in a case like this? You're stupider than you look."
"Depends on the judge, darlin'," he said with a grin. "I've got a few of 'em in my pocket, along with a couple of prosecutors and a mighty fine stable of lawyers to steer the case their way ... if it ever gets to that. Which it won't."
"I don't see how you can stop it."
"That's 'cause you're not lookin' hard enough." The accent had become slightly more pronounced, almost as if it was too much trouble to keep it from coming out anymore. "You think I didn't see this coming? You think I didn't know she was starting to fray a little around the edges? Girl, every day I sit across the table from men who lie like a rug, steal from babies, drink battery acid for coffee, and eat bitty things like you for lunch with a side of slaw. Got to be able to read people in my business, or you don't get to stay on top. And I like being on top, don't I, baby?"
Heather shivered and stayed quiet.
"Keeping my ass out of jail will be easy," he went on, picking up his bottle and drinking from it. "It's all about making people see what you want them to see."
"Well, you're pretty good at that." I stared right into his eyes. "Otherwise the people you work with must be pretty blind not to see the rapist in the corner office.
He flinched, and I laughed. "Ashamed?'"
"Hell, no," he said, too quickly. "I'm not. Birds of a feather and all. They're just like me."
"Oooo, that's a scary thought," I said with attitude. "A whole office full of creeps like you."
He ignored me and looked over at Heather. "Besides, she wanted me. Every time."
I shook my head. "No, 'Dad,' I think she made it pretty clear that she didn't. Trust me, when you have to beat a girl bloody the first time she says no just to get her to say yes, it's probably rape." He snorted, and took a hit from the bottle. "But since you're not embarrassed or anything, tell me something."
"Anything for you, darlin'." He smiled.
"Why did you do it?"
He gave me a sideways look. "Why? Shit, girl, you don't understand us guys at all." I must have looked confused, because he shook his head and sighed. "Because she's hot, princess!" He looked right at me, and his lip curled into a sneer. "You're all hot! You know you are. Just look at yourself, girl -- in that short little skirt and the skimpy tee. All that red hair and those pouty lips, and those breasts bouncing around every time you move. You're a wet dream in motion, hon. 3-D porn on the hoof. And I'm a man. Why shouldn't I want you? Or her?"
I felt my anger rise. "Because we're both underage ... and she's your daughter, stupid." He scowled at me. "It's not rocket science. It's against the law. And it's not obvious at all. My ... dad would never have --"
"Don't be so sure 'bout that, darlin'. There's something about young meat --"
"We're not meat!" I snarled. "We're people! Even you ought to be able to see that."
He didn't like me talking down to him. I watched rage flare and sputter in his aura while his face and body did nothing. His shoulders twitched and straightened, and he put down the bottle. I could tell he'd come to a decision, but I couldn't figure out what it was.
Fortunately, I didn't have long to wait.
"You're a straight shooter, huh?" Heather's father gave me a measured look. I felt a shock of fear rip through me. He'd gone cold. Way too cold. "Are all the girls your age like you?" He waited a minute, then shrugged. "Heather isn't. She's just a rabbit."
"She stood up to you, didn't she?"
He snorted. "Just the once, then tonight. Other than that, she did whatever I said. She's not hard, or sharp, like you. She's soft. Although I bet you're just the same, under that skirt." He licked his lips and smiled, and it wasn't pretty.
"You'll never know," I said, anger pushing the fear away. "Come too close and I swear I'll cut it off."
It was his turn to sneer. "With what? Your fingernails? Or are you hiding a machete down between those cute little tits of yours?" He took another hit from his bottle, then put it down.
I smiled. "Not so little if I could hide a machete there, jackass. But don't worry. When it comes to cutting you down to size, I promise I'll be creative. There's bound to be something around here with a dull jagged edge. Thanks to you, we've got broken glass all over the place."
He snorted. "Big talk from such a little girl."
"As opposed to Mister 'I've got judges in my pocket,' right? We're talking incest here, not parking tickets. No judge is going to protect someone who did what you did -- over and over and over again." I paused for a second, just watching him. Something wasn't adding up. "What makes you think you're not going to pay? Once Heather talks to the police, you are so dead -- no matter how many big shots you think you've got on your side."
He bared his teeth at me then, in a cold alien grin that never touched his eyes. "Not if she's dead first," he said softly.
At first I wasn't sure I heard him right. Then I heard Heather gasp behind me.
"Run!" I shouted. "Go get help!"
She turned and started for the door, but those damned sandals tripped her before she took more than a step. Her father jumped towards her, completely ignoring me in his haste to stop her from running. Heather gave a squeak and started scrambling across the floor, but her skirt was so tight it made crawling difficult. Just as he reached me, I snapped a hard kick right into his stomach, and he folded at my feet. He grabbed my leg on his way down, but as I struggled to break free from his grip, I watched Heather get up and run out the door.
When he heard the door slam behind her, he growled. Then he let go of my leg, rolled out of range, and rose up on the balls of his feet, teeth bared.
There was a long silence. I could hear Heather's shoes clacking furiously on the pavement outside as she ran away. He considered me from a safe distance.
"That was a bad choice on your part, princess." He stood slightly crouched, hands apart. "Would have been better kicking me in the balls."
"Well, now we agree on something," I said, smiling through the rising terror. Oh, God, I thought wildly. I'm all alone with him. How did things go so wrong so fast? "I won't make that mistake again."
"No, you won't," he agreed, with a tight smile of his own. "Not in this life, anyway."
He lurched forward and I dodged backward, my feet landing in a ready stance.
"You can't win, baby." He backed up again, still smiling. "I'm bigger, stronger, and meaner than you are."
"Oh, I don't know," I said, keeping the trembling from my voice through sheer force of will. "Heather's not dead ... and she's gone for help. I'd call that a win already."
"Well, she'll find herself walking into a heap of trouble, if she comes back here," he replied calmly. "Help or no help."
"I don't see how."
"Well, that's because you're just a little girl, kitten." He threw a punch straight at my head, and I deflected it and countered with one to his stomach. Heather's father made a woofing sound and backed up. He began moving back and forth, spinning his hands, but I kept my eyes steady on his. When he decided to strike, that's where the decision would appear.
"Like I said before, I saw this comin'," he continued. "And I started makin' plans. I've been talking to folks at work for weeks about how strange my daughter's been behaving lately. Then I hid some cocaine and cash under her mattress, and buried some heavy girl-on-girl porn and sex toys in her closet. And I bought this cute little girlie gun in New York on a business trip, and put it in that drawer over there." He tossed his head in the direction of the table by his chair. "See, the idea was, I'd put it in her hand after I shot her with it, and claim self-defense."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, puhleeze!" The sheer girlishness of my response surprised me, and I stopped for a second before continuing. "Like anyone would buy that."
"You'd be surprised, sugar." He adopted an innocent tone. "'Officer, she'd been acting weird for a while now, staying out late, and running with a bad crowd. So I grounded her. The next thing I knew, she's threatening me ... with a gun! I tried to take it away from her, but -- my God, I killed my little girl!'" He grinned. "Something like that."
"What's wrong with you," I snapped, "Haven't you ever seen CSI? She doesn't do coke, so an autopsy will show nothing in her bloodstream. You lose."
"If there was an autopsy, which there won't be. I'll see to that." He started circling to my right, and I countered. "Besides, maybe she was just selling the stuff. Would explain the gun, if anybody bothered to ask. Which they won't."
"But she's not here anymore, is she?" I said sweetly, even though I was terrified. "Awww, poor Daddy. No more crazed killer. Just another victim."
"Well," he said philosophically, "since Heather's not here, I guess you'll be the one trying to kill me, and I'll get her for conspiracy to commit murder instead." He tried a kick of his own, and I slapped the leg away and kicked the back of his other knee so he folded.
When he hit the floor, he rolled to the other side of the room and rose slowly to his feet. That was fine with me. The further away he was from the door or me, the better. Between Mom and Heather, help was bound to arrive, and sooner rather than later. All I had to do was keep him from leaving ... and avoid getting killed in the meantime.
"Oh, that's too, too funny," I said, falling back into ready stance as my nerves sang with an adrenaline high from an unlikely mix of anger and fear. "Tell me ... what's my motive for trying to kill you again? I forgot in all the excitement. Not that you aren't worth killing and all, but I only just met you tonight. And I never kill on the first date."
He laughed. "You are such a hoot, girl, I swear. But you do have a point."
As he thought for a moment, his body moved slowly towards me, as if he thought I wouldn't notice. Then his eyes lit up. "I know! How about a lesbian death pact kind of thing?"
"A lesbian death pact?" I shook my head in disgust. "You watch way too much porn, 'Jethro.'"
"No, no, princess," he insisted, his smile growing again. "It's perfect! I already planted the girl-on-girl stuff in her closet. I'll tell 'em I found it, and when I confronted her with it she told me about you and your little love connection. I told her she could never see you again. Then you came after me with the gun, and I killed you taking it away. She took off, but all of the evidence will point towards another senseless teen murder spree. How'm I doin' so far?"
He lunged and I leaped backward, towards the archway between the living room and entryway. He regained his balance and looked at me from beneath furrowed brows. "Of course, it won't work unless you let me kill you, kitten."
"Won't work anyway," I said with a grin, preparing to burst his bubble. "You messed up, country boy. Heather didn't just tell me. She told my whole family earlier this evening, and my Mom called the cops. They'll be here any minute, and then you ... are ... SO ... toast."
He froze, just for a second. Then his face split in a grin so wide you'd think it was Christmas in October.
"Oh, now that was just stupid," he said in a happy voice. "You made your first and last mistake right there, girl." He tsked at me. "BAD girl, lying to me like that. You should be ashamed."
I was totally confused. "Excuse me?"
"Come on, princess," he said in an "oh so obvious" voice. "I'm a parent, too. And no matter what I do with her, I sure wouldn't send my girl into a house with someone like me. If she had told your Mom, you'd be locked safely in your room, and the cops would have been here first." He shook his head. "No, it won't wash. You came with Heather, you came alone, and you came without anybody knowin'." His voice turned cold, and I could see the resolve in his eyes. "And now you're gonna die here, without anybody realizin' you're gone."
He came at me so fast I could barely dodge, and I wound up with my back to the archway between the living room and the entryway. His momentum carried him to the other side of the arch, and I suddenly realized he was way too close for comfort. He reached for my throat with both hands, but I batted them up and back and went for a kick to the groin that almost reached the target before he twisted and caught it on the thigh. Still, it was full force, and he buckled slightly from the pain.
I took a step backward, away from the archway. I have to get out of here, before he kills me, I thought. But now he's between me and the door. Terrific. I fell into ready stance again. A lot harder being The Advocate when you're all alone and outgunned. I guess that's why they pay me the big bucks. I smiled in spite of myself.
He lurched forward and I brought my hands down on his head. My knee came up to hit him square in the nose. It spurted blood, and both of his hands came up to his face. As he turned away from me, I saw my chance and jumped towards the archway ... towards freedom.
Then he whipped around, completing his spin, and a bloody hand reached for my throat and snagged me up short. For a second he held me suspended inches above the floor, then he smiled at me through the blood that ran down over his lips and dripped off of his chin.
"Sorry, darlin'," he said, his words slurred through swollen lips, "but like I said before, I'm bigger, stronger, and meaner than you'll ever be." He gave me a critical eye. "Damn shame, though, You ARE hot." He shrugged. "Game over, bitch."
He slammed my head into the solid oak arch, and the last thing that went through my mind made me want to cry.
Sorry, Mom.
Then the world went white.
"Becca? Becca, baby? Please wake up."
I felt someone holding my hand, and when a few drops of something wet dropped onto my arm, I realized they were tears.
"M ... mom?" I whispered. I tried to open my eyes, and white-hot pain shot through my head. I closed them tight. Maybe light isn't such a good idea right now, I thought. "Ouch."
"Becca! Oh, thank God," She pressed my hand to her cheek, and I could feel her sobbing. Suddenly I felt ashamed for what I put this woman through, endangering the daughter she loved. I was headstrong and stupid, and I didn't deserve someone as wonderful as her. Sadly, I realized I should have had more faith in her, and my own tears started to flow. "Oh, Mom. I'm ... so sorry!"
"Sssssh, baby," she said through her own tears. "It's all past now, and I have you back." I felt her take a breath, and her voice shook. "For a while, they thought ... they thought ..."
I felt this odd sensation under the pain, but I couldn't pin it down.
"Mom? Are we ... moving?"
"You're in an ambulance, honey. You need to be kept immobile, so you're tied down to a backboard with a cervical collar holding your head in place." We hit a bump and everything flashed red for an instant. I whimpered, and she squeezed my hand. "We got there just after ... when we saw the video, it showed him slamming your head into the wall pretty hard, and ... and ..." Her voice became muffled and I felt more tears fall onto my hand.
A male voice intruded. "We think you might have a concussion, miss, and possibly a skull fracture. We're headed to the hospital for X-rays and a CT."
Terrific. I tried to relax despite the pain. "So ... you saw ... the video?"
"Yes, baby," she whispered. "Everyone saw how brave you were. I wish you could have seen his face when Heather walked over and picked up the camera. Three people had to hold him back, and Jeremy threw himself between Heather and her father and begged them to let the man go so he could take his shot."
I smiled, and that hurt too.
"What about ... Heather?"
"She's ours, at least for now," Carolyn said, a little stronger this time. It was her professional 'I got the job done' voice, and it made me smile again, even if it did hurt. "I called in some favors, and Jeremy's going to put the upper bunk bed back in your room. I didn't think you'd mind sharing."
We were silent for a while. I could feel her head moving against my hand.
"Mom?"
"Yes, honey?"
"I've ... been thinking. Maybe ... you're ... right. Maybe ... I DO need ... to be more careful. Take ... up ... extreme ... bungie jumping ... or something."
I could hear and feel the half-laugh, half-sob that came out, and I felt a little better. She kissed my hand.
"I think you should stop thinking for a while, baby," she whispered, but I could hear the smile in her voice. "I bet it really hurts."
"It does," I smiled. "Maybe ... you should ... dye my hair ... blonde ... until I get better."
That time, she laughed out loud. I turned my head and tried to drift off.
Everything was going to be okay. I was home again.
to pay the price, and it's usually more than he can afford." -- C.H. Wagner
Hey, everyone! Sorry this next chapter is so late, but it was hard to write, mainly because I hate putting my characters in danger. Also, the first perfect version of the chapter was accidentally lost, so i had to write most of the second half again. *sigh* Keep reading and commenting -- I'm seriously starved for feedback! *grins, hugs* -- Randalynn
Notes:
To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 10
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Becca's stay in the hospital leads to an odd mystery and way too much time for introspection -- along with bad hair, bad food, and a hospital gown from Hell.
Part 10
She was stretched out on a long white table, so cold, and fine, and fair."
-- St. James Infirmary Blues, American folksong
|
"Mom?" "Yes, honey?" "I've ... been thinking. Maybe ... you're ... right. Maybe ... I DO need ... to be more careful. I could hear and feel the half-laugh, half-sob that came out, and I felt a little better. She "I think you should stop thinking for a while, baby," she whispered, but I could hear the "It does," I smiled. "Maybe ... you should ... dye my hair ... blonde ... until I get better." That time, she laughed out loud. I turned my head and tried to drift off. Everything was going to be okay. I was home again. |
Of course they didn't let me drift off, or stop thinking. The fact that I had lost consciousness between hitting the wall and waking up in the ambulance made the EMTs ask me a whole series of questions -- some of which confused me, since the distinction between my old life and new life had blurred a bit with the head injury. I tried to focus as best I could, and recalled the entire fight, the reasons leading up to it, my name, address, and birthday. They forced me to open my eyes despite my sensitivity to light, then asked me to follow the movement of a finger, and tell them how many fingers they were holding up. I assured them my vision was not blurred.
When we reached the hospital, they put me on a stretcher and wheeled me towards X-ray. I closed my eyes and just let things happen, and suddenly the dark just rose up and swallowed me whole.
I woke slowly, still in pain, with my eyes shut tight against the light. I heard the drone of a male voice and the click of footsteps growing louder. From the voice's self-satisfied tone, I knew it had to belong to a doctor.
"... now for something completely different, children. This patient is a thirteen-year-old girl who chose to take on a full-grown adult male in single combat." There was a slight sneer in his voice. "The circumstances are irrelevant, but for reasons I don't quite understand, the entire incident was caught on videotape, and the police have permitted us to make a duplicate of the video to help with the patient's treatment."
Great, I thought ruefully. Now I'm a classroom exercise.
I heard machinery whirring into action, and heard a tinny replay of the last part of my conversation with Heather's Dad. When the time came for him to slam me into the wall, I could hear the thud, followed by a muted gasp from more people than I had expected.
"She lost consciousness at that point and didn't become aware again until halfway to the hospital. However, there was no evidence of an altered mental state. She answered all questions put to her with only a slight hesitation. Why is this unusual?" A short pause. "Ms. Harris?"
A soft contralto replied briskly. "Because loss of consciousness is indicative of a significant brain trauma, which should have made her responses less coherent."
"Given what we saw, who can tell me what happened to that girl's brain when her head hit the archway? Mr. Namde?"
A tentative baritone spoke up. "At the time of the impact, her brain would have collided with the interior of her skull at high-speed."
"And the result?"
"Some tearing of the tissues holding the brain in place would be expected."
"And?" The doctor's voice, impatient.
"Bruising and swelling of the brain itself?" His pitch went up an octave.
"Let's take Mr. Namde off the hook, shall we?" The doctor's smug smile was reflected in his voice. "Ms. Collins, would an impact like the one we saw be likely to cause massive injury?"
"Yes, sir, I believe it would."
"I believe it would, too." His tone was dry. "Tell me, Ms. Collins, what would happen if the brain were injured to the point where swelling made it too large for the skull to hold." A long pause. "Ms. Collins, sometime today?"
A soprano this time, breathless and hurried. "The brain matter would have nowhere to go ... except for the foramen magnum at the base of the skull."
"And the purpose of the foramen magnum ... Ms. Harris?"
"Where the brainstem comes out of the skull to form the spinal cord. If the brain swelled to the point where it would use this as an exit point --"
"Don't anticipate, Ms. Harris. Mr. Blaine, what would it be called if her brain swelled to fill the foramen magnum?
A nice strong alto. "A herniated brain stem, Dr. Samuels."
"So nice to hear from you, Mr. Blaine. And what would the patient become if she were to experience a herniated brain stem?" Long silence. "Anyone?" Another long silence, followed by a sigh. "You disappoint me. If Ms. ... Barnes had experienced a herniated brain stem, she would become ... an organ donor. Brain activity other than autonomic functions would cease, and she'd become an a la carte menu for the transplant trade."
There was the sound of a switch and the fluttering of a large piece of film being snapped in place.
"Now, look at this X-Ray and tell me what you see. Ms. Collins?"
A pause. "No cracks or fractures. The skull appears intact ... totally undamaged."
"Is this consistent with the impact you saw her receive on the tape?"
The timid soprano spoke softly. "No, sir."
"The CT images also show no bleeding, no injury, no swelling of the brain other than what could have been caused by a far less traumatic injury."
Really, I thought. That's ... odd.
"As far as the tests are concerned, her course of treatment involves Tylenol and ice packs as needed." Pause. "Comments?"
"The video is fake."
The doctor tsked at him. "Such cynicism, Mr. Blaine. The police assure us it is genuine."
Another long pause. "What does this incident and its aftermath tell us about the practice of medicine?"
Silence. The doctor's voice grew sharp.
"The moral of this story, children, is that we don't know everything. File Ms. Barnes under medical miracles and move on. She's damned lucky she's not in a drawer in the basement. Maybe this little adventure will teach her to pick on someone her own size, or at least choose her opponents more carefully. Moving on."
The footsteps receded, and I'm sure none of them saw the tears flowing down my cheeks.
The hospital room had a big window. It overlooked a fascinating collection of pipes and ductwork that stretched across the roof of the hospital annex next door. With my bed next to the window, I had a pretty good view. It looked a lot like a leftover set from Blade Runner -- so much so that I half-expected to see Harrison Ford and Rutger Hauer chasing each other through the rain-drenched permanent night of future noir L.A.
The weather, however, refused to cooperate. It wasn't raining, not a bit. It was sunny, just after dawn, and the light still hurt my head -- although not as much as it had last night.
I passed all of the tests once we arrived at the hospital, and had none of the symptoms of a concussion except for a slight problem with pupil dilation. I still didn't know why, but had been looking forward to getting back home to my own bed once everyone saw how miraculously uninjured I was.
Unfortunately, the police made the mistake of showing the ER doctor the last two minutes of my video debut. Unlike Dr. Samuels, she refused to believe there was nothing wrong after seeing me slammed headfirst into a solid piece of oak, even though the tests looked fine. Since I had a bump the size of a small German car on my left side of my forehead, they admitted me "for observation" -- which is hospital code for "keep the injured person awake for the rest of the night, flash bright lights in her eyes, and make it impossible for her to get well."
I was in the pediatrics section of the hospital, surrounded by children a lot younger than I was. The room was semi-private, and the other half of it was empty, so I had some privacy. This was good, because the staff dressed me in a truly awful hospital gown. I'm sure they thought it was cute, but it was also way too short, wouldn't stay closed in the back, and was covered with little blue and purple teddy bears. At first I didn't mind too much, since no one seemed inclined to let me out of bed. But the first time they let me stagger to the bathroom (after a disastrous attempt to use a bedpan at four in the morning while still getting used to female plumbing), I took a glance in the mirror. A stranger stared back.
My hair looked like someone had stapled a dead fox to my head, and hadn't tried to be neat about it. Since I'd left my purse at home when I went off to Heather's house last night, I had no brush to fix it. I also had no makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes, and it hurt to discover that the bruises on the bump had changed colors to match the bears on the stupid gown.
Carolyn had stayed with me for a while, holding my hand the whole time. They had to pry us apart for the CT scan -- and the awful noise it made brought my headache back in full force. When the initial tests came back okay, she reluctantly left for the courthouse to act as Heather's attorney as she swore out a complaint. Mom told me she also needed to finalize the arrangements for Heather's long-term stay at our house, and to make sure Heather's testimony about her father's abuse was available for his preliminary hearing. I told her not to worry, that right now Heather needed her more than I did, and that I loved her and knew she loved me, too.
Of course, that was part of my problem, now.
When I had first agreed to become the Advocate, the reasons for my choice were clear. I knew firsthand the kind of damage magical predators could do to a life and a family. The Arbiters and the Omnipresence were convinced I was the right person for the job -- hell, they were convinced I was the only person for the job. And finally, if I said no, every evil done by those I could have stopped would be on my head.
I knew there were people who would say that the last argument didn't count, since I couldn't be expected to dedicate my life to saving the world -- that first and foremost, I had a responsibility to myself. But I knew it was my responsibility to myself that clinched the deal. If I turned my back on everyone I might have saved, I'd never be able to see myself as anything but a coward. I'd never be able to look in a mirror again.
Still, there were other people in my life. And putting myself on the front line as I did opened the door to a world of hurt for the ones I loved. For the ones who loved me.
Like Carolyn.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard her crying and felt her despair in the back of that ambulance all over again. I had loved her, first as my wife and then as my Mom, for over twenty years. And yet in one day, I'd managed to hurt her, frighten her, and make her cry while almost getting my brain scrambled in the process.
Nice work, stupid, I thought bitterly. She doesn't know you're the Advocate. She thinks you’re a headstrong, stubborn girl who reminds her way too much of the husband she lost. And she almost lost you last night because helping Heather was more important than listening to her, and believing she knew what was best. If it wasn't for some freakish piece of luck, you'd be dead now.
Carolyn had always been there for me, whenever I needed her. As her husband, I always trusted her to do what was right -- for me, for us, and for the family. As her daughter, I had undermined her authority by sneaking out the way I did, and caused her pain and sadness when my plan ended just as she said it would. I wasn't sure how I could make it up to her, but I was determined to try.
I had hurt the woman I had loved since the moment we met. Although I had won, and Heather's Dad was going down, I felt like I had lost somehow. I felt empty, and lonely, and alone.
So even though the light made my head ache, I lay there looking out at the sun-drenched Blade Runner roof and wondered how soon they would let me go.
Family trickled in during the early morning, even though visiting hours didn't start until much later in the day. Judging by my performance the previous night (and the way my siblings waltzed into my room the next morning), the Barnes credo seemed to be, "Rules? We don't need no stinkin' rules!" Jeremy brought me a wicked fast food breakfast sandwich and some hash browns to make up for the bland oatmeal and warm juice I had put aside as inedible.
Emma was a bit more practical, bringing my bathrobe, toothbrush, and toothpaste, as well as make-up, hair stuff, and my lavender bear, Miss Abby. While I cuddled the bear happily (one of the small pleasures of girlhood), Emma hid the worst of last night's tussle and sleepless night under a fresh coat of paint and started working on my tangled mop.
"Heather and Mom didn't get back from the police station until after six." Emma's voice drifted down from behind and above me as she wielded the brush. "They both crashed pretty hard when they got home. Heather's out cold in your bed, wearing one of those oversized tee shirts you got on last year's beach vacation."
Jeremy had set up his base camp in a chair across the room, stretched out with his hands in his pockets while Emma and I did the girly stuff. "I'll have the upper bunk set up before they let you out, Becca."
"I hope that's soon," I said, wincing as Emma worked past another knot. As soon as I said it, though, I began to wonder how things were going to be between Mom and me after last night. I gave Miss Abby a tight squeeze. "How is Mom doing?"
"Hard to tell," Emma said in a tight voice. "She was pretty sleepy when she got back. Looked ten years older, though. Emotionally drained." She gave a knot a yank with the brush. I yelped. "I guess that's what happens when you almost lose a daughter. Or a sister." Emma yanked again, hard. I reached up to snatch the brush away, but she moved it out of reach. I turned toward her.
"If you've got a problem, say it to my face," I snapped. "Just leave my hair out of this. It's suffered enough."
"If I've got a problem?" Emma snapped back, slamming the brush down on the side table. "You're the one with the problem. You think you're Buffy the freakin' Vampire Slayer!"
I looked at her, stunned. "I do not!"
"Do too! You went over there last night and almost got yourself killed because you thought you could handle a grown man all by yourself."
"Heather was there!"
"Not when it came down to it, Becca," she hissed. "She ran for help, and then it was you and that ... that bastard in a damned death match, all alone." Her voice caught in her throat, and she just stopped. She tried to speak again, but couldn't. And I watched her eyes fill with tears. "You could have died last night. You could have ..."
She just stared at me, and her lower lip trembled. I reached out, and she stepped back and shook her head.
"I need ... a Coke," she squeaked, and stumbled out the door past a curious nurse.
"Is everything okay?" The woman asked. I nodded yes, even though the answer was obviously no.
Soon after she left, Jeremy came over and sat down in the chair next to the bed.
"Emma's been mad since we found you in Heather's living room," he said softly. "I think she had to choose between fear and anger, and she went with anger because she was worried out of her mind. We all were." He patted my hand. "She'll get past it, sis. It's just because she loves you."
I looked down, ashamed. Jeremy gave my hand a squeeze.
"I need to thank you, Becca," he whispered. "You helped Heather out of a tight spot and got yourself hurt doing it. I won't forget."
"Well, getting hurt wasn't really part of the plan," I said with a smile.
He grinned back, then ducked his head. "How're you feeling?"
"Embarassed, mostly." I plucked at the bear-covered gown. "Even plain white would have been an improvement over ... this."
"You know what I mean."
"Yes, I do." My mind spun for a while. How did I feel? "Physically, my head still hurts a little, and I get a bit dizzy if I stand up too fast. Emotionally ..." I shook my head. "I guess I'm depressed and a little numb."
"Depressed?" He seemed shocked. "Becca, you kicked butt! You're a hero! Heck, I woulda brought you Wheaties, but I knew you'd rather have a McMuffin."
I looked down. "I don't feel like a hero, Jer. Truth told, I feel like an idiot. And I'm the one in the stupid hospital gown, so mine must be the dimpled butt that got itself kicked." I looked out the window, instead of at Jeremy's confused face. "I think I made the right call last night, but now ... the next day ... all I can think of is how easily it all went wrong. How Mom looked in the ambulance. How mad Emma is. How lucky I was." My breath caught in my throat, and I shook my head again. "Numb is better than thinking too hard about what I did."
"Heather's safe and you're going to be okay, that's all I care about," Jeremy said softly. He reached up and ruffled my hair.
I wish it was enough for me, I thought, and for Emma. But I smiled at my brother so he wouldn't worry.
Emma had come back eventually, but she didn't speak to me at all. She just sat by the bed and held my hand for a while, and shook her head when I tried to talk with her. Jeremy used the remote to surf the hospital's limited channel selection. This went on for an hour or two, then Jeremy left to find food and Emma went outside to use her cell phone. I went back to staring out the window at the annex roof.
I felt miserable. I didn't complain, not even to myself. After all, according to Dr. Samuels, I should have been a corpse. Complaining about a headache would seem ... ungrateful. But it was why I wasn't dead that actually bothered me, in a way I couldn't quite explain. Maybe it was the headache, but it felt like I was missing something.
When visiting hours actually did start, the first person through my door was Amy. She breezed into the room with a huge flower arrangement and two chocolate milkshakes.
"Girl, you made me so mad I almost screamed," she said briskly, in a matter-of-fact voice. She set the flowers down on the bedside table. "To go off like that, without me to watch your back? You almost got yourself killed! Didn't we pinky swear at Debbie Lister's fifth birthday party to be sisters forever? How could you walk into danger without letting me help you face it? Aren't we bestest friends?"
I opened my mouth to say something, but she sailed on around the bed, a shake in each hand and continued without a stop.
"But then I realized that you were just trying to keep me from getting hurt, because you are my best friend and you love me. And I thought that was really sweet, and it made me all misty-eyed and sniffly about you lying here without me, and suddenly I missed you and needed to be here with you because you did get hurt and you needed me. Sooooooo ... I brought flowers and milkshakes and really big hugs!" And she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed and laughed, and I hugged her back and we just stayed that way for a minute.
She pulled away and looked in my eyes. I could see the tears in hers. "Becca, I'm glad you're not dead, but if you put your life in danger again, I swear I'll kill you myself. I couldn't bear to lose you, so don't DO that, 'kay?"
I just nodded, tears welling up in my eyes, and she suddenly smiled and handed me a shake.
"Shake on it?" she said with a grin.
I threw a pillow at her.
The milkshake was delicious, but made my head hurt a little -- pleasure well worth the pain it brought. I told Amy the whole story (well, most of the story), receiving her undivided attention, appropriate gasps, and an occasional squeeze of my hand when things started getting hairy. I told her about my Mom in the ambulance, and how I felt about what I put her through. Amy listened intently the whole time, and when it was time for her to go, I let her know I expected to be home soon -- maybe as early as tonight -- and I'd give her a call when I got back.
"Is it true Heather's staying with you now?" Amy asked.
"Yes," I said with a smile. "In fact, she's sharing my bedroom. Jeremy's putting the old bunk bed back together."
"Wow." For a moment, she looked wistful. "They're so lucky, Jeremy and Heather." I rasied an eyebrow. "The way things worked out, they'll be together all the time now." She smiled. "And they're so much in love."
"Let's hope they stay in love!" I grinned when she turned a curious eye on me. "When Jeremy discovers he has to share the bathroom with ANOTHER girl, he may run away!"
"Not when she's the girl he's sharing it with," Amy said with an answering smile. "Seriously, sis, they're just right for each other. Heather's nice, with a pretty smile, and this shy anime girl vibe that guys just seem to fall for. And Jeremy seems to ... I dunno ... complete her? She comes alive with him, you know?"
I smiled and nodded, and without warning tears started welling up in my eyes and flowing down my cheeks. Amy turned and saw I was crying, and she gave me a hug.
"Hey! You did the right thing, saving Heather the way you did," she whispered. "I know you're sad about how your Mom felt, but Heather's better off with you guys than out there alone in the system. And with her Dad in jail, things can only get better for her." She let me go and headed for the door. When she reached it, she turned around. "Sometimes choices hurt, Bee, no matter what choice you make. I think you made a good one. Be proud."
And she was gone.
"Rebecca Barnes?"
It was an hour later. I turned my head from the window to find a tall friendly-looking woman in a dark rumpled suit filling the doorway.
"Yes?" I said politely.
"I'm Detective Dominique Stabenow. Are you feeling up to talking about last night?"
I smiled slightly. "Not really, but go ahead. If it gets too tough, I'll just start crying and page the nurse on duty."
She gave me a sideways look. "What makes you think that will help? I'm pretty good at hand-to-hand combat."
"You haven't met Nurse Katie. I mean, you look like you can handle yourself okay, but Nurse Katie ... well, she looks like she could handle ten of you with one hand ... and without breaking a sweat."
The detective smiled and pulled up a chair. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."
"Please excuse the fashion statement," I said, plucking at the hideous teddy bear smock and smiling slightly. "I really hadn't planned on being beaten up last night, so I forgot to bring an overnight bag."
"Even Batgirl has a utility belt, Ms. Barnes," she said curtly. "Maybe you should think about that the next time you do something stupid."
There was a long silence ... until I broke it.
"Ouch!" I turned to one side and pretended to cringe. "Detective, please! Wasn't I beaten up enough last night?"
She looked away for an instant. I looked at the curve of her neck and tried to reassert some control.
"Tell me," I asked with just a touch of sarcasm. "Have the gloves come off yet, or was that just a pre-fight warm-up?" Stabenow turned back to face me.
"Metaphorically speaking, I haven't even touched you yet," she replied. "But last night was stupid. You could have died in that house, or been permanently brain damaged. The fact that your scheme worked -- and that you're still alive to tell about it -- is more a function of luck than anything else."
I looked into her eyes.
"You're right." The sound of my voice in the quiet room surprised even me. The detective raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, believe me, I know how dumb I was," I said coldly. "I'm small, and I'm thirteen, and I'm a girl. I had no right going into that house to try to protect a friend from someone like him. Heck, even a grown woman would have thought twice. I knew that going in."
She gave me a measured stare. "Then why did you do it?"
"You've seen the video?"
Stabenow nodded. "I've seen it."
"He was going to murder his daughter, then frame her for pushing cocaine and trying to kill him -- all because he thought she was going to tell someone he raped her, every day. Then he was going to kill me because she got away." I looked straight back at her, meeting her eyes without a flinch. "If I had been a good girl and let Mom just call the police, they would have found a stash of coke and a stack of lesbian porn in her room. I'm sure he would have worked the illegal handgun in somehow as well. If I had done the smart thing, she'd be a victim again. And he would walk." I closed my eyes and turned my face away from her. "Does he sound like a poster child for my letting you do your job, Detective?"
"I didn't say he wasn't scum, Rebecca," she said softly. "But you didn't know any of that going in."
"No, I didn't. All I knew was that someone had been hurting a friend for months and getting away with it. I just wanted it to stop." I sighed. "Would it have changed anything if I knew? Yes. I would have tried to get her out of there sooner."
There was a long silence. "You don't sound like a typical thirteen-year-old girl."
I snorted, but it made my head hurt again. "Puh-leease. Thre's no such thing. The only place you'll find a 'typical' thirteen-year-old girl is in some focus group report about choosing strawberry lip gloss. I'm just me. Stupid little me."
There was a silence, and I found myself strangely on edge. This woman scared me in a way I couldn't identify, and that just scared me more. "So you knew it was stupid, but you did it anyway." She shook her head. "Are you working on becoming an idiot, or does it just come naturally to you?" I said nothing. What could I say? She was right. "Any regrets? Second thoughts?"
I blinked, hard. Things spun for a minute, and I turned my head toward the window. I didn't want to go there, now, with her. But my mouth moved, and my voice came out, and it sounded small and empty. "The only thing I regret about last night was ... how much I hurt my Mom."
"Your Mom?"
"Yes." Suddenly, it was really hard to breathe. "She told me to stay in my room until the police arrived, but I didn't listen because I knew better. Then I went and almost got myself killed, and I didn't even think of Mom, and how she would feel if I .... if I ..." Tears just came, suddenly pouring down my face, and I felt my lower lip stick out and start trembling. "Oh, damn," I whimpered, looking away from the detective then closing my eyes. "I'm so sorry. I just ... This ... this is not ... I didn't think ..."
I started sobbing and I just couldn't stop. I kept thinking about how close I came to hurting my family -- the same way I had almost avoided by turning down that demon's offer such a short time ago. The night before, I had fallen victim to a different kind of demon, and they almost lost me a second time. With Jack's death so close in her mind, Carolyn must have been so afraid, I thought. Afraid of losing me, too. Why didn't I think about that? My shoulders started shaking and I began hiccupping, and all I wanted to do was drown in my own tears.
Suddenly I felt another weight on the edge of the bed, and a pair of arms wrapped around me and just held me.
"Ssssssh," someone whispered, and I realized it was the detective. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I shouldn't have been so harsh. I thought you'd be so full of yourself, and instead you're beating yourself up more than I ever would." She held me tight, and patted my shoulder. "It's okay, girl. What you did was stupid, but it was also very brave. Even though you were helping a friend, you must have been so afraid."
The floodgates opened all the way, and I just put my head on her chest and cried.
"It was awful." My whole body shuddered with every breath. "I promised Heather I'd help her, but on the way to her house I suddenly saw how dangerous the whole thing really was, and I got scared. I almost turned around right there. Then Heather looked at me with such hope, and I just couldn't turn back. I made a promise, and ... she'd been through so much, and I had to see it through. And I did, but I almost .... almost ..." And I just started sobbing again.
She held me for a moment, until the sobbing quieted. Then she spoke, softly but clearly.
"It took a lot of courage to go forward when what you really wanted to do was run. And even when things went sour, you didn't fold. You did your best, and bought time for Heather, and you got in a few good licks before he finally caught you. That's something to be proud of, hon."
"But my Mom ..."
"Your Mom knew you didn't do it to spite her, or for yourself," Stabenow whispered. "She knew you were doing it to help a friend, because you cared."
Eventually the crying stopped, but she still held me. And I let her, and felt better for it. She stroked my hair.
"Can I ask you something, Detective?"
"You just did." I could hear the smile in her voice.
"Something personal?"
"Sure, hon."
"Do you have anyone ... special in your life?"
There was a silence. "Yes. I have a husband, and a little boy."
"The work you do ... it's dangerous, right?"
Another pause. I felt her nod. "Can be."
I pushed myself up to look her in the eye. "When you put yourself out there ... how do you ... how do you get past what your family might go through if anything happened to you?"
Stabenow thought for a long time before she spoke. "It's not something I need to worry about a lot. I spend too many days in a chair doing paperwork, or running investigations that don't involve putting myself in harm's way."
"But when they do ...?
"When they do," she said firmly, looking me in the eye with one finger under my chin, "I have to remember that the minute I took this job, my family became a lot bigger. I'm not just watching over Larry and my little Boo anymore. It's my job to protect and serve everyone, to the best of my ability. And if I do my job right, I get to go home to my boys, so I'd better damn well protect myself too. That's the best I can do, and still be true to who I am. Because this is what I do -- what I have to do, to be me. Do you understand?"
"I ... I think so." I can't NOT be the Advocate, I realized suddenly. I took the job, and there are too many people depending on me to protect them, even if they don't know it yet. I can't quit. So all I can do is watch my own back as best I can, to keep my family from losing me again.
Stabenow watched my thoughts running across my face, and smiled.
"Thinking about becoming a cop, Red?" She ran her fingers through my hair.
"Maybe," I replied, looking down. "But I was thinking ... maybe you don't 'become' a cop. Maybe it's who you already are inside, and you just ... grow into it."
"Maybe." She gave me a sideways look. "You just think a little harder next time, or you won't get a chance to grow into anything, okay?" I nodded. The detective let me go, stood up, and straightened her skirt. "Got to get back on the job. Break time is over."
"Didn't you come to get a statement ... or something?"
Stabenow smiled and shook her head. "No, hon. I just saw the tape and wanted to see who my partner was going to be in ten years or so." She bent over and kissed the undamaged side of my forehead. "You done good, baby. Thanks to that tape, he's tied up so tight he'll be lucky to get out before his social security checks start arriving. The case is so good, the D.A.'s office just laughed when his attorney tried to cut some kind of deal."
I felt confused. "But if I did okay, why ... why were you so mean to me before?"
"Because in a way, you're a rookie, and you got lucky," she said, and gave me the mean look they teach every officer in the academy. "And when a rookie gets lucky like you did, sometimes they start feeling bulletproof. I needed to make sure you knew how stupid -- and lucky -- you were, to do what you did and get away with it. Because we need cops like you, and it would be damned stupid to get yourself killed before you learn how to do the job right."
Stabenow rooted around in her bag and pulled out a business card. "The next time you need to do something stupid and brave, call me first. Maybe you'd like back-up." She handed me the card with a smile. "Or maybe you'd just like to talk. Home number's on the back. Get well soon, Ms. Barnes."
I smiled back. "My friends call me Becca."
"Well, Becca, my friends call me Detective Stabenow," she said sternly. Then she winked. "But future partners get to call me Dom."
"'kay ... Dom." She gave me a smile and a wave and walked out.
"Hey."
I opened my eyes and saw Tommy looking down at me. When he saw I was awake, he smiled and took my hand. I gave his hand a squeeze.
"Hey you," I replied, meeting his smile with one of my own.
"Amy called and let me know what happened," he said softly. "I had to get my brother to drive me on his way to the shop. I can't leave you alone for a single night, can I?" He kissed my hand, and it sent shivers down my spine even as a space deep inside me grew warm just knowing he was here.
"If I said you were right," I whispered back, "would you stay with me always?"
He shook his head. "Even if you told me I was wrong, I'd still be there. Always."
"You can't promise that." I shook my head. "You're only thirteen."
"So are you, Becca. So was Juliet, remember? That's what Shakespeare said in the play. We read it in English class. 'Not yet fourteen.' Even so, she knew what she felt." Tommy gave my hand a squeeze. "I know what I feel. Do you?" His eyes held mine with a seriousness that seemed out of place in such a young face. I blushed and nodded. He nodded back.
"See? We both know what's true. We know what we feel. So thirteen is just a number, right? It doesn't mean anything. What we feel has nothing to do with how old we are. It will still be true, no matter what." He lowered his face to mine, until we were only inches apart. "So if I tell you I will always be there for you, I will. Because ... I love you."
Then he kissed me, a soft gentle press of the lips. It spoke more of love than lust, even though it did make my toes curl. Always a good thing, I thought with a smile. Then the smile froze on my lips.
Tommy pulled back, and looked into my eyes. "What's wrong?"
I looked away. "You're not going to ... yell at me, are you?"
He looked confused. "What for?"
"For last night?" He frowned. I sighed. "Because I did something stupid?"
Tommy shrugged. "I don't know how stupid it was, babe. You saw something that needed to be done, and you did it. It's one of the things I've always liked about you. You always do what you think is right." Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Tommy pushed a stray hair off of my forehead. "Now, going in alone to take on Heather's Dad ... that was dumb. But that's part of who you are, too."
"Gee, thanks!" I half-pushed him away with a smile on my face.
"That's not what I mean. I mean, you should have had an army with you last night to help, but you don't like depending on anybody, even me. That makes me crazy. Of course, you always make me crazy -- but in a nice way, so I'm not complaining." He bent over to kiss me again.
This kiss was deeper, and warmed me from hair to heels. I felt heavy with desire, and my nipples rose, pressing up against the hospital gown. I reached up with my free hand to caress his face gently with my fingertips.
"Mmmm." He tasted of peppermint and coffee. I never knew they went together so well.
After a time, Tommy's brother Vinnie came in and dragged him away. First, he said hello. Then he ran his eyes over my bedraggled form on the bed and gave Tommy a discreet "thumbs up" he didn't think I saw. After one more soft kiss and a smile, Tommy let himself be dragged off. I was alone again. Or so I thought, as I stared off after him.
"He really does care for you." Miss Abby, my lavender bear, crawled over from the foot of the bed and sat beside me. I just nodded. She studied me with a critical eye. "You're troubled."
"Oh, yes," I said sharply. "About a lot of things. One thing about a hospital stay, it gives you plenty of time to think. Especially about what got you stuck in the hospital in the first place."
The bear looked down. "Your ... injury."
"Or lack of same. According to that doctor, I should be dead. Or near enough. Instead of a reservation in the morgue, all I've got is a headache. And a mystery." She didn't move, or speak. I just stared for a while. "You got something you want to tell me, there, 'Abby?'"
"Not really." The bear fidgeted and fussed with her ruffled skirt. "But if we must, we must." She heaved a sigh. "Very well. You're ... enhanced."
"Excuse me?"
The bear looked up and me, clearly resigned to the inevitable. "When we aged you, we took the liberty ... the opportunity ... to alter your base structure, all the way down to the molecular and genetic levels. We ... improved on the original." I stared at the bear like she had grown horns. The bear stared back, defiant. "We couldn't afford to lose you, Becca. You are needed. Magic alone couldn't protect you from the threats we knew you faced. We needed your body to withstand the rigors of Leander's 'training' -- not to mention the possible physical attacks you could be subjected to, just from being the Advocate and doing your job. And for you to die in a car accident or at the hands of a common criminal would be unthinkable. So we made that prospect ... unlikely."
"What did you do?" It came out in a whisper. I couldn't trust myself with anything louder.
"Made you stronger, faster, more agile, more ... durable. Extremely resistant to physical injury or disease. This ... augmentation, eventually combined with your magical abilities, would have made you nearly invincible."
"Didn't work too well last night, did it?" The edge in my voice was unmistakable.
"It worked well enough to keep you out of a drawer in the morgue," the Arbiter shot back, her own temper apparent in her tone.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"We would have, eventually." The bear cocked her head at me. "At the beginning of your training, you had to believe your life was truly in danger for Leander's first effort to awaken your talent. And to be honest, we really weren't expecting you to put yourself in danger on the physical plane so ... quickly after beginning your new life."
"But if I had known --"
"If you had known," she interrupted, "you would still have hesitated to use your advantage, to avoid being seen as superhuman on that videotape. As a safeguard, we suppressed your new abilities for you last night, both to keep you from learning of them prematurely and to avoid 'poisoning the well' for Hunter's eventual return. As a result, you fought Heather's father using normal human abilities, and nearly won."
"Nearly!" I snorted.
The bear went on as if I hadn't spoken at all. "Since only your extraordinary resilience was brought into play to keep you alive, Heather's revised history remains essentially unchanged ... from a magical perspective."
"Theoretically."
The Arbiter sighed. "Yes, theoretically."
There was a long silence. Part of me was still angry that this ... modification ... was done to me without my knowledge or consent. Another part was glad they did what they did, since it meant I was still alive to be angry about it. After the day I spent agonizing over what I did to Carolyn, being told I was the real-world equivalent of a Teen Titan left me swimming in a sea of confusion. Truth be told, I didn't know HOW to feel. As a result, my anger shifted to a strange numbness as I tried to figure out what this meant, to me and my future.
I turned away then, staring out the doorway into the hall as I tried to digest what she had told me. I could see Jeremy waiting by the elevator. The doors opened and Heather stepped out. She was dressed in a pale blue scoop neck tee with a long dark blue skirt below, and when she saw him, her smile grew so wide it almost made me cry. She said something, and he turned around, and his arms went around her and they kissed, and tears did fall, from happiness more than anything else. They turned and headed for the cafeteria, which was just fine with me. I had unfinished business here.
"So, I'm more than human," I said to the bear, still watching them. "Better, stronger, faster. Essentially, a super-powered teenager."
"Essentially, yes." The Arbiter's tone was flat. No apologies there.
I watched Emma come up behind both of them, and put her arms around them. I suddenly remembered what she had said that morning, and I burst out laughing. I turned to see the Arbiter staring at me, confused.
"What is so funny?" she asked, slightly irritated. "We thought you were angry."
"I am," I said, tears and laughter mixing in my voice. "But it turns out Emma was right, after all. Thanks to you, I AM Buffy the freakin' Vampire Slayer!"
The bear shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous," she said with a stitched-on frown. "Buffy was blonde."
That only made me laugh harder.
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To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 11
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Becca's reaction to her newfound abilities is pushed aside by the discovery that Heather is not alone -- and Becca's faith in the essential goodness of humanity is sorely tested when she meets one of her adversaries face-to-face.
Part 11
you want it to."-- Xander Harris, "Teacher's Pet," Buffy the Vampire Slayer
I lay there in the bed, holding tight to Miss Abby for comfort. The bear was just a bear once again, and I squeezed her for all she was worth. After the Arbiter had told me I'd been "enhanced," she waited in silence for a while, then left me alone to think. And although thinking was something I had always believed I was good at, I couldn't for the life of me figure out what to do next.
I hugged the bear harder, but it didn't seem to help.
I was better, stronger, and faster than the average girl. Hell, I was probably better, stronger, and faster than the average Olympic decathlon winner. And even though it pained me to admit it, the Arbiters were probably right to do what they did. As The Advocate, I was going to have to put myself between innocents and the creatures who preyed on them. I was bound to be a target, both physically and magically. Anything that stopped the bad guys from doing what they wanted would be an obstacle none of them would allow to exist. Logically, I should accept any edge the Arbiters could give me with gratitude, since it would keep me from being turned into a chipmunk, or a dung beetle ... or a corpse.
Still, it grated on me to be lied to -- to be played with this way. How could they do something this profound without even consulting me? I felt tired and angry and used. Mostly used. Oh, the thought behind keeping the secret was sound. It all seemed reasonable when the Arbiter spelled it out for me -- how I had to feel threatened when Leander attacked, so the threat would activate my magical abilities. If I knew at the time that I have been ... improved, there would have been no perceived threat, no fear -- and my ability to use magic would never have come forward.
I held up the small mirror from the make-up kit Emma had brought, and saw that my body's remarkable new healing ability had reduced the bruise and bump on my forehead to nothing more than a dark smudge. Not too shabby, considering that the high-speed impact that had caused the original injury should have been enough to sign my death certificate. I reached up and touched my cheek. It didn't feel any different. My skin was still soft. Certainly Tommy didn't complain when we kissed.
But what if we decided to make love some day? Would I kill him in my excitement? I shuddered, thinking of Tommy with his back broken from a passionate embrace, or his private parts crushed in the vise of my own super-powered ones, right in the middle of --.
I flinched, imagining his screams, then shuddered all over.
No. Whatever they had done to me, I was going to insist they install an OFF switch. I needed my boyfriends, possible lovers, (and future husband) alive ... and fertile.
I heard voices in the corridor, and my head turned quickly. A little girl in a frilly pink nightgown walked past my doorway holding a pretty baby doll, just a few steps ahead of a man and a woman who were obviously her parents, and a teenager who had to be her sister. The little one couldn't have been more than three years old, if that, walking quickly ahead of the older members of the family.
There was nothing unusual about this portrait, in and of itself. People and their children had walked past that door all day. I had watched them go by, when I hadn't been daydreaming about the vents and pipes on the Annex roof or finding out I had super powers. In fact, normally, I wouldn't have given them a second look.
Except there was a man-shaped shadow hovering over the little girl that only I could see. And the shadow was colored a dark gray that I instinctively knew was profound sadness and despair.
Strangely, the girl's face betrayed none of it. She wore a happy smile under pretty eyes and a turned-up button nose, even though the circles under those eyes showed she had not been sleeping well, if at all.
As I looked closer, I could see the teenaged girl who trailed the pack had a shadow, too. Hers fit like a second skin, and glowed with the deep blue of satisfaction. Every time she looked at the little one, it flashed a green that something in my head told me was pleasure mixed with cruelty. She was smiling up a storm as she trailed behind the pack, watching her little sister skipping along in her nightgown.
It was pretty clear something was wrong. Something in my jurisdiction, too, if I was not mistaken.
Could the teenager be one of the girls who threw Hunter into the girl's locker room and changed him? If so, did she do something similar to the person that little girl used to be? Or was this incident another totally unrelated problem for me to deal with? Was she just another magic-wielding cretin to add to my "To Do" list?
My head started hurting again. It was all too much too fast. I'd only been the Advocate a little over a day, and already I was starting to think a vacation looked pretty good. Someplace warm, I thought with a sigh. Maybe a beach. Someplace I can wear a bikini. Someplace Tommy could watch me wear a bikini. I shivered. Someplace he could help me take it off.
I felt my nipples getting hard and shook my head to ward off the imaginary Tommy's talented hands. Don't go there, girl. You're only thirteen. As much as you want him (and girl, do you ever want him), it's way too early. Maybe not for other thirteen-year-old girls, but for you. Hell, you've only been a woman for a day.
As much as I remembered from the first time I grew up, the thirteen-year-old girls I knew when I was a boy didn't ... mess around.
But if that's really true, why do I want it so much?
Maybe your information is way out of date, I felt myself reply. Or maybe what you thought you knew when you were thirteen was just wrong. No young girl just hitting puberty back then would ever tell the skinny boy you were if she wanted ... it. This is virgin territory for you, Becca, in every sense of the word.
I groaned at myself, and dismissed the train of thought for the moment. I had a job to do, and if that girl was involved with the toddler's dark shadow as well as Heather's plight, I had to handle it carefully.
"The world is out of joint," I muttered wearily. "Oh cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right."
Hamlet, act I, scene i. That's one of the joys of a classical education, boys and girls. Every once in a while, you can have Shakespeare do your whining for you.
I threw back the covers and sat up. My chest bounced and swayed, and my still-swollen nipples rubbed against the fabric of the hospital gown, sending shooting spikes of pleasure/pain through my body. I quickly cupped my breasts and held them, waiting for the sensations to stop. In this body, even fantasies can be dangerous, I thought, cursing the idiot who took my bra off the night before and hid it. What were they thinking? "Hey, let's send the girl with the head injury off on a lingerie scavenger hunt?"
I let go of myself ... slowly ... and reached over to hit the buzzer. A minute later, a slightly overweight black nurse in bright purple scrubs stuck her head in the door.
"Need something, baby?" she asked sweetly.
"Umm, yes, please," I said, a little shaken by the baby reference. "When I came in last night, someone took my bra off. Could you tell me where to find it?"
"Oh, of course, honey. I'm sorry." She bustled over to the closet. "Missing the support?"
"Sort of," I replied, oddly embarrassed. "This gown is a little rough, and ... it kinda hurts ... when it rubs?"
She nodded as she reached up on the top shelf and pulled down a plastic bag. "Oh, I hear you. I wish they'd change those old rags for something softer. Been washed so often with disinfectant detergents, you'd think they'd be worn and soft. Instead, they're like sandpaper inside. Lots of women patients have problems with that. I guess being in pediatrics, they wouldn't think you'd be quite so ... developed and all." As she handed the bag to me, I read her nametag.
"Thank you, Cassie," I said politely. "Uh ... is there any chance I could get a woman's gown instead of a kid's one? This one looks like it's for a nine-year-old, and it's not about to close in the back on me ... uh, ever."
"Especially not with your curves, baby. I guess girls grow up earlier these days." She grinned again, and I blushed. "We might have a bigger one, but if we don't, I'll see what I can steal from one of the other storerooms. They get weird 'round here about every area's inventory."
"Thank you!" I felt a little wave of relief wash over me.
"It's what I'm here for," she replied happily. There was a pause. "Anything else?"
Suddenly I had an idea. "Well ... I'm not feeling awful anymore, but I am bored. And I noticed there are lots of little kids here. It can't be any less boring for them than it is for me. So I was wondering ... could I ... volunteer? You know, to be with some of them, play some games or talk or something?"
Cassie's face lit up, and she smiled wide. "Bless your heart! That is so sweet! I'll check with the doctor and make sure it's okay, but I don't think it'll be any trouble." She reached up and laid her hand on my cheek. "You're a pretty special young lady, to think of the little ones at a time like this."
I looked down and blushed. "Thank you," I said softly. "But really, it's for my own good too. Lots better than looking out at the rooftop heating and air conditioning exhibit all day."
Cassie laughed and bustled out. I ducked into the bathroom right away to peel off my robe and that awful gown and open the bag of the clothes I was wearing when I was brought in. It was yesterday's bra, so it didn't feel quite as ... fresh as it should have. But as I settled myself into the cups and felt the straps take the weight, I was more than happy to admit it was WAY better than nothing. As much as I loved being a girl, some parts required more ... care than I realized from my vantage point as a man.
Definitely NOT complaining, mind you. Just stating a fact.
As long as I was in the bathroom, I sat down to pee and reflected at how much had changed in the past week. Back then, I was just a freelance writer, good at what I did but hardly the best on the planet. I was a good husband and a good Dad, but hardly the paragon of virtue the Arbiters kept trying to make me believe I was. Although after the day I just had, I did have to admit I might possibly have an overdeveloped sense of duty. I can't seem to just let something slide if I can help.
That little girl is depressed, maybe even to the point of being suicidal, I thought as I patted myself dry and stood up. I'm not letting it go. I won't.
I can't.
When Cassie brought me a new larger hospital gown, she told me that I could go help entertain the children, but I shouldn't do anything strenuous. She thanked me again for being such a good girl, and I felt a little guilty about deceiving her. After all, I did have a hidden agenda. But I really was helping a child ... or at least, someone who was seen as a child.
I was starting to wonder what happened to Heather and my family. Mom still hadn't showed up to see me, which was disappointing -- not that I was looking forward to a conversation about last night in the cold light of day, but I did want to apologize. When I was her husband, I was smart enough to admit when I was wrong and throw myself on the mercy of the wife. And fortunately, I was also lucky enough to have a merciful wife. Now that she was my mom, I didn't know what to expect.
I did know that, from her point of view, I really didn't have a leg to stand on. I disobeyed her and almost got myself killed. You can't really argue with that. And when the person you're apologizing to happens to be a lawyer, you'd be surprised how hard it is to present any justification she can't counter.
In short, I was going to have to admit my wrongdoing and take my punishment like a good girl. As The Advocate, I would have to figure out ways to work around being grounded, but I'd work on that when the need arose. Right then, I had a mystery to solve -- and that beats mea culpas and Oprah reruns, hands down.
I tightened the belt on my robe and opened the door to my room, just in time to scare Heather half to death. She let out a muffled squeak and jumped back.
"Hey, hon," I said with a smile. "I'm sorry I scared you!"
Heather looked at me standing there, and tears started falling down her cheeks. Before I knew it, she had jumped forward and wrapped me in her arms and just hugged me.
"Thank you so much," she whispered, still crying. "You saved my life last night. You gave me time to run, and I did, but I feel so bad because he ... hurt ... YOU --"
"Sssssh." I patted her back gently. "That's why I was there in the first place, remember? To protect you. The whole plan would have fallen apart if anything had happened to you. That's why you had to run. And why I had to stay."
"But you could have died!" She wailed.
"Don't remind me, girlfriend," I said with a sigh. "Believe me, that wasn't a part of the plan. But as von Moltke once said, 'No battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy.'" She looked confused, and I sighed. "German Field Marshal, brilliant strategist. Never mind. Just the trivia that comes with the job."
I gave her a squeeze. "Heather, you're my friend ... almost a sister now, since we're sharing a bedroom. If I had to put my life on the line for you again, I would. Because that's what sisters do. That's what people do for the people they care about. You're also my responsibility as the Advocate, but that's not nearly as important as being your friend."
She sniffled some, and let me loose a little. I smiled at her, and kissed her forehead. I had to rise on tiptoe to do it, which made me a little wobbly, but it was worth it to see her smile back. Then Heather looked down at her feet.
"Your mom doesn't know whether to be angry or relieved."
"I think both reactions are perfectly acceptable, considering the circumstances. On the other hand, I like me, so I tend to cut myself a lot of slack." Heather giggled, then stopped, her eyes wide. I grinned at her. "Yes, you giggle now, hon. It's standard equipment for us girls, so get used to it for a while. At least until I can change you back." She looked at me with an odd look in her eye. It took a while, but something finally clicked. "You don't want to go back, do you?"
"I'm ... not sure," she said in a rush. "Sometimes it all feels so wrong, but other times ..."
"Like with Jeremy?" I asked.
She nodded. "With Jeremy, it feels perfect. And I don't want to lose him, and I will if I go back, and Dad will probably still be free to beat me senseless, and I won't have any friends because Hunter weas such a jerk, and --"
"Whoa, girl!" I took her hands in mine and squeezed. "Don't get all ahead of yourself. You'll have plenty of time to figure out whether you want to go back or not. I happen to like being a girl, but you haven't really been around long enough as Heather to make a decision like this. Take it slow. If this goes on too long, you'll get your first period. That'll certainly give you something new to add to the mix."
She looked confused, then a little frightened. Without thinking, her legs squeezed together. "Oh, geez."
I smiled. "There's a piece of Hunter peeking out." I gave her hands another squeeze. "Not to worry, hon. I may have found another victim right here at the hospital, and I was just about to follow it up. We may be able to fix this before you need a guided tour of the feminine hygiene aisle."
"Someone else like me? Tell!" I smiled in spite of myself. Heather's inner girl was back in charge, and I noticed she seemed more comfortable that way.
I sat down with her on the bed and explained what I'd seen. Heather was very eager to learn more.
"Could the little girl be someone like me?" She bounced a little on the bed in her excitement.
"It's what I'm thinking," I said, rising to my feet. "Only one way to find out."
Heather froze, and I looked down at her. "What's wrong?"
"Maybe I shouldn't come with you," she said. "Maybe it's like with you and me, and you need to be alone with her."
"Hmmmm. You could be right." I stood next to her, wheels turning. Then I had an idea. "Listen, you can still help."
Heather's eyes widened, and she nodded eagerly. "How? Just tell me, and I'm on it."
"I need you to wander around the floor and look for a girl, about the same age as you and I. Dark hair, smug expression. Like she owns the world and you're just lucky she lets you stay." I walked over and peeked out the door before turning around to face my friend. "She came in with the little one, and she seemed way too pleased that her baby sister was heading into the hospital. I want you to see if you can get a look at her without her seeing you. If she's one of the ones who changed you, it will go a long way towards linking these two events."
Heather nodded. "I'm on it. We may not have a lot of time here, though." I cocked my head at her. "Your mom was downstairs talking to the docs. She might be working on getting you out of here soon."
My turn to nod. "Better get to it, then."
We split up when we reached the hall. I headed left, peeking in doorways to look for the girl and her family. I passed a waiting room when the parents were sitting, speaking to a doctor with a clipboard. The little one can't be far, I thought, and sure enough I found her sitting on the floor in a room nearby, full of kids and toys and games. A video was playing on an older television, but she sat away from the other children, playing with that baby doll. A security guard watched me enter from across the hall and nodded. Apparently, he'd been briefed about my volunteer work.
I walked across the room and stood in front of her. The tag on the front of her gown said, "Hi! I'm Missy!"
Sounds like a name one of those girls would come up with, I thought. Just the right added touch of humiliation for your average guy.
"Hi, Missy," I said softly, with a smile. "I'm Becca."
"Hi," she replied, not looking up from the doll. I scanned the room. There were too many others in here, both adults and kids. If her transformation worked the way Heather's did, Missy and I had to be alone. I was sure the room was as much a holding cell as a play area, and I couldn't just take her hand and walk away without being stopped and questioned.
Or could I?
I chewed on it for a few seconds. I couldn't use magic to spirit her away. It could mess up the matrix the original 'casters used to create "what is" and make it impossible to return things to what they used to be -- or so the Arbiters believed in Heather's case. How could I get Missy out of here without anyone noticing -- in a room full of other kids with a guard on the door?
I sank down onto my thighs in front of her. Missy looked up, slightly startled.
"Listen," I said softly. "I know you aren't what you seem to be. And I think we both know we can't talk here in front of the others. I think I can help. Want to go for a walk?"
She nodded once, still unsure of whether she should trust me or not.
"Good." I gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Just hang on a second, and we can go."
I walked over to the door and looked down the hall. The security guard gave me a nod, and I smiled at him. He smiled back. I saw several water fountains evenly spaced along the corridor, plus several rolling tables full of loose objects.
Perfect. Just what the poltergeist ordered. A little indirect physical manifestation wouldn't hurt Missy's matrix one bit ... I hoped.
I concentrated on reaching inside of each water fountain and raising the pressure. As I did, geysers rose up to hit the ceiling. The guard's jaw dropped, but he didn't move. I reached further down the hall and started tipping over trays, sending bottles and bedpans sliding across the floor. The guard glanced at me. I looked appropriately confused, and he took off down the hall like a shot, searching in vain for a small vandal who wasn't there.
I turned and found Missy standing beside me. I scooped her up and ran down the hall in the other direction to my room.
Nobody noticed, and I wasn't surprised. Compared to the mess at the other end of the hall, a girl carrying a toddler didn't rate very much attention at all.
When I set Missy down beside my bed, she looked around wildly and opened her mouth to speak.
Quickly, I came down to her level and placed a finger on my lips.
"Sssssh," I said softly. "I'm here to help. We had to be alone to talk, right? Otherwise, you can't tell me what happened to you." She froze, her mouth open. I nodded. "Yes, honey. I know something happened to you. I'm here to try and fix it, if I can." Her eyes got very wide. I nodded again. "You're not really a little girl, are you?" She shook her head and started trembling. I put my hand on her shoulder. "What's your real name? Let's start with that."
"Mmmm .... Michael," she said, and stopped. Her hand rose to her mouth. "Shit!"
I smiled. "Bet you couldn't say that five minutes ago." She smiled shyly, and I took her hand. "Please to meet you, Michael." She shook tentatively, then held on tight with chubby fingers.
"How ... how do you know? How can you --?" Her voice was an odd mixture of baby girl and teenaged boy. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised.
"Well, that's a little hard to explain, and we don't have much time." I reached up and brushed a stray hair off of her forehead. "The quickest and easiest explanation is that it's part of my job. I'm supposed to track down people who do things with magic that shouldn't be done, and try to make things right."
"But ... but you're just a girl!"
I looked down and shook my head. "So are you, the last time I checked. You of all people should know that appearances can be deceiving. Books and covers and such." She looked at me blankly. I sighed. "Let's just say I'm a lot older than I look." The girl opened her mouth to ask another question, and I held up a palm. "Someone will eventually come looking for you, so we don't have a lot of time. Tell me your story, Michael. Be as quick as you can."
She nodded and began.
Her real name was Michael Elliott. She had been a he, eighteen years old and very much looking forward to going off to college on a basketball scholarship. Both of his parents had been very proud, and all the talk around the house revolved around filling out housing forms, getting dorm room furniture, and planning the trip to college in the fall.
Then one morning he had woken up in a pink crib where his bed used to be. Michael looked down to find himself a three-year-old girl, dressed in a baby doll nightgown, a wet diaper, and a pair of plastic pants. The shock had nearly killed him, and for a while he teetered on the edge of madness.
God, I thought, my stomach twisting with revulsion. How many victims of this kind of reality rape just go into shock and die when their lives are twisted this way? I shuddered, and felt sadness and anger settle over my soul -- such a heavy weight that I felt numb. Heather had been very lucky. Hunter must have been stronger than I thought, to pull himself together when he became a she. No wonder she freaked when she realized I knew who she really was.
When his younger sister Gwen came into the room, she picked him up roughly, held him at arm's length, and smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile. Then she laughed out loud and twirled the little girl around the room, and Michael realized that somehow, Gwen had done this to him. Her. And she started to cry. Gwen laughed again and gave her a shake.
"This," she said savagely, "is what happens to boys with too much pride, who get too much attention. They need to be taught their place!" She carried him over to the changing table. "And right now, 'Missy,' your place is here."
"Missy" just cried and cried, as Gwen roughly changed her and dressed her in a frilly dress. Then she sat the former boy up on the changing table and looked him in the eye.
"This is just the start," she said with a sneer. "It gets way better ... for me."
Gwen raised her voice. "Mom! Missy's awake!"
Michael's Mom swept into the room, half undressed. "Good morning, baby," she cooed, taking the surprised Missy out of Gwen's arms. Suddenly a chill swept through the former Michael, and she cooed and smiled an open mouthed smile and gave her Mommy a big hug -- all while Michael faded into the background, powerless to do anything but become the toddler he appeared to be.
This all happened in mid-July, and it was October now.
Michael had been Melissa Anne for almost three months.
Three months watching all his dreams die, confined to a playpen and a high chair and a stroller. Three months of diapers and playdresses and bibs and baby food. Three months of watching his sister laugh at all the petty humiliations her former brother had to endure. It was enough to make her cry.
She did. And I cried with her.
When her story had become too much for her to bear, I had held her until she stopped crying, and urged her to continue. Everything Michael had worked for had disappeared, replaced by day care and play dates and this unavoidable compulsion to behave the way Missy should whenever she was with other people.
"I can still be me when I'm alone," Missy said through the sniffles. "Or with Gwen, even if it makes her mad sometimes. Or when I'm with some of the others."
"Others?" I felt a chill clear down to my center.
"Hell, yeah!" Missy looked up at me, wide-eyed. "A bunch of guys I knew had this happen to them too. They all ended up like me -- same age, all girls. Except for Travis. He's Tina now, she's not even a year old yet. Travis's sister really must have hated him." She looked at her feet. "Only ... I don't think Travis is in there anymore. I think it was too much for him, and he just ... gave up. Even when we're alone now, he ... she doesn't even try. She just babbles. You know, baby talk. It's scary." Missy took a deep breath. "That's why I'm here, I guess."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, look at me!" She gestured to herself with her chubby fingers. "I'm too small to be by myself. And too 'cute.' They're always 'lookin' after me.' The only time they leave me alone ... the only time I can still be me ... is when I'm supposed to be sleepin'. So every night I make myself stay awake until everybody's asleep, then I stay up for hours trying to remember who I am, inside. I have a bunch of notes about my old life. I wrote 'em in crayon and hid them in a secret place in my room. I get them out and re-read them, over and over. And I listen to my old music on a cheap radio we used to bring to the beach -- I snuck out of my room one night and stole it from the garage." Her eyes got a faraway look. "THAT was wild, waddling around the house in my nightgown and diapers, hoping no one woke up and found me."
Missy shook her head. "But I guess I screwed up. I stayed awake too much, and started conking out during the day all the time, and got these circles under my eyes, and now everyone is worried there's something wrong with 'the baby.'" She clenched her fists and shook all over. "Of course there's something wrong with me. I want my life back!"
"Hey, Becca." A girl's voice came from the doorway. It was Heather. She took one look at Missy and squealed. "OhmyGod, isn't she cute?" She rushed forward eagerly, arms stretched wide.
"Back off, bitch!" The little girl snapped, blood in her eye. Heather stopped short, reared back, and Hunter burst out in a flare of anger.
"Fuck you, asshole!"
Both girls stopped and looked at each other, shocked, then at me. I nodded. Tentatively, Missy held out her hand.
"Hey, man. Mike Elliot." Heather took it.
"Hey. Hunter Thomas." They shook awkwardly, then Heather spoke. "I'm, uh, sorry about the cute thing. Sometimes ... this body sorta ... takes over."
Missy held up her tiny hands. "No need, man. One time I got totally into a Barney video. Zoned out for a half hour. Scared the crap out of me."
I cleared my throat. "Listen, we have to get you back to the playroom. I need the names of all of your friends who were changed. I'm pretty sure this is more than just Gwen, and it's a safe bet your friends have sisters who are in on it, too." She nodded and rattled them off. I memorized them. "Also, Mike, it's really important that you sleep soundly through the night tonight, and keep playing the perfect little girl for everyone as long as you can."
She looked at me, stunned. "Why?"
I lowered myself to the floor in front of her and looked her in the eye. "Because you need to get home, hon. I think you need that time alone every night to keep your old self intact, and you sure won't get any alone time here." Missy nodded, seeing where I was heading. "And when you do get home, cut down a little. Be sure to get a decent night's sleep each night. We don't want to make Gwen suspicious and have her check on you and ruin things." I paused as a thought hit me. "In fact, think about acting like a baby girl with her all of the time, even when you two are alone. She might think you've become ... like Tina and lower her guard."
"Trust Becca, man," Heather put in eagerly. Hunter was still very much out front, probably because Heather didn’t want to present herself as 'girly' in front of Mike. "She's unbelievable."
Missy looked at us both, then nodded. "'kay. I'll play it your way." She looked down. "I just ... don't want to get lost, like ... like Travis did."
I touched her chin, and she looked up.
"But it's different now," I said softly. "I'm here. And I won't let this go on. Tell your friends when you see them to hang on. Help is on the way."
She nodded, and smiled.
The smile was still on her face when I walked her back to the playroom. Apparently, no one had noticed our departure or our return. As soon as we settled into place, Missy picked up her baby doll and snuck a look at me. I could see Mike looking out from behind those innocent eyes. She got up, waddled over to me, and gave me a big hug, still holding her doll.
"Dan-kuu, Bekkah," she said in my ear.
"Glad to help, Missy," I whispered back.
"Who the hell are you?"
I looked up and saw Gwen staring down at both of us, a scowl on her face.
"I'm Becca," I said, and held up a hand. Gwen ignored it.
"What're you doing with my sister?"
I lowered my hand. "I volunteered to help play with the kids while I'm in here. I met your sister and we hung out a while. She's very sweet."
Gwen got this weird satisfied smile on her face. "Isn't she just soooo cute?" She looked down at Missy and I saw a flash of cruelty rush across her aura. "I wish she could stay this way forever, and never have to grow up."
I gave Missy a little squeeze to remind her I was there.
"I know what you mean," I said, letting Missy go. "All too soon, babies grow up to be brothers and sisters. And we all know how much trouble they can be."
Gwen reached down and swept Missy up in her arms. "Oh, yes," she cooed softly, smiling as she rubbing noses with the toddler. "I know exactly how that is, don't I, Mickey."
"Still, I do love my brother," I went on, letting her slip slide. "And my sister. Things between us are never so bad that I'd ever want them to change."
"You're lucky, then," Gwen replied, still focused on tormenting Missy with her own powerlessness.
"I guess I am," I replied. I rose up from the floor in a single motion. I didn't want to be at this girl's feet. Hell, I didn't want to be in the same room with her.
I might kill her.
Heather was still standing where she had been when Missy and I had left. I came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped and turned.
"Mike!" She said, grabbing my shoulders and looking into my eyes. "We have to help him. All of them." I nodded, my lips tight. Heather let go of my shoulders and took a step back. "I did see this girl in the hallway, and I'm pretty sure she was one of the group -- the ones who, well, did things to me ... in the locker room. After I was changed, remember?"
I nodded and she looked away. How could I forget? I thought savagely. The ones who thought it would be a good idea to molest the boy they changed into a girl. The anger finally broke free inside me, welled up and washed through me, like a wave I couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. I trembled all over and clenched my fists, trying to control it. Heather noticed.
"What's wrong?" She reached out one hand tentatively.
"I hate them!" I hissed, unable to keep it in anymore. "Oh, God, Heather, I hate them so much. I hate what they did to you, and to Missy, and to all of her friends. Part of me wants to take them all and ... and ..."
Suddenly the anger just left me, replaced with a crushing disappointment I almost couldn't bear. I collapsed on the bed and buried my face in the pillow.
"I'm supposed to be on top of all this." My voice sounded dull and empty, even muffled as it was by the pillow. "I'm supposed to be better than this. I can't let my feelings get in the way of my job, or push me to do things I know I'll regret. But right now, all I can do is think about that poor boy, Travis. One of Mike's friends. They turned him into a baby girl and drove him insane ... for nothing. Or Mike, keeping himself awake nights just trying not to forget who he really is. Trying to hang on to his life and his dreams."
I felt Heather sit on the bed next to me, and felt her hand on my shoulder.
"Hey," she whispered, giving me a squeeze. "There's only so much you can do, Becca. You can't blame yourself for not being there. After all, you've only had the job for a day or two."
"It's not that," I said, still looking away. "It's just ... I always thought ... people were basically okay, you know? If you just gave 'em a chance, people would be better than this. But to do THAT ... to your own brother? And for what? Because you're jealous? These girls aren't misguided or confused, Heather. They're evil! I'd say they were inhuman, but I'm not sure I'd be right."
I sat up and looked at Heather. "Is this what most people really are, inside? Give them a little power and watch them turn into monsters? Look at your father. He didn't have magic, but then again, he didn't need it. He had power over you, and over Hunter, and he used it. He was an abomination." I shook my head. "And those girls? They've been doing this for months! Who knows how many other victims they’ve done this to? How many lost lives and lost minds already? How can I find them all? How can I fix this?" I looked down at my hands. "It's just so much. I've only just started the fight. If the world is full of people like her ... like them, how can I hope to win? How can I do it alone?"
Neither of us spoke for a while. We sat there and let the silence pool around us. I leaned against Heather and she put her arm around me, and we just sat. Finally, she spoke.
"Listen. You're wrong. You know the world has more than just evil in it, Becca. There are people like Mike, and Travis, and their friends. People like you and your family, and Amy. Good people, and they need a protector. It's your job to stand between the hunters and the prey and tell the predators NO. And you're not alone. I'm here, too. We'll find everybody they changed and make things right, you'll see."
"I can't drag you into this," I muttered.
"I'm already in it, girl," she replied. "From my long curly hair to the toes of my stylish but affordable boots, I am in it. Hell, sis, I AM it." I couldn't look at her. She put her head on my shoulder and sighed. "You saved me, Becca. Don’t you get it? I would do anything for you, and then some."
I didn't say anything, and Heather shook me a little. "And the odds against us aren’t as high as you seem to think. After all, the bad guys aren't perfect. They made two very big mistakes in the past day alone."
I pulled away from her a little and looked up into her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Isn't it obvious? First, they messed with me, but I don't think they thought it all the way through. Keeping Mike and his friends in line was easy, since they lived in the same house. But they had no way to control me, once they changed me. I was bouncing all over the place, stirring up trouble, and that led to you finding out what they're doing. I think they're getting sloppy. I think they're starting to think they're unbeatable, and that makes them stupid."
I thought about that for a while, and nodded. "Could be. And the second mistake?"
"The second mistake was ..." She paused and took a deep breath. "Well, they did this to me because they wanted to humiliate me and make me miserable. Instead ... I'm happier than I've ever been. I finally figured out that being Heather is the best thing that ever happened to me."
I just stared. "Where did this come from? Earlier today you were freaked just thinking about your period!"
She smiled a shy smile. "I've been thinking about all of this since last night, Becca. It just kinda came together for me a little while ago." I cocked my head, and she sighed. "There I was, with little Missy in her pink nightgown, and we're both trying to be all macho, like the way I used to be. And then, when you both left, I realized what was happening and almost cried. What was I doing, trying to be Hunter? I HATED being Hunter. Hated my life, hated my Dad. I just couldn't see a way out. I mean, how could you stop being you?"
Heather shook her head and smiled. "Then they changed me into ... well, this. And suddenly everything was different. At first I was scared out of my mind. I mean, come on! I was a girl. I was wearing a frigging skirt! Hell, I was wearing a bra -- and had something on my chest to fill it! But then it got even weirder. In the halls, people I never knew said hello and smiled when I walked by. Girls actually liked me. I had ... friends."
"Then I met you in the street, when I was running away from those jerks I used to hang with. And you saved me. I couldn't believe it! Then, when you realized who I really was ... I was happy and scared at the same time. I mean, you had no reason to want to help Hunter. You could have just walked away and left me, and I wouldn't have blamed you. I was sure I'd be all alone again, lost."
Her eyes glistened. "Instead, you took me home with you. You made me part of a family ... made me feel safe again." Tears just started falling down her cheeks.
"Then you went against your mother, and risked your own life to save me from my Dad. I've never had anyone put herself on the line for me before. I won't ever forget it." She squeezed my hand. "And I found someone special who really loves me -- the me that I am, now. Someone I love. Something I never thought I'd have."
"All this in one day. Just from being a girl. And finding you." Heather hugged me tight. "Really, it was all because of you, sister. You made me see that different didn't have to mean bad. You showed me that this wasn't a curse, Becca. It was a blessing. I know that now."
I gave her a hug, then smiled. "Speaking of curses ..."
Heather looked confused for a second, then smiled back. "I'll deal with ... that ... when it comes ... and I know it will. I'm not turning back. If it's the price I have to pay to be Heather, bring it on. My Dad used to beat me bloody at least once a week when I was Hunter. I'll bleed a few days a month for the rest of my life if it means I get to keep Jeremy ... and you."
We hugged again, and I felt my heart start to melt the ice that had begun to form in those moments of doubt. All I can do is my best, I realized. And maybe that's not so bad.
There was the sound of applause ... a single pair of hands clapping from the doorway. Then a woman's voice, full of scorn.
"Oh, congratulations! Another man sacrificing his birthright for the lure of femininity ... of friendship and love and lingerie. Sisters, rejoice! Welcome the next traitor to his gender into your perfumed and petticoated camp!"
Heather and I turned as one and looked at the person in the doorway. Leander smiled a bright smile, perfect white teeth shining from between ruby red lips. The little black dress and sheer stockings she wore clung to her curves like a Ferrari on a mountain road, and her hair was like spun gold, flowing in waves over her shoulders. She was perfectly turned out, and I was totally confused.
"Hello, Leander," I said dully, not quite believing this vision at my door was the same person who lost her temper when I reminded her she was a woman only a day ago. "So nice of you to come visit."
"Oh, this isn't a social call," she purred, gliding into the room with a model's stride on three-inch stiletto pumps. "Purely professional, I assure you."
"Who the hell is this?" Heather stood in a defensive stance I'm sure she didn't realize she had taken -- legs wide apart, hands at her sides curled into fists. I took up my own stance beside her.
"My, my, how unladylike! Manners, girl, or I'll make you go back to birth and start over."
Heather turned to me, confused.
"Her name is Leander," I growled. "She's one of my teachers -- a magic user who abused his abilities to enslave women. He was made female as part of the punishment for his crimes ... hundreds of years ago. She's supposed to be helping me learn how to be the Advocate. And I'm pretty sure she's going to try and kill me."
"If that's her lesson plan, she picked the wrong career. And she can't have you -- not after all you've done for me." Heather took a step forward, and I grabbed her by the back of her blouse and pulled her back.
"Don't, please," I whispered in Heather's ear. "She's very powerful. This is going to be hard enough as it is without worrying about you too, hon."
"Oh, pull in the claws, ladies," Leander said, smoothing her dress under her as she placed herself on the edge of the bed and daintily crossed her legs at the knee. "Don't get your panties in a bunch." She gave me a penetrating look. "Oh, sorry, Becca. I didn't realize you weren't wearing any." I felt my face go red and she smiled. "Such a naughty girl you are. But I'm sure your boyfriend loves you for it."
"If this is another lesson, you've picked a bad place for it and a worse time." I felt my fingertips flush with energy, and my hair began to rise off of my shoulders from the power that coursed through my body. Leander tsked at me, and fished in her clutch bag to remove a compact. Having her ignore me this way made my anger worse, and I actually began to wish she'd make a move so I'd have a reason to attack.
"Behave yourself, Advocate," Leander powdered under her eyes and surveyed the results in the compact's mirror. "I'm not here to kill anybody -- or hurt your new 'sister,' Becca. This is actually a lesson in diplomacy. I'm here to negotiate -- to offer you something you very much need, if you intend to win against your current foe."
"Oh?" I was curious, in spite of myself. "And what exactly are you offering?"
"Information, dear." She looked my right in the eye and smiled wider. "And ... reinforcements. An ally, if you will." When I didn't respond, she sighed and shook her head. "I'm offering ... myself, Advocate. I want to be a 'good girl' and join the home team ... at least for a while."
It's nice to know I can still be surprised after the week I've had, I thought, half-numb.
Now if the shock doesn't kill me, I'll be fine.
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To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 12
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Becca considers an offer of alliance from an unlikely source, finally gets to leave the hospital, and faces a family meeting to discuss her punishment for disobeying her Mom and nearly getting herself killed.
Part 12
to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its
own weight. They had thought with some reason that there
is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor."
-- Albert Camus
"Capital punishment is our society's recognition of the sanctity
of human life.” -- Orrin Hatch, U.S. Senator
When the numbness wore off, my reaction surprised everyone in the room. Including me.
I laughed.
Leander watched me with her head slightly cocked, her eyes unsure but with a tentative smile playing across her lips. She didn't know why I was laughing, but I was pretty sure she knew she wouldn't like the answer if she asked. Heather kept looking at us both, worried about how Leander would react and wondering what I might do next.
That made two of us.
Eventually, the laughter faded, leaving me with a smile on my face that just wouldn't go away. I looked down at Leander, perched delicately on the edge of my hospital bed, then folded my arms under my breasts and sighed.
"Tell me, 'girlfriend,'" I said softly. "What made you think I would say yes to an offer like that? Yesterday, you wanted me dead. Now, suddenly you want to be my best friend?" I snorted. "Hell, you’re almost as dangerous to me as the thing I’m hunting. Why I would want you as an ally?"
"Because I would be a valuable asset," she replied, her smile growing. “You saw me yesterday. You saw what I can do. When I'm not being 'interfered with' by your Arbiters, I am a gifted and powerful mage. Wouldn't you like someone with my abilities on your side? To ... watch your back?" She passed her hands down in front of her body. "Look, I even dressed in native garb, to impress you with my sincere desire to ... be one of the girls. These shoes are a significant penance all by themselves!"
I shook my head. "Sorry, hon. The only reason I can think of for you to want to watch my back is so you can figure out which ribs your knife should slide through to reach my heart. You tried to kill me yesterday, Leander. Despite any lingering brain damage from last night's ‘grudge match,' I’m not stupid enough to decide to trust you, just because you're wearing a little black dress."
"I never said you were stupid, hon." She crossed her legs at the knee. "The outfit was just to establish that I can change, if I choose to.” She sniffed. "Although I do disagree with some of your recent decisions, I know that even the brightest people can make a wrong choice in the heat of the moment."
"In the end, it wasn't the wrong choice ... for me. And it was hardly made in the heat of the moment." I smiled at Leander, showing teeth in a manner more suited to a wolf than a girl. Heather looked confused, and rightly so, since she had no idea what we were talking about. She thought we were still discussing my fight with her father. But Leander knew my history -- and was talking about an earlier choice that really was no choice at all, for me.
Still, I caught Heather's eye and let my smile become real, just for her. She gave me a small smile in return. I turned back to Leander.
"Nevertheless, an offer is on the table. You want to join me." Leander nodded, slightly smug. I let my smile fade. "Why?"
It was her turn to look confused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, why do you want to be on my side? Whatever I'm facing here, it's big. And powerful. It has ripped reality to shreds and sewn the tatters back together at least five times, maybe more -- and apparently without breaking a sweat. Moving past your previous desire to kill me or the question of why I should trust you -- for the moment -- why should you even consider throwing your lot in with me against something like this?"
She stood up and turned towards the window. "Isn't it enough that I want to fight beside you, whatever the odds?" Her voice was cold, and oddly distant. "Isn't it enough that I willingly accept the risk?"
"No."
"Why? Why isn't it enough?" A hint of frustration crept into her voice. Leander hugged herself, and turned further away. I sighed, and spoke to her back.
"Because everything I know about you tells me you're a bad risk," I replied. "The things you did hundreds of years ago forced the Arbiters to take action against you -- unprecedented, as far as I know. The Omnipresence doesn't like doing direct intervention, or so I'm told. So you must have been exceptionally cruel for the Universe to take such special notice. Not the sort of person you can count on to stick by you in a fight, no matter what she says."
She turned back to face me, and her anger made her tremble. "I keep my word, Advocate," she snapped. "No matter what I was ... what I did ... what I am ... I have my honor. I have always kept my promises. So if I say I will fight beside you, I will. And die if I must, although this life I have been trapped into is not such a great loss that I will mourn its passing."
"But why?" I stared into her eyes, my confusion evident. "Why fight beside me?”
“Why! Why, why, why!” Leander’s hands became fists, her frustration evident. “Why is this so important to you, to know why?”
“Because I know what my motives are," I snapped, letting my own frustration out to play. I was sick of having to think on my feet, and having to explain myself over and over. "I know why Heather wants to help, and I trust her. But you? You're a mystery to me. Almost as much a mystery as whatever this thing is I’m fighting. I need to know why you want to get involved, because it will help me know you better.”
Leander stared at me, without understanding. I sighed. “I need to know if you'll stay the distance when things get tough. You say you'll keep your promises, but I need to know if your word is good. In other words, I need to know ... well, who you are, so I know if I can trust you. And that starts with knowing why. Or this negotiation ends here."
She looked down at her hands. "You would dismiss my offer so quickly, just for not answering a simple question?"
I shook my head. "I haven't decided anything, either way. Since you haven't given me an answer yet, I can't say yes or no. But if I don't get an answer soon, it'll be 'no' by default." Leander stayed silent, and I shrugged. "Look, we both agreed I'm not stupid. I don't think you are, either. Right now, you know you're exactly where the Universe wants you to be. To get anyone to agree to let you help me, I would have to sell this idea to the folks who set this punishment up, and they seem to be very happy with the way things are. I would have to put myself on the line for you ... and I might be willing to do that."
Heather's eyes widened, and Leander raised her head, surprised. Truth be told, I was a little surprised myself.
"But if I can't count on you to tell me the truth when I ask for it," I continued, "then I can't count on you to be there when I need you. So I ask again, for the last time ... why should I trust you?"
There was a long silence. We stared into each other's eyes, and I saw her defiance fade slowly, replaced by a resolve born of desperation, and sadness, and fear. She held my eyes with hers, and then she spoke.
"Because I know what you face, and I hate it far more than I hate the Arbiters. More than I hated ... you." Her voice held an edge so sharp, I could taste the bitterness and despair clear across the room. Heather took a step back, as if the force of the emotion itself had pushed her. "Because the Arbiters didn't do ... this ... to me, Advocate. Oh, they relished the irony and used it as part of my punishment, but I was a ... victim first. The same power that changed your friend there ... the same reality-bending nightmare that has allied itself with those girls to torment those boys. It took everything away from me, changed me from a demi-god to the powerless wife of a boorish peasant farmer ... in an instant."
Leander turned away and began to pace in her four-inch heels, arms folded tightly under her breasts as if she was hugging herself.
"Always anxious to please him, always cooking and cleaning and ... opening myself to him every night so he could ... he could ..." She shivered. "It went on for weeks. Without me to hold it together, I watched my mighty empire crumbling only a mile up the road -- watched it fall apart while my 'husband' plowed me like a field and spent himself inside me every chance he got, when I wasn't bleeding like a stuck pig. And whatever it was ... whatever did this to me ... it made me want him, whenever I was with him.”
Leander stopped and stared out the window, seeing her past. “That's how your Arbiters found me. They didn’t know how I had been brought low, but they didn't care. They just made it permanent, so it went on and on and on. Hundreds of years of servitude and rape, day after day, decade after decade ..."
Anger flashed across her aura. She turned to face me, and I could see it fill her soul.
"Yes, I did horrible things in my time," she snarled, "but I'm not sorry, because horrible things were done to me in return. I have been used and discarded for centuries -- a plaything instead of a person, deprived of even the pretense of freedom for far longer than anyone could even remember the crimes I had committed. And I will NOT 'repent,' because in the end, no one has shown me why what I did was any worse than what your Arbiters have done to me. In the end, they were no better than I was. All this punishment has done for me is given me a chance to prove I am better than their 'justice.' I have endured, and I will endure forever, and my hatred will only grow with time."
Then her eyes welled up and the tears came, rolling down her cheeks as if she didn't even notice they were there.
"You wanted to know why I want to join you? Because I cannot strike out at them. I cannot hurt them. So instead, I will kill the thing that took my life away and thrust me into this weak shell, so they could trap me in it. THAT is why I will fight at your side. And that is why you will trust me. Because you will know, more than anything else, that I want this thing dead. And I will not stop until it is destroyed. Or I am."
She shook all over, her body torn between anger and despair. Despite everything that had happened yesterday, and all that I knew of her past -- I felt for her. I had to fight hard to stay where I was. I wanted to go to her, to try and comfort her. To make it all better, somehow. I felt strangely angry, as if her confession had stirred something in me, but I didn't know where it was coming from or why. I reached out a hand --
"Becca!"
I turned toward the urgent whisper, and saw Heather standing just inside the doorway to the room. "It's your Mom! She's here!"
I turned back to Leander, but she had gone. Nothing but the lingering scent of her perfume remained ... and the nagging feeling of unfinished business.
I still hadn't given her an answer.
Carolyn walked through the doorway and stopped. She stood there in jeans and a button down blouse, her hair loose around her shoulders, and her face looked as if she had aged ten years since we spoke the night before. Her eyes searched my face, wandering up to where my injury had been, and I saw her lip start to quiver. Mine began to shake as well, and I ran to her and wrapped my arms around her as we both started to cry.
"Oh, God, you're all right," she whispered through the tears. "The doctors said ... but I was so worried, Becca, so very worried."
"Mommy, I'm so sorry," I sobbed, "I didn't mean ... I didn't want ... I'm so sorry!"
"I know, baby," she replied softly, squeezing me gently. "I'm sorry, too." We just held each other for a while, until the crying tapered off, then she pulled back a little. "We need to talk about what happened last night, Becca, as a family. But not here." Carolyn handed me a plastic bag full of clothes. "Get dressed, honey. We're going home."
She noticed Heather standing uncomfortably by the door, then smiled and held out her hand. When Heather reached out and took it, Carolyn pulled the girl into our hug and kissed her forehead. "All of us, going home."
Then Heather started crying happy tears, and Mom and I lost it again.
The bag held simple stuff -- a fresh bra and matching panties, a pale blue scoop neck tee, a short denim skirt, and low sandals with a denim strap. When I saw what she had brought, I squealed, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and practically ran into the bathroom to change.
If I never saw another hospital gown again, it would be too soon.
When I came out, hair brushed and freshly made up, Jeremy and Emma were waiting, along with my friend Cassie the nurse, standing behind a wheelchair. She was telling Carolyn about my volunteering to entertain the sick children. Jeremy had his arm around Heather, pressing her body into his. Judging by the look on her face, Heather seemed quite happy to be held.
Emma, on the other hand, was still quiet, and avoided looking at me when I came out. I sighed, went over, and kneeled at her feet. She looked down in spite of herself.
"Becca, what are you doing?" Her voice trembled a little.
"Begging your forgiveness," I replied, eyes down. "You deserve an apology. I am so sorry I scared you, Emma. I really am. I didn't mean for any of it to happen, but it did, and it was my fault. I was stupid, and I scared you, and I scared Mom, and I am really, really sorry. Please don't be mad at me anymore. I don’t think I could take it if you were."
"You scared me, too, sis," Jeremy piped up across the room, "but I forgave you already 'cause you saved my girl." Heather gave him a mock punch in the ribs as she smiled, and he lifted her chin and brushed her lips softly with his while Mom pretended not to notice. I stayed right where I was, just waiting, and finally Emma fell to her knees in front of me and gave me a hug.
"I can't stay mad at you, Becca," she said softly. "You're my sister and I love you, no matter how stupid you are sometimes. But don't you dare do that to me again, 'kay? If I lost you, I'd ..." She just stopped.
I pressed myself into her, hugging her back. "I'll try, sis, I swear."
Emma smiled. "That's the best I'm going to get, huh?" I nodded, and she laughed and hugged me again. "I guess it'll have to do."
"Ms. Barnes," Cassie announced, "your chariot awaits. So climb aboard and get the heck out of here before someone notices the 'miracle girl' is checking out."
"'Miracle girl?'" Mom looked at Cassie, and she shrugged.
"Some of the interns started calling her that, and it stuck. They keep playing the video down in the ER every time a new shift starts. Your daughter here can really move. And the fact she's still okay makes them gasp. I'm surprised you haven't seen a line of tourists outside your door, peeking in to see the girl wonder."
"I'm not." Everyone turned to see a tall man in a white lab coat filling the doorway. His hair was black but graying at the temples, and he had the sort of aging good looks that would have melted middle-aged hearts everywhere -- if his face hadn't been set with an expression of perpetual arrogance that would have sent any sensible woman running for cover.
He walked into the room. "When I saw what was happening, I confiscated the tape and told everyone on staff that any person I see in this room without a damned good reason to be here will be fired. No one is turning my hospital into a freak show."
Just then I recognized the voice ... and the attitude.
"Hello, Dr. Samuels."
The doctor cocked his head at me, and his eyes narrowed. "Do I know you, young lady?"
I stared right back at him, and kept my voice level. "I'm the 'freak,' sir. Rebecca Barnes. The 'medical miracle' you told your students about this morning. You said I was 'damned lucky' I wasn't in a drawer in the basement."
"Hmmm. You were awake for all that?"
"Yes, sir, I was."
"Good. Then you understand how close you were to not being awake at all, ever. Next time, maybe you'll pick on someone your own size." Samuels raised his head and flicked his fingers at Cassie and my family. "Shoo, all of you. Ms. Barnes isn't getting out of here without a final medical exam, and I don't need an audience."
Mom spoke up, her tone clipped. "You're having one anyway. Kids, go wait out in the hall."
"You too, 'Mom.'" Samuels looked down at her.
"I don't think so." I could see her set her jaw, and smiled. This was going to be fun.
"It's not your call," he said curtly. "I'm the doctor. I make the rules here. And I say you go."
Carolyn looked up at him, and caught his eyes with hers. "And I'm the parent. She's thirteen years old and I am legally entitled to be here. I'm also a very good attorney in need of a hobby. So if you keep me away from my daughter while you examine her, you'll find out how much trouble this 'Mom' can be for you, your hospital, and your insurance rates. I stay ... or you pay."
Mom stayed.
For all of the build-up, the examination itself was nothing much. The swelling had gone down to nearly nothing, and the bruise had become a slight discoloration, easily hidden by an artful application of cosmetics. Without looking at Carolyn again, the doctor pronounced me fit to leave.
As he turned to go, he took something from the pocket of his lab coat. It was the copy of the video from last night.
"Here." Samuels tossed it to me. "Take that with you. The next time you want to go one-on-one with a grown man, stick it in the VCR and remember what happened the last time. You were lucky ... once. If you stay lucky, or get smart, I won't be seeing you again."
Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode purposefully from the room.
Home was ... home. After the past two days, it seemed alien somehow, as if it should be flashing in neon colors or shimmering like a ghost instead of sitting there, all warm and safe and happy-looking as dusk crept over the landscape.
My room was my room, although there was a second bed above mine, and some of Heather's things were stacked in piles here and there. Apparently she and Mom had visited her house with a police officer in attendance and taken what they could carry. We stood in the center of the mess and surveyed the damage.
"There's room in the closet for your clothes, and I suppose I can clear a few drawers in the dresser," I mused. "I know there's stuff in there I haven't worn since sixth grade."
"Probably won't fit now," Heather said with a grin. "With you getting all ... curvy and bouncy and everything."
I gave her a shove. "Well, you can talk. You practically 'blossomed' overnight."
She giggled and shoved me back, and I fell onto the lower bed as she started tickling me. I wriggled desperately, trying hard to get away from those fingers of doom.
"H.....h.....Heather, don't!" I pleaded through the laughter. She shook her head.
"Oh, the mighty Becca, laid low by my magic fingers!"
I reached out with my own fingers and tickled her, and she immediately shrieked and collapsed with a startled look on her face.
"I ... I'm not ... I'm not ticklish!!" She squealed, and I laughed.
"You are now, 'sis!'" I tickled her harder. "Do you give?"
"I give, I give!" Heather collapsed on the floor, her skirt halfway up her legs, breathing heavily.
Mom appeared in the doorway.
"Girls, I'm ordering pizza tonight," she said, phone in hand, apparently trying hard to ignore the spectacle of two teens behaving like six-year-olds. "Any requests for toppings?"
Both Heather and I shook our heads. Jeremy popped his head out of his door.
"Anchovies?"
In unison, Heather and I shouted, "Oh, God, NO!" Then we looked at each other and started giggling again.
Jeremy made a mock frown. "Oh, I can see how things are going to go around here from now on! And I thought Emma and Becca were bad enough!" He grinned, pulled back into his room and shut the door.
Carolyn looked at the two of us on the floor, still laughing, and said, "I'll just order a few different pies. And we still have a family meeting tonight to discuss what happened yesterday, Becca. Don't forget."
That sobered me up instantly. "Yes, Mom."
She closed the door behind her, and Heather looked at me.
"She's been so quiet since yesterday, Becca," she said softly, falling back onto her back and staring at the ceiling. "I've been with her a lot, but I just don't know what she's thinking."
I sat up and looked down at her. "Don't worry about it, hon," I replied, "I've never known what she's thinking," Then I thought a bit, and smiled. "Well, almost never. But it's all right. I did what I did to keep you safe, and I'll do what I need to do to make things right with Mom again. Whatever it takes."
"You're awfully calm about it."
I shrugged. "I'm guilty. She's right. I have to be punished because I disobeyed. And as a wise black Jewish man once said, 'Don't do the crime if you can't do the time.'" She cocked her head, and I sighed. "Sammy Davis, Jr., singing the theme from the T.V show 'Baretta.' I take my pearls of wisdom where I can find them, sis."
It was quiet for a while, then Heather spoke.
"What will you do about Leander?" Her tone was tentative, as if she wasn't sure she should even be bringing the topic up. "Isn't that ... doing the time for doing the crime?"
"I'm not sure," I said. "Part of me wants to leave her where she is. I have enough to worry about without adding her issues to the mix. But part of me ... honestly, Heather, there's something in me that says I need to take her in. Something in me says her punishment is wrong, and I have a chance to make it right." I shook my head. "Is it my need to try and help everybody? Are my instincts telling me something about Leander? Or is it just a good tactical decision?"
She looked sideways at me from the floor. "You sure use a lot of big words for a thirteen-year-old."
I picked up a book. "It's called 'reading,' girl. I'm addicted. You should try it sometime." I dropped it on her stomach, and she gave an ooof before picking it up and looking at the cover.
"Stranger in a Strange Land?"
"By Robert A. Heinlein, yes."
"That's science fiction!" I nodded, and she groaned. "Oh my god, my new sister is a geek!"
Apparently, the groan carried, because the door swung open and Emma stood there, smiling.
"Yes, she is," she said happily. "It's best that you know now, Heather. She caught it from our dad. It's incurable, too."
"How can I help her?" Heather wailed, closing her eyes tight and shaking her head from side to die in mock denial. "Oh, what can I do?"
"Learn to 'grok Spock?'" I smiled.
"Noooooo! A Trekkie, too?"
"Yes, but not evangelical." I picked the book up and riffled the pages at her. "And we prefer Trekker. Besides, I think you've got some geek girl in you too. After all, weren't you watching Firefly with Jeremy last night?"
She shook her head violently. "Oh, no! He was watching Firefly. I was just watching him."
"More than watching, I think," Emma said. Heather blushed.
"Well, be prepared to do a lot of that, sis," I smiled down at her. "Jeremy's as much a geek as I am."
"He is?" I nodded. Heather thought about it a few seconds, then grinned.
"Then for our love, I must submit," she said dramatically with a glint in her eye. "For him, I will boldly go where I have never gone before. I will embrace ... my inner geek." She rolled her eyes, threw one arm over her eyes, and sighed. "Oh, the things we do for our men!"
Laughing, I hit her with a pillow, and after the third swat, Emma joined in.
After the impromptu pillow fight, I escaped to the bathroom for a much needed stop. After I had finished, I went over to the sink to wash my hands and smiled when I caught a glimpse of the new me in the mirror. In spite of everything that had happened, I had to smile when I saw the girl I had become. I hoped I would never lose the warm glow that came from seeing and feeling and being what I always knew I was, inside.
I turned sideways to check out the curve of my breasts against the tee shirt, but my reflection did not turn with me. Instead, the mirror me put a finger to her lips and spoke.
I heard her voice inside my head. Leander deserved the punishment he received, Becca, it said sternly.
The Arbiters.
No, I thought back fiercely. Since hearing Leander's story, I had been angry without knowing why. Suddenly, everything came together, and I knew what had been bothering me since Leander's confession. You're wrong, all of you. He deserved better.
The mirror Becca looked astonished. He used his magic to take what he wished, who he wished. He raised false emotions in others, changed love into hate, turned neighbors against each other. He destroyed couples, families ... entire villages! He nearly drove an entire continent into war! When we found that he had become a she, we thought extending that sentence was appropriate — taking her from power to powerlessness forever. What would you have had us do?
Find a way to redeem her, I replied. Punish her in a way that would have gone beyond punishment, to teach her why what she did was wrong and give her a chance to reform. Give her a sentence that would make her become something ... better. By turning her into a slave forever, all you've done is made certain she will never change.
She would never have changed. The Becca in the mirror looked smug.
I shook my head. You don't know that. Five hundred years ago, you assumed she was a lost cause, and treated her that way. You trapped her in a woman-shaped box for all eternity and forced her to be a toy ... and you thought somehow that would make it all better?
It wasn't supposed to make anything better! My reflection put its hands on its hips, angry at being challenged. It was a punishment! She was evil!
Of course she was, but she didn't have to stay that way! People change! I mentally growled. Why can't you see what you've done?
I thought furiously, trying to find a way to show them their error, when a stray thought brought me up short.
Your prime responsibility has always been to punish magical creatures who have sworn and broken oaths? I asked.
The mirror me looked at me oddly for a moment, then nodded. Or have transgressed explicitly against restrictions implicit to their existence and place in Creation.
I spoke carefully. Was Leander the first human you ever punished?
Her eyes narrowed. Yes. What does that have to do with anything?
Quite a lot, I said, finally on solid ground. Every entity you punished before was a magical creature. They were immortal and predatory and set in their ways. And because you knew they would never change, you found ways to torture them forever, in prisons they could never leave.
I leaned forward on the sink and stared into my own eyes reflected. But what makes us humans different is our ability to change. We can be better than we are, if given a chance. You've taken that chance away, and left her nothing but hate to feed on. You have wasted a soul with a soulless punishment.
I shook my head. I should have expected this from our earlier conversations. You're smart and powerful, but you don't really understand people at all. With faith and a little wisdom, you can help anyone change. You've just been watching humanity screw up for so many millennia, you don't believe we have it in us. That's what you've been telling me since we first met. You don't think we can be better. And that's just wrong.
I could see the mirror me becoming angry. We're wrong? You continue to insist humanity is better than it is, despite all the evidence to the contrary. What does that make you?
The Advocate, I replied. Chosen to stand up for all humans wronged by magical beings ... like you. After what you've done, I'd say Leander qualifies. And as for humanity ... well, if we're worth so little, why does the Omnipresence care so much ... about us?
My reflection looked shocked, then the image jumped suddenly and went back to being just a reflection. There was a knock on the door.
"Becca?" Emma sounded concerned. "The pizza is here. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, sis," I replied. "Be right out."
Dinner was calm and happy, in spite of the upcoming family meeting. I only had two slices, since Becca's appetite was far less than Jack's had ever been. I was glad of it — if I ate like Jack did in this body, I knew I'd look like the Staypuft Marshmallow girl by Thanksgiving. I noticed Heather eyeing a third slice, but I saw her glance at Jeremy and decide against it.
She's only been a girl two days and already she's watching her figure. I smiled to myself. Or maybe she just knows that Jeremy is watching it, and likes what he sees.
Everyone seemed happy I was home and relatively unharmed, but I noticed things becoming quieter as we approached the end of the meal. I remembered how family meetings used to work, back when I was Jack. Carolyn had come up with a sort of "people's court," where the rules were clearly understood and everyone usually agreed with the decisions made there. She and I were the judges, and it was all very formal, very correct, and very fair. I knew it was necessary to keep the family whole and at peace, but I had never been on the receiving end of one of these courts martial before. I wasn't looking forward to it now.
Finally, Carolyn took her napkin from her lap, patted her lips, and placed it on the table.
"Rebecca Jane, please stand." Her voice was carefully neutral, and I put my own napkin down and did as she said. I stood up straight, shoulders back, and eyes front. "Last night, you deliberately disobeyed me. You went to Heather's house against my express instructions, did just as you pleased, and nearly got yourself killed. It was only by an incredible stroke of luck that you avoided massive brain damage and death. You scared everyone in this house and put yourself in grave danger, even after you promised me a few hours earlier that you would be careful. Have you anything to say for yourself?"
Heather looked back and forth at us both, taking everything in with a worried look on her face.
"Ma'am, you are correct on all counts," I said formally, looking intently at nothing at all. "I did all that you said, and for that I am truly sorry. Although some good did come out of my disobedience, it does not excuse the offenses I committed, and I do not wish to excuse them. I was clearly wrong to disobey you. I am ready to face punishment."
Carolyn's eyes widened slightly. I had taken her completely by surprise. She had braced herself for a spirited defense, but here I was, admitting my guilt and throwing myself on the mercy of the court.
"You admit you were wrong?" Her voice wavered, just slightly. I nodded.
"You're my Mom," I said, my voice catching slightly. "All you wanted to do was keep me safe. It was disrespectful to ignore your fear and concern, and cruel to put myself in danger so soon after ... after you lost Dad." Suddenly, I found myself feeling Becca's pain at losing ... me! Memories of our time together before my death, remembering his hugs ... my hugs. The baseball games, the movies we shared. How was this happening?
Tears filled my eyes, but I did my best to ignore them. I couldn't handle this now. "Ma'am, I deserve any punishment you would care to name. Just ... try to remember ... I wasn't doing it to hurt you. I didn't mean to hurt any of you. I just wanted to help Heather." My lip quivered, but I stood up straighter, and kept control. "And even though it was wrong to disobey you ... I would do it again, if I had to. Because no one deserves to go through what she went through for so long if there's a way I can stop it." The tears ran down my face, but I went on. "As Dad used to say, 'The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.' How could I do nothing in the face of what I knew?"
Carolyn saw me hurting, and knew I was telling the truth. She looked down at the table for a moment, then raised her head. "Does anyone have anything to say before punishment is pronounced?"
There was a silence, then Heather began to raise her hand. I caught her eye and shook my head slightly. The hand went down.
Mom gave me a little smile and nodded. Everyone waited quietly for her decision, and after a long silence, Carolyn sighed and spoke.
"The fact that you admit you were wrong to disobey me goes a long way, Becca. But the truth is, I've thought a lot about last night, and about who did what, and I don't think I handled it well, either." She looked down at her hands. "I was very afraid for you both, and I pulled rank instead of listening to what you had to say. Maybe if we both had listened to each other, we could have run the idea past the police when they arrived, and maybe done what you wanted to do the right way -- safely, with back-up."
Mom looked back at me, and there was sadness in her eyes. "Still, you're my daughter, and what you did hurt me and scared me. A lot. I hate to admit it, but a part of me really wanted to make you suffer. It thought I should ground you for a year, or make you write 'I was incredibly stupid' a zillion times." Then she smiled, just a little, and I saw a pride shining through that no amount of pain could disguise. "But the rest of me looked a little harder at what happened last night, and saw you put yourself on the line to help a friend, because you thought it was the right thing to do."
"What you did last night shows me that you're truly your father's daughter. How could I punish you for being so much like your Dad? Part of why I fell in love with him was his devotion and loyalty to the people he loved, and his commitment to what he thought was right. I don't want you to lose that, not ever. How could I punish you for being what we raised you to be?" She shook her head, then gave me a shaky smile. "Besides, after what happened to you last night, I can't think of anything I could do that would do a better job of convincing you to be more careful than a head trauma and a near-death experience."
Carolyn reached out and took my hand, breaking the ritual of the court. I looked down at her, surprised, and she caught my eyes. "I'll do my best to listen better from now on, baby," she said softly. "Just ... you listen, too, okay? And think a little more before you tilt at windmills?"
I nodded, then slipped to my knees and rested my head on her arm in a sort of tiny hug.
"I will, Mom," I whispered back. "I promise."
The rest of the night was pretty uneventful. Heather and I went through my drawers and the closet, looking for things to pack away or pass on to her. As the pile of my old things began to grow, she started getting ready to try some of my old outfits on. But the first time she started to undress in front of me, she turned bright red. Everywhere.
"You could change in the bathroom if you want, hon," I said with a smile. "Or just ask me to close my eyes. I can do that. Been practicing for years, honest."
"Would you mind?" Heather's voice was a trifle embarrassed and a little tentative. "I know it's your room and all —"
"No!" I shook my head vehemently. "It's our room, not mine. This is your home now, too. If you want me to close my eyes, or even leave, I will."
She blushed deeper. "I know it's stupid. I mean, we're both girls now. It shouldn't bother me so much ... should it?"
"A lot of women don't like undressing in front of other women. Sometimes it's modesty. Sometimes it's being afraid you won't look as good as the girls you're undressing in front of." I smiled, and turned toward the wall while I kept talking. "And for you, I'm pretty sure there's still a little bit of Hunter lingering in you, ashamed to let a girl see you in your underwear."
I listened to her pulling off her shirt. "But eventually, you'll have to take your clothes off in front of other girls. I've seen both friends and strangers in their underthings ... and less ... in the locker room, and when you go to P.E. for the first time as Heather, you'll see it too. And they'll see you. It's nothing to freak out about. You stripped down in the boy's locker room plenty of times to prep for gym, right?"
"Ummm ... yeah." She unzipped her skirt, and I heard it rustle as it slid down her legs to the ground. "It wasn't fun then, either."
"It's the same kind of thing, only the bodies — and the fears -- are different." I let my Becca side remember how it was for her. "Am I growing fast enough where it counts? Am I ... okay compared to everybody else? Am I too fat? Am I too skinny? As a girl, you're going to beat yourself up for not looking like a magazine cover or a T.V. star, even though you're really very pretty and Jeremy loves you very much." I sighed. "I'm afraid it comes with the territory."
"Becca?" Her voice trembled a bit, and I rolled over to face her again. Heather stood in front of me, wearing only a plain yellow bra and bikini panties with little yellow daisies all over them. I raised an eyebrow, and she smiled shyly and shrugged her shoulders, causing a minor bobbing of her chest. "I ... umm, I figured I should just get past this as quick as I can. I trust you with my life. I think I can let you see me ... almost naked."
I smiled back, truly touched. "Thank you, Heather. I know how hard this is for you, and it means a lot to me ... that you trust me this way. You know what?" She shook her head slightly. "I trust you too." I stood up and pulled my tee shirt over my head. "So I'm getting ready for bed. Why don't you try on that red dress and we'll see if we think it's a keeper?" I unhooked my bra and let it slide down my arms. "I'd love it if it looks good on you. Someone should get some more use out of that outfit than I did. I only wore it once."
Heather looked at the dress with a critical eye, my naked chest forgotten in her confusion. "But it's so pretty! Why didn't you wear it more?"
I shimmied out of my skirt and bent down to pick it up. My breasts rested briefly on my knees, and I was up again almost instantly. "Coloring, sis. I learned the hard way that fluorescent lights in department stores mess with color in the worst way, and that redheads do NOT wear that shade of red without looking feverish. But on you, I think it'll be killer."
I reached into my drawer and pulled out a dark blue nightshirt with a picture of Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Under the picture in gothic script were the words, "Scuse me, luv. Got a bite?" When Heather saw it, she giggled. I smiled back and slid the sleep shirt over my head, the graphic rising and falling across my curves.
"I'm going to go brush my teeth now, and I expect to see you in that dress when I get back, missy." I surprised her with a quick hug, and her eyes widened as our chests pressed together. I did a dancer's spin as I moved towards the door. "Be right back."
In the bathroom, I took off what little makeup I was wearing with some wet wipes, and started brushing my teeth. It took me a few seconds to realize that the me in the mirror wasn't following along.
The Arbiters were back.
You were right. The mirror Becca spoke silently once more, her voice heard only in my mind. Her head was bowed, her eyes cast down. Upon reflection ... she flashed a tiny smile ... we allowed our personal prejudices and lack of experience with humans to waste five hundred years of Leander's life. We are ... ashamed. We were completely clueless about the nature of the human condition, and yet we presumed to judge one, and pass sentence.
Does that mean you're having second thoughts about me? I kept brushing my teeth. Maybe I'm not the paragon you thought I was?
On the contrary, my reflection replied, looking up into my eyes. The fact that you saw our mistake so easily only reaffirms our belief that you're the right person for the job -- both the one you currently have and the new task you are about to receive.
I stopped short, toothbrush in hand. What? Oh, no no no no no. My "To Do" list is so long, I don't know how I'm going to do everything I'm responsible for now! You can't be serious.
The girl in the mirror held up a hand. We're completely serious, I assure you. This new task dovetails nicely with your current responsibilities, and will hopefully solve the 'full plate' issue simultaneously.
Besides, she said, looking down once more, it's something only you can do.
I finally rinsed and spit, then raised my head to look myself full in the face. All right, I'll bite. What exactly is it I'm supposed to do?
The Arbiter grinned my own happy grin at me through the glass. You're going to supervise the next phase of Leander's punishment, she said simply. You're going to take her on as an apprentice to help with your work, and teach her what it means to be truly human.
Then the grin became a smile, and a nod. You're going to 'redeem' her, Becca. And we're going to watch ... and learn.
Sorry for another extended hiatus in the lives of Becca and company, folks. Some of my characters made a few decisions that forced me to take a little detour earlier than I had hoped, and that added to the writing time. I'll try to keep them in line in the future, and keep the story moving along. *grins, hugs* -- Randalynn
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To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 13
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Becca contemplates her new roommate, addresses her growing "To Do" list, takes on still MORE responsibility, and sorts out problems big and small -- all before noon on a Sunday morning. Not bad for a teenaged superhero, hmm?
Part 13
The morning light was in my eyes as I woke up. As I turned over to escape it, my hair moved around my head and I felt my chest shift as I rolled. I smiled in spite of myself. Still a girl, I thought happily. Still and always a girl.
Opening my eyes, I noticed how dark the room had suddenly become. I remembered that my bed had acquired an upper bunk, and a roommate to go with it. Soft high-pitched snores drifting down from above made me smile. Heather had looked perfect in that red dress, and her uninhibited pleasure when she twirled in front of the mirror had taken my mind off of the latest addition to my "To Do" list. Her happiness about the dress ... and for everything else about her new life ... had raised my spirits as well, and we both went to bed feeling comfortable about sharing our space, and our lives.
But as I lay there in my bed that morning, wrapped in my quilt against the unexpected October chill, I stared at the bedroom wall and thought again about my surprising conversation with the Arbiters in the bathroom the night before.
Apparently, my impassioned defense earlier that day had managed to get Leander off the hook ... sort of. But in the process, I had managed to get myself hooked instead. Now, in order to end Leander's eternal punishment, I needed to come up with a way to rehabilitate her -- to ensure that she would learn why what she had done was wrong and what it meant to be truly human.
How do I manage to keep digging myself deeper? I sighed. It's only been three days since I woke up as Becca, and every time I turn around there's something else I need to do. Someone else I need to save. When did responsibilities start breeding like clothes hangers?
Still wrapped in my quilt, I struggled out of bed and stood up, being careful not to bang my head on the upper bunk. Heather snored again, and I turned to see her, still sleeping peacefully. Her mouth was slightly open and her hair tousled, but she looked oddly at peace ... content in her slumber. I smiled. At least I don't have to worry about Heather anymore, I thought. I'm glad she doesn't want to go back to being Hunter. I never thought she'd take so easily to being a girl. I guess being loved and cared for is better than being beaten and despised. I shook my head with a small smile. Who'dah thunk it?
I threw the quilt back on the bed, my nipples rising in the morning chill through the thin fabric of my nightgown. Moving carefully around the stacks of stuff, both Heather's and mine, I made my way to my side of the closet and put on my robe. I pulled my hair out of the back, tied the belt tight around my waist, and felt a small spark of happiness at the way it wrapped around my new curves. Opening the door as quietly as I could, I slipped into the hall.
Silence was my only companion. Sunday mornings were still much as they were when I was Jack. Everyone slept as late as they could get away with, except for me of course. Apparently, even as Becca, I still woke early on Sundays. I wandered down the hall to the empty kitchen. It was perfectly clean from the night before -- dishes washed and put away, everything wiped clean. She probably couldn't sleep unless everything was just right, I thought, remembering. Same old Carolyn.
I wandered forward slowly, lost in thoughts of a few weeks ago. My mind drifted back to before everything changed. As I walked, Becca's body reasserted itself -- delicate steps in my bare feet, hips and chest swaying in counterpoint, one hand moving up to brush a strand of hair from my cheek. I stared at the chair that used to be mine, and felt a hint of conflict start to rise within. That's Daddy's chair, I thought suddenly. That's where Daddy used to sit.
Suddenly, everything blurred a little as Jack's past rubbed against Becca's, and her memories rose in an emotional wave that washed away the-me-that-was and left Becca defenseless. A surprising grief seemed to well up inside me.
Surprising because I was mourning myself.
I remembered Sunday mornings with Dad when we'd dress and slip out of the house very early to grab breakfast at a nearby diner, just the two of us. We'd talk and joke around, and I knew I'd always have him there, to help me when I needed it. To talk to me like a person instead of a child. My lip started quivering, and my eyes became red with barely suppressed tears. I missed our times together, and I knew that they were gone forever.
And a single sob managed to escape before I choked it back.
A part of me cried out, unheard. But you ARE Dad ... well, I was Dad ... I mean, Dad was me, until all this got started. Don't cry, Becca, I'm right here! I'm YOU! But it was like a tiny wall of sand trying to hold back the ocean of her grief. I opened my mouth to just let it out --
-- and I felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around me. There was that familiar feeling of being surrounded by love, melting into me, cradling and kissing me, and I knew everything would be okay.
"Ssssssh, baby," Mom said softly, hugging me to her, holding me from behind. "I miss him, too. Every day."
As we stood there, I felt the grief subside, just a little. Jack's ... my ... memories started coming forward once again. Even so, the tears still fell. I stayed in her arms and leaned back into her, the best hug I could manage without turning around. It just felt so good. She kissed the back of my head.
When I spoke, my voice shook. "How ... how did you know I was ...?"
I felt Carolyn shrug, and I could hear the tearful smile in her voice. "Because I was, too. Grief sneaks up on me sometimes, when I'm not really thinking about it. This morning I woke up, and his side of the bed was empty, and I thought, 'Oh, he's out to breakfast with Becca.' Then I realized he wasn't coming back, and I felt the awful hole he left in my soul when he died, and I just couldn't stand being in that bed another minute without him beside me. When I came down the hall, I saw you standing here. I heard you sob, and I knew you were missing him, too."
I nodded. "I was thinking about the special breakfasts we used to have, on Sunday mornings when everyone else slept in, and I just started crying." I smiled, just a little. "I guess it just snuck up on me, too."
My own sadness started to slip away, and then I remembered why Jack was dead. Carolyn's loss was all my fault. I had hurt my best girl, the love of my life, and my children, because I made a stupid, selfish choice. I had tried to play mind games with a demon in a supermarket parking lot.
The reason Carolyn didn't have Jack around anymore was because of my own stupidity just a few weeks back. I hurt them all, I thought savagely, and my tears began again. Being Becca and seeing my new life through her eyes had made it easier for me to ignore what I had done as Jack. I knew I had to get past it eventually, or I'd never be able to do my job. But what I had done still hurt when I thought about it, and Carolyn's grief made it hurt even more.
I turned around, put my arms around her, and hugged her tight.
"Mom, I'm so sorry. It must be a thousand times worse for you, losing Dad!"
She gave me a squeeze. "It's not that simple, Becca. Loss never is. I had your father in my life for longer than you've been alive, and I loved him very much. He was my other half, and I will always miss him. But I know what he meant to you, and Jeremy, and Emma. I know you all loved him, too, and I know how much it hurts for him to be gone with so much of your growing up still to do."
Carolyn held me at arm's length and looked in my eyes. "But he wouldn't want us to dwell on what we've lost, or live in the past. He'd want us to embrace what we have. We still have each other, baby. All of us, and now Heather ... we're all still here. And together." I nodded slowly, with a little smile of my own, and hugged her again.
Damn, I thought, holding her tight. She's right. I can't keep kicking myself for a mistake I made in another life -- especially since she forgave me the morning it happened. I need to live my new life, and leave the past ... in the past. With an effort, I let go of my guilt and sadness and chose to embrace my Mom, and my new life as Becca.
I would be the best daughter I could for the woman I loved.
My former wife looked around. "So ... we're the only two up?"
I looked at her, not quite sure where this was heading. "That's right, Mom."
She smiled, and said, "I guess that means we need to start a new tradition, then!" Turning me around, Carolyn gave me a little push down the hall. "Go get dressed, Becca. I'll meet you out here in five minutes."
Suddenly I understood, and threw her a smile over my shoulder as I raced back to the bedroom.
For the record, breakfast at the diner with Mom was almost as much fun as it was with Dad -- just different in a thousand little ways that made it special.
Now if I could just figure out how Becca used to have breakfast every Sunday with Jack, when both Becca and Jack ... were me. I sighed. My personal two-for-one deal remained a mystery I couldn't solve on my own -- especially when the people who knew how I pulled off that trick didn't seem to want to tell me.
When we came back, Mom gave me a big hug and headed back to her bedroom. She really wanted a long hot leisurely Sunday morning bath, and I really needed to think. I wandered into the living room, still quiet thanks to the Barnes contingent of Sunday morning slug-a-beds. I was wearing jeans for the first time since becoming Becca, along with a pale blue long-sleeved tee with a scoop neck, a dark blue zippered hoodie and a pair of sneakers. My hair was back in a loose ponytail, held with a dark blue scrunchy.
I kicked off the footwear and curled up on the couch to consider my options. The jeans gently hugged every curve and set off a small conflict in the back of my brain. The Jack I used to be thought they seemed tight, while the Becca I had become liked the way they wrapped themselves around her hips -- almost like they were made for her. I let Becca remember how she found these jeans shopping with Amy, how well they fit right off the shelf, and how happy she was with how they made her look. It made me smile.
The Jack in me admitted defeat. Let's face it, they were damn hot, and he knew it. I knew it, too. I stretched my legs out, twisted my hips, and smiled. They really did feel okay, and looked terrific.
I pulled myself back into a ball, arms wrapped around my legs, and chewed my lower lip as I considered my latest problem.
How could I rehabilitate Leander? I mused. Could it even be done, considering how much pain she'd been through in the past five hundred years? The punishment was handed down and enforced by the Arbiters, but maybe she saw me as some kind of extension of their judgment, their cruelty. Several strands of copper hair had escaped my ponytail, and I wrapped them around my index finger and twirled them gently as I thought.
Or maybe Leander didn't connect me to them at all. After all, she came to me to intercede for her. Did she know something I didn't? Did she know I could stand up for her?
Come to think of it, who did I work for, really? I stopped to consider that question, closing my eyes. I knew The Arbiters had recruited me, but where did my box reside on the cosmic org chart? They had gone to the Omnipresence to petition my recruitment, and the Omnipresence had agreed to "hire" me. So did I work for the Arbiters? The Omnipresence? Both? Or was I some kind of cosmic free agent?
"The latter, child."
I opened my eyes and looked up to find Mrs. Graymalkin standing over me. She was wearing a long blue dress, with long sleeves and a high neck. There was lace at the wrists and on the hem of the skirt. Her hair was pulled back and fastened behind her head, and she gave me a warm smile to take the edge off of her unexpected arrival.
Maybe I'd just been exposed to too much magic in the past few weeks, but I didn't even blink. Instead, I gave her a smile in return, stood up to greet her -- and froze.
I found myself balanced on a pair of unfamiliar and uncomfortable heels, and my hair tumbled down over my shoulders in a series of elaborate ringlets. Instead of my jeans and sweater, I was decked out in what appeared to be a proper Victorian dress, white and nearly floor-length with long sleeves and a high neckline. The skirt had enough bows and ruffles to supply a kindergarten class in an all-girl's school for several weeks. Under the dress was the feel of strange lingerie -- rigid corset cinched tight over an ankle-length chemise, and bloomers under petticoats, stockings, and all. As the unfamiliar inventory of terms rolled through my brain, I felt like I was drowning in cloth.
The room around me had also changed, to what appeared to be a sitting room, also dressed for the Victorian era. The sofa I had been sitting on had become an overstuffed cream-colored antique, and a pair of matching chairs sat across from it. Highly polished hardwood floors reflected cream walls with an intricately patterned wallpaper border. Gold-framed landscapes adorned the walls, and the fireplace mantle held a small well-made clock and a pair of ornate candlesticks with a gold-framed mirror above. Across the room, a sitting area with a small table and matching chairs sat before a bay window, with sunlight streaming in.
"Welcome to my home, Rebecca," Mrs. Graymalkin said. "Or rather, my home as it was a century ago."
I looked at her, slightly confused. "I don't understand. Are we there, now? Have we traveled in time?"
She smiled and shook her head. "No, dear. This is ... well, a shared hallucination, if you will. I created it so that we could talk face to face, without either of us leaving our homes."
"But why ... why here," I asked, waving my hand in front of me. 'And why dressed like this?"
"Because I had to choose something, and I was feeling somewhat nostalgic this morning. As for the clothing ... well, this was the fashion in my day," she replied. "I haven't seen anyone in a dress like that in over a century. Especially someone as pretty as you, Rebecca. It suits you." Mrs. Graymalkin smiled, and I blushed. Then, surprising myself, I delivered a full curtsey that did justice to the dress.
"Thank you, Ma'am. And thank you for coming to see me." I motioned towards the sofa. "Please, won't you sit?"
The older woman nodded and moved to the far corner of the sofa, sitting with an elegance that showed her dancer's training.
"Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea?"
She shook her head. "Goodness, no, Rebecca. I'm not sure you could find your way around a Victorian kitchen in any case, but I do appreciate the thought." There was a pause, and my visitor smiled. "Your manners are impeccable, by the way, and I thank you for putting up with my uninvited intrusion with such grace."
"You are always welcome, Ma'am." I attempted to sit gracefully as well, carefully smoothing my skirt under me and folding my hands in my lap. The corset held me up straight, so being completely comfortable was clearly out of the question. But at least I could stop trying to stand in those awkward shoes.
As I tried to center my weight over my hips, Mrs. Graymalkin noticed my fidgeting.
"I'm sorry, Rebecca. Perhaps I shouldn't have dressed you so ... authentically. Wearing a corset does take some practice ... and a bit of dedication."
I tried to take a deep breath, and stopped. "Well," I said thoughtfully, "I wouldn't have chosen the ... whale-bone lingerie myself, but it's certainly ... an eye-opener. And it is a part of your past, so I'm thankful to be sharing a bit of it -- even if it means putting up with this corset." I threw her a smile, and she smiled back. In the sudden silence that followed, I heard the mantle clock ticking. Finally, I decided my curiosity trumped my desire to be polite, and I raised a white gloved hand.
"May I ask what brought you here to see me this morning?"
"Why, you did, girl. You were thinking so hard, I couldn't stay asleep."
I was stunned. "You ... you can hear my thoughts?"
"Only when you're dealing with issues pertaining to your life as the Advocate. It is part of my role as your teacher. As soon as you began to consider this Leander situation, the sheer force of your thoughts pulled me from a sound sleep. You are quite powerful and persistent, Becca. So rather than leave the comfort of my bed, I brought us both here to discuss it."
Before I could open my mouth to apologize for ruining her Sunday morning, she was already waving a hand in dismissal. "Nothing to apologize for, dear. You are my student, and you needed me. If I didn't want to be needed, I would never have agreed to teach you. Besides, I didn't plan to sleep the day away. Goodness, child, it's nearly eleven!"
I looked at her. "So you know about my latest 'assignment?'"
Mrs. Graymalkin nodded. "Indeed I do. And accepting it freely was exactly the reaction I would expect from you. For all of their incompetence with humans, they chose you well." She raised her chin and looked down her nose at me. "You could have turned it down, you know. You don't work for the Arbiters. Or, strictly speaking, for the Omnipresence."
I shook my head. "Even though that's good to know, I couldn't just walk away, even if I wanted to. Leander has been abused magically, and my job is to set that right, no matter who signs my paycheck." She smiled, as if she knew that would have been my answer. "But based on what you said, it sounds like I don't have a boss -- which explains my lack of a paycheck, I suppose." I grinned. "Does this mean I'm a free agent?"
"In a way. We're all free agents, Becca," she replied. "We humans, in any case. We're limited only by the choices we make. But because of the nature of things, we all also work for the Omnipresence. It's her universe, after all. Orders from above are never direct, and not at all binding, since free will is an important part of her master plan. For example, I wasn't ordered to teach you. I was offered the opportunity to guide you, and I took it. Happily, I might add."
"What about Leander?"
"She was offered the limited use of her magic again and asked to try and teach you how to use your powers effectively in battle." Mrs. Graymalkin sniffed. "Of course, she was also given the added incentive of there being no penalty should anything happen to you in the course of your lessons. Obviously, her motivations were somewhat ... more base than my own."
I listened to what she didn't say, and decided to make her say it. "Ma'am? What do you think of Leander?"
She hesitated a few seconds too long, and sighed. "Honestly, Becca, you're right about the severity of her punishment, but she was truly a reprehensible ... man at the start of this affair."
I had a stray thought, and spoke without thinking. "Were you there?"
Mrs. Graymalkin looked shocked, then laughed out loud. "Oh, goodness no, child! I am older than I look -- MUCH older -- but not that old. No, I wasn't there, but when I was told of Leander's involvement, I did use my powers to go back and see how events unfolded. He caused a lot of hatred and death before he was forcibly feminized." Her lip twitched. "And magically gelded as well, if you will."
I shook my head. "It's still wrong, to be punished so long without any hope of redemption or release. And now I need to find a way to bring her back from that. The Arbiters suggested that I get her to help me do my job, but I'm not sure I trust her that much. I'm not sure I can trust her at all. I don't really know enough."
The older woman looked at me for a long moment, as if she was looking into my soul, and then she smiled. "I believe you know more than you think," she said. "I think something Leander said to you yesterday holds the key to her redemption. When she said it, she believed it to be true. If it is true, it will greatly simplify things."
I began trying to run through the whole conversation with Leander in my mind, but Mrs. Graymalkin shook her head. "Not now, Advocate." She reached out and patted my hand. "Let me do some research, and I will let you know as soon as I am sure we have the key. In the meantime, you've been working very hard. Your sense of duty is admirable, but you need to learn to take some time to breathe. So today's lesson is just ... be for a while, Rebecca. Be a girl. Be the girl you always wanted to be. We both know the work will still be waiting when you return."
When I opened my eyes, I was back on the couch in my living room. I felt the freedom of my twenty-first century lingerie and the denim hugging my hips. I stood up and did a twirl, and laughed out loud just because I could. I could actually move again.
Of course, now that I wasn't wearing it, I missed the long dress ... just a little. Oh well, I thought with a smile, a girl's entitled to change her mind ... early and often, as a matter of fact.
I heard a door open down the hall, and Heather padded into the kitchen in a green babydoll nightgown and a pair of fluffy slippers. Her hair was every which way but brushed, and sleep made her eyes squint against the light in the kitchen.
"Morning, Becca," she half-mumbled. As she reached for the refrigerator door, I took her hand. She squinted at me, and I shook my head.
"Reality check girlfriend," I whispered, turning her around and leading her back to our bedroom. "Come with me, quick!"
"Hmmmm?" Heather let herself be led back into the room and I closed the door quickly behind her. She looked at me, still half-asleep, and I realized there was more Hunter in her eyes than Heather. Still working on the whole integration thing, I thought. Still trying to embrace Heather without losing Hunter. I guess it's not going to be as smooth a transition as I would have thought from yesterday, but she had been Heather nearly non-stop all day with Mom and the family. Just waking up, it's probably a lot harder to get back into being a girl full-time.
"Time for today's first important girl lesson," I said, turning her to face the mirror. "Now pay attention. What do you see?"
She squinted at herself, reached up and scratched her tousled hair, and then turned to me, confused.
"Oh, goddess!" I growled in frustration. "Let me spell it out for you. You ... are ... a ... girl, hon. You can't just roll out of bed and meet the world head on. You especially can't."
Heather looked annoyed. "Oh, come on, Becca! You can't tell me girls don't ... just take it easy once in a while."
I looked her straight in the eye. "Not when they live in the same house as their boyfriends, they don't." I turned her back to the mirror. "Come on, hon ... do you really want Jeremy seeing you ... like that? With that hair? Look at yourself again. This time, try thinking like Heather, not Hunter."
She looked again, then stared, and gasped. Her eyes opened wide, and she turned back to me in a panic.
"OhmyGod! I'm a mess!!"
I nodded. "Yes, you are. You look like you got into a pillow fight, and the pillow won." I put an arm around her and squeezed. "Not to worry, sis. Look, when you were Hunter, we both know personal grooming was not your strong point. And Heather's influence is only automatic when there's someone else in the room -- someone that isn't me, right? So you just have to think a little more about what it means to be Heather, until it all becomes second nature. Just take a little extra time in the morning before you join the human race, and you'll be fine."
She turned back to the mirror and her lip trembled just a little. "But ... but it would still be okay, wouldn't it?" she asked, her voice begging me to say yes. "For Jeremy to see me like this? I mean, me and him ... it's not just what I look like ... is it? I mean, he loves me, right?"
I smiled and hugged her again. "Yes, he loves you, and it's perfectly all right for him to see you 'like that.' In one way -- the most important way -- it won't matter to Jeremy what you look like when you climb out of bed, because ... well, because he loves you. His heart beats faster every time he sees you. Everyone can see that." I felt her relax slightly. "But how you look isn't about keeping his love. It's about making him feel special."
Once again, Heather looked confused. I sighed, led her away from the mirror, and sat down on the floor across from her. I patted the ground in front of me, and she sank to the floor and looked at me.
"To most guys, having a pretty girl like them is a gift," I said softly. "They can't believe someone who looks the way you do could possibly want them. So when a guy who loves you sees you taking the time and making the effort to look your best for him, he says to himself, 'I'm the luckiest guy on the planet, because that girl loves me.'"
I looked into her eyes. "You don't want him to cut you some slack, Heather. You want to show him how much you care. You want him to know you don't take him for granted. You want to be as pretty as you can be for him ... because you love him, and you want him to know it. Understand?"
She looked back at me and nodded. "I do love him. So much!"
"Good!" I said decisively. I stood up and helped Heather to her feet. "Then go show him, girl."
She gave me a smile and a quick hug.
"Thanks, Becca," she whispered in my ear with a squeeze. "Love you!"
"Love you too, sis," I whispered back. "Hey! Let's pick something killer for you to wear -- you know, something that will make him feel lucky."
She laughed and ran to the closet.
I don't know if Jeremy felt lucky, but he sure felt something when Heather walked into the kitchen twenty minutes later. She was all brushed and made-up in a teal tank top, a black miniskirt, and a pair of black ankle boots she had borrowed from me. His temperature probably rose a degree or so, and he smiled and rushed to hold a chair for Heather when she approached the table. She ignored the chair, and instead walked right to him, touched his face and brushed his lips with hers.
"Morning, Jer," she said with a smile. Jeremy smiled back and leaned in to kiss her the way he knew she wanted to be kissed. Suddenly, I could see him realize that he was still wearing the tee shirt and sweatpants he had slept in ... and even I could see the sweats did nothing to hide what Heather was doing to him down below.
"B...be right back," he half mumbled, and practically ran down the hall to his bedroom. As the door slammed, Heather looked at me, her head cocked.
"Well, his head didn't explode," I said with a smile, "but the rest of him sure seemed to want to."
The light bulb went on over her head, and she started giggling.
"Oh, poor Jeremy!" She had her hand over her mouth as she tried to speak through the laughter. "That's so unfair! I didn't do hardly anything, and he's ... he's ..." She dissolved into giggles again.
"Behold your power, Wonder Girl," I intoned seriously. I threw my head back, spread my arms and stuck out my chest. "Treat it with respect, guard it well, use it wisely."
"What power is this, Bee?" Amy walked in from the front door, a smile on her face. She never knocked -- not since we had become sisters so long ago.
Heather stopped giggling and looked at Amy. "I wore this outfit, and Jeremy ... Jeremy ..." She broke down again, collapsing into the chair Jeremy had pulled back for her.
"Let's just say Heather's enjoying the effect she has on her boyfriend," I said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Amy's eyebrows rose, and she grinned. "Was he happy to see you, girl?"
Heather nodded, still smiling. "Well, all right!" Amy said. "Good on you!"
Suddenly, Jack pushed his past in my face, and I remembered what it was like to be a twelve-year-old boy in love. That a girl would actually pay attention to me ... that she would want me.
That I would want her ... so much.
Damn.
I saw things from my brother's point of view, and realized we'd done something stupid. Really stupid. And a touch cruel. Feeling guilty, I looked over my shoulder down the hall, then back to Heather. She saw the look on my face, and froze.
"It was nice to see what you do to him, sis," I said softly, "but I think maybe we both need to apologize to Jeremy."
She looked confused. I sighed. "Heather, you teased him. You caught him unprepared in his own kitchen, and you made him want you. It's never really fair to do something like that to a guy, and now that you're both living under the same roof, Jeremy needs to know ... well, know that he's safe. The kind of relationship you two have isn't based on lust, but on love. You shouldn't have played him, and I shouldn't have helped you." I spoke to her, mind to mind. You remember what it was like when you were Hunter? When a girl played with you like that, how did you feel?
Her face went white. "Oh my God! Did I ... did I hurt him just now?" she asked anxiously. "I didn't mean to. I didn't want to ... oh, Becca!"
"Sssssh, sis. It's okay. I think you just ... embarrassed him a little," I replied. "Guys don't want to be reminded that we can drive them crazy with a touch. You need to let him know he makes you feel the same way, and that you're sorry for doing something like that to someone you love. Okay?" She looked sad. I sat across from her and took her hands. "It's okay, Heather. You didn't break anything. Just go tell him you're sorry, and it'll be fine."
She nodded and almost ran down the hallway. Amy and I watched her go, then Amy gave me a small frown.
"Honestly, Becca, I think you're overreacting. It's nothing, really. She was only flirting."
"No, Ames. She was teasing."
"It's only teasing if she wasn't willing to follow through." Amy's voice held a half smile, but my glance at her made it slip away.
"That's part of what I'm worried about," I said softly, taking a step closer to her. "She wants him, Amy. I helped her pick an outfit that raised his temperature, and she like the effect she had on him. Especially when Jeremy makes her melt the way he does." I sighed. "Both of them are too young to be playing with fire, and at the same time they're both hot enough to ... spontaneously combust."
Amy's eyes widened as the truth finally dawned on her. "And if your mom catches the two of them in bed together, she's going to blow up. Oh ... my ... God, Becca!"
"Exactly." I sat down heavily in one of the chairs. "Right now, Heather needs a home more than she needs a hook-up. I mean, come on, sis -- she's younger than we are, and we never ... well, I never ..." I gave Amy a half-questioning glance, and she looked shocked.
"Becca! Do you think I'd do THAT and not tell you? Sisters forever, remember?"
I reached out and gave her hand a squeeze in apology. She smiled back.
"Anyway, Heather needs a family as much as she needs Jeremy, so I need to get them to keep the lust under control. And I need to teach Heather how to manage her libido ... and Jeremy's, too, since he's just a guy, and we both know guys can't help themselves." I put my head in my hands. "Not that it's my job or anything. I'm just a girl who can't say no." I sighed again. "Don't mind me, I'm just slowly going crazy. Somebody stop me!"
I felt Amy wrap her arms around me from behind, and rest her head on top of mine. "You always take on too much, Becca," she whispered. ''I don't think anyone can stop you from doing that. I don't think you want them to. So go apologize to Jeremy, if you think you must. But don't take too long!" I heard the grin in her voice. "I want to take my best friend shopping for the afternoon, and we can't leave until she's finished being Mini-Mom."
I pressed back into her, and she gave me a squeeze. With another sigh, I stood up and headed down the hall.
The door was closed, and I couldn't hear voices inside Jeremy's room. In fact, I couldn't hear anything at all. I peeked into our room, but Heather wasn't there. I even checked the bathroom. So she was in with Jeremy, and they were not speaking.
What could a boy and girl possibly be doing in a bedroom ... without saying a word?
Cursing myself for not going with Heather in the first place, I threw my perception ahead of me into the room as I hurried back down the hall. My sight flew through the door and saw the two of them, on the bed.
And I stopped short, inches from throwing the door open.
They sat side by side, arms around each other. Jeremy was still in his sleep clothes, Heather still in her tank top and miniskirt. Her head was on his shoulder, and his head rested on hers. There were some tear tracks down Heather's cheeks, but Jeremy just held her.
They were just ... together. Not kissing. Not even breathing hard.
Just being.
I could see the love and contentment radiating from them both. So I pulled my sight back through the closed door, and smiled.
Becca, I thought, shaking my head, sometimes you just worry too damned much.
I walked back to the kitchen just to give them some time, for a while. And to spend a little time with my best friend in the world, just being a girl.
In a way, that was one part of my new life that was way overdue.
But as I reached the kitchen end of the hall where Amy was waiting, everything ...
... changed.
The world around me was lit by flickering shadows of red and orange, playing across rough stone walls where drywall had been only a second before. The opening in front of me revealed a vast cavern that extended out and down, and I threw myself against the wall to keep out of sight of anything on the other side that might be interested in me. As I tried to get a handle on what just happened, my subconscious invoked fifteen different levels of shields, to protect against types of magic I barely knew existed. It was obvious I needed more data before I could do anything intelligent, so I stopped thinking and waited for someone to tell me where I was. And why I was there.
A deep purring sound echoed from the cavern, followed by a wicked laugh. "Excellent," it said, and laughed again. The voice sounded like I thought Eartha Kitt and Julie Newmar would sound if they decided to merge into a single entity and become the essence of pure evil. I didn't even breathe as I moved forward silently, although I was pretty sure she already knew I was here.
"Of course I know you're here," The voice half-growled. "After all, I brought you."
Mental shields I didn't know I possessed snapped into place, and I heard the Cat Woman huff. "You closed your mind to me! How rude! And here we were, just about to get to know each other better."
So she doesn't know me! I grinned. Or who I am. Let's do a few things to keep it that way. Thinking quickly, I wove a spell that changed my voice, making it higher with a touch of a Japanese accent.
"Watch who you are calling rude, whoever you are," I called out. "After all, I believe it is considered polite to at least extend an invitation before deciding to kidnap a guest."
She laughed again. "Ah, but when a new magic user enters my playground without asking for my permission, it makes me ... upset. I tend to be rash and impulsive and do things they'll regret."
"Don't you mean, things you'll regret?" I gave my voice a teasing lilt.
"I mean what I say, nothing more or less," the voice hissed. "Now come out, little witch, and let me have a look at you. I like to meet trespassers face to face."
"And if I refuse?"
The voice held a happy, almost triumphant tone. "Then I come in and get you."
Terrific, I thought with a sigh. So nice to have a choice.
Although to be perfectly honest, I'd rather be shopping with Amy.
Sorry for yet another extended hiatus in the lives of Becca and company, everyone. This time, real life held me hostage by providing too much of the writing I do to help my husband pay the bills. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you like where the story is heading! *hugs tight* Also, special thanks to Darla and Aardvark for giving this part a read with a fresh eye, so I could do the final polish. -- Randalynn
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To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 14
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Cat-napped from her home by a feline god-thing, Becca takes a walk on the wild side, meets her adversary for the first time, and discovers a whole new definition for the word "foxy." Is she EVER going to get to go shopping with Amy?
Part 14
seem be plenty of kittens." -- Abraham Lincoln
"Those who will play with cats must expect
to be scratched." -- Cervantes
|
"Now come out, little witch, and let me have a look at you. I like to meet trespassers face to face." "And if I refuse?" The voice held a happy, almost triumphant tone. "Then I come in and get you." 'Terrific,' I thought with a sigh. 'So nice to have a choice.' 'Although to be perfectly honest, I'd rather be shopping with Amy.' |
I suppose I knew I'd eventually get to see how the other half lives. I just didn't expect it to be so soon.
I had to think fast. Actually, given the past couple of days, I'd become quite good at it. Practice makes perfect, after all, and I'd had plenty of that since the universe started throwing curve balls at me every fifteen minutes.
Unfortunately, I didn't know enough to make thinking quickly anything more than a parlor trick. I knew next to nothing about this Cat Woman. I didn't know what she wanted me for, or how she had the power to shift me from the hall in my home to here -- wherever here was.
Where is here?' I wondered. 'Underground, that's for sure. But how far?' On a hunch, I looked at the rough ceiling and threw my perception upward. My sight moved through rock at the speed of thought ... five seconds, ten seconds. Hundreds, then thousands of miles of nothing but solid rock.
As if the world outside the cave doesn't exist.' I let my sight continue upward as I let my thoughts churn. 'Maybe it doesn't. Maybe this is some kind of pocket Universe she's popped me into. From my home to hers. Maybe there's no way out.'
I shook my head and my vision returned. 'Not a good idea to think that way,' I said to myself. 'Always assume you can succeed. Otherwise, you're defeated before you begin.'
I snorted. 'Terrific. If this Advocate job falls through, I can always make a living as a motivational speaker.'
"I'm waiting, little girl," she purred, her honeyed growl echoing in the cavern below. "And I've never been very good at waiting."
She thinks I'm human,' I mused. 'A magic user of some sort, perhaps even a witch. Well, I am human, but certainly more powerful than she might expect. In fact, maybe a different class of supernatural altogether.'
"You don't have to fear me, girl." The voice oozed charm, and if I didn't have myself as heavily shielded as a nuclear reactor, she might have lulled me into revealing myself prematurely. "Come! Let me see you, and we can talk, face to face."
This has possibilities.' I considered my options carefully. 'I've already done a "sting" on Friday, with Heather's Dad. Maybe I should do some undercover work, just to round out the weekend.'
What the hell,' I thought. 'In for a penny, in for a pound ...'
"If it is face-to-face you desire," I said loudly, my intonations still cast in a Japanese rhythm, "allow me to throw off my human guise and meet you as I truly am."
"Not human?" The Cat Woman seemed pleasantly surprised. "Now I am curious."
"As befits the cats you call kin, highness," I purred back at her. After all, a little flattery never hurt.
I reached into my mind and drew out all of the information I had on Japanese demonology, choosing the one figure I knew well from my own studies and adding the more detailed information given to me by the Arbiters. She was quirky and enigmatic, certainly, but not necessarily good or evil. Her affinity with humans and shape-shifting ability could explain her hanging around in human shape. And her own unique sense of justice could help me find out just who I was dealing with.
I threw all of my magical power into bringing her to life, using all of the data I had. I could feel her form come together -- her powers, her mental state, her attitude. I focused all of my energies on this single being, and felt everything resolve into the form I sought. There was an unexpected flash of raw energy that seemed to radiate outwards, and I felt ... empowered.
I was ready to be ... something else.
I focused on my body, and reluctantly made all of my clothes vanish into a pocket dimension of my own. I really didn't want to lose those jeans. If this was just a construct, like Mrs. Graymalkin's sitting room, I'd go back home and find myself still wearing them. But if I had really been transported somewhere, I wanted my clothes back if I figured out how to leave.
When,' I corrected myself quickly. 'I meant to say when.'
Totally naked, I stood there and imagined myself taller, and my figure rounder. Bright white fur grew to cover my entire frame, although I intentionally made it thicker over the tips of my breasts and between my legs to hide the parts of me my human self would rather not reveal.
Suddenly, there was a second rush of power that seemed to fill me and overflow into a white aura that made the cave around me glow. My ears rang as my hair color shifted to match the fur, and grew all the way down to the nine long bushy tails that sprouted above the curve of my bottom. My face extended slightly, forming a pointy muzzle, and my eyes became a bright green, slightly slanted. My own ears receded into my head behind my fur, and a pair of velvety soft fox ears grew out above them and swiveled, hearing things my human ears had missed.
There was conversation in the pit. Human voices ... and others.
The rush of power seemed to fade to a slight hum that made my skin feel hot under my newfound fur. I ran my tongue over my canine teeth, which had become sharp and extended, and I smiled.
I was ... her. I felt strong and quick and agile -- sexy as hell, but also centered and calm, as if everything was as it was supposed to be. It scared a part of me, just for an instant, before the rest of me shrugged it off with a toss of the head that brushed all of my hair against the small of my back. It made me purr, the sound a contented fox makes, and I just couldn't help myself.
I laughed. It just felt ... right.
I stood up straight, without a care in the world, and glided out to the edge of the precipice. My hips and tails swayed provocatively, and my full, unfettered breasts shifted in counterpoint. When I reached the very edge, I did a perfect spin on a toe, arms stretched to either side, and then collapsed gracefully into a seated position that looked more fox than human -- bottom down, knees bent, feet pulled in so ankles pressed the backs of my thighs. My paws rested between my legs, in front of my sex. My tails twitched happily behind me, arching up behind my head and tickling the backs of my newly-grown ears.
"See me now, as I am," I said, baring my teeth in a wild grin that meant challenge as much as joy. "I am byako, kiko, myobu, nogitsune's bane. I am Akomachi, kitsune, guardian of the lower temple of Inari!" The words seemed to tumble from inside me, and filled me with a fierce pride I couldn't quite explain. "Some have called my kind tricksters. Others have called us friends. But I care not for anyone's labels. I am she who does what she wills, goes where she wishes ... and NEVER asks permission, or forgiveness." I licked a paw and rubbed an itchy spot behind my ear. 'Play it for everything it's worth, Becca,' I said to myself. 'You diva!' I sensed some kind of approval of my choice of attitude, somewhere deep inside, but shook it off and focused on the task at hand.
"Welcome to my home, Akomachi." The voice held a bit of a smile, and it called my eyes downward from my perch. I peered over the edge and deep into the abyss. There, hundreds of feet below, was an oversized human figure. She (and it was clearly a she) lay on her side, one knee drawn up, on an oval pillow that was roughly the size of a semi trailer. She was part human, part cat ... and all female. Her body was mostly human, with short dark fur covering every exposed inch. Her face was a mix of human and cat, protruding as a cat's muzzle would, her mouth filled with razor sharp teeth. Her eyes were cat's eyes, but rimmed with impossibly long human eyelashes. And her hair was long and straight and black, shining in the cavern's dim light. In the darkness behind her, I caught the twitching of a tail.
Tremendous fur-covered breasts rested on her chest, one lying on the other, both seemingly swollen with milk. Down her stomach two other sets of smaller breasts also protruded, also swollen, but that was not the most disturbing part of the scene.
On the pillow with her were five humans -- girls, all naked and snuggled up to her enormous form. Each had a nipple in her mouth, drinking freely from the cat goddess and making sounds of nearly orgasmic happiness. Their mouths appeared to stretch large enough to take in the oversized teats, and as I watched I could see their throats convulsing as they swallowed. One nipple remained untouched, sweating and dripping with milk.
As I watched, I recognized Gwen, Michael's sister, from when I met her in the hospital. 'The others must be the rest of her group,' I thought.
Suddenly, I realized that I was in the presence of the very thing I had been hunting since Heather's transformation.
I went numb all over. This wasn't some unrelated supernatural hijacking. The thing below must have sensed the few times I had used magic since my arrival as the Advocate, and had pulled me in to see who the new girl was, and whether I could interfere with whatever her plans happened to be.
Frankly, I was wondering the same thing myself. I knew I was in way over my head. This thing had changed reality at the drop of a hat, and I was sitting on its doorstep as a reluctant guest, or worse yet, disguised as a Japanese fox spirit. If she should see through the illusion -- I shivered at the thought, but deep within, there was a core of calm that seemed to bring me back to myself.
There was movement in the shadows, and I threw my sight forward and raised its sensitivity. Scattered around her resting place in the darkness was a small army of demons, watching me with eyes that never blinked. They held themselves in various aggressive forms -- a forest of fangs, claws, and sharp-edged wings, all ready to spring to the defense of the goddess.
And they all tasted very familiar, even from a distance.
Pain eaters.
I felt my stomach give a minor flip, but my shields remained in place. Just one of these things had the power to completely destroy my life not too long ago, and now there were at least ten of them, protecting the thing I had vowed to stop.
The Becca in me felt more than slightly overwhelmed by the odds. But strangely enough, the kitsune I had become seemed bored by them. 'Lesser demons,' I seemed to hear her say from the back of my mind. 'Pay them no mind, Advocate. They are beneath us.' I felt her eyes sparkle. 'In both senses of the word.'
I smiled, but it was true. 'They can't use their magic directly without striking a bargain. While we can use ours however and whenever we please,' I thought, relaxing just a little. 'We do have an edge.'
Even without that petty restriction, they are no challenge, to either of us.' The fox spirit sniffed and yawned inside my head. 'Now show the Cat we are more than human and worthy of her respect.'
I launched myself forward, out into the air above the goddess, and threw my fox form into a roll. Hands in the air, hair and tails flying up behind me, I plummeted almost all the way to the floor below before using magic to slow my descent. I floated down and folded myself gracefully into a seated position directly in front of her, a few feet above the cavern floor.
"Apologies if I am interrupting ... lunch? Dinner?" I inclined my head towards the girls. "But you did bring me here, so the time was of your choosing, not mine."
"You are welcome to join them, vixen, if you wish." The Cat's eyes sparkled briefly, and she grinned. "I do have one teat free, and I am told I taste quite ... sweet."
I looked at her, and bared my teeth in another predator's grin. "I must decline your gracious offer. It has been a long time since I suckled, and my teeth might ... cause you some discomfort, most powerful of cats." 'Besides,' I said to myself, 'I don't know what the heck it's doing to them, but I'd rather not risk it, no matter how 'sweet' you may be.'
"As you wish," the Cat replied, reaching down with a clawed finger to stroke Gwen's back from shoulder to hip. I watched Gwen shudder with pleasure and heard her moan past the nipple in her mouth. "More for my children."
"Your kits do not seem much like you, majesty." My voice held nothing but polite inquiry. "They are human, are they not?"
"They are. Soon my milk will change them, and they will become as I am. The first of my new family." Her voice held a touch of sadness. "I have no mate, and cannot breed as I would truly wish to. So these girls will become my young, and perhaps one day find mates of their own."
I inclined my head, and felt a pang of longing well up inside me. The words poured out in their respectful cadence, but full of emotion no politeness can mask. "I am sorry you have no mate, goddess, but I do feel your need, perhaps better than you know." Her head turned and she regarded me thoughtfully. I shrugged. "Long have I sought my own mate, Osusuki, the black fox, spirit guardian of the Upper Temple. I have longed for pups of my own, to feed and teach and raise." I looked down, my voice low. "Each year I have felt myself swell with longing. I have burned for him, for a thousand years and more. But I burn in vain, I fear, for he has vanished. I cannot find him. And without him, I can have no pups. I envy you the children you can bring forth this way, majesty."
The kitsune within me was truly sad, and I felt her loneliness deeply. I truly wanted a mate, and pups of my own. But it has been so long. Someday ...
The thought made me stop, and a chill swept through me. This wasn't an act. This kitsune inside me wasn't just a construct, or another part of myself. Somehow, I had managed to do more than make myself into a copy. I had called forth the real thing.
There truly was a Japanese fox spirit within me.
Ssssssssh,' she whispered. 'I am not your enemy, Advocate. You called to me, and I am here. There will be time for questions later. Now focus on the Cat, and let us work together.'
The Cat looked almost kindly upon me, as if she felt a deep connection between us. I felt a finger of magic reach out to touch my face, caress it gently, and withdraw. For a fleeting second, I felt regret at deceiving her in this way. But the torment of Mike and his friends rose up to wash my regret away. Whatever her tragedy, what her 'children' had done was wrong, and justice demanded I set things right.
Right and wrong later,' the vixen hissed. 'Survival now. Question why she summoned you. It is rude for one such as her to force one like myself to attend this way.'
"Why did you bring me here?" I rose higher and floated before her, feeling the vixen's irritation as if it were my own. I crossed my arms under my breasts, brought my legs together, and pointed my toes.
"Your magic brought you to my attention, Akomachi, and I wish to see who was hunting on my lands."
I sniffed and tossed my head. "I saw no signs that said the land where I chose to hunt belonged to you. And even if I did, I would not heed them, for no one keeps me from doing what I will."
"I am sure of it," the Cat soothed, her tone diplomatic. "I meant no offense. Originally, I thought you were only human, but powerful. Were you a human girl, I would have coaxed you to my breast and made you drink deep, to become another of my children."
A rough voice came from the demons assembled in the darkness. "She is human, goddess. She hides from you behind a vixen's mask, but she is no less human than those who drink from you."
A large red demon stepped forward into the flickering light. He was huge and obscenely male, with muscles bulging upon muscles, and eyes that flashed fire.
"Let me show you her true nature, that you might take her to your breast and add another kit to your pride. Let me force her to submit, and take her as the bitch she is ... over and over again." He licked his lips and smiled at me. "Let me teach her what it means to dare to deceive her betters."
Attend, Advocate,' the fox spirit whispered. 'Treat him as the vermin he is, and I will show you why these pitiful "Others" offer no challenge to either of us.'
There was a long silence. I regarded the demon with disgust, and spoke to the goddess without turning my head. "Does this one matter to you, majesty? Or may I punish him for his impudence as I see fit?"
The Cat ran her eyes over the demon's form, and threw me a smile. "He is yours, vixen. If you are merely human, you cannot punish him, for you would lack the power to do so. But if you are who you say you are, then you may do with him as you wish, since he has insulted you by calling you human when you are not."
The demon snorted and smiled. "This will not take long," he growled. "I will prove myself to you, goddess."
In a blur of motion, he launched himself across the cavern at me with a roar that echoed from the far walls. I waited for him to reach me, motionless but without fear. When his body was within inches of mine, I reached out with my magic and held him frozen in mid-air, completely helpless. His arrogance changed quickly to fear, as he realized how quickly he had lost against me ... without my having to lift a finger.
Curiously, as a kitsune, my access to my magic seemed more instinctual. Perhaps it was her presence overcoming my own view of my inexperience, but I felt strangely powerful. And as a result, I was.
Now he was mine. Ours. He knew it.
And it scared the hell out of him.
"You seem particularly scornful of humans," I said thoughtfully. "Not surprising, since your kind feed on their pain, and I have yet to meet a predator who respects her prey. So, I have decided that you shall become that which you despise." I tossed my head, and lightning flashed from my nine tails and struck the demon. When the light faded, a well-muscled human male floated before me, his eyes wide, his breath coming in short bursts.
The Cat smiled. I smiled back and continued. "You also seemed to feel yourself superior to females -- indefensible in the presence of a goddess and a spirit vixen, both far more powerful than you could ever be." My eyes narrowed. "You wished to make me be ... your bitch. Instead, you will become mine." I raised a paw and described a curve in the air before him. His body seemed to blur in the firelight, resolving itself into soft curves and pale skin where muscle and sinew had been. The demon dwindled in size until she seemed barely a teen, naked and cowering in mid-air. Her long black hair swirled around her, and her huge green eyes held all of her terror mixed with shame and disgust at her fate.
"Now, majesty," I said, bowing my head, "you gave him to me as a gift, to punish as I saw fit. I return her to you ... as your newest daughter, to drink from you and become a member of your pride. Do you accept my gift in return?
She nodded, purring loudly, and a merry laugh bubbled up from inside. She took the frightened girl into a hug and brought her to her breast. The Cat pressed the former demon's lips to the last empty teat. The girl took one taste and began suckling happily, her former life slipping away in the ecstasy of her new mother's milk.
The Cat looked at me with gratitude. "Thank you, Akomachi. I could never have performed such a transformation on one of my acolytes."
"If it were just a matter of power, you would have been able to do so easily, majesty" I curled up into a ball as I floated there, knees pressing into my breasts, tails spread out behind me. "If she had transgressed against you as she did with me, you could have had her as she is now with only a thought."
"True," she nodded, her eyes never leaving me. "But none of them would dare challenge me. We have an understanding, they and I."
I nodded. "We are as much bound by our loyalties as those who serve us, after all. Not that I wish to be served, as you do, goddess. I find myself reluctant to become ... entangled. It has never been my way."
The Cat reached down and gently began to disengage the five human girls from her teats, one at a time, leaving the sixth new girl to suckle alone. Each of the five struggled as they were removed, their heads turning fitfully as they searched for the nipple they had left. But the goddess held each girl in turn, and crooned sweetly as she cuddled them, until they had all drifted into sleep. When they all lay before her on the pillow, she flicked her tail over the bunch. They blurred briefly, then vanished.
"Why did you send your kits away, majesty?" I asked, concern leaking into my measured tones. "Is it not dangerous for them to be away from you? Especially so young?"
The Cat sighed. "I wish I didn't have to let them leave. But they are still learning, back in the world from which they came. They are slowly abandoning the ways of their former kind, and learning the responsibility that comes with the power of a goddess."
"Responsibility?"
"As you say, being served requires ... entanglement. What humans call noblesse oblige." The Cat wiggled on the pillow to become more comfortable, and cradled the one girl still feeding. She continued to suckle, moaning with contentment. "These demons who surround and protect me require sustenance in the form of human suffering. In exchange for their loyalty, I provide them with a way to feed through the actions of my children. And through those actions, I teach my children what it means to be a goddess."
"Human suffering." My tone was flat. The Cat eyed me curiously. "This bothers you, vixen?"
I shrugged. "I have always had a fondness for humans, and I do not hide it. Your kits are human still. But I do not understand. As a race, humans suffer quite enough to feed your guard, without having your children go out where it is unsafe and create more woe. Why send them?"
"Because strife created is sweeter by far to them, kitsune. These pain eaters can live on the background suffering of billions, but they thrive on suffering deliberately caused by magic."
That makes these Others the opposite of the joy eaters,' I mused. 'Magic tainted their meals. They could only live on naturally occurring happiness.' Belatedly, I also realized that the pain eaters were not as tied up as I had originally thought. They had made a bargain -- with the goddess. They could use their powers whenever and however they wished in her service.
Please be silent,' the fox spirit whispered. 'I am attempting to get the information you seek, without endangering your existence ... or mine.'
"So they create suffering with the power you are giving them, to feed your ... followers?" I spun slowly in mid-air, wrapping myself in my nine tails. "I am curious. How is causing pain to humans a good way to train a goddess?"
"They must learn to put their needs above all others." The Cat rolled over and stretched, her tail flicking insolently over her all-too-human hips. "Human concepts like loyalty, compassion, and empathy weaken a goddess. They are useful, in their way, when it is convenient to be merciful. Or when one is obligated to one's followers, or one's equals. But to let them rule you, as my human children used to ..." She shook her head. "It is unacceptable. I must wean them from their humanity, and teach them that their loyalty lies with me, and with others of their kind."
I regarded her as I floated above her, my revulsion tempered by the vixen's unnerving calm. "It must be difficult," I mused aloud, "to make them reject emotions so fundamental to the core of every human. Especially in ones so young."
"The self-centeredness of youth easily overcomes the need to love and care for others, vixen. Children always feel that the world revolves around them, as you know." She spoke casually, but it cut deep. I felt a sharp pain tear across my heart, and hugged myself tightly.
"I do not know, and may never know, goddess." The words seemed to rip free from the depths of my soul, and I knew Akomachi's despair as if it was my own. "As you are already aware, my mate is gone a thousand years past, and the ghosts of ten thousand pups haunt me still. The pups I never birthed, and will never know." My knees came up and I folded into a ball. My whole body shook.
There was a long silence that seemed to roar in my ears, and then I felt the Cat's tail snake across the distance between us and wrap itself around me. "I am so sorry, Akomachi. It was thoughtless of me not to remember." She poured honest regret through her touch into me, and it washed over the hurt I felt and lessened the pain. I reached out to her and bathed in her concern, and I stayed huddled in her embrace until I could come back to myself.
Finally, I stroked the fur on her tail, and she released me. I flew up above her, and hovered there.
"I thank you for your consideration in my time of grief," I said formally. The Cat bowed her head, closing her eyes. "As ... friendly as our meeting has been, I wish to return to my own home and meditate a while. I will not forget you, highness."
"Nor I you," she replied. "Had I known your true nature, I would have asked you to join me earlier, for company and conversation."
"I will return soon, if you would like?" The goddess nodded, and I smiled back. "Until we meet again, majesty."
The cave and the Cat disappeared from sight.
Suddenly, I was face-to-face with a pair of bright green eyes, surrounded by white fur. Startled, I fell backwards, landing on my naked bottom and scrambling backwards on green grass. There was something odd about the feeling of my skin against the ground, and the way my breasts bounced as I moved, but I scarcely noticed. I was too busy looking up. And around.
The fox spirit floated a few feet above me, framed against a sky of the brightest blue. Her mouth was open in a canine grin that could be either friendly or ferocious, but was obviously directed at me. I was pretty sure she held no malice towards me, but being naked and defenseless is not the best way to meet something as powerful as the spirit before me.
"Of course not," Akomachi responded politely to a sentence I never spoke. "But you need not fear me. I have shared your body and seen your thoughts. I know you as no other does, and I have found you to be a noble and worthy soul. I have no quarrel with you ... although you did call to me without permission, and without the proper rituals."
"I apologize for that, guardian of the Lower Temple," I said respectfully. "I did not mean to call to you at all."
"No," she said, her tone slightly curious. "You meant to impersonate me. Why?"
I looked her in the eye and spoke from the heart. "It is said among my kind that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Long before I found myself becoming the Advocate, you and your brothers and sisters fascinated me. So powerful, and yet no strangers to humankind. Sometimes allies, and yet always alien. Very conscious of right and wrong, yet less interested in the human concepts of good and evil. And very, very powerful." I sighed. "So when I found myself in that situation, facing a magical creature of unknown strength, I immediately chose yours as the form I wished to take, to face her on even terms. Or at least make her pause before she tried to kill me."
I bowed my head and closed my eyes. "I apologize for my presumption."
"There is no need." I looked up and found the vixen smiling at me, her head tilted to one side. "As you say, I am ... flattered. It has been a long while since kitsune have been revered or honored. I was elsewhere, and then I heard your call. Your intensity ... your devotion ... your need ... they called to me. So I came."
I looked up, confused. "How could you hear me call, guardian? I thought I was ... well shielded."
Akomachi seemed to sigh without sighing. "You were. Your defenses were impressive. But your call opened up a portal in your shields ... a doorway only I could use. Otherwise, how could someone in danger or under attack ever call for aid from my kind without making themselves defenseless?" She rolled in mid-air and stretched. "The fact that you were shielded was part of what intrigued me about you, Becca-chan. I answered a call for help, and found ... you. A human ... with such power! A mystery! But then I saw what you were trying to do, and the ease with which you were doing it. I was not sure you could successfully pretend to be one of my kind, and you had called to me for help. I knew I had to know more. I knew I could not physically enter her lair without revealing your deception. So instead, I chose to become one ... with you."
Akomachi drifted closer, her bright green eyes suddenly serious. "One of the things we kitsune do is possession, Advocate. But we do not do it often, because it has a price for us. It is much more than your Western concept of taking over the body of another and bending her to our will. Some Japanese legends describe it this way, but they are wrong. Instead, our possession is an ... intense sharing of everything that makes us unique, at the most basic of levels. I now know everything about you that there is to know, and you know things about me no other human can imagine."
I looked up at her, confused. "I don't understand. Why are you so reluctant to merge with someone? It seems you gain and not lose from the experience. What is the price you pay?"
"What I have gained from merging with you, Becca-chan, is also what I have lost." The fox spirit waved her paw at her chest. "Now I know what it means to be you. To be human, and ... mortal. As an immortal, to feel death's grasp is painful. And now, there is a part of me that understands why you made the choices you did, to become the Advocate. All those human concepts of courage and justice, good and evil."
She shuddered, just a little. "Inside me now is a small piece of humanity. A part of you that will never leave me. It has immense value, as all true knowledge does ... but it hurts, as well. And that, sadly, will never stop."
I looked around. We were on top of a hill, covered with the greenest grass I had ever seen. The sky was a rich deep blue that seemed to draw the eye into it, and there were forests spread across the landscape as far as I could see. A bright silver stream wound across the landscape. She saw me take it all in, and felt my wonder.
"Where are we?"
"This is my home, Becca-chan." She smiled at me again. "Your home, too, now, whenever you wish."
"What do you mean?"
The fox spirit tilted her head at me, her eyes squinting slightly as they met mine. "We have become family, you and I," she said, "bound by the sharing of body and soul. A consequence of your power, I believe. We two became one, for a time, then became two again. Now both are part human, and part kitsune. Both of us, kin." The vixen opened her mouth in another grin. "Perhaps mother and daughter, if I may be permitted to have at least part of my dream." She waved her paw at me, and said, "Look down, child."
I did, and froze.
I was a kitsune, just as I had been in the Cat's lair, only my fur was reddish-orange with a white muzzle, neck, chest, and paws. I had only a single tail, reddish-orange tipped with white. The world spun slightly, and I reached up to touch one soft velvet ear with my fingertips.
'Huh,' I thought, half in wonder, half in shock.
'I wonder what Mom's policy is concerning pets?'
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To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 15
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Becca discovers she's not quite herself anymore (but doesn't seem to mind). She also gains another mentor and friend, takes a "paws" in the action to go fishing, and discovers that you really CAN go home again ... especially when nobody knows you left.
Part 15
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I was a kitsune, just as I had been in the Cat's lair, only my fur was reddish-orange with a white muzzle, neck, chest, and paws. I had only a single tail, reddish-orange tipped with white. The world spun slightly, and I reached up to touch one soft velvet ear with my fingertips. 'Huh,' I thought, half in wonder, half in shock. 'I wonder what Mom's policy is concerning pets?' |
My initial reaction to my newfound foxiness was confusion. I suddenly felt ... more. Of everything. Colors were brighter, smells were overwhelming. Soft breeze ruffling my fur, slipping across parts of me that were never bare in the outside air. There was a soft ringing in my ears, and I was vaguely aware of the tip of my nose at the end of a long muzzle hovering there between my eyes. Everything around me started to fade as I drifted towards unconsciousness ...
... and then an impossible, almost alien calm rose up from deep inside and pulled me back down into the world that was. I felt strangely at peace, and my senses dropped back from overwhelmingly sharp to pleasantly enhanced. I was connected somehow, to everything around me. The sky, the trees, the grass ... even to Akomachi as she hovered in the air in front of me. A part of me acknowledged that the calm was not a normal reaction for the girl I used to be. But for a kitsune, it was perfectly natural. And being at least partly kitsune now, being centered and part of the natural world was completely normal. I realized it was probably that part of Akomachi still inside me, from the time we shared my body.
It still scared me, to think of myself possessed of something as strange as this accepting placidity. And yet, what had I lost, really? The paralyzing "flight or fight" reflex that drove so much of human behavior? Was that so bad? And was anything of Becca even really lost? It could only be masked by the kitsune response that this form made dominant. My human responses could just be hidden, waiting for an opportunity to emerge
Even without the kitsune calm, I could see that panic would not be an appropriate response. I felt my whole body go as still as a mountain lake on a windless day. I should be honored, I thought. After all, I had always respected and revered the kitsune. Now I was one -- at least, in part. Just like that, I felt a smile coming on, and I looked over my shoulder at my newest furry appendage. It seemed to sway back and forth with a mind of its own, and I looked up at Akomachi.
"Only one tail?" I gave her a little pout. "I feel cheated somehow. After all, I did have all nine of yours to play with for a while." The vixen's mouth opened in silent laughter. I grinned. "I know, more tails come with time, and wisdom." My own smile faded. "But I have no time, Akomachi. As much an honor as this is, I cannot stay like this. I have work to do, as a human. And I have a family, and a life, that I need to return to."
"You may call me Oneesama, if you wish," the fox spirit replied. "It is an appropriate honorific, in and of itself." Information about the complex Japanese forms of address between individuals flowed into my head. She looked down, briefly, and it seemed as if she was embarrassed. "However, I must admit that, in the short time we have known each other, I have come to think of you more as my daughter than as a friend. If, one day, you come to think of me as a mother, I would be honored if you would call me 'Casa.'"
The vixen looked up and smiled slightly. "In either case, formality between us would be absurd, Becca-chan. We have, after all, shared a body. And you need not worry. Our kind have always been shapeshifters. Your human form remains, with all of its power, whenever you choose to reclaim it. As does your work. But I would talk with you for a while, if I might?"
I thought for a moment. I genuinely liked Akomachi. I understood her in ways I have never understood another person, because of what we had shared. And I knew how much she truly wanted a daughter. Finally, I decided that a girl could never have too many mothers, and I smiled. "I would welcome the gift of your time ... Casa." I felt her pleasure flow through me like a physical force, and I let it gently stroke my soul in passing. I concentrated, and floated up to join her in mid-air. "But I am curious. How is time passing in the world I left, where my ... other family dwells? I have been gone a while, and I would not wish them to be worried at my long absence."
Akomachi shook her head. "Only an instant has passed there since your departure at the hands of the Goddess. No other time shall pass until you return. And what we need to speak about is important."
The two of us drifted towards the river, and my new senses were overwhelmed by the smells of the forests and the grass. My eyes were so sharp, I could see for miles.
We floated gently to the ground by the water, and Akomachi padded over to the river's edge on all fours. She looked over her shoulder and grinned at me. "Come, Becca-chan. Fish with me!" I looked at her, a bit cautious, and she shook her head and let her tongue hang out of her mouth. "You are young and life is short, child. Catching your own food can be fun! We can talk of serious things and still enjoy the baser pleasures life brings. It is part of being kitsune."
I peered into the water, where big fat fish swam complacently under the surface. "I thought foxes did not fish for their food, Casa."
She shrugged. "Foxes do not. But I am kitsune, and this is my home, and I have come to enjoy fishing ... and fish. If you'd rather, we could hunt voles, or other small game ... but I sense that you are not so much one of us that the game of predator and prey would interest you. Yet." Akomachi paused for a moment, then her paws darted below the surface and came up with a huge fish. It fought fiercely in her hands, and she held it up to me with a grin. "On land or in water, the fun is in the hunt, Becca-chan. In being faster than the fish, in her own element." The fox spirit looked into the fish's eyes, and her grin became a small smile. "Of course, the best thing about fishing is ... you can choose to let them go."
The vixen lowered the fish back into the water, and it swam rapidly away. I looked at her, slightly confused, and she looked at me and smiled. "It is only a game, Becca-chan. We are fox spirits, not foxes. I do not need to eat, and as kitsune, neither do you." Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she cocked her head. "Although you should know that I can eat if I wish, and have often eaten and enjoyed my prey in the past. It is my choice, and part of who I am. Does this disturb you?"
I felt almost as if I were being tested, and I looked into her eyes and shook my head. "I would not have you deny who and what you are, Casa, nor should anyone. Does a mountain deny itself? Or a river?"
Akomachi's smile grew, and I felt a soft caress deep inside my soul. "Thank you, Becca. Today, I fish only for fun. So come, daughter ... play with me?"
I threw her a tentative grin of my own, and settled down to peer into the river, looking for a likely target. Akomachi moved downriver a few meters and continued to fish as she spoke.
"Normally, kitsune do not involve themselves in human affairs unless specifically asked for help." Her nose moved slightly as she tracked her next victim through the clear water. "When your admiration and respect called to me, I was curious, and chose to take it as a request for aid, as is my right. Also, since you were engaged in an ... interaction with a magical entity, the normal rules about human affairs did not strictly apply."
I nodded, ears at attention, watching my own fish move closer. "When we were one, I saw that you have sworn to protect your kind from magical abuse, and that is a worthy goal. Oaths are very important to kitsune, as you know. But as impressive as you are, as a human, you are still new at what you do. There are questions you have not asked yourself. And your current teachers have not asked them for you. In fact, they may never ask them for you, because they have their own concerns for you and your mission -- and their own opinions of those creatures with which your kind shares this universe."
My paws moved faster than thought itself, and I held a silver fish up over my head. Now it was my turn to wear the predator's grin, and Akomachi grinned back. I carefully slipped the fish back into the river, and watched it swim away.
"Your Arbiters think all magical creatures are guilty, by their very nature," the vixen continued, "and as a result, they spend all of their time waiting to pass judgment whenever an opportunity arises. They do this because it is what they do. They have no life beyond their duty. It is their entire purpose, judgment and punishment. They saw the need for someone like you when too many magical creatures evaded their 'justice' through loopholes. But I believe they might have seen you as little more than a samurai to fight their battles, when in fact, the Omnipresence intended you to be so much more."
She paused, her eyes lit up, and before I could blink she held her own fish aloft, arms over her head. Happiness poured off of her in waves, a joy that was pure and at the same time wicked. I tapped my paws together in applause, and she delivered a mock curtsey that made me burst into laughter -- a curious sound in my kitsune form, like Lauren Bacall impersonating the bark of a small dog who smoked two packs a day. The vixen laughed with me.
After we stopped, Akomachi placed her fish back into the stream gently. Instead of continuing to fish, she padded up onto the river bank and sat near me, by the edge. "You do agree," she said, "that the Arbiters are somewhat ... limited in their point of view?"
"Absolutely," I replied, watching my own fish slip away. "Because of the nature of their work, they only see that part of the Omniverse for which they are responsible, and view all things through the filter of their obsession. That's how Leander's punishment came to be. A human is different from a demon, and deserves a different punishment. They just didn't know better, because they couldn't." I glided up onto the bank and sat beside her, our legs just touching. We both looked out at the water together in a companionable silence. "Still," I continued, "they did help me past a difficult situation and gave me the ability to do some good, so I am somewhat ... predisposed towards thinking kindly of them."
"Even if their help came at a price?"
I smiled. "Casa, almost everything comes at a price ... and this price was one I was willing, even eager to pay. I know you know that. And if the giver is the universe, the price is one of roads not taken, or opportunities missed. For a new job, you must pay with the security and familiarity of the old one. For adult pleasures, you pay with the innocence of youth." I shrugged, and turned my nose down towards the water. My reflection gazed back, placid and quite centered, and for the first time, I noticed that my ears were actually black. "If the might-have-been was a universal currency, everyone in existence would be rich beyond measure."
I watched Akomachi's reflection look at me, curiosity clearly evident in the tilt of her head. "How did you become so wise, Becca-chan?"
I grinned and shook my head. "Wise? I don't know about that. But I have learned a lot. I lived for over forty years surrounded by the most dangerous creatures in the Omniverse -- humans. I kept my eyes open and my feet on the ground. And I suffered every minute of every day for being what I was not, and knowing it would never change." One of her tails brushed my side gently, over and over. I felt her love as a tangible force, and sighed. "It made me sensitive to the suffering of others. It helped me share their pain."
"I understand your need," Akomachi said softly, "as you understood mine in the Cat's cavern, because I felt the shadow of it when we were one. I could have helped you in your youth, if you had only called out to me as you did before. But for all of your reverence and respect for my kind, you did not truly believe we were real. So you did not call."
"I only wish I had, Casa. Perhaps my call would never have reached you, had I not been given this power by the Omnipresence." I sighed again. "We will never know. Still, my suffering brought me to think more than most about the nature of reality, and of humankind. So if I am wise, blame my wisdom on thinking too much."
The vixen's shape shimmered and blurred, and suddenly a large white fox sat beside me. Only her nine tails showed her true nature. She threw me a predator's grin, and I gave her one back. Then I concentrated, and my own form changed to that of a red and white fox. I watched my vision shift again, becoming sharper with more muted colors. Akomachi turned and began padding towards the forest. I followed, still getting used to the experience of moving on all fours.
"It is more than thinking too much, I think," she said, her voice suddenly in my head. "You are gifted. You perceive the universe as an intricate series of layers, woven together and interacting on levels others cannot even begin to imagine. You can truly see through the eyes of others, gain their perspective with but a thought -- not by reading their minds, but by seeing the world as they see it. You can solve problems by literally turning the Universe on its side in your mind, and seeing things in a new way. It has helped you thousands of times in your earlier human life, before your encounter that morning and your new life as the Advocate."
I started to protest, and the vixen turned her head to face me. The look in her eyes stopped me in my tracks. It was stern and focused. "And now you seek to deny it -- to deny who you are. 'Does a mountain deny itself? Does a river?'" My own words turned against me, there was nothing I could say. Akomachi's voice softened in my head. "Do not try to lie to me, daughter, after what we have shared. These are things that need to be said ... and heard." I stayed silent. Her eyes narrowed. "I know you are embarrassed by being better than other humans. You wish to hide what makes you special. Tell me why."
"Surely you already know," I said softly. She nodded.
"Of course I do, and so do you. But I want you to say it. To ... acknowledge it. Can you?"
My turn to nod. "I have always believed that thinking you're better than other people is wrong. It's the first step on the road to becoming everything I despise -- to becoming a slave to my own ego. I don't want to believe I'm better than other people, because that implies that other people are less than I am. Once that happens, I'll start believing I have the right to tell others how to live their lives, just because I'm better. Better to deny that I am special than to admit it to myself and risk becoming the jerk I could be."
Akomachi nodded once, decisively, then sat directly in front of me. "Now, Becca-chan ... what is wrong with your theory?"
"I don't know," I said sheepishly, looking away.
"You do know," the vixen replied sharply. "But since it is my turn to state the obvious, I will oblige. The phrase 'all men are created equal' is a fiction. There are those among your kind who can run a mile in under four minutes. They are better than you at running ... at least in your human form. Does that make you somehow less than they are? No. It makes them better at moving quickly. That is all. You, however, can see the world from multiple perspectives, and solve problems they don't even know exist. This does not make them less than you. It just makes them different. And you know this. I know you do."
I hung my head, still in fox form. She padded over to me and pressed her body against mine, tucking her head under my chin and nuzzling my throat.
"Oh, Becca-chan," she sighed, her voice echoing in my head. "I think who you really are and what you can do is a large part of why you were chosen to be the Advocate. You could be the greatest force for good your people have ever known, but first you have to believe in yourself. The Arbiters do. Your human family and your friends do, too. Your ... boyfriend as well, although he does not know everything about you. And I? I believe in you most of all. Because I have been you, and you are indeed very special. You just need to see that, daughter."
Suddenly, I began to tremble all over, and both Akomachi and I reverted to kitsune form. I found her arms around me, holding me close and cradling me to her breast, and I felt the tears running down my nose and disappearing into her fur.
"Ssssssh," she whispered. "I know why you cry. Tell me, so you can tell yourself."
"Because I'm so scared!" My voice shook. "I have all this power, and I'm supposed to be able to use it, and protect people, and stop the 'bad guys.' And you tell me I'm better, and I'm special. You tell me I could be great." I felt Akomachi nod. "That's all well and good. But what if I'm not as 'special' as you think? What if I'm not good enough? I'm the only hope for those boys who were changed -- and maybe for the girls who are being changed by the Cat. What if I try to save them all, and fail? What then?"
There was a silence, and a sigh. "Becca-chan. What will happen if you do not even try?"
I froze and thought about what she had said. I remembered what I had thought in the cavern, just before confronting the Cat goddess. 'Always assume you can succeed. Otherwise, you're defeated before you begin.'
If I didn't try, I would definitely fail. No one would be saved, and I would curse my cowardice for letting it happen. But if I stopped being afraid and took a chance ... if I actually believed in myself, the way everyone else seemed to ... maybe we would all come out of this whole.
Maybe we could actually win.
I looked up and found the vixen looking down at me, a small smile playing at the edge of her mouth.
"Enlightenment," she said simply. "You will do what you must, because you have to. It is who you are. You will embrace your power, and your destiny. And you will prove, to yourself and to everyone, that you are every bit as gifted as I know you are. That you are everything you need to be to fulfill your oath and protect your kind."
Akomachi gave me a final squeeze, and stood. I looked up at her from the ground. She held out a paw. I took it, and she pulled me to my feet.
"You are always welcome here, daughter." She grinned her predator's grin. "But it is time for you to return to your own world, and consider what we have talked about. Focus your mind and retrieve your human form."
I did, and after a few seconds of shimmering in the air around me, a naked human Becca stood shivering slightly in the tall grass. I closed my eyes, and the clothing I had whisked away in the cavern came back and wrapped me in its embrace. Akomachi towered over the human me, still smiling. I hugged her tight.
"Thank you, Casa," I whispered. She hugged me back.
"You know I will stand with you, Becca-chan, when the time comes to face the goddess." Her voice rumbled in her chest. "As my child, it is my right to stand beside you in a time of challenge. The battle is yours to win, of course, but I know ... you will always make me proud."
I appeared back in the hallway of my home. Akomachi had helped me to orient myself, taught me the technique with a touch that brought it back from the memories she had shared with me during our time together, and watched me 'port home. After the tense confrontation in the cavern and the hyper-reality of Akomachi's home, my human reality seemed smaller somehow.
As in fact, it was. But small or not, it was home, and I was happy to be back.
I felt dizzy, just for a few seconds, and reached out with one hand to steady myself on the wall. The coolness of it against my fingertips brought me further back into the world. I closed my eyes and breathed in the air, scented with something sweet I couldn't quite identify. The bra and jeans that had fit so well a few hours of my lifetime ago seemed snug after bare skin and soft fur, but the feeling helped to ground me more.
"You okay, Bee?" I felt a hand on my shoulder, and opened my eyes to find Amy looking at me, her concern evident.
I smiled. "Just a little shaky," I said, reaching up to pat her hand with mine. "It's been a rough couple of days, after all."
She nodded, and chewed on her lower lip for a second. "Becca ... do you really want to go shopping? I mean, I was kinda into it and didn't think to ask if you were up to it ..."
"... and I knew you were into it and didn't want to spoil your fun," I finished for her. "Truth is, Ames ... I dunno. I'd love to go shopping with you, but I don't know if I'm up to 'shop 'til you drop' right now." I grinned. "I think I'd wind up dropping pretty fast."
Amy smiled back, then looked down, embarrassed. A few seconds later, she raised her head and smiled. "Maybe we should just hang in today, then. You know, listen to some tunes, watch some TV. Would that be okay?"
I gave her a big hug. "Better than okay, girl. I can't think of anyplace else I'd rather be."
We spent the rest of the day doing pretty much nothing much at all. It was wonderful. When Amy heard I was cleaning out my closet to make room for Heather, she looked at everything Heather didn't choose to keep with an eye for expanding her own wardrobe. Soon, Heather and I were watching Amy try on things while my computer played alternative rock by bands whose names Jack barely registered, even though Becca knew them intimately. Heather didn't seem at all embarrassed or upset by Amy stripping down to her underwear, and she didn't have a problem with doing the same when Amy begged to see the red dress Heather had tried on the night before.
When we all moved to the kitchen to raid the fridge, we found Jeremy buried in the new Samurai Champloo video game, and descended upon him as a group to wrest the controller from his grasp and do some serious playing ourselves. At first, Jeremy was a little upset. But since we immediately replaced the controller with a very cuddly (and loving) Heather, he suddenly decided that holding a warm girl beat holding a piece of cold plastic any day, and left Amy and I to wield our katanas in peace.
By late afternoon, we were all stretched out in front of the television, giving Heather a crash course in geek by watching the first episode of the Battlestar Galactica miniseries on DVD. Jeremy and Heather were snuggled in the loveseat, so totally wrapped around each other that I suspected neither of them was actually watching the screen. I was on the sofa with Amy, my head resting on her lap as she ran her fingers through my hair.
"I'm glad you didn't die the other day," she said in a low voice, almost as if she was afraid to say it.
I turned my head to look up at her. "Me, too," I replied with a grin.
"Shut UP!" she squealed, and mussed up my hair with both hands. I giggled and turned my head all the way to tickle her tummy with my nose. Amy shrieked and started tickling me with both hands, and the two of us rolled onto the floor, laughing and screaming like idiots. Heather and Jeremy looked up for a moment, confused, then looked back at each other and went on with the kissing.
Hours later, Amy had gone home, Heather was picking out her outfit for tomorrow's school day, and as a nod to my earlier meeting with the Cat goddess, I was curled up on the sofa in a purple "Hello Kitty" nightgown and fuzzy slippers. The phone rang, and I picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Becca." Tommy's voice sounded happy and warm, and I felt a sudden rush of heat wash over me.
"TOMMY!" I squealed, and heard him laugh.
"Glad you're so happy to hear from me, babe," he said, and I heard the tenderness in his voice.
"You have no idea," I purred at him. "Drop on by and I'll show you just how glad I am."
He laughed again. "Don't tease, please. Or you're gonna wind up with a very interested boyfriend beating a hole in your door at two a.m. Then what ya going to do?"
I smiled a smile he could feel through the phone. "You did ask me not to tease, Tomcat. Do you really want me to tell you?"
"Down, girl! I thought you didn't want to jump ... or be jumped ... just yet." There was a pause, and a little hesitancy. "Unless ... that's changed?"
"I'm sorry, baby," I said softly. "I'm being awful, I know. I just ... I do want it. Just ... it's scary how much I want it, and I love you so much I know I'm going to say yes sooner than I should." I took a deep breath. "Dancing so close to the edge, like we do, it makes me feel sooo ... but I'm still too young. You are, too."
"I know." His heavy sigh rolled through my heart. "But the 'everything else' is so sweet, you won't catch me saying no the next time we're together." Another long pause. "'Tomcat,' huh? Where did that come from?"
I shrugged, even though he couldn't see me. "Not sure. It just felt right."
He thought some more. "Well, I sorta like it. But just so you know, this tomcat doesn't go out yowling for anyone else but his girl. And he never will."
"I know," I whispered, my heart beating faster. "Thank you for understanding."
"Good things come to them that waits," Tommy replied with a grin in his voice. "That's what my Grandpa always said, and I waited long enough just to find you, so he musta been right. I can wait until we're both ready, 'cause I know we will be, someday." His voice dropped low, almost as if he didn't want anyone else to hear. "Love you, babe."
"Love you, Tommy."
"In the meantime," he went on, his voice still low, "while we're ... waiting, how about meeting me tomorrow morning before homeroom? Under the stairs by the girl's locker room? I need a really good reason to climb out of bed tomorrow to go to school, and you in my arms with your lips on mine is the only thing I can think of."
I felt a shiver run through me. "I'll be there, I promise. Ummm ... don't start without me?"
He snorted, then laughed. "God, you make me happy."
"You too." There was a warm silence, and Tommy cleared his throat. "I guess I'd better get off the phone before we both explode."
"That would be messy," I said seriously, then ruined it with a giggle. "See you in the morning, Tomcat."
"You sure will. Bye, Becca."
I hung up the phone and curled up into a ball, hugging the warm feeling he left in my middle and wishing the Arbiters could have made me just a year or two older.
God, how I wanted that boy!
It was about two o'clock in the morning when I woke from a sound sleep and smiled. I knew exactly how to deal with Leander's redemption. Mrs. Graymalkin was right -- the answer was right in front of me all along. I spent a half hour turning the solution around in my head, looking for weak spots while I listened to Heather snoring softly above me.
Suddenly, I realized that I didn't want to let this hang any longer. I wanted to deal with it tonight -- well, as much as I could deal with it tonight, anyway.
I reached out with my mind, and fingers of magical energy stretched across the planet, looking for the person I needed to speak with to set things in motion. I felt a jolt that shuddered through me, and smiled.
Leander was awake. I could feel it.
I rolled out of bed, wandered over to the mirror, and tried to get my hair into some semblance of order. I didn't have a lot of luck, but a scrunchy and a quick ponytail helped some. I was girl enough to know that I wasn't going for an uninvited visit without at least trying to make myself a little more presentable.
Closing my eyes, I willed myself to be ...
... somewhere else.
It turned out to be a suburban American kitchen, decorated in the latest style and spotlessly clean. I appeared behind Leander. She was wearing a pink teddy with a matching silk robe over it, and heeled slippers. Her hair was tousled and out of place, her head was bowed, and I saw her shoulders shaking.
There was a slight smell of recent sex in the room. A glass of wine and a bottle of chardonnay sat on the kitchen table in front of her, and as I watched, she raised the glass with a trembling hand and took a dainty sip. When she put it back on the table, Leander froze, just for an instant. I saw her shoulders straighten, and her head come up. Her eyes met mine in the reflection in the kitchen window.
"Hello, Advocate." Her voice was shaking, just a little, but there was still a bit of her old attitude slipping past the tears. Her eyes traveled down to my nightgown, and she smiled. "A ... fetching ensemble, Becca."
"Thank you, Leander," I said, and threw her a small curtsey. "You're looking pretty nice yourself. Did you ... choose that?"
She grimaced and shook her head. "Hardly. He wants this." She waved her hand across her breasts. "Wants his little wifey to look pretty when she gives him what he needs. And this is tame, compared to some of the other things he wants me to wear when we ... do it." She looked down. "Not to mention what he wants me to do."
"I'm surprised you're out here," I said, looking back at her in the glass. "Doesn't he want to cuddle afterwards?"
Leander gave an unladylike snort, and took another sip of wine. "That might be the case if he actually loved me. I think I fit in his view of the world somewhere around the same level as a family dog. If we had a dog, that is." She laughed, the sound dry and empty. "I'm just the friendly bitch who can make him cum. And do his laundry, and make his meals, and worship the ground he walks on. Every. Single. Day." She laughed again, and it sounded like the sound autumn leaves make when they're blown across the pavement on a cold November night. "I am just his wet dream made warm flesh. And every time I pleasure him, those bastards who did this to me make me love it. They make me cum, too ... and that makes me want something I should despise."
She turned around and faced me head on. "My God, how could you ever WANT to be a woman? To be some man's plaything? Pretty little painted toy, always bent to some man's will? Why would you turn your back on being a man and choose ... this?" The pain and anger warred on her face, and the tears kept pouring out. Finally, she turned away from me and bowed her head. Her shoulders started shaking again as she curled into herself.
I didn't think. I didn't have to. I walked up behind her, put my arms around her, and just held her. She stiffened for an instant, then broke down in huge sobs that made my heart ache. I poured my own compassion into her, let her feel how I felt for her as it washed through her soul. At first she resisted, but I kept wrapping her in layers of true emotion, and she saw how much I cared about her pain, and hated what they had done to her for so long.
Eventually, the tears subsided. I still held her, only I had slipped to the floor beside her chair and wrapped my arms around her torso. Her arms had found their way around me, and when I was sure she was listening, I spoke.
"What the Arbiters did to you had nothing to do with being a woman." She could hear the anger in my voice. "They used that body as a prison and tortured you with it. They did more harm than good, and never intended this to end. This has always been slavery instead of punishment, with no hope of redemption. It was wrong, and I told them so. At some length, I might add."
"You what?" Leander froze in disbelief. I let her go and moved away from her so I could look into her eyes.
"I told them they were wrong to do what they did to you, and after going away and thinking about it for a while, they agreed." I sighed. "So ... you're my responsibility, now."
Her eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"
"Well, they aren't your jailers anymore. I am. So what happens to you now ... is up to me."
She went stiff, all over, and her voice became very cold. "So what are you going to do to me?"
"Well, turn you back into a man, for a start," I replied, and smiled. "If that's what you really want."
Leander's mouth opened, but nothing came out. She seemed to be in shock, and I couldn't blame her. "A m-m-m -- man?"
I nodded. "I'd have to take away your magic, and give you something of a stake so you could make your way in today's world, but if you want to be a man again, that's fine. You've spent five hundred years trapped in a body you despised. I think that's enough to punish you for your crimes, don't you?"
She nodded without really thinking, and one hand rose up to touch her breast, still wrapped in pink silk.
"The trouble is, your punishment created its own problems, and I'm not quite sure how to deal with those." Leander looked down at me, and her eyes filled with confusion. I sighed. "Good God, Leander, you're filled with hate and anger, and I don't blame you. You have been ill-used, and twisted by time and circumstance into thinking a woman's role is to be a man's slave. You don't have a clue what being a real woman is, and the past five centuries have done nothing to show you how to truly behave like a man instead of a tyrant. If I just set you free, even without your magic, I could be causing more harm than you did before you were caught."
The poor girl looked like she was going to cry again, and I shook my head and gave her arms a squeeze. "You're not staying like this, hon. I promise." I paused, then plunged ahead. "I have a proposition to make -- one that will benefit us both in the years to come."
She cocked her head, and I continued. "I'd like you to come and work for me. I'm looking for a knight in shining armor, but a spell-slinging ex-warlord and former housewife will do."
Leander laughed, a truly feminine sound that almost stopped her from continuing. When she got over her initial shock, she said, "You must be joking."
I shook my head. "I'm not. I don't care if your armor's tarnished -- hell, if you were 'sans peur et sans reproche,' you never would have wound up in that cute pink teddy, or on the wrong end of five hundreds years of domestic and sexual servitude. What I want to do is give you a chance to learn what it means to be a good man."
She shook her head and sneered. "Like you could give me lessons in manhood, Rebecca?"
My own anger flashed out. "I was a good husband and father for a lot of years, bitch," I snapped. "I may not have liked being a man, but I worked at it, and I did my best. I was proud of who I was -- who I made myself become. I was a good man. Could you ever say the same? How many people did you hurt for the fun of it? How many were killed because you were playing with other people's lives? Entire armies ... hell, whole villages of innocents died for your entertainment! That's not being a man. That's being an asshole, on a level so high you only come out looking good in comparison to Vlad the Impaler and Josef Mengele." I took a deep breath. "Right now, I'm trying very hard to forget all the bad you did because of all the bad the Arbiters put you through, but you're not making it easy. So just shut up and let me finish making you an offer ... before I decide to forget the whole thing and send you back to bed with Hubby."
Leander looked at me, her eyes wide with fear. "Y-y-y-you promised I wouldn't have to stay like this!"
I sighed, and nodded. "I did. That's true. But there are worse things I could think of than locking you away in a suburban house in Vicki's lingerie. Think about it." I paused for a second to let that sink in, then sighed and went on in a normal tone. "If you're working for me, you get to keep your magic, and use it to make things right. You will be fighting against magical entities who would prey on those less powerful than themselves, and there will be times when you will get to make the bad guys pay. But you will be working for me. I'm the boss. I call the shots, and you do what I say, or else."
There was a long silence. "For how long?' Leander's voice was small, and shaking.
"Until I see you've changed," I replied. "Until I decide you're not the ego-driven tyrant you used to be. Until I believe you actually care about the people we're going to save. Until I look over one morning and see a good man standing in your place. It's my call ... my decision. That's the deal."
She sat there, her eyes unfocused, and I knew she was thinking about the possibility of finally being free -- even if it might not be for years, or even decades. Finally, Leander spoke.
"Assuming I agree to 'work' for you ... how could you possibly trust me not to betray you someday? After all," and she bit off the words as they left her lips, "As you so forcefully pointed out, I was not a good man ... when I was a man. I might turn on you when events conspire to make escape an attractive option."
I shook my head. "You won't."
She focused all her attention on me, surprised at my tone. "You seem so certain. Why?"
"Because there's one thing about you that hasn't changed, in all the years you've been trapped in that body." I smiled. "Your pride. Your ... honor. You may not have been a good man, but you were a man. And that makes some things more important to you ... than freedom." I looked back at her, catching her eyes with mine. "You told me back in the hospital that you have always kept your word, no matter what. And you said that if you promised to fight beside me, you would. Did you mean it?"
She sat up straight, her back stiffened. "I did. Despite the endless lies of love I've been forced to spout to five centuries of husbands, I still have my honor. If I ever break my word, duly given with my full knowledge and consent, I would be no better than the 'plaything' your Arbiters made me. And that would kill me as sure as a sword."
"I believe you." I took a deep breath. "Would you be willing to swear an oath of fealty?"
Leander reared back, and her eyes flashed. "To who? The Arbiters? No! I would never --"
I held up one hand. "No. Not to the Arbiters. To me, personally."
"But you work for them!" Her voice shook, this time with anger.
"No. I don't." The calm tone behind my words stopped her cold. "I work for the Omnipresence, if I work for anyone at all. I am the Advocate. My job is to protect all humans from magical abuse, even when perpetrated by others with official standing, like the Arbiters." I leaned forward. "That's why I'm here, now, Leander. To save you from them, and what they've done -- but only if you are willing to swear, on your honor, to be loyal, obedient, faithful and true ... to me."
"Not to your office, Advocate?" There was a ghost of suspicion behind the question, as if this was all a scheme to trap her as my personal servant for all eternity.
I smiled, just a little. "The office is only as good as the person who holds it. I plan to be here for a long while, but I will not make you beholden to whoever comes after me. That would be almost as bad as leaving you in the hands of the Arbiters. No, you would serve me -- and if you served me faithfully and well, you would be free if I should die."
There was another long silence as Leander considered everything this might mean. I sat down across from her, and took both of her hands in mine. My touch seemed to frighten her, when I meant it to comfort and reassure. I gave her hands a squeeze and she looked at me, curious.
"I understand how this must feel," I said, holding her eyes with mine. "If you agree and swear this oath, you would be putting yourself in my service willingly, and it has never been in your nature to serve anyone's interests but your own. And I am not surprised that five hundred years as a sex slave and domestic servant hasn't made you sing the praises of working for others. But working for others is the reason I chose to become the Advocate. I'm not about to become what I have sworn to fight."
I let go of her hands and stood up. "This is a big decision. I don't expect an answer tonight. And if the answer is 'no,' we'll work something else out. Just think about what I'm offering before you turn me down, okay?"
"And what is that, exactly?" I raised an eyebrow. It was my turn to be confused. Heck, it WAS going on three a.m., after all. Leander sighed. "What exactly are you offering me?"
"A chance to be free to chart your own course for the first time in centuries. A chance to use your magick skills to do some good for a change," I replied with a grin, "and maybe ... the chance to put a little shine on your armor."
From the doorway behind her, a hulking figure emerged, groaning slightly and scratching his genitals.
"Hey, bitch." His voice managed to combine the snarling menace of a full-grown man with the petulance of a spoiled two-year-old. "I didn't tell you to get out of bed. I want you to do me seven ways from Sunday before the dawn's early light, so get your ass back there and start making me happy."
From the instant he entered the room, Leander's whole demeanor had changed. She immediately wrapped herself around him, rubbing her whole body against his and apologizing the entire time. "Oh, Joey, I'msosorryIwasn'ttherewhenyouwokeup ..." She trailed her tongue down his neck and wrapped his hardness in her hand, squeezing gently. "Pleasepleasepleaseplease please forgive me? I'll be very good, I promise." She leaned over and purred in his ear. "Very, very good."
Joey, the husband du jour, looked over at me while Leander fawned over him. I could almost feel her inside the pretty shell, screaming in frustration at being yanked so soon from her freedom.
"Well, well," he said with a self-satisfied purr. "Fresh meat. One of Lee Ann's friends, huh?" He ran his eyes over my thirteen-year-old body, tracing my curves and engraving them in the back of his mind so he could have great fantasy sex with an under aged girl later. It made my stomach turn. "Hey, baby. Wanna make it a threesome?"
I shook my head. "I would rather French kiss a rabid wolverine in a pit full of rattlesnakes," I replied, "than get into a bed with you, you repulsive troll."
He looked confused for a second, his hand squeezing Leander's bottom in an absent-minded sort of way. Then the fog lifted as he finally processed my answer. "Hey! That's not nice!"
"Neither are you," I pointed out cheerfully. "That doesn't stop you from saying the most revolting things, now does it?"
Again, his mind boggled at trying to interpret my words, and finally he shook his head.
"Awww, who needs you when I got her? You're barely out of a trainin' bra anyway." That stung, a little, until I considered the source. Joey swung Leander around, still kneading her ass, and started guiding her out the door. "Come on, sweet cheeks. I'm in the mood for some bedroom golf. Let's see how many holes I can play before the sun comes up." Leander giggled inanely, and I lost my temper completely.
"Let's not, Joey," I snapped. "If you were any more disgusting, I'd have to stamp XXX across your forehead and check IDs at the door."
I reached out and pulled Leander off of him, then threw her back across the room towards the kitchen table. She plopped down in the chair by her wine glass and threw me a picture perfect pout, as if she really wanted to go with the jerk. Joey stood there, stunned for a moment, then turned red with anger. His hands became fists, and he took a step toward me, roaring. "Just who the hell do you think you are?"
Ha! I thought triumphantly. A straight line if ever I heard one.
"Your worst nightmare, punk," I replied in my best Clint Eastwood drawl. "A woman who can say no!" With a flick of my wrist, I sent him ... elsewhere.
Leander's return to sanity was punctuated by a single gasp, the clink of a bottleneck meeting a glass, and a hearty gulp. I turned to find the glass at her lips, and watched her put it back on the table. She turned to face me.
"Mon Dieu," she said, betraying a French heritage I didn't know she possessed. "What did you do?"
"Got mad, I guess," I said with a mischievous grin. "It happens sometimes, and if you're going to work for me, you'll see it more often than I'd like. Besides, you needed to think about my offer, and with him around, all you could think about was sex."
Leander looked around the room, as if she could find Joey hiding behind the toaster oven. "Where did you send him?"
"Well, he couldn't seem to stop thinking about sex either, so I thought I'd give him more than he could stomach. Literally." I could barely keep the smile in check, and suddenly it just rolled out and made itself at home on my face. "I turned him into a big-breasted blonde bombshell, made him submissive as all hell, and dropped him down smack in the middle of a three-day bachelor party in Vegas. He'll do whatever they want, whenever they want, and never say no. And when it's over, Joey will wake up in Vegas on Tuesday morning in his old body, dressed in a silver lame bikini that's two sizes too small. He'll have an odd salty sweet taste in his mouth, and feel sore in places he shouldn't even have. Then he'll remember just enough to make him shake all over until he can make himself forget."
Her eyes narrowed. "Did you really do that?"
I grinned. "No." Leander blinked. "I sent him into a pocket universe I just set up, where time runs at a very different speed. He'll pop back here whenever I decide to let him out, and think it's still today." She gave me the weirdest look, and I shrugged. "Oh, I won't say I wasn't tempted to send him to Vegas and put him through all that, but in the end, he's probably just as much a pawn of the Arbiters as you are." I sighed. "With great power comes great responsibility, Leander. As the Advocate, I need to think in terms of a measured response. It wasn't as if he was guilty of anything other than being a boorish, uncaring jerk, and I don't know how much of that disgusting performance was added by the Arbiters for your benefit."
I took an extra wineglass from the cabinet and slid into the chair opposite Leander's. "Besides," I said as I poured a small amount of wine, "in the end, if Joey doesn't wise up, he's going to wind up punishing himself for the way he's treated you."
"How?"
"He has spent years treating you like dirt and getting anything he wanted in return. Naturally, he assumes that's how women like to be treated." I grinned and took a sip. "It is soooo not true, of course, but Joey doesn't know that. As a result, he will spend the rest of his life wondering why women find him so repulsive, and eventually die clueless ... and alone -- unless he gets smart and grows up."
Leander took a sip of her own wine, and in a quiet voice, she said, "I hope he does. Get smart, I mean." When she saw the astonished look on my face, she gave me a small smile and shrugged. "I have spent fifteen years with Joey, and countless years before that with men just like him. I see in him an echo of the man I was, so long ago. For that alone, I would wish he could learn what not to do, and find some measure of happiness." She put her glass down and hugged herself under her breasts. "Also, I have spent a long time ... loving him, even if I was forced to do so. Part of me cannot help but wish him well, even as another part despises everything he's done to me. It's ... complicated."
"Now that's what it means to be a woman." I smiled as she cocked her head. "It's always ... complicated."
Leander smiled back, and we shared a moment before she looked down at her glass and sighed. I waited. Finally, she spoke.
"I don't know exactly what being a good man means," she said in a small voice, "and I'm not even sure I could learn to be one if I knew. What if I try ... and fail?"
"That's the wrong question to ask, hon," I replied, putting my hand on hers. "What you should be asking yourself is, 'what if I try ... and succeed?' Five hundred years is a long time to be trapped inside a life you never chose. This is a chance to choose again -- and maybe do some good."
I stood up. "Like I said before, I don't expect an answer tonight. Joey won't be back until I bring him back, so take a few days and think. No matter what, this part of your life is over. Think about what you want to replace it. As for me, I've got school tomorrow." I shook my head. "I can't believe I just said that."
I walked to the center of the room. "Call me if you want to talk, or if you have an answer. Either way, Joey doesn't come back until you've moved on." I started focusing, getting ready to 'port home.
"Becca." I opened my eyes. Leander was standing by the table, her mouth set in a grim line. She looked me in the eye. "Write me an oath, I'll take it."
"That was quick."
"I've had five centuries of waiting," she said softly. "Some decisions ... make themselves. And there's something about you ... something that makes me want to believe in you, in spite of myself. It's foolish, and sentimental, and wrong in too many ways to count. But maybe I've been a woman long enough to count on my ... intuition. Or maybe I just want to believe in something after all those years."
I took a step towards her, and she took one toward me. Suddenly, inexplicably, we were hugging. It didn't last long, and Leander seemed to melt into it for an instant, before drawing back, embarrassed. I saw her face and smiled.
"We'll write the oath together," I said. "It should bind us both and serve us both. Otherwise, it's just a waste of breath."
"Agreed ... My Lady."
"Save it until afterwards, 'Lee Ann.'" I squeezed her arms and let go. "You're not my knight yet. Right now, let's both get some rest. We'll work on the oath tomorrow. "
"Yes, I forgot. It's a 'school night.'" Leander grinned, teasing me a little. "I think I'll sleep in. It's been a while since I had the bed to myself."
"I'll bet." Again, I moved to the center of the room and started to focus. As I began my 'port home, I watched the smile grow on her face, and I knew I'd made the right call.
I just hoped everyone else agreed.
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To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 16
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Oaths are made, alliances forged, friendships kindled, and enemies revealed, as Becca prepares for the final confrontation with the Cat Goddess and her "children." Who would have thought "making out" would lead to the beginning of the end?
Part 16
"Love is the only force capable of transforming
an enemy into a friend." -- Martin Luther King, Jr.
"There is nothing so likely to produce peace as to be
well prepared to meet the enemy." -- George Washington
"Bring 'em on. I prefer a straight fight
to all this sneaking around." -- Han Solo
Nearly everyone was unhappy with my solution to Leander's problem.
Well, Mrs. Graymalkin liked the idea, but then again, she'd thought of it first. The Arbiters were angry with me for trusting someone they believed to be beyond redemption, and Heather was worried I was giving Leander too much credit, considering how hard she tried to kill me the first time we met.
We took a few days to work out the oaths to the best of our ability, and they were reviewed and approved by Mrs. Graymalkin. Leander had assumed I would have the ceremony both witnessed and bound by the Arbiters to ensure her compliance, but I told her that would completely defeat the purpose behind it all.
"We need to trust each other," I said, sitting across from Leander at her kitchen table a few days later. "The only reason I would use the Arbiters to enforce the oaths would be if I didn't trust you to abide by it, and I do. I know you'll keep your word, so who needs them? Besides, I've only just managed to get you free of them. I'm certainly not going to give them a way to take you back. The one thing they never expected from me was my giving you a free and unconditional parole, based entirely on your own sense of honor. Considering how angry they are about the entire situation, they could spend the next fifty years finding fault with everything you do. They'll keep insisting you've broken the agreement somehow, just to get you away from me and back under their control. I can't allow it. I won't."
Leander was dressed in a comfy red velvet blouse and a pair of black Capri pants, with her hair falling in gentle curls over her shoulders. She looked at me over the rim of her glass of wine and smiled.
"Thank you," she said simply, but her eyes sparkled. "I see my trust in you is not misplaced. I hope I prove worthy of yours." Then she grinned. "Besides, anyone who angers the Arbiters on my behalf is more than worthy of both my service and my loyalty."
"The oath binds both of us, even before we take it." I raised my own glass and touched it to my lips, savoring the sweetness before continuing. "I serve you as much as you serve me. We protect each other."
"As it has always been, milady. And speaking of protecting you, aren't you a little ... young for wine?" Leander asked, her lip twitching slightly. It was my turn to smile.
"I guess that depends on whose calendar you use. On Jack's, I'm just fine. As Becca, I've got a few years to go. But emotionally, I'm a responsible adult. Considering everything I'm dealing with right now, I'd better be."
"You seem remarkably mature to me." Leander hid her smile behind her glass. "Except when you're acting like a lovesick schoolgirl."
"Well, sometimes I AM a lovesick schoolgirl." I grinned, but just thinking of Tommy made me blush. Leander caught it in the fluorescent lights of the kitchen, and as I turned away and took another sip, she shook her head and reached out to me. Surprised, I took her hand.
"Tell me something?" she asked, her face suddenly serious.
I looked into her eyes, a little confused, and nodded. "If I can."
"Why would you choose this, Becca?" She squeezed my fingers gently, as if trying to hold my attention. "Why would you toss away everything you had as a man for the chance to be a woman?"
I could see that this was no attack. She was genuinely curious. As I thought about her question, I suddenly realized that she seemed far more relaxed than I had ever seen her. Since I sent Joey into that pocket universe, she had more control over her day-to-day existence than she'd had in five centuries. She could have chosen to appear as mannish as possible, to distance herself from what she had been. Instead, she sat and held herself with an easy femininity I found slightly confusing. She seemed both more and less comfortable with herself and her surroundings than she had been a few days ago, and I wasn't quite sure where it was coming from, or why.
"It wasn't exactly my choice to be a thirteen-year-old girl," I replied, buying time. Leander shook her head and looked at me from under lowered eyelashes.
"Please, no evasions," she said, her tone serious and sure. "Not between us. This is important to me."
I gave her a sheepish smile and a brief nod, acknowledging my attempt to avoid the question. She smiled back. "I realize that this wasn't truly a choice for you. I know you always knew you were truly a woman inside ... all your life. But you were born a man, and without magic or expensive surgery, you were destined to remain that way. Why not just accept the reality of who you were and play the hand you were dealt?"
"I did, as well as I could and for as long as I could." My eyes drifted towards the ceiling as I thought back to the man I was. "But as good as I was at living that way, a part of me always knew the truth. I don't like lies as a general rule, and living a lie became ... a trial."
"And now? Is it everything you could have hoped for?"
I thought about it, and Leander let me. A kind of quiet rapport had grown between us since the night I rescued her from her "husband." It felt like she was slowly putting together a picture of her world and her relationship with it, and with me. Apparently, the centuries of being forced to play the brainless sex toy had given her a new respect for being able to think things through ... for weighing alternatives and taking the time to consider consequences.
It suited her.
She waited patiently for her answer, and finally I shrugged. "I've only been physically female for a few weeks or so, if you count my time as an infant. And I've been dealing with a lot of things that have little to do with the girl I've become. I've barely scratched the surface of how this feels to me, and what it means. But I do know this: when I wake up in the morning, I feel ... whole. I'm complete, in a way I never felt before. In spite of everything that's happened, I am Rebecca Jane Barnes. And it feels good."
There was another silence. Leander took a sip of wine as her eyes wandered across her kitchen, and she smiled. "I am happy for you, Becca, truly. But my problem, it seems, is just the opposite of the one you used to face. You always knew who you really were. I, however, am not quite sure who I am anymore."
There was a long silence, and I could sense this was difficult for her. In a way, she was acknowledging her trust in me by exposing a weakness, and taking me into her confidence. I said nothing, just waited. Nothing I could say would make this any easier.
"When I was first changed, I was eighteen years old -- a mage and a king, with lands to protect and an army sworn to make my word the law. I had tremendous power and an ego to go with it." She looked down at the tabletop, and her voice became small. "I was petty and cruel. I played with people's lives, and rejoiced in how easy it was to destroy the happiness of others. After being played with for five centuries, I know now how wrong I was. But back then, the world was mine, and in my heart, I knew that was just how it should be. "
Leander looked back up at me, and her eyes seemed to flash with anger. "Then, suddenly, without warning, I was a woman. I was small and pretty, and ... less than I was. Nothing but a poor man's wife, property of a hulking farmer of a husband. In the eyes of the law, I was little more than livestock." She took a deep breath. "To say I was in shock would be an understatement. I retreated from reality, ran inside myself and hid for weeks. My new body went on without me, doing her chores, satisfying her man."
"One day, I came to my senses with him inside me, trapped under his sweating, stinking body. The feeling of him inside me nearly sent me away again, but the orgasm that had started in my new body before I awoke built and exploded all around me as my 'husband' grunted and pushed his way to his own. Strangely, it grounded me, and kept me there when all I wanted to do was flee."
"Once he had finished, he rolled off of me with scarcely a glance and left the room, I felt control coming back to me. I reached out with my magic to regain my body and my throne, only to find nothing there but emptiness. I was cut off from the mystic realm completely -- powerless and frightened. And alone."
She looked down into her glass. "Without me to hold it together, my empire crumbled, as empires often do. I watched it destroy itself and wept as it died -- but only when I was alone. Whenever he was present, I was just as you saw me the other night -- a dutiful and obedient wife, eager for his touch, always willing and anxious to please. I was his for twenty years, then one morning I woke up still young as the wife of another, then another, and another."
"Since then, I have lived almost five hundred years in this body. I have experienced thousands of cycles of blood and pain and engaged in an endless parade of sexual acrobatics for the amusement of my 'husbands.' One would think after all of that, I would embrace returning to what I once was, and leave all this behind. And yet ..." She shook herself all over and took a sip of wine.
"And yet," I said softly, "this is who you are now, isn't it? Being a woman is all you have known, for far longer than you ever were a man."
Leander nodded and turned her eyes to mine. "The other morning, after you had taken Joey away, I woke up completely free of anyone else's influence for the first time in centuries. I was finally liberated, and anxious to take my first steps into a brighter future. So how did I celebrate my new freedom?" Sarcasm gave every word a bitter edge. "I took a long hot bath, dressed up in something pretty, and went out to the salon for a complete makeover."
Her voice dropped nearly to a whisper. "And when I came out hours later, primped and painted, I was watched by every man I passed. Part of me ... enjoyed the attention. The rest of me was ... well, ashamed. Even without Joey above me, I am beaten. I have become what they made me. After all of these years, I have lost ... myself."
"No, you haven't." She raised her eyes and stared at me. I caught a glimpse of a tear in her eye, but also a flash of hope. "Leander, did you ... approach any of those men? Did you want to give them whatever they wanted?" She shook her head warily. "Were sex and obedience the only things you had on your mind?" Leander shook her head, and I smiled. "See? This isn't about your punishment anymore. You were, and still are, in control."
Her face clouded, and her confusion rose to the surface. "But ... I don't understand, then. If that's true, why the bath? The clothing? The salon?"
"Why not? You could do whatever you liked, and that's what you chose to do. They made you feel good, didn't they?" Leander thought, chewing her lower lip, then nodded. I smiled. "You haven't lost yourself. You've just changed. You just did the things you liked to do, because you wanted to. On your first day of freedom, you chose to do things that made you feel good -- all things you've come to enjoy, despite the circumstances in which you discovered them."
I could see the wheels turning in her head, and gave her a smile. "It seems to me you're just exploring. Over time, you've come to enjoy some parts of being a beautiful woman. It's not a crime, you know -- you ARE a beautiful woman. With the programming gone, you're discovering you actually like some of the things that gave you pleasure in the past."
She shook her head. "It seems wrong, somehow. I feel cheated ... like I have been twisted into something I should never have been."
"Because it's true, Leander. Your choices were stripped from you, and you are not what you were." I shrugged. "But none of us is, really. We are all works in progress, shaped by time and circumstance, and who we are changes from moment to moment, for all of our lives. You've been trapped in a string of intensely female moments for over 500 years -- and all those moments, all those lives, changed who you are inside."
"What you're feeling now isn't a bad thing, hon. Far from it. You're taking the first steps towards figuring out who you really are, and who you want to be." I put my hand on top of hers and squeezed gently. "We can't go back and change what has been. We can only move forward from here. So take your time. Find your destiny. Stay as you are until you know which path is right for you. I will help when I can, but in the end, the journey is yours alone to take."
Leander looked at me for a moment, fear battling hope in her eyes. Then she turned her hand over and took mine in hers. We sat there for a while in silence, holding hands, drinking wine, and thinking about the past -- and what the future had in store for us both.
The next night, we gathered in Mrs. Graymalkin's Studio. The front windows had been magically altered to show nothing to passersby. This was a formal event, by invitation only.
Mrs. Graymalkin stood on the small stage with Heather slightly behind her, both of them dressed formally for the occasion in white blouses and long black skirts, stockings and pumps.
The Arbiters had chosen to use my reflection to once again manifest themselves in the dance studio's mirrors, but the petulant, angry expression on my doppleganger's face was nothing I would ever be proud to display on my own.
Akomachi floated above them all, a happy smile on her face. Her love for me filled the room.
When I had revealed Akomachi's involvement in my life and my new status as a kitsune (and Akomachi's daughter), Mrs. Graymalkin warmly welcomed her to her studio for the oath-taking. But the Arbiters viewed her with suspicion bordering on hatred, although they continued to treat her politely. 'A victory of protocol over anger and frustration,' I mused. 'They only see her as one more magical entity turning their champion against them.'
Heather was still slightly in awe of the fox spirit, but Akomachi's acceptance of Heather as my adopted sister banished her initial fear and filled the newly transformed girl with a warmth and acceptance of her own. The kitsune might be something new to her, but Heather had been out of her comfort zone magically since her transformation. Even though she still feared raw magic in any form, Heather trusted me implicitly. That trust alone almost brought me to tears. So when I told her Akomachi was a friend and ally, Heather just nodded once and opened her heart to her.
When they embraced for the first time, I did cry with happiness, and hugged Heather hard when they parted.
When the time came, Leander and I stood before them all. Our hair was loose, tumbling over our shoulders, and we wore matching green dresses with long and flowing skirts -- a simple cut that flattered us both.
"You may begin." Mrs. Graymalkin's voice was firm and commanding. We turned and faced each other, and Leander sank to her knees in a single fluid motion. She looked up into my eyes, took my hands in hers, and spoke from her heart.
"I do hereby promise and swear that I will bear true and unwavering allegiance to Rebecca Jane Barnes, the one true Advocate; that I will serve her faithfully as her friend, counsel and protector; and that I will obey her every command without question or reservation, and place my body and soul in service to her mission, until her death, or such time as she releases me from this oath. On my honor, this night, Leander Valéry Aleron de Lorraine."
She released my hands and bowed her head, awaiting my response. I stepped forward, placed my hand upon her shoulder, and spoke in a gentle yet commanding tone I didn't know I possessed.
"I, the one true Advocate, do accept this oath of fealty and service from Leander Valéry Aleron de Lorraine. I promise and swear to accept her service and protection with gratitude and respect, her counsel with an open heart and mind, and her friendship with my own. I will guide her and protect her to the best of my abilities, and reward the depth of her commitment to me with a commitment of my own -- to help her find her one true path and the peace it will bring her. On my honor, this night, Rebecca Jane Barnes."
I moved my hand to her chin and raised her face until our eyes met. Then I pulled her to her feet, wrapped my arms around her, and squeezed her tight. She looked frightened, just for an instant, then smiled and squeezed back.
"Duly notes and witnessed, on this day and this hour by Olivia Margaret Graymalkin, Heather Anne Thomas, the Arbiters of the Omnipresence, and Akomachi of the Kitsune. Welcome, Leander, to our fight ... and into our hearts." With those last words, Mrs. Graymalkin gave the Arbiters in the mirror an angry glare, as if daring them to contradict her.
I pulled back and looked at my champion with a smile, only to find tears of joy pouring down her cheeks. Not knowing what else to do, I kissed the tip of her nose and held her close again, and she held me tight and laughed as she cried.
'My family just keeps getting larger,' I thought happily. Akomachi smiled at me from the stage and nodded.
'That's as it should be, daughter,' she spoke in my head. 'For when the battle is joined, true family will stand beside you, and meet your enemies without fear.'
I reached out and touched her with my soul. 'I love you, Casa.'
A wave of affection rolled over me. 'I love you too, Becca-chan.'
After the ceremony, Mrs. Graymalkin had arranged for a celebratory dinner in a nearby restaurant. Leander and I still wore the pretty green dresses, and Heather and Mrs. Graymalkin were still in their black skirts and white blouses. Akomachi had shifted into the form of a beautiful Japanese woman with striking reddish-gold hair and a demure smile. Having no easy way to manifest themselves, the Arbiters were watching (and listening) but had no way to contribute.
The information Leander had promised back in the hospital helped narrow down the Cat's origins, or at least track her back through the earliest records of her existence. Back when Leander had been a warrior-mage-king, there had been traces of unfamiliar magic on the edges of his domain. Carefully woven scrying spells had given him scattered images of a cat woman being worshipped by a group of local farmers. Along with the images came a sense of tremendous power. Not wanting to meet this kind of threat without knowing his enemy, Leander ordered his scholars to find out what they could. The information they uncovered made Leander decide to leave this cat goddess alone, at least until his personal power became great enough to make victory a certainty.
She was called araNyamArjAra in texts Leander had magically translated from the original Sanskrit. She was described as a minor deity in the Indo-Aryan pantheon, but from what Leander's scholars could determine at the time, her position in the pantheon was by her own choice, negotiated with the various gods and goddess to allow coexistence without being assimilated. The fact that she could negotiate with the pantheon at all indicated that she wielded considerable power -- enough to make even a god consider compromise.
But Leander's scholars had traced her history even further back, to references found on a stone tablet rescued from the ruins of the library of Ashurbanipal, the king of Assyria from 669-633 B.C. Written in the Akkadian language, it told of the Sumerian king Gilgamesh and his encounter with an unnamed goddess of great power who appeared to be both human and feline. Even though Gilgamesh was not a magic user by nature, he was supposedly two-thirds god and one-third human, and with this innate power, he managed to fight the feline goddess to a standstill. Impressed, she agreed to leave his kingdom and not return while he was its king.
Since Leander was not even partially a god, he determined that his best course of action was to leave her alone and hope that she would eventually find another part of the world to make her home. Unfortunately for him, one of those he had wronged begged the goddess to bring him low, and with a wave of her tail, she transformed him and allowed everything he built to collapse into chaos while he was forced to watch.
When Leander finished telling what she knew, everyone at the table was silent.
"Well," I said, patting my lips with a napkin. "This tells us a lot."
"It does?" Heather sounded confused, and looked around the table. "I mean, it's interesting and all, but is there anything we can really use? It doesn't sound like she has any weaknesses ... does it?"
"It's not about weaknesses, child," Mrs. Graymalkin said with a smile. "It's more about understanding who she is and how she interacts with others."
"Exactly," Akomachi smiled as well, her voice warm and welcoming. "Remember, Heather, knowing your enemy is the first step in determining how to defeat her. Or even if you need to defeat her at all."
Heather still looked confused, so I took her hand and squeezed. She faced me, her face wearing a puzzled frown.
"It's like this, hon," I said. "From her history with the Indo-Aryan pantheon, we learned that the Cat Goddess had power, but chose to use it as leverage to bargain for what she truly wanted. She negotiated for -- and received -- a lower position within their existing system. I don't think she wanted power within the pantheon. I think she just wanted a little recognition -- a way to gain worshippers without having to conform to the hierarchy of the pantheon itself."
"From her history with Gilgamesh, we learned that she respects strength." Akomachi grinned at me, letting me know that her interruption was more a tease than a belief I couldn't figure it out. I smiled back and nodded. "When Gilgamesh proved to be her equal in battle, she agreed to leave voluntarily and not return during his reign."
"And what of my story?" Leander asked, her finger drifted around the rim of her wine glass. The edge in her voice betrayed the feeling behind her question. "What does that tell us?"
I turned to face her. "From your story, we learned that she occasionally behaved as a proper goddess, listening to her worshippers and using her powers for their benefit. She felt an obligation to help them -- although based on my conversation with her in the pit, I believe her opinion of humans has gone down drastically since then."
"Perhaps it is because she no longer has human worshippers." Mrs. Graymalkin stirred some sugar into her tea and took a sip. "Perhaps she feels that humanity abandoned her, and her response is to strike out at them with anger."
"I get the sense she's not attacking humans just because they are humans," I said. "It's more because she understands them, and they serve a dual purpose. Abusing them helps her teach her 'children' to abandon the best of human values. It also feeds her personal guard of pain eaters."
"And yet, for all her talk of human values being weak and inappropriate for her kind, she was quick to feel compassion for me." Akomachi looked at me. "She was quick to feel my pain and loss, and to sympathize."
"Because your problem was very much like hers?"
Akomachi considered, then nodded. "Or she viewed me as an equal, and worthy of her sympathy."
Silence fell again. I sensed that everyone was curious about Akomachi's problem, but were unsure whether it was proper to ask. Her addition to the mix had brought wisdom, but also left many confused as to how we had managed to acquire her allegiance -- not to mention how to behave in her presence.
Again, Heather broke the silence.
"So, we know more, but it doesn't help us free Mike and his friends." She sounded sad.
"It doesn't help us yet, hon. But everything we know brings us closer to finding an answer. Just a few days ago, we didn’t even know exactly what we were facing. Now we do. And we're learning how she thinks and feels." I reached out and took her hand. "It's a start."
"But every day ..." Heather couldn't continue. I could see the tears in her eyes. Akomachi took her other hand, and she looked up, surprised.
"This will not last, Heather. We are all working on this together, and we are formidable. Until Becca-chan's arrival, the situation remained unseen and unknown. Now, in the course of a week, we have determined what is going on, who is responsible, and why it is happening. The only question that remains is ... how do we stop it?"
Heather hesitated, then suddenly spoke, her words coming out in a rush. "Well, you're strong, and you're on our side. Couldn't you just ... take her on?"
Akomachi furrowed her brow, confused. "Take her on?"
"You know ... one-on-one, single combat, fight to the finish?"
The fox spirit's human face lit up in perfect comprehension. "Ah! You wish me to do battle with the Cat, and force her to submit to your will?"
"Ummm ... our will, but yeah. Save the boys -- and the girls, too, if this isn't really their fault."
Akomachi looked at me, and I looked back, shrugging my shoulders. The kitsune sighed.
"I am sorry, Heather. I cannot fight her. I can advise you in your own quest to resolve this, but direct action is denied to me, unless I am defending someone who specifically asked for my help."
"But you helped Becca --"
I held up a hand. "No, Heather. In the pit, I called to Akomachi with my power, my respect, and my need. She saw it as a cry for help, and came to rescue me before the Cat could harm me. She cannot attack the Cat without direct provocation, or risk creating an inter-pantheon conflict. There are rules dealing with how different pantheons interact, and Akomachi cannot break them without penalty."
Heather opened her mouth to argue, and I shook my head. "We can't cause a war, sis. We humans have a legitimate cause for action against the Cat. Akomachi does not."
"How do you know all this?" Heather looked frustrated, and I wished I could reach over and hug her. But she was too far away, so I did what I could, touching her soul with mine.
"Blame the Arbiters, or the Omnipresence." I felt Heather respond to the touch and saw her smile. "I've got a library or two of magical info in my head that comes when I need it. This isn't the first time I'm going to blind-side you with new data, sis, and I'm sorry. But at least you can take comfort in knowing that I get surprised all the time, in my own head."
"Don't be too concerned, Heather." She turned to face Mrs. Graymalkin. The woman looked back at her, a small smile playing across her lips. "Remember, the Advocate is our chosen champion. It is Becca's duty to rescue those children, and defend humanity from those who would treat us as prey. She can do it. I believe in her. You should, too."
"I do!" Heather's voice held concern, and something else. Fear. "I just ..."
I reached across the table and took her hand. "You just don't want to lose a friend, now that you've found one."
She squeezed my hand. "I don't want to lose you, Becca. I love you."
"You won't lose me. I'm not in this to fail, hon. Trust me."
"I do! It's just ... " She stood up quickly, biting her lip, and ran from the table.
I rose from my chair, hesitated for a second, and took off after her. Leander started to rise as well, but I saw Mrs. Graymalkin touch her arm and shake her head.
I found Heather in the ladies lounge, which was just inside the rest room door. She was sitting on the sofa, staring at her feet and wringing her hands. I sat down next to her, put my arm around her, and gave her a hug. She was trembling.
I didn't say a word, just held her for a while. Eventually the trembling stopped, and I touched her chin and turned her head until she faced me.
"What is it, sis?" I said gently, barely above a whisper. "What's wrong?"
"Me," she replied, a catch in her voice. She swallowed, and a few tears fell down her cheeks. "I'm wrong. You're going to be facing an ancient goddess with the power to change reality, and I can't help. Everyone at that table out there has something to offer -- magic, wisdom, something. I've got nothing."
"That's not true!"
"It IS." More tears welled up in Heather's eyes. "You were there for me when I needed you. I want to be there for you, too. I want to fight beside you to keep you safe, so you can save everyone else. But I'm just human. All I am now is a victim and a target. If I'm anywhere near you when it all goes down, you're going to have to keep me safe. That means I'm going to wind up making it harder for you to do your job."
There was a long silence. I thought for a moment, looked into her eyes, and nodded.
"You're right." She looked stunned. I went on, my tone as serious as I could make it. "Right now, without a way to defend yourself, you're in danger. You all are. You, Mom, Emma ... and Jeremy."
Then I smiled. "So I guess we'll have to make a magic user out of you, too."
Her jaw dropped in astonishment. "You mean it? Really?"
I nodded. "Really."
She squealed and hugged me close. I closed my eyes and hugged her back, and felt her happiness about finally getting to help. I pulled away and looked into her eyes.
"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, sis," I whispered. "I really am. But I've been thinking about this for a while, and the truth is, I need your help more than you realize. Mom, Emma and Jeremy live in blissful ignorance. They have no idea my job makes them targets for vengeance from every two-bit spell-slinger or demonic predator in the Omniverse. But I can't do my job and still defend the people I love, every minute of every day."
"That's why I need you to do it for me. I've checked your potential, and so has Mrs. Graymalkin. You can wield magic, if you're properly taught. But you can't fight beside me, because I need you to watch my back and keep my family ... our family ... safe. Can you do that for me?"
She nodded and hugged me again. "Of course, Becca. I'm glad you trust me enough to let me help."
"Heather, you're my sister now. I wouldn't trust their safety to anyone else." I smiled. "So let's get you some training and see how good you can be."
"How am I going to train? With Mrs. Graymalkin?"
"Eventually," I replied, "But for now, I think I'll share some of what I've learned to give you a head start. Defensive magic is the easiest to learn, so hold still." Thinking carefully, I leaned forward and kissed her forehead, willing the knowledge to flow from me directly into her. It only took a few seconds, and then I broke from the kiss and looked into her eyes. "Are you okay?"
Heather seemed slightly dazed, but the small smile that played on her lips was proof enough my method worked. She nodded.
"I can feel something there, but I can't reach it. It's like knowing that you know a fact but not being able to remember it." She cocked her head at me, a question in her eyes. "Does that make sense?"
"Completely, sis." I stood up and offered her a hand. She took it and rose to her feet. "I think you need some triggering event to bring the magic forward, like mine did when Leander attacked me."
Suddenly, she looked afraid. "You're not going to --"
I shook my head. "Oh, no. Don't be silly. Anyway, it wouldn't work now. If Leander attacked you, you'd know it wasn't real."
"Don't be so sure, Becca," Heather looked away and bit her lip. "You know I still don't trust her."
I touched her chin and brought her back around to face me. "Well, I do, and she gave me her oath. It'll be all right, you'll see. She's not the same person who attacked me a few weeks ago."
As Heather opened the door to the hall outside, I heard her mutter, "She looks the same to me."
I sighed. 'This partnership may take some time to come together,' I thought. 'I just hope it doesn't take Leander another 500 years to gain Heather's trust.'
Since my many visits to Leander's home had helped me to master teleportation, I started visiting Mike and his transformed friends every night after their parents and sisters had gone to bed. Mike had let them all know I existed, but I wanted them to actually see me and talk with me. I wanted them to know I was real, so they would have something to hang onto until I could straighten out this whole mess and get their lives back. All of them broke down and cried in my arms, happy to have hope for an end to their torment. But Tina, the boy-turned-infant-girl, just stared at me with blank eyes, sucking on a pacifier, and I found myself worrying that I might not be able to bring his mind back from wherever it had gone to escape his powerlessness.
The trouble was, I didn't know exactly how to proceed. I knew a lot more about the Cat Goddess and her power than I used to, but not enough to get the boys their lives back -- not without a confrontation I wasn't sure I could win. I didn't want to rush into a magical "cat fight" (insert groans here) until I had a battle plan I felt good about, but nothing had occurred to me in the days immediately following the oath-taking ceremony.
Part of me was scared as well. Secondhand, through her "children," her magic had remade reality and disrupted the grand plan of the Omnipresence. Was I really strong enough to face her down?
While I thought (and worked on my self-confidence), I took refuge in routine -- in living my new life as a teenaged girl. I woke up every morning with a smile and got dressed in the clothes I'd always dreamed of wearing when I was Becca's age the first time. I took the bus to school with Jeremy and Heather, smiling at their happiness as I watched the two of them snuggle up for the short trip. I went to my dance and martial arts classes, and spent a few hours every afternoon training with Leander and Heather. Heather came with me, mainly to watch and make sure Leander didn't turn on me. Her power hadn't yet manifested itself, and wouldn't until there was some kind of catalyst -- one that I would have to provide, unless the Cat Goddess provided it for me.
Still, except for tasks undone, it was truly heaven.
The best part of every day was the few moments I stole with Tommy each morning. I would meet him in the stairway by the girl's locker room, and we would spend what little time we had engaging in what the Assistant Principal would have considered "public displays of affection" -- although "teenagers in love (and lust)" seemed more appropriate. I would have been embarrassed at how much we "displayed" each day, if I hadn’t already known the area was always totally deserted at that time of day.
The day the endgame began, I broke from a long and tender kiss with a sigh. I rested my head on his chest and listened to his heart beating fast while I worked on getting my own pulse under control. It wasn't easy. The feeling of his hands on my bottom, squeezing gently, made me melt inside, and as I pressed my body against him, I could feel him growing harder and shivered.
If you've never been there, you can't know how it feels to be held and kissed by someone you truly, deeply love -- someone you care for who cares for you, and wants you just as much as you want them. I had felt this way with Carolyn when we first fell in love, and it had remained just as strong for our entire married life, until the chance encounter in a supermarket parking lot that stole my wife from me and set me on the road to this life, and this hallway, and this boy.
All week long, I'd started each day just like this, being held and kissed, and swimming in the feeling of being loved and desired. It was wonderful, and I didn't want it to end ... but at the same time, I wanted Tommy to go further. I wanted him to touch me in ways I hadn't been touched yet, and had run out of ways to hint that didn't make me sound like a bitch in heat.
One of his hands began wandering up to rest on my hip for a second, then started up again before hesitating just inches from my chest. I looked up at Tommy to find him looking down at me, and I smiled up at him. He smiled back, a little unsure, and I sighed. 'It's way past time,' I thought. 'And even now, he's still asking permission. God, I love this boy -- but he drives me crazy!'
I grinned, took his hand, and kissed it. Then I placed it firmly where I knew he wanted it to go. I put my hand over his and gave it -- and my left breast -- a small squeeze.
"I love it when you touch me, Tommy," I whispered, looking into his eyes. "I want you to, okay? Just ... be gentle?" He nodded, very seriously. I reached up and touched his lips. "And this is just between you and me, right? No talking about it later with your friends."
I saw a flash of hurt cross his face, as if he was disappointed that I thought he would do something like that. "I'm sorry, baby," I said quickly. "I should have known better than to think you'd do --."
He shook his head with a small smile, then squeezed me again as he brushed my lips with his. Both nipples got hard enough to be seen through both blouse and bra, and I moaned as our kisses deepened. Encouraged, he took his thumb and ran it roughly over the nipple closest to him.
"Eeeeeeep!" I jumped slightly, and he started to let go, clearly afraid he'd done something wrong. I grabbed his hand and put it back. "I said be gentle, Tomcat. A little touch goes a long way with a girl. Especially this girl. And especially your touch." I placed his thumb back over the nipple, then moved it lightly over the tip through my clothes. A small wave of pleasure made me shut my eyes and shudder, and I couldn't help thinking about what his lips might feel like right ... there one day ... or maybe the tip of his tongue ...
He kissed me hard as his other hand rose to caress my left breast. I lost myself in the feel of him feeling me ... and then I heard a snicker.
"Well, looks like somebody likes to have her tits played with!" Surprised, Tommy and I pulled apart and turned to face the owner of the voice.
It was one of the Cat Goddess's "children" -- not Gwen, but one of the other four I had only seen at "feeding time" in the pit. With a flash of hindsight, I suddenly remembered where Hunter had been caught and transformed, and realized why this one staircase was never used during the early morning rush to classes.
The girl's locker room was right around the corner. And maybe some of these girls liked their privacy a little too much -- enough to make anyone who tried to hang there "unlucky" in all sorts of nasty ways.
The girl in front of me sneered and pointed at Tommy's crotch. "Looks like Lover Boy enjoyed playing with your tits, too." I felt him tense next to me, obviously embarrassed, but he refused to try and hide it.
Another girl came up next to the first, looked where she was pointing, and laughed. "Damn, he must really have liked having his hands on a pair." Then a third girl walked up behind her and grinned evilly.
"Well, if he liked hers so much, maybe he should have a set of his own to play with," she said, and grabbed for the second girl's hand. The first girl took the other hand, and the three of them looked straight at Tommy. I saw the magical energy flare, and watched as a single golden beam shot across the space between us, directly at his chest.
I didn't think. I didn't have to. My brain shifted into overdrive, analyzed the incoming energy, determined that it couldn't be nullified in time, and spun through thousands of possible solutions before deciding on the one most likely to work in the short amount of time I had.
A flare of my own aura flew across the space between Tommy and I, creating a reflective shield just inches from where I knew the energy would strike.
I couldn't stop the spell. But I could stop it from hitting Tommy.
The spell hit my "mirror" hard, sending ripples through my connection to it. The shield held, and I "tasted" the component elements of the spell before it bounced back at the trio. The girls scattered and the spell flew back across the hall, flowing through the closed door into the girl's rest room. I felt it flare as it found a target.
There was a muffled scream. "Oh my God! I've got boobs!"
There was a short pause, then a sarcastic voice replied. "Way to rub it in, Sheila! You know, some of us haven't even started yet!"
The three girls rose slowly from where they had fallen to avoid their own spell. None of them could take their eyes off of me. I felt Tommy's eyes on me as well, but I couldn't stop to explain anything. Not that I knew what to say, but I couldn't afford to split my concentration even a little.
The first girl found her voice. "How ... how did you DO that?"
"Natural talent, a bit of training, and a strong dislike of bullies," I replied evenly. "Especially the magical kind."
The second girl took the first girl's hand, and I saw a flare of magical energy when they touched. Interesting. When she spoke, her voice held as much anger as fear. "How dare you!"
"Easily, thank you for asking." I grinned. Tommy's mouth dropped open. "I'm a very daring kind of girl. Short skirts, sassy manners. Sometimes a little too much make-up." I took his hand in mine. "Even making out with my boyfriend on school grounds. Just ask anyone -- I dare to dare."
"I wasn't asking!" The second girl reached for the third girl's hand, and there was a larger flare when they joined hands. "You have no right to interfere. We do what we want."
"Not with my boyfriend you don't." I put my hands on my hips and leaned forward. "So back off!"
The first girl's lip began to tremble, and her face was pale. "You stopped us. I don't know how, but you STOPPED us. No one has ever done that before!"
I grinned wider. "I'm glad I was the first. Imagine that ... daring AND a trendsetter." I put my hands on my cheeks, a worried frown on my lips. "Unless no one else tries to stand in your way. Oh, I do hope other people defy you, too. It would be so embarrassing if I was the only one, don't you think?"
"If you think that's embarrassing," the third girl replied with a nasty sneer, "just wait until your boyfriend has bigger tits than you do." The three concentrated, and another burst of energy shot across the hall at Tommy. This time, it manifested as a cloud of glowing particles pushed by an unseen wind. My mirror shield wouldn't work on that.
Again, my mind raced through the magical options open to me, until the simplest solution suddenly appeared without warning -- and it wasn't magical at all.
I just stepped into the spell's path, directly in front of Tommy.
The magic hit me hard, causing me to stagger back a half-step. Most of it was absorbed effectively by my own innate defensive shields and stored for later use, but there was so much of it that some threatened to spill past me and touch Tommy anyway. Since I liked his chest just the way it was, I sighed, opened myself just slightly, and took in only enough of the spell to keep the overflow from reaching him.
The result was ... dramatic.
From my smallish B-cup, I suddenly found myself extremely top-heavy. I fell forward, and stuck my arms and bottom out trying to keep my balance. Since my bra and blouse changed to accommodate my outlandish new measurements, there was no She-Hulk like rending of cloth and embarrassing display of WAY too much cleavage. Still, the girls pointed and laughed, as if they scored some kind of point.
I straightened slowly, the weight on my front making my bra straps dig in painfully. When I was fully upright, I reached up with both hands and cupped them gently. Then I shook my head.
"Girls, girls," I sighed, my voice a model of disappointment. "Didn't your mothers ever tell you that you can have too much of a good thing?"
"Well if they didn't," the first girl said, laughing, "we sure get it now. You're a living example, bitch. Or should I say 'cow?'"
"Mooooo!" The second girl burst into giggles. "Maybe 'Bessie' here needs a milking. She looks like she's going to blow. That's got to hurt!"
"Hmmmm." I nodded, then smiled. "Well, you know what they say. 'What can't be endured, must be cured.' Or shared."
I reached into the store of energy my shields had absorbed, closed my eyes, and forced my chest to shrink back down to a decent sized C-cup. The energy I had pulled from myself drifted back into a pinkish cloud, and I pushed it at the three girls with a thought. As it drifted over them, I watched all three of their chests expand several sizes. The laughter stopped almost immediately.
'Interesting,' I thought. 'They've never been attacked before. They've never learned to shield.'
I opened my eyes, looked down at myself, and smiled.
"That's better. A little larger than I was before, but a girl likes to take pride in her appearance." I turned to a stunned Tommy and gave him a peck on the lips. "Besides, I thought my Tommy deserved a special treat for all the shocks he's had in the past three minutes."
He reached up tentatively, still coping with the rapid expansion and reduction of my chest, and I gently pushed his hand away.
"Not now, Tomcat," I said softly, looking into his eyes. "I still have work to do. Why don't you head off to class and I'll clear this all up later, okay?" Tommy nodded absently, still stunned, so I stepped back, visualized his homeroom, and sent him there in less time than it takes to tell about it.
"Good," I said briskly to no one in particular. "Civilians off of the battlefield. Time to get dangerous."
The third girl stepped forward. Her larger breasts bounced uncomfortably, and her face held a mixture of anger and fear. "How did you do this to us? How can you do the things you do? Nobody can stop us -- NOBODY! Just who the hell do you think you are?"
I looked at her, and I smiled, and at that instant my inner drama queen decided a grand entrance was required. 'Fear?' I thought with an inner grin. 'I'll show you something to be afraid of, bitch.'
I threw my arms wide, fingers stretching, and laughed. A large flare of captured power burst from inside, creating a fiery aura that surrounded me and lifted me several feet into the air. My hair and skirt whipped around in an invisible wind, and I let my eyes flash bright red ... just because I wanted them to.
"I am The Advocate," I replied in a voice that boomed and echoed through the stairwell and down the halls beyond. "Chosen by the Omnipresence to stand between humanity and those who prey on them with magic. That's you, in case you missed tonight's program."
I narrowed my eyes and let the magic flare briefly. "You've tortured a lot of people, changed them against their will -- even driven one of them to the brink of insanity. That's what brought me here, to stop you all. I was going to try and keep this civil. I wanted to bring you all down as gently as I could, since you might be victims, too. But then ... oh, then you tried to hurt the boy I love. Do you know what that means?"
The three girls, still holding hands, looked up at me in shock and shook their heads in unison. I raised both arms over my head, letting a massive ball of energy boil into existence and grow until it filled the stairway above me, and shouted.
"You all get to DIE!"
As I hurled the nasty-looking fireball towards the shocked trio, I tried to suppress a grin, and failed. But I did my best to make it look like an evil grin, to keep the girls scared.
The truth was, I was just ... happy. I mean, I had figured out how to stop the Cat Goddess's "children," but that was only part of it.
The waiting was finally over. Battle had finally been joined.
And Tommy had finally made it to second base!
I almost giggled as the fireball flew towards its targets. It was good to know I had my priorities straight.
Notes:
To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 17
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On her way to her final confrontation with the Cat Goddess, Becca gets "all fired up" defending Tommy, gives some enemies a little space, gets a front row seat for Heather's awakening, and learns things about magical predators she could never see on The Discovery Channel. Spells at twenty paces, anyone?
Part 17
"A man surprised is half beaten." -- Thomas Fuller
"I seldom end up where I wanted to go, but almost
always end up where I need to be." -- Douglas Adams
| "I am The Advocate," I replied in a voice that boomed and echoed through the stairwell and down the halls beyond. "Chosen by the Omnipresence to stand between humanity and those who prey on them with magic. That's you, in case you missed tonight's program."
I narrowed my eyes and let the magic flare briefly. "You've tortured a lot of people, changed them against their will -- even driven one of them to the brink of insanity. That's what brought me here, to stop you all. I was going to try and keep this civil. I wanted to bring you all down as gently as I could, since you might be victims, too. But then ... oh, then you tried to hurt the boy I love. Do you know what that means?" The three girls, still holding hands, looked up at me in shock and shook their heads in unison. I raised both arms over my head, letting a massive ball of energy boil into existence and grow until it filled the stairway above me, and shouted. "You all get to DIE!" As I hurled the nasty-looking fireball towards the shocked trio, I tried to suppress a grin, and failed. But I did my best to make it look like an evil grin, to keep the girls scared. The truth was, I was just . . . happy. I mean, I had figured out how to stop the Cat Goddess's "children," but that was only part of it. The waiting was finally over. Battle had finally been joined. And Tommy had finally made it to second base! I almost giggled as the fireball flew towards its targets. It was good to know I had my priorities straight. |
The expressions on their faces were priceless -- raw fear mixed with surprise and desperation. They still held each other's hands tightly as the orb grew closer, lighting them with its unearthly glow. Just before it reached them, they screamed, let go of each other, and threw themselves out of its path. The fireball flew over them with a terrible roar, a white-hot unstoppable meteor of destruction . . .
. . . that disappeared without a sound when it hit the far wall, leaving only a harmless mist that drifted down to the floor and vanished.
You didn't think I was REALLY going to kill them, did you? What kind of girl do you think I am? I just wanted them frightened and confused -- and as far away from each other as possible.
So I could do . . . this.
I pointed at the first girl and focused my will. "Bibbity . . ." I said with a smile, and she vanished with a pop.
The second opened her mouth to say something, but I held up a palm, then snapped my fingers at her and said "Bobbety . . ." And she was gone, too.
The third started scuttling back on her bottom, trying to get out of range of my power. Her eyes were wide and her lips were trembling, but I kept projecting anger and hate as I swooped down at her and stopped, only inches from her face. I reached out with one finger and touched the tip of her nose with a smile, and shouted . . .
"Boo!" And she was somewhere else.
The hallway was empty.
God, I love the classics.
"Where did they go?"
The voice came from behind me. I turned, shocked.
Tommy was standing on the stairs, breathing hard.
For some reason, I found it hard to speak. After a while, the words finally spilled forth. "But I sent --"
"-- me back to my homeroom, yeah." His lip quirked. "But that didn't mean I had to stay there. Did you think I was going to miss this?"
I smiled and shook my head. "I had hoped."
"Damn, Becca! That was wild! Why did you send me away?"
"Because it was too dangerous for you to stay. They kept trying to spell you, and I didn't want to wind up having to go bra shopping with my boyfriend because he needed to wear one too." I bit my lip. "I also didn't want to lose my edge because I was worried about keeping you safe instead of getting them out of the way."
Tommy nodded, and took a few steps down to stand beside me. "So you're the Advocate, huh? 'Protector of humanity.' Was that on the level?"
My turn to nod. "Pretty much."
"Magic?" I nodded again. "Any superpowers?"
I shrugged. "Stronger, faster, harder to hurt, quicker to heal. Sort of like Wolverine, only prettier and without the claws ... or the sideburns."
He laughed and put his arms around me, and we kissed for a very long time. When we broke from the kiss, I looked up into his eyes to see him smiling back. "What?"
"Nice to see some things haven't changed."
I gave him a sideways look. "You're taking this pretty well."
"I'm a little mad that you kept something this big from me, but I'm not really that surprised." Tommy gave me a squeeze. "I always knew you were special. I just didn't know HOW special."
He kissed me again, and I shook my head and bit his chin softly. "Silly Tommy, running back here after I sent you to safety. BAD Tomcat."
Tommy placed his finger gently on my lips. "Witchy woman or not, you're still my girl," he said in a tone that allowed no argument. "And with me gone, it was three against one. Besides, it cuts down on the 411, right?" I nodded. "I still have a lot more questions, though . . . Advocate."
"I'll answer them, I promise."
There was a long silence, then Tommy spoke again. "What did you do with them?"
"Hmmm?"
"The girls. What did you do with them? You didn't hurt 'em -- I know you. You wouldn't do that. All that 'you all get to die' stuff?" He shook his head and laughed. "Not my girlfriend. So . . . you sent them somewhere." I nodded. "Where?"
"Away," I replied. "Into their own individual pocket universes."
He raised an eyebrow. "In English, Becs?"
I shook my head and smiled. "Something like personal prisons for each girl. There's nobody there except for them, and time flows so slowly that they haven't even realized they're caught yet."
I could see the confusion in his eyes. "I got to give you points for creativity, babe, but why go to all that trouble?"
"Because I saw how their magic worked," I said with a grin, "and how to stop it from working. In the past, no one ever had the power to fight back, so none of them had ever learned how to shield. All they had was offensive magic, with nothing for defense. And every time they tried to spell you, I noticed they had to join hands to power up. That meant none of them were strong enough magically to do anything alone. So . . ."
"So you made them alone." Tommy smiled slowly. "VERY alone. Smart, babe. I am officially impressed."
I smiled back. "I have my moments." We stole another kiss. The bell rang, signaling the start of homeroom. We both began walking back to the classroom area, holding hands.
"Soooo ... game over?" Tommy asked, giving my hand a squeeze. I gave him a look, and he shrugged. "I mean, all the other players have left the field, so I thought --"
I stopped in the hall. There were five "children" (not including the demon I had transformed earlier). I had only isolated three. Gwen and another girl were still out there, doing who knew what.
"There are two more, Tommy," I said. "I need to find them and get them contained, too, before they realize their 'sisters' are missing."
"But there's only two of them -- how much damage can they do?"
"Three of them would have had you in a 36GGG bra without breaking a sweat," I replied. "Two of them could cause a lot of pain if I don't stop 'em first." I started running back toward the locker rooms.
"Becca! Wait!" Tommy shouted. I skidded to a stop and gave him a look. "Why are you running? Can’t you just find them with magic?"
I gave myself a mental kick, and sighed. "Yes, I can. Easily, too. Why didn't I think of that?"
Tommy walked up to me and kissed me on the forehead. "Maybe you had something else on your mind?"
I grabbed him and kissed him hard. "Tommy Santino, you are a dangerous man."
"Absolutely. Especially to you, Becca. You were right. You got work to do, so I need to go." He grinned, kissed me again, and looked into my eyes. "Be careful. Be safe. And be . . . incredible."
"I'll do my best." I spun him around and swatted him across the back of his jeans. "Now get to homeroom, danger boy, and let me do my job."
"Yes, ma'am." He started running. "Good luck, Becs! Go take 'em down."
I watched his butt as he ran down the hall, until he turned the corner and was gone. 'Mmmmmmm,' I thought with a smile. 'The sooner I get to work, I sooner I get my hands on that again.'
A girl's got to have goals, after all.
I closed my eyes and reached out across the school, searching for Gwen. She wasn't hard to find. Her base magic level was so strong, it made her and the last of the Cat's human "children" burn like magnesium flares against the mundane backdrop of the rest of the student body. I overlaid a mental map of the building and figured out where they were, but hit a snag when I caught a glimpse of another magic user a short distance from them both.
Heather.
My initial reaction was to get between them before Gwen could do something nasty. I was halfway through the teleport process when I stopped myself. I'd met Gwen once, and although she probably didn't even remember me, one of the girls might have sent out a cry for help before I transported her. 'This could be a trap,' I thought, 'and I'd be pretty damned stupid to just "pop" in unprepared.'
Instead, I concentrated and sent my vision and hearing to the hallway where the three of them stood.
"-- a girly girl you are, Heather," Gwen gushed sweetly. She and her companion had blocked Heather's way, making it impossible for her to get by and make it to homeroom. "That's a beautiful outfit you're wearing. And your make-up is perfect!"
Heather just stood there, books clasped to her chest, waiting for Gwen to finish and let her move past. "You've done so well as a girl! I bet you absolutely love it, don't you?" Gwen waited for an answer, but Heather said nothing. Her tone grew sharp. "Don't you just love being a girl, Hunter? All pretty and soft and sweet?"
At first, I thought Heather would just shrug it off, as she had before. She was silent for a moment, and I saw Gwen's smile grow. Then Heather came back with the biggest smile I'd ever seen her wear. Gwen's grin faltered, and Heather laughed.
"As a matter of fact," she said, "I do. I love every minute of it." Gwen's mouth dropped open in shock. "What you did was the best thing that ever happened to me. You wanted me to suffer, but you gave me everything I ever wanted instead. Now I have a family, a life . . . and someone to love." She laughed again. "You screwed up big time, bitch. I'm happier than I've ever been. EVER. So if this is your best shot at humiliating me . . . well, maybe you'd better step aside and give a new wicked witch of the west a turn, 'cause you REALLY suck at it!"
I laughed in my empty hallway as Gwen was struck totally speechless. Heather walked right up to her, then right past her and down the hallway. At the end, she stopped and turned.
"Oh, and as for YOUR outfit," she said sarcastically, "PUH-LEEZE! I may have only been a girl for a couple of weeks, but I have more style now than you'll ever have. You look like you think coordinating your clothes means making sure they all come off of the same clearance rack at Wal-Mart." Heather's eyes narrowed. "You really could use a fashion consultant, dear. Maybe you could ask the lunch lady for help."
'Wow,' I thought, 'Heather really DOES have this girl thing down pat.'
Gwen's eyes bulged, and she grabbed the hand of the girl standing beside her. I watched the magic flare, and Heather seemed to see it, too, although she didn't seem frightened by it.
"Maybe I was too nice to you," Gwen growled, and her partner yelped as Gwen's hand tightened. "Maybe you'd be better off as a girl who can't say no, on your knees for every pimple-faced boy in the class! See how it feels to be the hottest slut in the eighth grade!" The magic began to build, a reddish glow that filled the hallway.
"Bring it on, Raggedy Ann," Heather crowed, dropping her books and taking on a ready stance. "Bring it on!"
With a muffled roar, Gwen threw a wave of magical energy ten foot high and twice as deep down the hall towards Heather. I reached out and sampled the spell, weighing its elements and composition while I got ready to snatch Heather out of harm's way if her own powers didn't kick in. As the spell surged forward, Heather didn't flinch. She stood like a statue, grim determination etched into her face. It looked oddly at home framed by the gentle beauty she had become in her two weeks as a girl. It made me proud to see how much she'd grown in so short a time.
Just before the wave reached her, Heather raised a hand. In response, the energy seemed to fold in upon itself, and Gwen watched in horror as the entire wall of energy collapsed into a shrinking sphere. It grew smaller and smaller until it reached the size of a softball, bounced twice, and landed softly in Heather's palm. She caught it easily, with a smile that told me her abilities had manifested and she was pleased with how she'd done.
Gwen and her friend were stunned, and Heather tossed the ball of energy up in the air a few times for effect. Then her eyes sparkled, and her smile grew.
"Hey, Gwen-doh-lynnn," she said, teasing. "Wanna see if I throw like a girl now?" Gwen's eyes grew wide an instant before Heather casually pitched the contained magic back at her with an underhand toss. "Catch!"
I felt the magic flare as Gwen panicked and sent out a hard beam of magical force to try and destroy the ball before it could reach her. 'A shield would be better,' I thought, 'but she never learned to shield either. She'll only wind up destroying the containment bubble Heather set up to trap the magic -- and set her own spell free.'
I grinned. This was going to be fun.
The beam hit the ball head on, dissolving the bubble and setting free the wall of energy Gwen had thrown at Heather earlier. It hit both girls before they could do more than open their mouths to scream. Gwen had sent way too much magic at Heather, so the amount in the wave Heather returned was more than sufficient to change both of the Cat Goddess's "children" . . . into exactly the kind of girl Gwen wanted Heather to become.
When the glow faded, Gwen and her friend looked . . . well, easy. And cheap. Think tight minis with lacy trim, tighter tube tops and bare bellies, wild hair and cheap earrings and just a bit too much make-up. Both tottered on high-heeled low-rise boots, and had virtual talons at the end of each finger painted bright red. The expressions on their faces were priceless, and Heather burst into a fit of giggles watching them check themselves out and scream when they saw what the other one looked like.
Gwen freaked when she realized she wasn't wearing any panties.
"Oh my GOD!" Her whole body went rigid. "How could you?"
"How could I what?" Heather could barely speak through her laughter. "It was your spell! Now you're both girls who can't say no. Of course panties would just get in the way!"
Gwen growled and grabbed for her sibling's hand, and I saw the magic flare again. 'Maybe they're both sluts now,' I realized, 'but still powerful. Time for me to make an entrance.'
I popped in behind Heather and put a hand on her shoulder. She turned to me and smiled, and I could see Gwen's jaw drop at my sudden appearance.
"Nice work, sis," I said, giving her a hug, "especially without any attack magic."
"Use your opponent's strengths against her," she replied happily. "You taught me that when you told me how you handled Leander's first confrontation."
I smiled. "Nice to see you were listening. Hang on a sec." I stepped around her and faced the two newest additions to the school's lowest rung. "Excuse me, Gwen?"
She heard me call her by name, and her confusion made the magical energies she had begun to summon subside slightly. "Do I know you?" she asked.
"Not really. We met in the hospital, while you were tormenting your older brother Mike. Remember? He was the one in diapers." Gwen's eyes narrowed. "I'm the Advocate, designated protector of those transformed and tortured by people like you. I'm here to kick your scantily-clad butt into next year. But frankly, right now I'm the least of your problems."
"What do you mean?" The other girl spoke, and Gwen turned to her with a scowl.
"Quiet, Libby!" she growled. Libby took a step back but didn't break the hand link.
I smiled. "In a little over a minute, two geeks from the AV/tech squad are going to come around that corner with hall passes and very active fantasy lives. About a minute after that, you're all going to be in the empty computer lab at the end of the hall, and you'll be showing them exactly what it feels like to do all the nasty things they find on the 'Net when they disable the school's filter software." I grinned. "And thanks to your own spell, you'll be loving every minute of it -- enough to want to do it over and over again."
The two girls recoiled in horror, and I nearly laughed, turning the knife. "Heck, I bet those boys will cut classes for the first time in their lives just to spend the rest of the day with you. Maybe the weekend, too?"
I reached out with all of my senses as I spoke the next words. "You have two choices. You could decide to embrace your inner slut and welcome them when they get here, or you could go back to being the 'bitch kitties' you were before your little . . . accident. It's your spell, right? Otherwise, with those two to keep you busy, you won't have a chance to go back, not for hours . . . or even days. And thanks to the spell, you wouldn't want to, even if you could. After all, if I were either of those boys and you fell into my lap, I wouldn't let you out of my sight -- ever. Would you?"
Gwen and Libby looked at each other, joined both hands, and concentrated. As the magic flared, I recorded everything, analyzed the energies and the spells involved, and watched them revert to how they were moments before, just as the boys rounded the corner. They walked past the two girls without a second look and went into the lab.
The girls stepped away from each other, looking down to see if they were completely back to normal.
'That's my cue,' I thought happily. I focused, snapped my fingers, and watched Libby disappear. Gwen looked up and saw her vanish, then turned to me just in time for me to send her away as well.
I looked at the empty hallway, then looked back at Heather, and grinned.
"Damn, I'm good!" I said, and held up my hand. Heather grinned back and slapped it hard, and then I just lost it and squealed like a little girl.
My first real battle as the Advocate, and I smoked 'em all! I had captured every Goddess kitten ... well, the human ones, at least ... and emerged completely unscathed.
"Becca?" Heather was looking at me a little oddly. "Are you ... bigger up top?"
'Well, almost unscathed,' I amended in my head. 'Good thing I like me this way.'
'I'm betting Tommy will, too.'
I brought Heather up to speed on the morning, and her eyes lit up at the capture of all of her tormentors.
We sat under a tree near the cafeteria. I had spelled all of our teachers so they would mark us as present and not call upon either of us until we were actually in class. It was a variant of the Arbiter's avoidance spell, so I knew it would work well. I had also cast the avoidance spell on Heather and I, so we would not be noticed sitting out here when we should be in class.
"And the best part of it all," I said, "is that your little trick with the spell 'ball' and Gwen's response to it gave me the key to restoring the boys."
"OhmyGod!" she squealed, bouncing up and down. "How?"
I laughed out loud and put my hands on her shoulders. "Calm down, girl, and I'll tell you." She immediately tried to sit perfectly still, hands folded in her lap, but her eyes were wide and I could see her whole body trembling with excitement. I shook my head and smiled.
"When Gwen threw that spell at you, I analyzed it 'on the fly.' One of the things I can do as the Advocate is take a spell apart and figure out how it works, so I can counter it."
"So now you know how to change reality?"
"Sort of," I admitted, "in a limited way. I can change a person into someone else and make his or her new existence part of the new reality. It's not something I plan to make a habit of, but still good to know if I ever need it."
"Why not use it?"
I shook my head. "The Omnipresence has a plan, and it doesn't need help from me messing around with reality. So, emergency use only." Heather nodded.
"Anyway," I continued, "it was when Gwen and Libby changed themselves back that I was able to untangle the reversal spell."
"All right! Becca, you ROCK!" Heather shouted, and started scrambling to her feet. "Let's go rescue Mike and his friends!"
I grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. "We can't do it now, hon." She looked at me, confused. I sighed. "It's the middle of the day. The 'girls' are surrounded by people who think the only magic in the world happens on stage or at a kid's birthday party. I'm not sure the reversal will work if it's witnessed by the non-magical -- they believe too strongly in the reality that is, and that belief has power of its own. Tonight, we'll 'port into each of their rooms and change them back while the rest of the world is sleeping."
"As for the rest of the day --"
My comment was cut short by a low rumbling that seemed to come from everywhere. The ground shook, and the sunlight was washed out by a brighter white glow that flared all around us. There were screams from inside the school, and then we heard a voice so loud it seemed to bounce and echo from every flat surface for miles around.
"Where ... ARE ... MY ... CHILDREN??"
"Ah," I said, as Heather's mouth dropped open. "That would be the rest of the day's agenda." I dropped the avoidance spell. People would have other things to worry about now.
"The Cat Goddess? She's HERE?" Heather jumped to her feet and started looking around. I rose slowly, and dusted off the back of my skirt. "Where?"
A familiar voice spoke from behind us. "I would not worry about finding her, Heather. She will find us soon enough."
I turned to find Leander standing ready, her eyes trained on the school. She was wearing what appeared to be some sort of battle suit. Her curves were wrapped in soft black glove leather from neck to ankle and she wore calf-high black leather boots with two-inch heels. There was a group of small throwing daggers on a belt at her hips, and a long sword strapped to the center of her back with the hilt protruding over her left shoulder. Her hair was held in a thick braid that fell down across her right breast.
I smiled. "Hi, Leander. Nice of you to join us." She bowed her head briefly, her eyes never leaving the school. "Bold fashion choice. Dominatrix meets World of Warcraft."
Her lip twitched. "Thank you, milady. It is enchanted armor. It adds to my shielding -- makes it harder for enemies to use aggressive magic." The twitch turned into a smile. "But I've also heard it said a girl can never go wrong with basic black."
"Oh? Try wearing it to a wedding and see how many people complain." I grinned. "What brings you out here?"
"You mean other than a major magical event?" Leander snorted and shook her head. Her blonde hair gleamed in the unearthly glow that still radiated around us. "Every sensitive within a thousand miles of here must have felt the earth shake and turned their heads to face the light. Since I knew this was your school, I thought you might need my help."
The voice thundered again. "Where ... ARE ... MY ... CHILDREN??"
"Ah." Leander smiled in understanding. "That would be araNyamArjAra?"
"Yes, but her friends all call her 'kitty.'" Heather stifled a giggle, and Leander sighed.
"I take it you have her children?"
I sighed. "Guilty as charged." I went on to explain about how I disarmed them all, and how I managed to figure out how to cure the harm they caused. Leander nodded.
"Which only leaves the one task left undone," she said.
"Bring them to me, or DIE!" The Cat Goddess shrieked, her tone a mixture of anger and fear.
"I guess I'd best be about it, then," I replied with a wink. I turned to Heather. "When I bring her to me, I'm going to need you to shield the entire school building. There are innocents in there. They must be protected."
Heather nodded. "I'll take care of it."
I smiled. "I know you will." Heather hugged me hard, then turned and ran back towards the school. I turned to Leander.
"I'm not sure exactly how this will go," I said, holding her eyes with mine. "But I know this isn't going to be as simple as her 'children' were, and all those pain demons she has on the payroll could make things . . . interesting. I'll be counting on you to keep them busy."
Still staring into my eyes, Leander nodded and drew her sword. It hummed as the magic in it met the ambient magic in the air. She held it aloft and smiled.
"I have been absent from the battlefield for a long time, Becca. But I will keep you safe, now and always."
She lowered the sword, put her hand on my shoulder, and took her place beside me.
"So, milady" said Leander, "if it pleases, let us end this. Now."
I teleported us both to the athletic fields, to put some distance between the potential battleground and the school. Heather's powers had only just awakened, and to expect her to protect the school and everyone in it from a full-scale assault so soon wouldn't be fair, or prudent. The best I could hope for was to keep the students and the building safe from stray shots, to avoid what the military calls "collateral damage."
We materialized on the side of the field usually reserved for the Home team. I didn't have a lot of school spirit, but I figured a lot of students had cheered on a lot of players to their share of victories here. If so much of magic came from sheer force of will, I reasoned, perhaps the "home field" advantage might give us a bit of a psychic edge. I raised the volume on my voice to match the Cat Goddess and echoed my words psychically, to reach out both physically and magically.
"araNyamArjAra!" I called, a challenge in my tone. "I have the ones you seek! They are my prisoners. No harm has come to them. Come, join me. We need to talk."
In less than a second, the other side of the field was full of a giant angry Cat Woman and a dozen happy pain eaters. The demons floated above the Cat Goddess, in a variety of forms. Some were unbearably beautiful, while others were hideous beyond description. But now that I knew them for what they were, I could see past the physical form to feel the core of every one of them, radiating a predator's self-satisfied knowledge that everything else was prey.
The Cat stood with every muscle tensed, her eyes bright with repressed anger, teeth bared and hackles up. Even with her teats swollen with milk, she looked fierce. 'Which is no surprise,' I reflected, 'seeing as how I've gone and stolen her children.'
"Where are my young!" she thundered. "How dare you take them from me!"
I raised one hand, palm out. "Hold, goddess," I said calmly, my volume still matching hers. "I took your children because they attacked several people under my protection, and have hurt other humans with the magic you have given them."
"What of it?" Her tail jerked back and forth, driven by anger and frustration. "Humans are everyone's prey, and my children need to learn to distance themselves from their heritage and become strong if they are to become as I am."
I let my magic flare and rose several feet from the ground. Leander remained below, sword at the ready. Her eyes never left the pain eaters, which pleased me, since that meant she trusted me to deal with the Cat alone. I wished I trusted me that much.
"Times have changed, araNyamArjAra." I smiled slowly. "Humans are no longer simply prey."
"Oh?" She grinned scornfully. "And why is that?"
"Because we stand between the predators and my people," I replied, "and we will not be moved."
The Cat looked down at my companion. "The one below I remember. Leander, is it not?" Leander nodded without taking her eyes off of the pain demons. The Cat sniffed. "A wizard and warlord, if I recall. I stripped him of his magic and turned him into a farmer's wife." She grinned. "Not much of a champion, girl. Not quite the hero, even when he was still a man."
"You did have to take me while I slept, Cat," Leander growled. "Remember that when you remember the rest." Her eyes flashed, and a bolt of lightning flew down and struck the metal goalpost. It vibrated like a tuning fork, and the tone made the pain demons reach up and cover their ears. The Cat looked at me in surprise.
"She has more of the hero in her than you might think." I grinned. "People change, and often for the better. Especially after 500 years."
"Well, she may have her magic back, but she's five centuries out of practice." The Goddess dismissed Leander with a shake of her head and turned her eyes to me. "And who are you, girl, that you think yourself so powerful you can steal my young and dictate terms?"
I looked back at her. "I am the Advocate, chosen by the Omnipresence to be humanity's protector. I am here to restore the balance and fight those who would harm my people through magic."
She stared at me for a moment, then laughed. The pain eaters joined in, and I had the sense I'd become the punch line of a joke only magical predators "get." I continued to float there as they laughed, and waited for it to end before continuing.
"Laugh if you wish," I said, my voice a model of calm indifference, "but I did take the girls from you, and with an ease that even the most powerful demigod should find disturbing."
"They are still growing, girl, with much to learn," the Cat purred, her eyes little more than emerald slits. "And they still need to leave their humanity behind. It makes them weak -- although they are learning."
"Whether being human makes them weak or not, they are still gone -- and taken by my hand. And for all your power, you cannot find them. So what does that make you?" I smiled.
"Angry," she hissed, her hackles rising.
"And frightened," I added in a helpful tone. She looked away, clearly upset at being read so easily. "Both emotions you share with humans." She said nothing. After a short time, I tried again. "By your own experience, you know not all humans are weak. Gilgamesh once fought you to a standstill."
She glared at me, and her tail jerked back and forth. "You know more about me than I would like."
I grinned. "I read a lot."
She waved a paw, and shrugged. "No matter. Gilgamesh was different. He had the blood of a god in his veins, and enough strength to earn my respect. You are merely --"
The Cat paused, and her expression changed. "You are not what you seem, girl. More than human, somehow." She seemed to sniff the air, and tasted it with her tongue. "And familiar ..."
"She is my daughter, goddess." Akomachi appeared in the air beside me, and I felt a wave of love flow through my soul. She smiled a predator's smile as she turned her attention to the Cat. "Not long ago, we two became one ... for a time. In the sharing, she became as much kitsune as she is human. Afterwards, she honored me with acceptance as her mother, so at least part of my dream is realized. I am no longer alone."
"I give you joy of your new kit," the Cat Goddess said with a smile, "although I would wish you had kept her on a tighter leash, so to speak. She has taken my children, and if she is now truly kitsune, it is an attack from one pantheon upon another. Justice must be served."
"She is also human," the fox spirit replied, "and it is in her role as the human's Advocate that she has taken your young. As a newborn changeling, her actions are not binding on the servants of Inari. And as a human mage, she is answerable to no one but herself. Her mission is her own, and I will not interfere in any way."
The Cat's ears went up, and she cocked her head. "You would let her die?"
"I cannot fight alongside her without causing a war, and I will not stop her because it would be wrong." Akomachi sighed. "She swore an oath as a human to fight for her people. Would I have her forswear herself? My own daughter? I would not see her come to harm for anything, but I will not hurt her myself by making her break her word. As if I could."
"If you won't help her, and you won't stop her, then why are you here?" The Cat's eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"Because she is my child," Akomachi said softly. "And because I promised Becca-chan I would stand beside her. Kitsune keep their promises, too."
The Cat seemed to slump, and shook her head. "Then I am sorry, my friend, that you must stand here and watch her die." I felt the Cat reach out and gently touch the fox spirit's soul, but the vixen's pride and joy pushed away the regret the Cat offered.
"No need for sorrow, goddess." She smiled her predator's grin once again. "The battle has not even begun. And you have not yet seen my daughter fight."
"She may not have to, Casa," I said with a smile. "I only wish to talk. This does not have to become violent."
"You have taken my children," the Cat turned to me with a snarl. "How could this not become violent?"
"No harm has come to them." I looked into her eyes and let her see the truth of it. "Unlike you, I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want you to leave my people alone."
"I have done nothing to humans," the Cat protested.
"You encouraged your young to torture them, to lessen humanity's hold upon them. Do you deny it?"
"Of course not. It was an excellent way to make my children stronger, and feed the pain demons with fresh suffering." The goddess looked sad. "They did not want to, at first. They pushed back so hard, I had to spell them to make them do it. They all had strong connections to their former families, and too much love for others. I really wanted them to learn for themselves, but sometimes little ones need a little push on the road to being gods."
"Then they are victims, too," I said, my own anger coming to the surface. "You made them hurt people they cared for." A thought popped into my head. "Did you even ask them if they wanted to be your children?"
She snorted and shook her head. "Hardly. Why would they possibly say no? I raised them from mere prey to virtual godhood."
"Without their knowledge or consent." My voice was very quiet. As long as I could keep her talking, maybe I could keep this from descending into violence -- even though I was mad enough to want a fight.
"If a lion had the power and the will, would it ask a gazelle for permission to turn it into a lion?" She stretched herself, claws digging into the green grass and ripping small furrows in the well-tended ground. "Besides, they came to me. They worshipped me. If I choose to make them my children instead of my supplicants, it is my right -- and an honor for them all."
'So that's how she found them,' I thought as my anger grew. 'They found her somehow.'
"They are humans!" I snapped. "They have the right to make choices for themselves."
"They gave up that right when they chose to worship me!" The Cat smiled, and her eyes became very bright. "They are mine to do with what I will!"
"No! They are individuals!" My magic flared around me, reflecting my rage. "They have the right to choose their own course. If people choose to worship you, you're supposed to accept their worship, protect them, and sometimes provide for their needs if their faith is strong enough. Every pantheon accepts that basic premise. But you decided to take choice away from your worshippers, by stealing them from their human families and turning them into miniature versions of yourself."
She sniffed and turned her head. "I am a goddess, girl. You don't have the power to stop me. I can do what I wish!"
"No. You. Can't." I flew closer to her, until I was only a few feet from her face. "Humans are protected now. That's my job. And the job description includes protecting your 'daughters' . . . from you."
She bared her teeth in a snarl, and her back arched slightly. "You would keep my children from me?"
I stared into her eyes and spoke in a calm deliberate tone. "Yes. They are only yours because you stole them from their own families. You didn't even ask if they wanted to be changed. What kind of love is that?"
"Do you think I care about your opinion of me, human? Of anything?" Anger and disgust radiated from her, and she shook her head slowly. "The only reason you are still alive is that you hold my children where I cannot find them. You demand my respect while you hide behind hostages. All that will get you is my contempt."
My mind spun as I contemplated my position. Thousands of possible actions and outcomes were weighed and discarded, and all at once I knew that reasoning with her would never work. Power was all she understood, and she thought I had none.
'Would I have to kill her?' I thought, not wanting to acknowledge the possibility that I might. 'I could, but she doesn't know what I'm capable of. And if she truly is the last of her kind, do I want to be responsible for their extinction? She's not evil, just . . . wrong.'
Suddenly, in my head, I heard Leander's voice. I could see her looking at me out of the corner of her eye, with most of her attention still focused on the pain demons.
'Advocate, attend,' she said silently, and I gave her an imperceptible nod. 'The Cat is a powerful predator. So was I, once long, long ago. To a predator, respect is something that can never be given. It has to be earned, or it means nothing.'
'Like Gilgamesh,' I responded.
Leander nodded back. 'Yes. He earned her respect. Now it is your turn. Fight her. Show her what she truly faces from humanity's protector.' I saw her frown as she thought the next words. 'Earn her respect, my Lady. Make her fear you -- or you will have to kill her.'
I looked into the Cat's face, my own deceptively calm. In order for this to work, I had to push it carefully to the next level. "I do not hide behind anyone," I said softly. "Your children are my prisoners because of what they did, and what they tried to do. Still, I will bring them here, so you can see that they are safe." I flew backwards, giving myself some distance from the goddess, and closed my eyes long enough to pull them all back.
Within seconds, the five girls were floating in the air behind me, still trapped in bubbles of slow-time. The Cat flew from figure to figure, whispering softly in a language I did not understand. I could feel her anger rising again as the figures remained silent. Her power rose around her and flowed out to encompass the girls, but when it ebbed away, they remained frozen.
"They may be here, but still beyond my reach!" She spun in mid-air and growled at me. "What have you done?"
"Nothing," I replied. "They remain suspended in time, as they were. You don't know how I did it, so it is not your spell to undo. They are still mine until our issues are resolved." I swooped around behind them before coming back to float before her. "I told you I had done nothing to harm them, and I haven't. They live. I could have incinerated them where they stood instead of just capturing them, but I didn't."
"Give them back to me!" I could feel the Cat's frustration. Her children were so close, and yet still beyond her reach. I felt her pain, but I had to push her, just a little more. I forced my voice to become cold.
"Take them . . . if you can." She turned back to the girls, then back to me, and roared at the sky in frustration as her whole body shook. When the sound died away, I met her eyes and nodded.
"You think humans are nothing but prey," I said softly. "You believe we are powerless. But I hold the girls beyond your reach, and you cannot free them. What does that say about how powerful I am?" I moved in closer. This was the moment of truth. "If you want them free, prove to me that I am as weak as you say. Just you and I, one on one, in a test of power. Show me how small and insignificant I really am."
The Cat thought for a moment, and her eyes became bright again.
"Unacceptable," she snarled with a shake of her head. "I do want to kill you, girl. Make no mistake. But if you die, you cannot release them, and they will never be free."
"So don't kill me." I spread my arms wide, palms open. "This doesn't have to be a fight to the death. I don’t want to hurt anyone, even you." My anger at the thought of those poor boys trapped in daycare fought to rise to the surface, but I pushed it aside for now. 'Think about the boys later,' I rationalized. 'If there is a later.'
"If I win, you treat me and all humans as equals and respect my wishes," I continued. "Defeat me, and I release the girls." The goddess looked doubtful. "I swear to you I will release them all if you should win. Akomachi knows my word is good."
araNyamArjAra looked at the fox spirit, and the vixen nodded. "Both as a kitsune and as the human Advocate, she can be trusted."
The goddess paused, clearly torn by something. Her gaze shifted from me to the girls, and I found myself wondering why she hesitated.
'Because dueling with you would grant you a legitimacy she does not believe you deserve,' Leander's voice echoed in my head. 'To her, humans have always been prey or worshippers, not equals. Even considering you as anything else gives you a status humans have never had in her thoughts before.'
'That makes sense,' I replied, surprised I hadn't picked up on it myself. 'How do you know all this?'
'Because I recently had to look at everything I ever believed with fresh eyes,' she replied, 'and you'd be amazed how difficult it is to admit to yourself that you may have been wrong for a very long time.'
I suddenly felt so close to her that my eyes blurred with tears, and I sent a burst of love her way. It took her totally by surprise, and I felt her own tears rise in return. She reached out and gave my soul a tentative touch before returning all of her attention to the pain demons.
I gave the Cat all the time she needed, and eventually, she sighed and shook her head.
"A duel it is, then." She looked as unhappy with her choice as she did with me. Her eyes caught mine, and in their depths I could see a confidence that was both absolute and totally alien. "Do you require time to prepare?"
I was about to say no when I heard a siren blare from the school's parking lot. I turned and saw three black vans roll in, accompanied by way too many blue and white police cars and a single gray sedan that couldn't be anything else but an unmarked unit. The doors on the back of each van flew open, and officers in battle armor carrying wicked looking rifles started jumping to the ground. They began to fan out, establishing some kind of perimeter.
'Terrific,' I grumbled telepathically. 'The circus is in town, and they think they're the cavalry.'
'And since they cannot fight a magical attack,' Leander replied, 'they are more useless to us than clowns.'
'More useless?' I asked, giving her a look. She looked back, her face deadly serious.
'At least clowns could make us laugh.' Then she grinned.
'Just my luck,' I groaned, 'everybody's a comic.'
"Girl?" araNyamArjAra sounded slightly peeved. "I asked you a question. Do you require time to prepare?"
I scanned the parking lot again, and finally saw a familiar face emerging from the unmarked unit.
"Yes, I do," I said, and teleported to a spot directly above the windshield of Detective Stabenow's car. When I materialized, I instantly created a selective veil, so only she could see me.
"Dom!" She looked up at the sound of my voice, and was stunned to find me hovering in mid-air a few feet above her. "We need to talk."
"Becca? What are you doing here?" The detective stared for a moment. "You look well . . . except for the flying part." Then she realized what she was saying and shivered, as if fighting off a chill. "You're . . . you're flying."
"Floating, actually," I replied with a sigh. "That's part of what we need to talk about. Please get back in the car?"
She shook her head slowly and dropped back into the driver's seat. I 'ported into the passenger seat next to her.
"Shit!" She was so startled, she honked the horn when she jumped.
"I'm sorry, Dom, really," I paused to throw a quick spell around the car, then reached out and touched her arm. She jumped again, and I sighed. "I know this is real 'Twilight Zone' stuff, but I needed to show you that things are not how they appear. Something seriously weird is happening here, and your officers are not equipped to deal with it."
"That's why . . . the floating?" I could see her coming back to herself a little.
"If I just popped in beside you, you could have looked for a rational explanation -- maybe insist that I just snuck in somehow." She nodded. I went on. "You'd never believe what I'm about to tell you unless you saw me doing something clearly impossible first."
Dom grinned at me. "You got that right, rookie. In fact, this would all make a lot more sense if I was the one who had the head injury instead of you." I grinned back and watched her put both hands on the wheel and grip it tightly. "Okay, Becca. Lay it on me. And don't pull any punches. I'm a big girl, I can take it."
I turned and looked her straight in the eye. "On the other side of the school, out on the football field, I am about to engage in a duel by magic with an ancient cat goddess, in order to prove to her that humans are more than lunch and deserve some respect. At the same time, a woman dressed in enchanted black leather armor with a HUGE sword is going to be keeping about a dozen demons from making trouble during the fight, and another girl is going to be magically shielding the entire school building to prevent collateral damage."
Dom thought about this for a minute, and then shook her head and turned to stare out the windshield. "This is crazy."
"Absolutely."
"But true."
"Yes." I created a small ball of green fire, tossed it up a few times, then blew it out. "See?"
She gave me a sideways look. "Magical duel?"
"Yes."
"Cat goddess?"
"Mmhmm."
"And . . . demons?"
"More than a few."
I could almost feel the wheels turning in her head, and she turned to face me once more.
"Why?" Her tone was surprisingly sharp, to match the frown on her face.
I sighed. "Because it's my job. There are lives in the balance -- a bunch of virtual hostages, taken or twisted by magic. In order to free them, I have to prove I'm as powerful as the goddess -- that humans are worthy of respect."
"No, I mean why you?" Her volume went up a notch. "This is your job how, exactly? Even granted I believe into any of this . . . for God's sake, Becca, you're only thirteen years old! How did giving a goddess a spanking get on your 'To Do' list?"
"It's a long story," I replied, keeping my own voice level. "Remember our conversation in the hospital? When I said, 'maybe you don't "become" a cop. Maybe it's who you already are inside, and you just ... grow into it?'" The detective nodded, still frowning. "Well, someone decided I'd grown enough, offered me a badge and the power to back it up, and sent me out to clean up Dodge."
Detective Stabenow frowned deeper, shook her head, and flipped down the passenger side shade. She snapped open the vanity mirror.
"You don't look much like Marshall Dillon, missy," she growled, and I found myself staring back at my way-too-young face, a look of surprise making me look even younger. "You're just a kid, and gunfights at high noon are restricted to folks with permits these days."
'My God,' I thought, 'is that me? I've spent so much time acting as the Advocate I've forgotten how much of a child I am now -- or at least how they see me.'
I closed the mirror with a snap, and pushed the shade back up.
"It doesn't matter what I look like," I said, my voice coming out in a teenager's petulant whine. I shook my head and continued in a more reasonable tone. "Or how old I am. I can DO this. I HAVE to."
"You're way too young for this kind of responsibility!" I could tell Dom was seriously angry, and it was starting to make me angry in return.
My voice shook as I replied. "I may look young, but somebody I trust said I was the right person for this job. They offered me the chance to do some good. And I can't just say 'I'm sorry, but I can't fight you, oh mighty cat goddess. I'm only thirteen!' Damn it, Dom, I have to face her down and save those kids. It's my job!"
"Says WHO?" I folded my arms and faced front. Dom grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. "It's not right, Becca. Who put you on the front lines like this? Who took the rest of your childhood away? Who told you it was your job to step up and save the day? Who, Becca? Who?"
"GOD!" I shouted at her, my face red. She let go of my arm, and her jaw dropped. I took a deep breath and looked down at my hands. "Everyone I meet on this job calls him or her the Omnipresence, but it was God, okay? The Creator of All Things told them to offer the position to me. They said God told them I could handle the power -- that I was the right person to protect and serve, to make a difference. It was my choice. I could have said no." I turned and looked at her again. "But you tell me, Dom. How am I supposed to live with myself, knowing I could have made a difference . . . and passed? How am I supposed to say no to God?"
For a minute or two, not a word was said. Neither of us looked at the other. Finally, she spoke.
"I'm sorry, Becca. I'm just . . . worried, that's all. You're so young, and . . . first the head injury . . . then the magic, and now this . . . " She shook her head. "I like you, hon. I guess my need to 'protect and serve' made me want to protect you, too." The detective shrugged, still avoiding my eyes. "I'm sorry."
"You said that already." I touched her arm, and Dom turned to face me. "It's okay to be scared for me. Heck, I'M scared for me. I'm really new at this whole thing, but it's not the kind of job you quit. There are people depending on me, lives are at stake, blah blah blah." I grinned. "You know the drill."
She nodded. There was another silence, less awkward than the last. "So . . . why the visit?"
"To warn you." I motioned at the window. "You've got a small army here, itching to fight terrorists. But there are no terrorists. Just demons and an angry goddess. These creatures are so powerful, they could turn every officer in this parking lot into a Vegas showgirl. Or a stalk of celery. With just a thought. You can't stop them. You can't even slow them down."
"But you can?"
My turn to shrug. "It's what I do. And I'm pretty good at it."
Dom took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So, what can we do to help?"
"Set up a perimeter here, and keep everybody out of the line of fire."
The detective nodded. "Okay. How long will this take?"
I shrugged. "No way to tell, really. Could be an instant, could be an hour. Time is odd when you're hip deep in magic."
"I'm a little surprised your goddess is willing to wait this long. We must have been here for at least ten minutes."
"Oh, hardly any time has passed at all," I said with a smile. "We've been in a bubble of accelerated time since we got into the car. Barely a second has passed out there."
Dom turned to watch a SWAT trooper seemingly stopped in mid-air on his way from the van to the ground.
"Huh," she said softly, "how about that."
I opened the door and stepped out of the car, then released the spell bubble with a wave. The trooper hit the ground running, and the next one jumped out behind him. The detective got out on her side and slammed the door.
"This has possibilities," she said softly, and smiled. I half-smiled back.
"Yeah, maybe I could be a junior crimestopper, have a little plastic badge or something." I walked around the front of the car. "I don't mind helping you out with the local criminal types now and then. But first, the duel thing, 'kay?"
Dom nodded, and came around to meet me. Before I could stop, she wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug, and I found myself hugging her back.
"I'm sorry for how I reacted, rookie," she whispered in my ear. "I'm still afraid for you, but I know now I'm out of my league. I have no right to stop you."
"Good," I whispered back, "because I don't think you could. Magic and all, remember? I could stop time and kick your butt all the way into next week." I felt her laugh, and then she drew back and gave me a questioning look.
"Hey! Does this job of yours have a title? Do I have to salute you or something?"
"I'm called the Advocate," I replied with a grin, "and I don't think we're in the same chain of command."
Dom gave me one last look and kissed me on the forehead. "Then go fight the big kitty, girl. Show her who’s boss, and come home safe. We’ll keep the bystanders innocent until you’re done."
"Thanks, Dom. You're the best." I gave her one last squeeze, threw an attention avoidance spell around us to make sure no one was watching, and 'ported back to the athletic field.
I had a duel to win.
Notes:
To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 18
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The Advocate faces her toughest challenge as she enters her duel with araNyamArjAra -- to prove that humans are more than prey. The lives of those she swore to protect and the very future of her mission depend on her. Can a thirteen-year-old sorceress win a test of power against an immortal goddess?
Part 18
"DUEL, n. A formal ceremony preliminary to the reconciliation of two enemies.
Great skill is necessary to its satisfactory observance; if awkwardly performed
the most unexpected and deplorable consequences sometimes ensue."
-- Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary
"I thoroughly disapprove of duels. I consider them unwise and I know they are
dangerous. Also, sinful. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly
and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet retired spot and kill him."
-- Mark Twain
The trouble with pretending to be brave is that sooner or later, you're going to have to back it up.
I was about two minutes away from dueling a goddess on a middle-school football field, and damned if I didn’t start wondering if this was such a good idea, after all. I had plenty of power, that wasn't the issue. I was pretty damned smart, too, when I stopped trying to claim that I wasn't. Still, there was something to be said for my actually being stupid -- only a fool would try to take on a being so old, her beginnings are beyond the earliest recollections of humankind.
But here I was, readying for battle. And the worst of it was, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. This was my first real magical duel (not counting my initial skirmish with Leander), and if I wasn't careful or lucky, it could easily be my last. Of course the Cat Goddess did promise not to try and kill me, but accidents happen, right?
I flickered back into existence floating over the football field. No one had moved an inch while I was gone.
"Thank you for the time to prepare," I said pleasantly. "There will be no interruptions from human law enforcement."
The Cat sniffed. "As if they could stop me from doing whatever I wish."
I smiled. "Of course not. That's my job." She sniffed and shook her head.
Akomachi looked at me with a disapproving eye, and her voice spoke in my head. 'Respect, Becca-chan. If you wish her to respect you, you need to show her you are worthy of respect. Start by showing her the respect an elder deserves, since she has been here long before your history was little more than tales told around a fire.'
I looked down, accepting the rebuke. Akomachi smiled. 'Diplomacy, Advocate. Remember, when you do win, you want her to acknowledge you as an equal, not be angry because an insolent child has pushed her way in where she doesn't truly belong.' I nodded.
"My apologies, araNyamArjAra," I said softly. "Although we are on opposing sides, it is inappropriate for me to speak to you in such a manner. Please forgive me."
The goddess looked at me, curiosity warring with surprise in her eyes. "Forgiven, girl. Your words do you and your mother credit."
There was a long silence, and then Akomachi spoke to us both. "What exactly are the rules of this duel? How do you both intend to determine a winner?"
That stopped me for a moment. "I would think," I said slowly, giving the goddess time to speak first, "that it is more a question of who loses as opposed to who wins. Since we are both very much involved in this battle, we will both judge its outcome. When one of us acknowledges the other as the winner, the duel is over. Does that sound acceptable to you, araNyamArjAra?"
"Yes." She drifted slightly, still looking at me oddly, as if seeing me for the first time. "The defeated must accept defeat, or this exercise means nothing."
"And it is just you and I, will against will, power against power," I continued, still allowing her time to interrupt. "If either of us can affect the other in such a way as to force her to acknowledge her loss, the duel will end."
"Agreed."
"With no action or interference from allies on either side."
The Cat stretched herself and nodded, an odd glint in her eyes. "Agreed." She turned her head and addressed Leander and the demons. "You will all keep your places until this contest is concluded." There was a growling from the assembled demons, and a few of them shuffled angrily in the ranks. Leander just nodded.
There was a long silence, and Akomachi nodded. "Very well, then. The rules are set and the lines are drawn. You may begin."
I recognized the ritual sentence just barely in time and darted upward, rocketing fifty feet above my former position as a bolt of energy sliced through the place where I had been. Scarcely pausing, I threw a spell of my own before teleporting behind the goddess and casting again.
She countered my first attack with another targeted beam of magic while she stepped aside to let the second spell pass. I threw another spell and again teleported, this time to appear directly above her. As she countered my last spell, I cast again and ported once more, appearing to her right with another spell at the ready.
Cast, port, cast, port. Time and again, over and over. But she managed to counter every spell no matter how fast I was.
Then I noticed a young boy cutting across the field. He stopped, stunned at the sight of the two of us throwing magic at each other while a bunch of demons and a woman in black leather watched. I could feel the Cat Goddess's attention shift to him, and in that instant I realized she was about to use him against me.
Before I could think about it too much, I materialized between her and the boy, screaming "RUN!" at the top of my lungs. As the boy headed for points unknown, I turned to find her staring straight at me, a satisfied smile on her face. Then I felt her cast.
My shields snapped into place an instant before a tidal wave of energy hit me from every possible direction.
All at once, everything went white, and cold, and LOUD, and it was all I could do to keep myself protected. I was surrounded by her raw power, pinned in place. I could barely move, let alone think, as I struggled to keep her from changing my reality.
I was clearly on the defensive -- I couldn't even counterspell, the magic was so strong. Already I was beginning to feel weakened, fighting with everything I had as her onslaught continued. As a mage, I was strong and had tremendous reserves, but she was literally a goddess and seemed to have an almost limitless supply of energy.
'I can't fight her forever,' I thought, my frustration bordering on anger. 'It's like trying to build a dam in the middle of a flash flood. I'm struggling so hard to withstand her attack I can't even make a strike of my own.'
I cast my mind through the archives in my head -- strategic, tactical, and magical -- trying desperately to find a way to overcome her attack. Without as much concentration to hold it back, her attack began to press my shields in tighter around me, and I could feel them start to falter.
'Power,' I screamed in my head, 'I need more power!'
As panic began to set in, I heard a voice echoing in my head. "The oak breaks, but the willow bends."
It was my Sensei, my Tae-Kwon-Do teacher. I scrambled to remember when he said that. Then it came back to me in a rush.
"Owww!"
Tommy Madigan lay on the floor in front of me, rubbing his shoulder. He had been taunting me about how I shouldn't be here, about how girls shouldn't learn to fight. He made me angry, and I used too much force in blocking his strike. Not expecting that response, Tommy was caught off balance and fell heavily to the ground.
Everything stopped. All of the other students turned and watched as Sensei helped him up off the mat, then turned to me.
"Rebecca," he said, "tell me why that was wrong."
I must have been eight or nine at the time, and I looked down, a little embarrassed.
"Because I hurt him?" I said softly.
Sensei laughed. "No, little one. That is part of what a martial art is for. This is not a dance, it is a battle. You are supposed to win -- although I do recommend not striking out in anger." He shook his head. "The problem with what you did is that you used your energy to turn a defensive move into an attack. It can be done, but not the way you did it. Not with that sort of defense. How did it feel?"
I thought for a moment. "Wrong somehow. Almost like I was trying too hard."
He nodded. "You were. A true battle could go minutes or even hours. By using energy in both defense and attack, you weaken yourself and give your opponent a way to wear you down."
I felt frustrated. "But I can't just let him hit me."
Sensei smiled. "You're right. You can't. Attack me, Rebecca." When I hesitated, he patted my shoulder. "Don’t worry. I want to show you something."
So I took my stance, bowed, and struck out at him, over and over again. Each time, he stood completely still, moving only as much as he needed to deflect each blow. They slid harmlessly past him, time and again, until I stood in front of him breathing hard and trembling, totally confused.
"You see?" he said, smiling again. "I used only the energy I needed to divert your attacks, making your blows land elsewhere, or not at all. The energy of your attacks was wasted, and while I remained alert and ready to strike, you have become tired and ready to quit."
He held up a finger. "But if I had tried to fight each attack with my own energy, I would be as tired and discouraged as you are now." I stood there, still panting. Sensei sighed. "An oak and a willow stand side by side. The oak stands firm against the wind, while the willow shifts with it and allows it to pass. When the hurricane comes, which will survive?"
"Ummm ... the willow?"
My teacher nodded. "Because it knows enough to let the wind do the work, and push it out of the way. Remember Rebecca ..."
###
"... the oak breaks, but the willow bends."
I smiled, and my shielding rebounded as my will grew stronger. 'I can't dodge her attack,' I mused, 'since it's coming at me from all sides equally. But if this energy can neither be created, destroyed, or avoided, maybe it can be . . . used?'
I closed my eyes, focused, and created a series of layers for my shields. The magical energy she kept throwing at me sank into the outer layers, and eventually became a part of my own shields, making them stronger. The harder she attacked, the stronger they became, and eventually they were strong enough to hold back the onslaught with only a minor energy expenditure on my part.
Immediately, the strain on me began to lessen, and I could see and hear the world outside again.
" ... obviously she is incapable of responding to my attack." The Cat Goddess was agitated, her tail twitching with frustration as she spoke. "Surely this means I am the winner!"
Akomachi looked at the Cat and cocked her head. "Surely you remember the terms of the duel. She must acknowledge defeat. If your attack renders such an acknowledgement impossible, the duel must continue." She smiled. "Quite clever on my daughter's part. You cannot win without her consent, so you will take care on the field of battle to ensure no harm comes to her."
"As to that, I am not yet ready to concede the contest," I said, trying desperately for a normal tone. The almost-defeat left my voice shaking with fatigue. They both turned simultaneously to see me floating inside my bubble of stolen energy. "And as for responding to your attack ..."
I lashed out with a concentrated spell of my own, designed to turn her fur deep purple. With a flick of a whisker, she countered it with a precise strike of her own magic that deflected the spell into the sky above. Undaunted, the Cat threw another bolt of energy at me, which was absorbed and made part of my shields.
And so it went, minute after minute, each of my spells countered by the barest effort on her part, and each of her attacks merging with my shields to become part of them. As her spells dissolved, I analyzed each one, assembling a picture of her own casting ability from how each spell was constructed.
I noticed that her defense used focused strikes to redirect my attacks -- something like punching an incoming fist to avoid having it hit you. Unlike my Sensei's concern, using power to defend by attacking was not really an issue for araNyamArjAra. According to my gifted memories, most gods seem to have a deep wellspring of energy at their disposal, and she was no exception.
Still, since my magic never actually reached her, she never had an opportunity to study my spellcasting technique. Apparently, her strategy was to wait. Given time, I would wear myself out, since as a mere mortal, I would tire eventually, and then she could take me however she wished.
My shields seemed to upset her, though. From what I could tell, it seemed to strike her as cheating -- as if I'd come up with some stupid human trick to avoid a real battle. Being a goddess, the idea of hiding from an attack behind anything just felt wrong, which probably explained why her "children" didn't have shields either.
Not that her distaste for the concept gave me any kind of edge. araNyamArjAra was fast and tireless. We had quickly reached a point of stalemate, and had settled down to a samurai-like battle of wills where each of us waited for the other to blink. She had long since stopped attacking me, realizing that every strike just made my shields stronger.
Unfortunately, being immortal, she had all the time in the world to wait for me to grow tired. And I, even as enhanced as I was, didn't have that luxury.
Still, I had a tremendous amount of her power wrapped around me, protecting me. Could I use that stored power against her? Heather managed to use Gwen's power to change her. Could I do the same with the Cat?
'I'd have to take her power in and make it my own,' I thought, my eyes never leaving hers. 'Could I do that without being corrupted by it? The Arbiters said I couldn't tell them power held no attraction for me until I had the chance to face temptation head on and beat it. I guess now's the time to see if they were right.'
Before I could think about the madness of what I was about to do, I reached out and pulled all of the power in my shields -- the stored power of an angry goddess -- directly into me, and made it my own.
Wiped clean of her intent in the conversion process, it was raw and harsh and unforgiving, and I writhed and screamed in pain as it roared into me and became a part of who I was. It poured in, filling me from head to toe and overflowing through my skin to bathe me in a glow as bright as a magnesium flare. It flickered across the surface of my skin, raising my hair into a fiery halo of red, and sparks flew as I licked my lips and smiled.
I saw her eyes narrow, and the first flicker of real fear chased across her. I watched the energy for a spell build throughout her body, almost in slow motion. But before she could cast it, I threw my own spell at her -- and trapped her in the very same sphere of magic she almost used to defeat me. It closed on her so quickly, she had no chance to react.
And without shields to hold the magic back, she didn't have a chance.
My spell was something totally new, yet rooted in all of my experience since becoming the Advocate. It had been painstakingly woven from all she had thrown at me, along with the vestiges of the spells her children used, and even vague memories of the first spell the pain eaters had thrown at me, a few weeks -- and so very long -- ago.
And when the glow faded, what had been araNyamArjAra, immortal Cat goddess, was something she could never believe she could ever become.
Human.
She was a little girl, no more than fix or six years old, dressed in a white leotard and tights with matching ballet slippers on her feet. White cat ears on a white satin headband kept her blonde hair held back from her face, and a fluffy white tail was pinned to the back of her leotard just above the curve of her bottom. Whiskers had been drawn on her face with an eyebrow pencil, and her blue eyes were ringed with lines to make them seem more catlike.
Still, for all of the frivolous trappings, she was still, impossibly, just a little girl, and her mouth opened and closed with the shock of it. Her whole body trembled. From goddess to mortal, in the blink of an eye.
I hovered above her, still overflowing with stolen power, and watched her explore her new body with tiny hands that touched and probed everywhere. Her head began to shake, and her breathing came faster, until I thought for sure she would pass out. I saw tears falling from her eyes, and she slipped to her knees and curled up in a ball on the green grass, staining her costume.
I drifted to the ground beside her and kneeled next to her shaking form. I touched her back gently, and she squealed and tried to roll away. But I settled next to her and took her into my arms and just held her as she cried.
Just a girl. Human. Prey.
One of the pain eaters broke ranks and stepped forward.
"She is prey now!" It bellowed, smiling. "Look at her, brothers. The mighty goddess, nothing but a child -- and a human child at that! No more orders from on high, no more crouching in the darkness waiting for her word."
It sniffed, and its tongue darted out. Then it shivered. "And she hurts! Oh, I can taste her anguish from here! Her sadness, her fear! So tasty, so strong! She has fallen so far! I must have it all! She is ours for the taking -- and I will have her first!"
The demon lunged at us both, claws forming on its outstretched hands. Before I could cast, Leander leaped into the air in front of it, moving almost too fast to see. She sliced it in half with her broadsword, and it exploded with a flash of light, leaving nothing but a gray smoke that drifted across the field. The sword seemed to glow with added energy, emitting a hum that sounded strangely . . . satisfied. The rest of the pain eaters froze in place.
Leander smiled. "Who's next?" she asked, taking her stance once again. "My weapon hungers, and I am bored."
The largest stepped forward and growled. "You would kill us? She was your enemy!"
Leander nodded. "That is true. But now she is human and under my protection." Her eyes flashed with barely suppressed anger. "Besides, you all swore an oath to protect her and her young, and now you plan to feast on her pain as if your word means nothing. You are bottom feeders and oath breakers all, and worth less than my spit! So yes, I would kill you. Happily."
The demon shook its head. "We dealt with a deity, not a human. As a human, she is prey. With her transformation, all bargains are cancelled!"
"A bargain struck is a bargain made," Leander replied, clearly disgusted. "You make bargains with humans all the time. This is no different. Oath breakers I called you and oath breakers you are. And if you try to approach her, you will die."
Another demon spoke up. "She is prey now, and we will have her." The rest roared in agreement.
Leander grinned. "You can try." She waved the broadsword in a complex flourish that ended with it in a ready position, held easily above her head. "I look forward to the attempt."
"You cannot kill all of us!"
"So I will kill you first, loud one -- if you take another step."
The goddess looked up at me, her drawn-on whiskers streaked with tears. I smiled and brushed a loose lock of hair from her face.
"Do you yield?" I asked softly. She trembled all over, sighed, and nodded.
"I am human, and by your hand. The victory is yours . . . Advocate." Her little girl voice was filled with sorrow, and she looked away. I touched her cheek and she turned to face me once again.
"You are human, araNyamArjAra, this is true," I whispered, "but you are not powerless. The spell that changed you was not a simple one. I wanted to change you, not take away all that you were. So I made sure that all of what you had -- all of your magic -- still remains within you. "
Her eyes widened, and I nodded. "And now you know that humans can cast as well as gods." It was her turn to nod. "The demons sought to betray you and feed upon you. So rise up and show them what it means to break an oath to a goddess. Rise up and show them what a human can do when she is powerful . . . and angry."
I saw determination grow on her face, and moved away. She stood quickly, bits of dirt and grass clinging to her leotard. A blue glow surrounded her and lifted her into the air, and I rose beside her, still holding the power my shields had captured during the duel.
"Leander," I called, my voice carrying clearly.
"Yes, my lady," she replied, her eyes never leaving her targets.
"The goddess can take care of herself now. Leave their punishment to her."
"As you wish, Advocate." Still facing the demons, Leander rose effortlessly from the ground and drifted backwards until she floated beside me. The sword remained at the ready, but it was clear from her body language that she was now protecting me, and not the girl.
The demons were confused to the point of inaction. Suddenly everything had changed. The prey was no longer prey. The food had ceased to be food and had become something else -- something that hurt them with every taste. The pain and sadness and loss they had felt before was gone, replaced by something they never expected to feel coming from a small human child.
Rage. Powerful, primal, uncontrolled rage.
"You DARE to break faith with ME???" araNyamArjAra's new little girl voice held an edge no one would mistake for anything but a disbelieving anger. "You vultures, thinking you could feed on my pain . . . MY PAIN . . . after swearing to protect me and mine with your lives!"
Her tones descended to a fierce growl, and her eyes narrowed into thin slits. "With your actions, you have earned the undying wrath of an Immortal, and it is time you were all paid -- in full."
She raised her arms, and branching forks of blue lightning shot into the assembled demons, as the shock wave from a seemingly endless thunderclap blew Leander and I back a good ten feet from the action. The pain eaters all writhed in agony and collapsed to the ground, their forms blurred in circles of light so bright the illumination reached clear to the school itself.
And when the lightning faded, every demon had been replaced by a little girl. Different races, and a mix of blondes, brunettes, and redheads -- but all the same age as the girl araNyamArjAra had become. Unlike araNyamArjAra, each of these girls were completely naked, and as they slowly became aware of what they had become, the cat girl spoke again.
"Now you are everything you despise, all of you! Tiny helpless prey, naked and alone. You are still immortal, but oh so much less than human." Her voice had become as cold and empty as it had been full of rage. "Because for all of time, until the sun itself explodes and burns the very ground we stand on to ash, you will be AFRAID. Millions of years await you as shy, frightful, nervous creatures, scared of everything and every one. You will be cared for by humans, but no one will ever truly be able to console you, or protect you. And NOTHING will save you from your own fear and doubt. You will provide an endless source of food for others of your kind, and they will feast on you . . . forever!"
She waved her hands and they all rose from the ground, screaming and clutching at each other. I could see the fear coming off of them in waves, reflected in their auras as a glowing greenish orange glow that never seemed to fade.
"Now I scatter you to the farthest reaches of the planet, so none of you might find solace with your transformed sisters!" araNyamArjAra conjured a whirlwind that ripped the girls from their partners and sent them spinning off into the sky in a dozen different directions. "Go, frightened ones! Find your human protectors, live your immortal lives in fear, and always remember what you did to earn your punishment . . . and who delivered it! GO!"
And they dwindled until they were dots in the sky.
And then they were gone.
For a while, there was silence. Then araNyamArjAra turned to me.
"What now?" she asked, her tiny voice full of concern.
"Now," I replied with a smile, "I bring you back to yourself, goddess, and we talk."
"You would . . . restore me?" A touch of hope flickered across her child's face.
I nodded, slightly confused. "Of course. The duel is ended. Why would I keep you this way?"
"As a punishment for my . . . crimes. Against your people." She sighed heavily. "My . . . children. Their families."
I moved closer to her, and lowered my floating form until we hovered eye to eye. "Was this what we agreed? That I would punish you? In any way?" The child shook her head, and I smiled. "Then why would I break my word to do so, when I know in my heart you will punish yourself for what you have done."
She stared at me. "You presume much, child."
I shook my head. "No, goddess. I know you better than you think. When Akomachi was saddened by her childless state, you reached out to comfort her. When you reminded her and made her even sadder, you apologized and tried to make it right. You loved those girls as your children, and did what you did to them because you wanted a family to love. I know you care about others, if you truly respect them. I know you have the very feelings you once claimed were weak when you attributed them to humans."
"The purpose of the duel was to show you that my people are more than prey," I continued. "Now that you have been human, even for so short a time as this, you know we are more than just something to be taken and used -- if not your equals, at least worthy of the same consideration you show to others like you. You have hurt those to whom you should have shown respect. And that hurts you more than any punishment I could ever give."
I watched her face change from displaying a shadow of her former arrogance to showing her sadness as she realized I was right -- and that she had been wrong. The human child bowed her head under the weight of her new knowledge.
"You have done terrible things, goddess, or caused them to be done," I said softly, touching her cheek. "But I know the part of you that cares will do whatever she can to make amends." She nodded, still not looking up.
'She has seen what you wished her to see, Becca-chan,' Akomachi's voice echoed in my mind. 'You have shown her what she did not wish to see, and you did it with love and respect. You make me proud to call you daughter.'
'Thank you, Casa,' I replied, sending her a wave of love and feeling her love in return.
I closed my eyes and used the remainder of her stolen power to restore her. In seconds, she was araNyamArjAra again, last of her kind, feline and powerful -- yet strangely, so much less than she had been before we dueled. I could feel that her arrogance and certainty had been tempered by the knowledge of her disrespect to another worthy race, and the damage she had done.
I drifted gently to the ground in front of the cat goddess, Leander beside me.
"I will restore the boys and give them their lives back," I said softly. "Will you restore the girls and give them back their humanity?" The goddess nodded. "Thank you. Please make them forget the pain you made them cause, because they would blame themselves for what you spelled them to do."
"It will be done, Advocate. I still love them, even if they cannot be mine. I would not hurt them for anything." She looked down at me, and smiled sadly. "I will also watch over them all in the future, boys and girls, and do what I can to make their lives better."
I raised an eyebrow. "Not easier?"
araNyamArjAra smiled. "I know how humans think, child. Your people like to work for what you get. I will just make sure they get the chance they need to earn their own successes."
She turned her attention to Leander. "Mage. I wronged you, as well, all those years ago. For what it is worth after what I did to you, I am sorry."
Leander shook her head. "No, I deserved to be punished for the things I had done. I know that now. Granted, it shouldn't have gone on for five hundred years, but that is not your fault, and I will never forgive the ones responsible." She looked up into the goddess's eyes. "Once I wanted to watch you die, and be the cause of it. Now . . . I know the past is past. I wish you well."
The Cat returned Leander's gaze, and nodded. "The Advocate was right. You have grown. There is more of the hero in you now -- and something of the champion as well." Leander blushed and turned away. araNyamArjAra turned her eyes to me, and I saw them fill with sorrow.
"Will you release the girls now that I might set them free?" I nodded, and with a wave of a hand, each girl slipped from her time bubble to the ground below, slightly confused from the time suspension and the change in location. The goddess moved from one to the next, calming them with her touch and whispering softly in their ears. She kissed each of them gently on the forehead, then closed her eyes and let them fade and disappear.
"They are where they should be, and as they were before I spelled them." I could feel her sadness, and reached out to try and offer comfort, but the Cat shook her head at my unspoken offer. "I appreciate your desire to help, Advocate, but I have just lost my children. I loved them so, and now they are gone -- and part of their leaving was because of you. I need to be alone now, to mourn their loss and try to figure out where my future might lead -- or if I even have one."
"I understand, Goddess," I replied, withdrawing the sympathy I had begun to send. "Before you leave, may I point out something to consider?"
araNyamArjAra paused, then nodded. "Thank you. The only reason you had to set your 'children' free was because you did not allow them to choose their path. Had you made the offer to an adult, and had it been accepted freely, I would not have stood in your way."
She stood, silent, considering my words. "I am sure there are many humans who would jump at the chance to become your children," I continued, "to become immortal, and a god. You could choose carefully from those who would volunteer, then raise them properly. You could teach them what it means to be one of your people, and how to use their newfound power wisely."
I could almost see the implications spinning through her mind, and decided to take the next step. "And if you were to choose both men and women to 'adopt,' you could bring your people back, given time."
The goddess seemed to freeze, but I could see her tail jerking back and forth, and her ears perked up with interest. I shrugged. "Something to consider, as I said. I am sorry for your loss, but there are always new paths just over the horizon. I wanted you to see . . . the possibilities."
She looked down at me, and gave me a small smile that reached up into her eyes. "Thank you, Advocate. You have given me something to think about, and I am grateful."
She turned her head and nodded to Akomachi. "You have chosen your daughter well, vixen. Love her, for she is worthy of an immortal's love. Care for her as she cares for her kind. And teach her -- because for all her knowledge, she still has much to learn." Akomachi gave her a smile and a deep curtsey, a neat trick in mid-air. Then she turned to me, touched my soul, and faded slowly, as if she were just a mist on the wind.
I stepped back and performed a curtsey of my own to honor the goddess, complete with a head bob. The Cat grinned a predator's grin, stretched in a very feline way, and vanished.
As the adrenaline started wearing off, I felt a wave of fatigue wash over me, and began to fall backwards onto the grass. Leander caught me and lowered me to a seated position, and I gave her a small hug and a smile.
"You need to rest, my lady," she said, smiling back. "Dancing with immortals tends to tire one, so I've heard -- and you have danced quite a lot today."
"Still a few more steps before the music ends, I think." I grinned. "I've got to figure out how to explain the goddess's pyrotechnics to the school administration, and give the authorities a false trail to chase. And of course, there are still the boys to restore. But I think we've finally reached the last chorus."
I stood up and stretched, reaching for the sky and then down to touch my toes. "And between you and me, Leander, I'll be happy when the band goes on break."
We turned and started across the field for the school.
Notes:
Almost to journey's end, sweet readers. Thank you so much for hanging in and hanging on! *hugs* -- Randalynn
To Be Continued...
No Obligation, Part 19
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As her first mission as The Advocate draws to a close, Becca ties her loose ends and tries to resume a normal life -- well, as normal as life can get for a fledgling superhero. But a cryptic message from the Omnipresence forces Becca to rethink her place in the Multiverse, and brings about a meeting she'd never thought she'd see.
Part 19
"Impossible is a word humans use far too often." -- Seven of Nine, Star Trek: Voyager
Since the Cat Goddess had taken steps to restore the timeline by returning the girls to their rightful place in it, Heather and I didn't have to wait until the boys were alone anymore. From the knowledge I'd gained about the spells used, I also didn't have to worry about magical fallout changing the transformation matrix. After a short break for lunch (and a chance to catch my breath), we took each of the transformed boys out of their daycare situations and brought them to Mrs. Graymalkin's studio.
Even though it was clearly safe, we ported directly into a time bubble in the center of the dance floor. Time would move very quickly inside the bubble while remaining slow beyond its walls, so no one would even suspect the toddlers were gone. And once they were all restored, none of their former daycare providers would even remember the little girls ever existed.
But the memories of the boys themselves were another matter.
"I can easily restore each of you to where you would have been if events had taken their normal course," I said to the group, sitting in a circle in the middle of the dance floor. "And all of you will have a complete set of memories of your old life up to the time you return, so you can hit the ground running. But you each have a choice to make before I begin. And I can't make it for you."
"A choice?" Mike asked, still cute as a button in a pair of pink OshKosh overalls and a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar.
I nodded. "I can put your lives right back on track, as I said. But I need to know whether or not you also want to remember the time you spent trapped as a three-year-old girl."
"You mean we can choose to remember . . . or not?" Tim, currently Tammy, looked confused. "Why would I want to remember any of it?"
"Because it's part of your history," Heather piped up, causing everyone to turn her way. "That means it’s a part of you. We learn from the things that happen to us, good and bad, and that learning helps us grow."
"But . . . but it sucked!" In her bright yellow play dress, Tim looked about ready to cry. "I felt small and scared and weak and stupid and . . . and it went on and on! It felt like forever! Why the hell would I want to remember being trapped like this?"
"Because it happened, Tim." Mike's voice took his friend by surprise. "If you get rid of it, then it all happened for nothing. But if you hang onto the memories, then you'll always know you went through something really bad and came out the other side. Keeping the memories will make you stronger in the end."
"Or give me nightmares that won't go away." Tim crossed her arms and stared straight ahead. "Losing a slice of hell isn't a loss in my book, bro. I just want to get back to life the way it should have been."
Andrew, currently Annie, spoke up. "If I do decide to remember these months, how am I ever gonna deal with my sister again after what she did to me?" The toddler's party dress was pink and frilly, with a picture of Disney's Cinderella on the front. A pair of matching ruffled panties peeked out from under it.
"I did explain what happened," I said helpfully. "It really wasn't her fault."
Andrew shook her head, her pigtails whipping back and forth.
"I know what you said, and I understand it, up here," she replied, tapping her forehead. "But in my heart, I still remember how Libby hurt me for months, even if she doesn't remember it anymore. I know that lurking somewhere inside her is someone who could laugh as I cried, and I don't know how to deal with that."
"It was that Cat Goddess making her do that," Mike said, "You should know how easy it is to have your head twisted, man. The other day in daycare, I saw you trying to eat crayons! That wasn't you -- that was what they made you into when other people were around."
Andrew shook his head. "I just don't know."
"What about Travis?" Tim pointed to the baby Heather held in her arms. I sighed.
"Travis doesn't get a choice," I said softly. "Some things are too painful to remember. For him, all of his memories of this time will disappear. The new memories will fill the vacuum when the old ones vanish, and he can start again from there, just like the rest of you who choose to forget."
'At least, that's the theory,' I thought, a little uneasy. 'Whether it works or not . . .'
A long silence followed, and then I clapped my hands and smiled. "So who's first?"
All of the boys chose to forget the past few months had ever happened.
All of them, that is, except for Mike.
One by one, I cast each of them into the present they should have inhabited. Before I sent each boy back into his life, I checked first to make sure none of them had died or been seriously injured in the original timeline. It would have been pretty stupid to save them from life as a toddler only to send them to an accidental death or worse, trapping them in a body that no longer functioned at all.
Eventually, only Mike and Travis were left. Mike struggled to his feet and waddled over to me.
"I want to thank you, Becca," he said, as he gave my legs a hug. "You saved us all, and none of the other guys even shook your hand."
"Well, let me shake yours, hon," I replied with a smile, and he let go of me and reached up with pudgy fingers. "You're something really special, Mike. In an impossible situation like this, you hung on until I managed to find you. And of all of your friends, you're the only one with enough courage to keep the memories of your time as Missy. That makes you pretty special in my book."
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?" Mike looked down at his yellow sneakers with the daisies embroidered on them. "At least, that's what they say. But I'm not stupid, Becca. If hanging onto the memories gets too hard for me to handle, I'll call."
"And I'll come help." I picked him up and gave him a proper hug, then set him down on his feet. "Go win some games, Mike."
"I'll do my best." He smiled, closed his eyes, and I sent him back to the life he should have had.
I couldn't put it off any longer. This was the one thing I wasn't sure would work, since so much depended on what was actually going on inside someone else's mind. All of my efforts to try and find Travis inside Tina's tiny head were failures. I found nothing but a frightened -- and frightening -- silence, so I couldn't really tell if Travis was only hiding . . . or gone.
Still, I couldn't just send him off and hope my solution was successful. I took a deep breath, crossed my fingers, and restored Travis to his real life, as I did the others. But this time, I went along, to see if my solution worked. I needed to be there, to help coax Travis out of his shell if I could -- or bring him back to a life as Tina if I couldn't.
He was lying in his bed in his dorm room, snoring. Apparently, he had fallen asleep while studying, since books and papers were scattered around his sleeping form. I sat on the edge of the bed to watch him, waiting for him to wake up.
While I waited, my eyes roamed the room. The walls were covered with posters of alternative rock bands, and the floor was covered with discarded clothes and an empty pizza box. Over on the desk was a picture of Travis and a girl on the beach, their arms around each other. She was blonde and tan and pretty in her skimpy blue string bikini, and they were obviously very much in love. I reviewed the memories I had given him of the life he should have had, and saw that she loved him too, very much -- even though they went to schools hundreds of miles apart.
'That's a good sign,' I thought with a sigh. 'Having memories of a strong relationship like that to hold him here might make all the difference. Wanting to accept this reality could be a deciding factor, determining whether Travis wakes up as himself, or retreats again when he opens his eyes.'
Travis snorted once, and turned over slightly. I took another look at the picture and realized there was one more way I could help Travis come back.
I closed my eyes and readied a spell.
Travis woke slowly, slightly disoriented. The world seemed to rush at him, all of the past months assaulting him simultaneously, and he shook his head, trying to make sense of it all.
Then he felt a soft hand touch his cheek, and he opened his eyes to find Laurie sitting on the edge of the bed, her pale blue eyes filled with love and concern.
"Hey, boyfriend," she whispered, bending down to give him a soft kiss. "You were having a nightmare, so I came to help."
"Night . . . mare?" The words were hard for him to get out, almost as if he hadn't talked in months.
Laurie nodded and kissed him again. "Yes, hon. A nightmare. I'm here to show you there's nothing to be afraid of."
"Am I dreaming?" Travis's voice became clearer, more distinct. Laurie laughed and touched his nose with hers.
"Of course you are, silly. Why else would I be wearing a bikini in October?"
The boy reached up with one hand and pulled her face down to his for a long deep kiss. His other hand slid upwards, cupping one of her hips.
"You feel real," he said softly. "Mmmmm, feels nice."
"Well, you'll have to wait for the real thing, honey," she replied with a smile. "I'm just a figment of your imagination until Thanksgiving. See?" Laurie stood up next to the bed, twirled around, and was suddenly dressed in a sky blue harem outfit.
His confusion was written all over his face. "Why . . . why are you here?"
"Because I wanted you to know I love you. Call me, 'kay?" Laurie bent over and kissed his forehead. "I need to hear I love you, too."
Then with a smile and a wave, she vanished. Travis sat up with a start, looking around for his dream girl.
"Whoa," he whispered. "Weird dream. I must really miss her." He reached up to touch where she had kissed him, and noticed his cell phone sitting on the nightstand. "I've got to tell her about this!"
I hovered over Travis near the ceiling, invisible but smiling. As he reached for his phone, I breathed a sigh of relief and ported back to the dance studio.
The girls were home. The boys were home. Travis was going to be just fine.
And that, as they say, was that.
But as usual, they were wrong.
After the defeat of the Cat Goddess and the return of the boys and girls to their respective lives, my own life began to settle into something approaching normal -- well, normal for me, anyway. Leander and I continued to spar magically and talk of tactics in the heat of battle; Mrs. Graymalkin and I would dance and talk of strategies and the ethical uses of magic. Heather would sit in on both sessions, listening intently and occasionally taking part in the discussions.
Surprisingly, Heather's attitude towards Leander changed once I told her what had happened during the duel. Over time, she came to accept Leander as an older sister, and began to spar with both Leander and myself during the practice sessions. After watching Mrs. Graymalkin and I, she discovered an interest in learning ballet, and began her own set of lessons in both dance and magical defense at the studio.
Outside of classes, Heather, Amy, and I became a well-recognized trio, spending all of our spare time together -- except when Heather was with Jeremy and I was with Tommy, of course.
I met Dom at a Starbucks one afternoon after school, and I brought her up to speed on what I could do with magic. We thought about ways I could help her do her job, and we talked about how she could help me do mine.
"I'll keep my eyes open for anything . . . magical," she had said, taking a sip of her latte before shaking her head in amazement. "I can't believe I just said that."
A few days after the duel, my first period arrived, accompanied by swollen breasts, cramps, mood swings, and the expected mess and smell. Still, even with all that, my menses was a cause for celebration as all the females in the Barnes household gathered to acknowledge my first steps into womanhood.
As Jack, I had been barred from being part of Emma's "first-time" ceremony, it being a "girls only" event. But as Becca, I was the star, and I soon discovered that this day had been anticipated and prepared for far in advance by my former wife and daughter.
I learned many things that day. I learned that chocolate was a gift from the Goddess to make the time easier to bear (this time, it was also a gift from Emma in the form of a five pound bar of Hershey's best). I learned of the value of massages and heating pads and baths; and both mother and sister revealed to me the mysteries behind what to wear and what NOT to wear during that time of the month.
I also learned that feminine hygiene products were definitely my friends, and was told that finding exactly what was best for each girl was a personal decision. Mom gave me boxes of several different types of napkins, tampons, and shields, and I was encouraged to experiment until I could find out which brands and what combinations felt right to me. She and Emma told me what they thought worked best for them, and tried to answer whatever questions I had about periods in general -- although they were quick to point out that every woman's experience was different.
Heather hung on every word, looking from me to the boxes and back again. When Mom announced it was time for us to go for ice cream, she and Emma went off to get their coats. I rose slowly from the bed and walked over to Heather.
"Are you okay, sis? You look a little stunned."
She looked up at me and smiled. "I'm fine," she replied. "It's just . . . I know it's coming for me, too. And I don't regret choosing to stay this way, not for an instant. I love being a girl. But still, it's a big thing, to have this happen to you every month." She cocked her head and gave me a curious look. "You seem to be handling it well, though."
I shrugged. "It's just a part of my life, hon. I was a girl, and now I'm a woman. I wouldn't change a thing." I winced as another cramp hit, and then gave her a small smile. "Well, maybe I would, a little, but it's not awful, really. Just . . . awkward and messy. This is part of who and what I am, and who and what I always wanted to be. I'm happy."
Heather took my hand and squeezed. "Me, too. Thanks for everything, Becca."
I reached out and gave her a big hug. "I hope you say that again when it's your turn to be the guest of honor," I whispered. I heard her giggle, and we headed for the front door where my Mom and my sister were waiting.
It was hot for October, and I was taking advantage of the spring-like temperature to wear something fun -- and for me a little symbolic. It was the first outfit I'd chosen when I woke up as my teenaged self almost a month ago -- a scoop neck pale green tee shirt with a thin white button-down blouse over it; a short dark green skirt that fell just above mid-thigh, in a very light fabric with several layers of ruffles; and white sneakers with gray trim over white socks. My hair was loose this time instead of held in a ponytail, and I wore just enough make-up to make me feel pretty.
I was sitting outside of the Starbucks, sipping on a vanilla bean frappuchino and waiting for my Tommy to come meet me. While my eyes followed the many passers-by, I was actually thinking about how I could use my time-bending abilities to do my job and still have a life.
'Perhaps I can "time share" with myself,' I mused. 'By going back over my own time line every night, I can patrol the whole world for eight hours and still get a decent night's sleep. Or, since time passes at a different rate in Akomachi's home, I could sleep there for hours and have it register here in minutes. Maybe a combination of both . . . ?'
My mind was spinning with possibilities when I heard a male voice behind me. It spoke in a tone I had only associated with eulogies in the past.
"You have failed, Advocate," it said. "Your task remains incomplete."
I turned my head to discover an older boy standing behind me -- late teens, maybe early twenties. My eyes traveled up his body to take in the faded denim pants and matching jacket, the black tee shirt, the short dark hair and matching goatee, the simple earrings with a matching stud shining in the side of his nose. His dark brown eyes were filled with concern, and he moved forward and sat down across from me.
"Advocate," he said earnestly. "The job is not yet done. The Multiverse is not as it was."
I took my straw out of my mouth and eyed him thoughtfully. "And you are?"
"I am The Envoy," he replied, leaning forward. "The messenger of the Omnipresence."
"God needs a messenger?" I smiled. "What, Her Infinite Majesty can't pick up a phone?"
"The Omnipresence is nearly infinite, it is true." The Envoy shrugged. "When confronted with infinity, humans tend to go a bit -- insane. So a messenger is needed, yes."
"And your message to me is 'the job is not yet done.'" He nodded. I stopped and took another sip. "If we're talking about the same thing, I'm afraid I have to disagree. Just the other day, I looked at my 'To Do' list and it seemed to me that all the boxes had been checked off. araNyamArjAra gone, girls and boys all free and happy. Life is good. So what's left?"
"One box remains unchecked. Hunter Thomas." The Envoy's eyes flashed, and he raised his voice a touch. "He remains Heather, and that cannot stand. The Omnipresence would like you to restore the boy so the work can continue. That is why your task is incomplete."
"You want Hunter back?" I smiled and shook my head. "Oh, no. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't do that."
He looked surprised. "Why not?"
"Because it would be wrong." I sighed at the look of confusion on his face. "Look, as The Advocate, it's my job to protect people, not to hurt them, right?" The Envoy nodded. "So as it stands now, Heather is happy, well-adjusted, and deeply in love with my brother. For her, Hunter is nothing but a bad memory. If I return her to the hell she used to live in, I will hurt her -- and Jeremy, too, even though he probably wouldn't remember it. So Hunter isn't coming back. Not now, not ever. Message or no message, Heather stays Heather."
His mouth opened in disbelief. "But . . . but this message comes directly from the Omnipresence!"
"Oh, I believe you," I replied calmly.
"Then you must comply." The Envoy tried to look stern and disapproving, but in the body he wore, it came out looking more like someone had gotten his espresso order wrong. "You have to."
"No, I do not." I took another sip of my drink. "The Omnipresence gave me free will, and I choose to exercise it. I won't hurt anyone just because someone tells me to, even if that someone is God." I looked upward. "And I won't hurt people I care about just to make Your work easier for you. Considering who you are and what you can do, you certainly don't need my help."
The Envoy's voice shook, and both of his hands became fists. "You will show some respect, Advocate."
I put down the nearly empty cup and readied a defensive spell. The tension in the air was palpable, but all of it was coming from him.
"Or what?" I smiled. "That sounded suspiciously like a threat, messenger. Someone should have told you I don't deal well with threats."
"I am The Envoy," he repeated. "You would not dare to attack me."
"What I will or will not dare is not up for debate." I looked him in the eyes. "Push me too hard and you'll find out just how far I'll go."
He smiled. "I am not afraid of you. The Omnipresence will protect me."
"Maybe." I grinned and settled back in my chair, crossing my legs at the knee. "I've heard she doesn't act directly down here these days. If she did, I would imagine she'd just change Heather back to Hunter herself, if Heather is too much of an obstacle to the great plan. But her acting directly might cause more harm than good, if I remember correctly. I guess if it comes down to it, we'll know for sure how far God will go to keep you safe . . . won't we?"
The Envoy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I am not here to fight you, Advocate. The Omnipresence requests that you honor her wishes and return Heather to her rightful form as Hunter."
"I appreciate that. But I will not comply. You could tell her so, but I'm sure she already knows. She is omniscient, after all."
"Hey, Becca!" I felt Tommy's hands on my shoulders, and I tilted my head back to give him a kiss as his lips came down to meet mine.
"Hi, Tomcat," I whispered before he stole another kiss. "You're right on time."
"Oh?" He raised his head up to look at the boy across the table. "Ready to go, then?"
"More than ready!" I snagged my purse, threw it over my shoulder and stood up. The Envoy watched me, confusion in his eyes. "You will excuse me, won't you?"
He looked confused again. "What?"
"Your message has been delivered, and I've given you my reply. Our business is concluded, and I have other places to be."
I picked up my empty cup and threw it in a nearby trashcan. Then I flashed the Envoy a brilliant smile. "Have a safe trip home, now!" I slid my arm around Tommy's waist, and walked away.
"Was that guy giving you any trouble, babe?" Tommy asked, his arm around my shoulders and his face half-buried in my hair.
"Him? No, not at all," I replied, happy to be with him again. "He was just acting like so many other teenaged boys these days."
"Oh?"
"Absolutely," I nodded, turning my head and burying my face in his chest so Tommy couldn't see me grin. "He thinks he's Heaven-sent."
That night, I stared up at the bottom of Heather's bunk, listening to her soft snores and thinking about my response to the Envoy in the Starbucks.
'Before the duel with the Cat Goddess, I told Dom it was hard to say no to God,' I mused, 'but it turned out not to be so hard at all. Should it be that easy for me to tell the Creator to take a hike? Is that a good thing? What am I becoming, if I can do that without even stopping to think about the consequences?'
'But you did think about them.' I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. 'You just thought about the consequences for Heather and Jeremy if you did what God asked you to do. You put them first, without even thinking that maybe God knew better than you. Do you think so much of yourself after one victory -- that your judgment is better than hers?'
I padded over to the bedroom door, pulled on my robe over my lavender "Hello, Kitty" pajamas, and made my way down the hall and into the kitchen without turning on a light. My new "C' cup breasts moved a bit more than they used to, swaying and bouncing slightly as I walked silently through the kitchen to the living room. Part of me savored the feeling of finally having breasts of my own, but the part of me that had grown up Becca wondered if bigger really was better. I was still thinking about returning them to the more comfy "B" cups they had been before.
What little moonlight filtered through the cracks in the living room curtains made it easy for me to find the sofa, and I curled up on it and stared at the overstuffed recliner across from me. It had been my chair -- well, Jack's chair -- before all of this started. 'Daddy's chair,' my Becca self protested. I nodded, giving her history the weight it deserved, since it was my history now as well.
The recliner remained in its place in the living room, but I had noticed an unwritten rule that kept everyone from sitting in it. It was like a strange suburban version of the "Missing Man" formation Air Force pilots fly to honor fallen comrades, as if everyone saw it as a placeholder for the missing man in the family -- or kept it as a reminder of the empty place Jack left behind.
I was dwelling on the emptiness of it, thinking again about that meeting in the parking lot that took me away from them all. Which made it all the more surprising when Mrs. Graymalkin suddenly appeared, flickering into existence in my old recliner and filling the chair as if it had been made for her.
"That was a very interesting choice you made today, Becca," the older woman said softly, her eyes never leaving mine. "Not surprising, but interesting."
She was wearing a white blouse and the long black skirt she had worn to the commitment ceremony, but her grey-streaked hair was loose and fell in soft curls down over her shoulders.
"Thank you, Ma'am . . . I think," I replied, keeping my own voice low. "Sorry to wake you. Was I thinking too loud again?"
"Something like that." Mrs. Graymalkin stood up and walked over to the sofa. As she sat, she turned sideways to face me, curling herself into the opposite corner of the couch. "Maybe feeling too much would be a better description."
"Well, blowing off a request from the Omnipresence tends to make one feel . . . uncertain." I gave a small laugh, wrapped my arms around my middle and hugged myself. "It was easy to do at the time, but now, all the questions start."
"Questions?" My dance teacher remained curiously serene. "Are you having doubts about your message?"
I shook my head. "Not about the message, but how easy it was for me to deliver it. I didn't hesitate, or deliberate. I didn't even think about what would happen to me if I refused. I just said no. To the Creator of . . . everything, I said no."
"Why did you say no? Not out of pride or stubbornness. It wasn't because you thought you knew better, surely."
"You know me better than that." Mrs. Graymalkin nodded, her attention unwavering. "I said no because I know God doesn't truly need Heather to suffer." I looked down at my painted toenails. "Whatever her plan might be, God is more than capable of working around having my little sister stay my little sister. And she certainly doesn't need me to hurt her. People suffer as part of the big plan every day."
I looked back at my teacher. "Someday I'm going to have to do somebody some serious harm. I know that. It's part of the job. But when that day comes, it will be because I have no other choice. Asimov once said that 'violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.' I'd like to believe I'll always be smart enough to avoid bloodshed if I think hard enough. So maybe there's a bit of pride there." I grinned. "Me and MacGyver. What a handsome couple."
Mrs. Graymalkin didn't smile, just nodded. "I noticed you went out of your way to convince araNyamArjAra that she was wrong," she said, "instead of just destroying her as the Arbiters would have wanted you to do."
"In her way, she was 'people' too." I shrugged. "She just didn't know it until I showed her. Like anyone, she has the right to be wrong without getting a death sentence for it."
There was a long silence, then Mrs. Graymalkin smiled. I sensed something was different an instant before she opened her mouth, and then the other shoe dropped.
"I chose you well."
Suddenly I was very glad I was sitting down. The world seemed to spin, just for an instant. When it stopped, nothing had changed -- and everything had changed.
I was sharing a sofa with God.
She still looked like Mrs. Graymalkin, but it was pretty clear she wasn't. She was too still, too centered, too serene in her movements and thoughts to be merely human. And she exuded an aura of power that was unmistakable -- and slightly frightening.
"The messenger was an Envoy," she said calmly. "That means he was acting as an emissary from one sovereign to another, since your free will makes you the master of your own fate. The message was phrased as a request and not an order, because to order you to do anything would be in direct opposition to the free will I have worked so hard to encourage."
The Omnipresence looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "And you need not fear reprisals of any kind, Becca. I already knew your answer before you gave it."
"Oh? Then why ask the question?"
"Because the message itself was a test."
I felt confused and frustrated, and both feelings rose up in me. "That makes no sense. You already knew the answer!"
"But you didn't," she replied. "And I felt you should. The test was not for me, child. It was for you."
My jaw dropped, and I could barely speak. "Why?"
"So you could see what I already knew." She leaned forward and placed her hand on my arm. "That you would defy even me if you thought the cause was just."
I sat there, stunned. 'She wanted me to say no??'
The Omnipresence rose gracefully, turned and walked to the curtains. They parted as she approached, and pale moonlight outlined her borrowed form with a shimmering aura.
"You are everything I could have hoped for in an Advocate," she said softly, staring out into the yard with a small smile playing on the edges of her lips. "Willful and smart, brave and true. And you have chosen your allies well. You have introduced something new and vital to the plan -- a force for good, backed with strength, wisdom, courage, and heart. Your very existence -- you and your family and friends -- is proof that humanity is more than the Arbiters could ever imagine, and with your help, your kind will rise to meet the future, and conquer it."
I opened my mouth to protest her praise, and she waved a hand at me without looking. "Modesty is a virtue, Becca, but you have no need to embrace it so forcefully. I know what you are. You do, too. Embrace that, instead." My mouth closed with a snap, and I saw her smile. "Good."
Still smiling, the Omnipresence turned from the window and stood over me in the semi-darkness.
"There is one thing you still regret, even with all the good you have done," she whispered. "The pain your first encounter caused to the people you love more than life itself. They've come out stronger because of it, but it has taken its toll. Your wife left lonely and alone, sleeping on half the bed every night for fear of finding the other half empty and realizing her own other half is gone. Your children left without their father -- moving forward as best they can, but always with that space where their Dad used to be echoing in their hearts."
I felt the tears rolling down my cheeks, and I nodded, afraid to say anything.
"I do not act directly in this world, and for good reason. The Multiverse is a work in progress, shaped by every decision I make as well as every decision made by every sentient creature in it. Every direct action I take could cause thousands of years of delay in achieving our goal . . . or move us forward by the same amount. With all of my knowledge and power, I can't predict how a single intervention will change the landscape or by how much. It's something to do with a sort of universal free will -- what you people call the Uncertainty Principle."
The Omnipresence kneeled before me and took my hand. "But I can act directly, if I so choose. And for all you have done, and all I know you will do in defense of all who need it, I have decided. I will do what must be done to make you and yours whole again. So mote it be."
Shocked, I shook my head. "I can't ask you --"
She reached out and touched my lips with a finger. "You can ask, but you wouldn't. And you haven't. But I can offer. And I do accept on your behalf. Because you've earned it, and will earn it time and time again in the years to follow." I opened my mouth to protest again, and she shut it with a thought.
"Child," she whispered, "I cause so much pain in pursuit of a goal I cannot possibly explain to you and your kind, because you are not ready to know. Please, let me ease your own, in spite of the plan."
I looked down, then nodded.
Leaning forward, the Omnipresence kissed my forehead and gave me a smile. "Thank you. It might be confusing for a time, dear, but in the end, remember this. You truly are your father's daughter. And everything will be just fine."
"But this . . . is it really happening?" I looked up at her, scarcely daring to hope. "I mean, humans aren't supposed to be able to meet God, right? Facing the infinite is supposed to drive you mad!" She nodded. I sighed. "Then I must be asleep. This is just a dream . . . isn't it? I'm only dreaming."
"Of course you are, child," she replied, rising to her feet. "It's how I get around that pesky insanity thing. But sometimes, for very special people, dreams really do come true."
The Omnipresence took a deep breath. "However, the dreamers must always wake up first -- otherwise their dreams never see the light of day." She clapped her hands briskly. "So it's time for you to wake up, Becca, and face a brand new day." She clapped again. "Come along, child! Time to --"
"-- wake up, hon."
There was a hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently. But it was the voice that shook me more. I hadn't heard it in weeks, and I never thought I would hear it again.
But there it was.
"Becca, baby, it's time to wake up. It's morning."
I opened my eyes to see a tall figure silhouetted against the light from the living room window. The curtains had been drawn back, and the sun streamed in behind him, casting his face in deep shadow. But I didn't need to see his face to know who it was.
Who it had to be. Who it couldn't possibly be.
"D ... Dad?" My voice quavered, and I heard him laugh the way I had laughed a thousand times before -- back before my shopping trip, and the meeting that changed everything. "Daddy?"
"Yes, baby," he replied, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "It's me . . . you . . . us."
I squealed and launched myself up into his arms, wrapping him in a hug so tight I could hear his joints crack. "Oh, God -- Daddy, you're back!"
Jack moved his mouth closer to my ear. "To everyone else, I never left, elf. I've always been here -- and you have, too." He kissed my cheek.
I pulled back and looked into his eyes. They were just as I remembered them from the years I spent staring back at myself in the bathroom mirror. "How . . . what . . . who are you?"
"From what I can tell, I'm sort of an echo of you, Becca," he replied, hesitating. "I'm everything you are and were, combined with the past everyone here remembers. I remember being you -- and raising you. I'm your Dad, yet at the same time, I'm you. And you are the me who raised Emma and Jeremy and went on to become The Advocate. We are one, and yet -- we're not." He ducked his head and scratched behind one ear. "It's . . . complicated. I'm still trying to sort it all out."
"Well, welcome to our new life . . . Dad. Confusion is just part of the status quo." I smiled and hugged him again. "I don't care how it happened. I'm just happy you're back."
"Me, too, baby. More than you know."
I looked up at him and chewed my lower lip. "And Mom? The other kids? They never suffered?"
"They never even knew I was gone. That we were gone." I could hear his voice rumbling in his chest, and I felt insanely happy.
"And Heather?"
"Same as before, mostly. You saved her, and we saved you." His eyes went glassy for a minute, and he smiled. "Although this time I got in a few good punches before someone pulled me off Heather's Dad." He thought some more. "Also, it's apparently much easier to move a guardianship through channels if there's a Mom and a Dad waiting on the other end of the process. Heather should be completely safe from anything her father or his family can do in time for Thanksgiving."
"Something to be thankful for." I giggled, and I felt him laugh. Then I thought of something. "Daddy?"
He smiled. "Yes . . . daughter?"
"Do you still want to be a woman?"
He went very quiet, and I just held him and waited for his answer. Finally, he spoke.
"Yes, I do. You know it's not something that's ever going to go away. It will always be a part of who I am." He sighed and shook his head. "But I did have a beautiful month as Becca, and I remember it all. That's going to have to be enough to hold me from now on."
I remembered what it was like before, living from day to day in the wrong body, sad and frustrated. I felt tears begin to start, and I hugged him tighter.
Jack reached out and touched my chin with his finger, raising my face until his eyes met mine. "No tears, little one. I know why I'm here, and I'm fine with it. This isn’t a punishment, Becca. It's a blessing. It fixes the mistake we made in that parking lot so long ago, and I can be with my wife and children again -- be the husband and the father they need. I'm okay with that, really."
Jack smiled. "But if I do need some girl time once in a while, I think I've got an 'in' with this really talented mage, right?"
I grinned back. "You bet, Daddy!"
"Good." He let me go, spun me around and gave me a slap on the bottom. I squealed and turned, mouth open for a yell, and he raised a finger. "Now you're making us late, baby! Or don't you want to share a breakfast with your dear old Dad anymore?"
"Breakfast?" I cocked my head, thought a moment, and screamed. "OhmyGOD! It's Sunday!"
"Yes, it is!" Jack picked up a magazine from the coffee table, sat down and put his feet up. "And you've got five minutes to get dressed and get back out here, or I'm going alone and eating both breakfasts without you."
"You wouldn't!"
"Try me, young lady. You of all people should know I never bluff." He grinned and glanced down at his watch. "Four minutes, forty seven seconds. Forty six. Forty five."
I made it with twenty three seconds to spare.
But he still ate my hash browns.
And this is where it ends, for now. In life, stories never really end. Even when someone dies, the other characters just pick up the tale and move on. Still, lives have chapters, too, and mine is no exception. This chapter is done -- the long strange trip to the end of my beginning has finally come to a close.
I won't tell you what happened next -- at least, not now. That really is another story. But in the interest of giving something back to those who follow after, let me leave you with a few well-earned words of advice -- lessons learned by someone who managed to make one bad choice and a whole slew of good ones; dodged more than a spell or two; and fell right into a life and a job she loves.
Family can be friends, if you never let the fact that you're related come between you.
Friends can be family, if you take them into your heart and make them so.
Enemies can become allies, then friends, then family, if you really get to know them -- and have the courage to let them know you in return.
Love conquers all -- or at least makes defeat easier to handle when there's someone else's arms to catch you when you fall.
And finally, nothing is impossible when you put your mind to it.
All it takes . . . is a touch of magic.
Afterword: This novel is dedicated to the memory of Joan, known to many by her pen name, Darla Raspberry.
She was my friend, and became family when I let her into my heart, where she took up permanent residence. Joan touched my soul with her wry commentary, her odd sense of humor, and a talent for storytelling she tried hard to deny, even as she showed everyone how good a writer she truly was. Her longest work was an extended serial that brought you into the life of her protagonist, and took you along to watch her grow and make her way in the world.
As Becca said just a few paragraphs ago, "In life, stories never really end. Even when someone dies, the other characters just pick up the tale and move on." That's what we all have to do, now that Joan's gone. And we will, because time keeps turning the pages whether we want to stop or not.
But we'll never forget those who leave us, because love doesn't fade with time.
My sister, you are missed. And you always will be.
-- Randalynn
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No Rules: An Advocate Novel
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In this sequel to No Obligation, it’s a few months into Becca’s new life as the Advocate, and she’s trying to do the impossible — meet all of her duties and obligations and still have a life. But the Multiverse has hidden dangerous powers, and one of them may be taking an interest … in her.
No Rules | Chapter 1
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In this sequel to No Obligation, it’s a few months into Becca’s new life as the Advocate, and she’s trying to do the impossible — meet all of her duties and obligations and still have a life. But the Multiverse has hidden dangerous powers, and one of them may be taking an interest … in her.
“And what the Lord doth require of thee: Only to do justly, love mercy
And walk humbly with thy God.” — Micah 6:8)
“I AM the Law!” — Judge Dredd
I woke slowly, and my world was full of smells — the overwhelming scent of fox, and the musk of my own sex mixed with something vaguely animal. My ears flicked a few times, picking up the sounds of a living forest — the breeze in the leaves, the birds singing, small animals rustling through the tall grass around me. As my eyes fluttered open, all I could see was a forest of reddish fur, and all at once I realized who, what, and where I was.
Of course, it was complicated.
First, I was Rebecca Jane Barnes, the Advocate. I was chosen by the Creator of the Omniverse to protect humans preyed upon by magic users and given unprecedented access to the magic I needed to get the job done. I was also Becca Barnes, daughter of Jack and Carolyn Barnes, sister of Emma and Jeremy Barnes and almost-sister of Heather Thomas, foster child and a magic user herself as a result of my first case as the Advocate. In another weird twist, until about two months ago, I was Jack Barnes, and I had no daughter named Rebecca until I ran into a pain-eating demon and was tricked into becoming a baby girl.
Like I said, it’s complicated. Work with me, folks — remember, I had to live it. You’re only getting it second-hand.
Oddly enough, I was also Becca, a young single-tailed kitsune, or Japanese fox spirit. It was the result of a magically enhanced possession accident, and the one responsible for my unlikely transformation was Akomachi, a thousand-year-old fox spirit in service to the temple of Inari. Because of the possession, we had shared both body and soul, and I knew her as intimately as she knew me. When we were one, I felt her longing for a child of her own. Since I was literally little more than a child in the kitsune world, I had accepted her as my second mother, just as she had accepted me as the daughter she had always wanted.
But at that moment, in that time and place, I was all of it and none. I was just a small, happy vixen in Akomachi’s transdimensional home, waking up after a long night’s sleep on a warm soft patch of ground.
And that felt just fine.
Lifting my muzzle from under my tail, I gave myself a long stretch to work out all the kinks, then trotted around in a circle to get some circulation going. The weather here was always perfect, always spring, and always temperate. But I wasn’t perfect, not even as a fox, and this body was just as physical as it appeared.
The river was nearby, and I padded over to it for a quick drink. As I lapped daintily, I checked out my reflection. I liked how I looked in my fox form, and I was thankful for the odd quirk of fate that allowed me to become a kitsune, to straddle two pantheons, and to be loved by two moms.
“Just as I am thankful to be loved by you, my daughter.”
I lifted my head an instant before Akomachi’s nose touched my neck, and her warmth flowed through me. She had assumed her fox form as well, a beautiful white fox with nine long flowing tails.
“Good morning, Casa.” I spoke mind to mind, raising my chin so she could nuzzle me.
“Good morning, Becca,” she replied, her happiness clear through our link. “I am sure you slept well, since you always do.”
“Just as hunger makes the best sauce, so does the need for sleep make a girl sleep well.” I opened my mouth in a predator’s grin, and I felt her smile back. “My life being as full as it is, coming here to spend time resting is always a joy. And seeing you makes it doubly so.”
“I notice you spend a lot of your time here as a vixen.” My kitsune mother gently mouthed my ears, and I shivered from the sensation. “Why is that?”
I thought about it some, and began walking along the river bank. Akomachi matched me step for step as we wandered through her domain, listening to the river’s gentle flow.
“I think it is because it brings me closer to the spirit of your home, to spend it as a part of the natural order here. I know I feel better sleeping here as fox than as human. It’s almost as if Home accepts me in my other form, but welcomes me fully as vixen.”
“And why not spend time here as kitsune?” She seemed quite curious, almost as if she herself did not know the answer. As usual, I suspected this was her way of getting me to see something she already knew. My other mother (and former wife Carolyn, although she knew nothing about me once being her husband) also tended to lead us kids where she wanted us to go by asking us questions to which she already knew the answer. I hoped one day when I was a mom that I’d be as good as she is.
In the meantime, Akomachi waited patiently for an answer. I heaved a sigh that came out as a half-growl, then shook my head.
“I know I should spend more time as kitsune, Casa. Here and elsewhere. I understand that, and accept that being kitsune and your daughter is an important and vital part of my life. I love you and I am honored to be a part of your world as well as my human life.”
She nodded and waited. I sighed again.
“But when I am vixen, life is so much simpler. There are times I need that. I don’t have to think or weigh or analyze or judge. I don’t have to fight or punish. I just have to be. Here, as fox, I exist in the now. And since time passes so slowly here, I can rest from my duties as the Advocate in hours that are mere seconds outside. That means I am not leaving my work undone while I rest and come back to myself.”
Akomachi stopped and sat, and motioned with her head that I should sit as well. I sat beside her, and we both watched the water pass.
“There is more, my child.” I felt her smile inside. “No deception between us, daughter. We both know you are not being completely truthful, with me or yourself.”
“You are right, Casa. As always.” I hung my head.
She nudged my chin back up with her nose. “As your mother, it is my job to be right, always.”
I managed a grin, and Akomachi smiled back. “Tell me what troubles you, Becca.”
I looked into her eyes. “As kitsune and as your daughter, I am responsible for the commitments of the pantheon to which we both belong. Here at home, I feel safe to assume my true form, but if I should become kitsune outside, it will immediately bind me to the duties and obligations I share as kitsune. And I worry that they might conflict with my duties and obligations as the Advocate.”
There was a long silence as I felt her thinking, and she sighed.
“I understand that this troubles you, but it should not.” Akomachi reached out and gently held my soul in hers. “The duties and obligations of a kitsune are not nearly as heavy as your responsibilities as the Advocate. You know that kitsune are essentially free to do as they please within the limited restrictions of the pantheon, unless they choose to serve as handmaidens to Inari. You cannot make that choice, because your position in the other pantheon as the Advocate is a commitment you freely accepted before you became one of us.”
She shook her head. “If you had reached into the repository of knowledge the Omnipresence gifted you with, you would have weighed the obligations of each of your roles yourself and soothed your own concerns. But instead, you allowed it to weigh upon you and distract you from what is truly bothering you. So tell me, Becca-chan. What truly troubles you?”
I looked away, not wanting to see her eyes. “That I will not be able to be the daughter you always wanted, Casa. That who I am and how I came to be, and all the other responsibilities I hold will take me away from you. After you have waited so long to have your own kit, I fear being a disappointment to someone I love very much.”
I waited for her answer, and it wasn’t long in coming. Akomachi darted forward, grabbed my ear in her mouth and tugged hard. I let out a yipe and jumped back, and she gave me a playful grin as her tails darted back and forth.
“So serious you are for one so young,” she said, her love pouring across the small distance between us. “To worry so much when our lives together have only just begun.”
My second mother moved towards me, shifting into her kitsune form and gathering me into her arms. I curled into her warmth, and she nuzzled my neck.
“Silly girl,” she whispered, holding me to her breast. “You do so much for so many, and yet you worry it’s not enough — that you are not enough, somehow. The accident that brought us together was a precious gift, just as you are to me, and I am so thankful that you have accepted me as your mother. Just be YOU, little one. You are already everything I could ever have asked for in a daughter, and so much more.”
“As for anything taking you away from me, that could never happen.” Akomachi smiled down at me. “I understand how important your other family is to you, and I honor your commitment to your oath and your duty. But our time here can go on until whenever we choose to end it, as often as we like. You can come here with but a thought, and return to the world outside without anyone even noticing you’ve been gone. We will always have each other, my child.”
I climbed out of her arms and transformed to my kitsune form, then leaned forward and hugged her tight.
“I love you, Casa.”
“I love you, too, daughter.”
I appeared in the darkness of my room, next to my bed, wearing the nightgown and robe I had put on before we said goodnight to Mom and Dad and went off to bed. Only an instant had passed since I left, shortly after Heather and I had shut off the lights.
Still, Heather stirred just a bit.
“I felt that,” she said softly. “Like a flicker in the wards. Wicked.”
“That’s terrific!” I whispered back. “How long have you been able to do that?”
She looked down from the top bunk, sweeping her long brown hair to one side to keep it from dangling in her face.
“I dunno.” Heather scrunched up her face and thought for a second. “I noticed somethin’ a while back, but I didn’t know what it was. Nice.”
“Now that you know what it is, you can work with Mrs. Graymalkin on focusing it and making it work for you.”
My almost-sister nodded. “I’d like that. She’s a good teacher. How long were you gone?”
I shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. Time there is different, remember? I slept a long time . . . I think. Foxes don’t wear watches, and kitsune seem to laugh at time. I feel rested, so I’m guessing I am rested.”
“I hope so. I worry about you, you know.”
I looked up with surprise. “You do?” She nodded. “Why?”
“Just ‘cause.” She paused, and I could almost feel her thinking. “No, you deserve more than that. ‘Cause you’re my sister and my friend and I love you.”
“Why should that make you worry about me?”
“Because I don’t think you worry enough about yourself.”
“Okay, confused now.” I floated up and sat on the edge of her bed. “No sense opening up a can of worms unless you plan to feed ‘em to me, sis.”
Heather shuddered. “That is SO gross!”
“Well, I just spent a night as a vixen, so my human sensibilities might be a bit frayed.” Another long pause. “Come on, Heather. Tell!”
She pushed herself up on her elbows, yawned, then sighed. “I’m sleepy, and I suck at making sense when I’m sleepy. I’ll tell you tomorrow. ‘kay?”
“Promise?”
She nodded and made an “X” between her breasts. “Cross my heart. You need to hear it, and I need to say it. But I need to say it right, and I’m barely awake.”
I bent over and kissed her forehead. “Okay, girl. Whatever it is, it’ll keep til tomorrow.”
I floated back to the floor and cast an aversion spell to avoid unwanted attention to the fact my bed would be empty for a while, then prepared to port to my next destination. Heather stirred one last time.
“Becca?”
“Hmmm?”
“Be careful out there tonight?”
“Always.”
I popped into Leander’s living room to find her curled up on her sofa watching her big-screen wall-mounted television. Her long blonde hair was loose, and tumbled across her shoulders in soft curls as she stared at the flickering screen, a glass of wine in her hand. As she did every night when I arrived, she wore her battle uniform — the black glove-leather catsuit she had somehow acquired before we faced down the Cat Goddess all those weeks ago. The belt of throwing stars and daggers fit snug against her flat stomach just above her hips. The broadsword she usually carried slung across her back was propped against the side of the coffee table, glowing a dim blue that had nothing to do with reflected light.
I knew the sword was magic, and I half suspected it was sentient in some way, but part of me didn’t want to know. During my short career as the Advocate, I hadn’t had a lot of experience with magical artifacts, and for all my power and arcane knowledge, something about Leander’s weapon frightened me, just a little.
“Hey.” I sat down next to her on the sofa, and she wiggled over a bit to give me room.
“Hey,” she replied, taking a sip of wine. “How was your day?”
“School, boyfriend, tae kwon do, boyfriend, dance and strategy, boyfriend, dinner, homework, sleepy time as a vixen in Akomachi’s den, then here.” Leander passed me the wine and I took a small sip, then passed it back.
“Sounds boring, the way you tell it,” Leander said with a smile.
“It’s incredibly mind-numbingly normal, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.” I moved closer and rested my head on her shoulder, and she reached around and gave me a hug with her free arm. “I love it too much to ever take it for granted.”
She left her arm where it was, and turned her head to kiss my hair. It was a surprisingly tender gesture, and it warmed me.
“I am glad. Given how we spend our nights, I think perhaps normal is something you need more of in your life.”
I nodded. “And what about your day?”
“Normal as well. My daily five-mile run, cleaning house, magical studies, weight and endurance training at the gym, sword work, martial arts, and some spa time to wind down after dinner.”
“Martial arts?”
“Yes. I found a man who claims to be able to teach Jeet Kune Do. After watching Bruce Lee in several films and reading his book, I am interested in knowing more. I think it may possibly have applications for our work as well.”
I reached back into my head and pulled up a translation. “The Way of the Intercepting Fist.”
“Yes. Something like the way the Cat Goddess and her children fought only without the wasted energy. Defense and offense combined, but used to fight more efficiently, not less. No wasted motion in rigid katas, just instant reaction to attack. It intrigued me.”
I looked over at the television to find Harrison Ford staring back at me in full Indy regalia.
“Raiders of the Lost Ark?”
Leander smiled. “I’m afraid I’m still catching up on popular culture. Now that I’m free not to be a slave to someone else’s desires, I’m working on figuring out what I actually like and dislike. Since the invention of cinema, I’ve only seen the films my past three or four husbands wished to see, and gushed about them because they wanted to be reassured that I loved them as much as they did, even when I didn’t.”
Leander had been a warlord in Medieval Europe, somewhere around the time of the Borgias in Italy. He had been male, then, and used his magic to inflict pain and suffering on those he ruled. An ancient Cat Goddess had transformed him into a farmer’s wife and made her slavishly obedient, and happy to be his property (at least when he was present). A group called the Arbiters, magical judges who at one time held sway over crimes in the magical realm, had extended this punishment for over five hundred years and a succession of husbands, until I managed to gain custody of her and recruited her to fight magical evil by my side. She had learned her lesson about the abuse of power all too well at the hands of the Arbiters, and was more than happy to help me stop it in the modern world.
I waved towards the screen. “And what do you think of Indiana Jones?”
“An interesting character,” she replied, glancing back at the screen. “He is flawed in his desire to steal artifacts belonging to indigenous peoples for personal gain, yet there is something about him that makes me interested in seeing what he does next. Maybe it is his enthusiasm and respect for the very antiquities he seeks to steal. He is knowledgeable about his area of expertise, yet not content to remain in the protected environment of academia — willing to take risks to get what he wants.”
I felt her stiffen for a second, then she sighed. “I also seem to find him strangely appealing when he grins.”
“I think that’s more your hormones reacting to Mr. Ford, as opposed to Indy’s inherent charm.” I grinned, and she looked away for an instant.
“Perhaps. The longer I explore my new life as a free woman, the more ... complicated my reactions seem to be when it comes to men. It’s ... odd.” She put down the wine glass, picked up the remote, and pressed PLAY. It was the scene with the flying wing and the large Nazi using Indy as a punching bag.
“As a warrior, Professor Jones seems a bit underwhelming. Aside from a rather impressive ability to improvise, his approach to battle appears to be allowing himself to get hit a lot until luck or circumstance save him. As any true warrior knows, the Universe is largely indifferent to your battle. You have to make your own luck to survive.”
“True, but you said it yourself. He’s Professor Jones. He’s not a warrior, he’s a scholar. He just keeps winding up in situations where he has to do the best he can or die.”
Her eyes widened. “Ah, of course. He fights because he must, not because he chooses to.”
“And he uses his intellect to seek out ways to win, hence his ability to improvise.” We watched a bit more. “Judging by how much punishment he takes, Indy would have to be a masochist to seek out the fights he seems to get into, and I don’t see that in the character at all. He does love adventure, though. That’s why he can’t stay in a classroom. There’s a whole world out there, and he doesn’t want to miss it.”
She stopped the DVD and shut off the television. “Speaking of the whole world, we have a job to do, do we not?”
“We do. Folks to save, mages to punish.”
I stood up and moved to the center of the floor. Leander rose to her feet and reached down to the table. The sword floated upward and seemed to attach itself to her back, scabbard and all. I fought off a shiver at how single-minded it felt, as if it had waited all day for Leander to act.
“Someday I’d like you to tell me about that sword,” I said, readying my scrying spell.
“You have but to ask, Becca,” Leander replied with a smile. “No secrets between the Advocate and her champion.”
I smiled back. “I know. I’ve just been afraid to ask.” I paused. “It feels alive.”
She reached behind her and drew the sword from its scabbard.
“That’s because it is. It is a living blade, forged by the focused intent of a singularly powerful mage long ago as a weapon against evil or injustice.”
I stopped and took a closer look. The sword seemed to flash a deeper blue, acknowledging my attention.
“It looks medieval, although there seem to be some modern design elements.”
“It is Sumerian, actually. It is called Allaku, the Wanderer, although it is also known as Cedar, ‘the continual doer.’ The reason it looks the way it does is that it changes over time to match the state of the swordmaker’s art and the needs of the one who wields it. Since I am most comfortable and efficient with the broadsword, it accommodates my skills while also taking the form of the best possible broadsword that could be made with today’s technology.”
“How did you find it?”
“I didn’t, actually. It found me.” I tilted my head, and she sighed. “The morning after we took our oaths, it appeared floating above the foot of my bed. It told me its history and informed me that it would be joining me in your service.” She smiled and shook her head. “It didn’t give me a choice.”
Leander paused a moment, then continued. “I had heard of Allaku, of course, back when I was a mage-king, but never expected to see it, let alone be allowed to wield it.”
“Why?”
Leander blushed. “It is called the Wanderer with good reason. It moves through history, choosing only those who are champions to wield it in the defense of what is right and just. I was not a champion when I was a mage-king. Instead, I was a bully and a tyrant, and when my scholars revealed its history to me, I viewed the possibility of encountering Allaku with some dread. I had visions of some broad-shouldered hero kicking down the wall of my castle and slicing me in half with it. But of course, the Cat Goddess had her way with me, and the Arbiters trapped me, and now I am yours.”
“And it chose you.” She nodded and looked away. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Being chosen . . . at the time, I did not think I was worthy.” She turned to face me. “Telling you . . . would have made it seem as if I thought I was, somehow. I didn’t, and still don’t.”
“Well, I do. Allaku obviously thinks so, too, or you would not have been chosen.” She blushed a deeper red. “Don’t be embarrassed, Leander. You are a champion. Embrace and accept it.”
I spoke directly to the blade. “Thank you, Allaku, for choosing Leander, for in choosing her, you help me with my fight as well.”
Instead of answering directly, it flared brightly before subsiding to its usual soft glow. Leander slid it home into its scabbard.
“Well done, milady.”
I shrugged. “A weapon of Allaku’s distinction deserves respect,” I replied. “It is a formidable ally, and we need all of those we can get.”
“Simple truths, Becca, are often the best.”
I reached out and invoked the scrying spell, and a three-foot-wide translucent rendition of the Earth materialized in the center of the living room. All across its face, soft clouds of violet and magenta light showed ambient magic, with flares here and there where sorcery was being wielded by a user who respected the craft and used it appropriately. At the same time, bright red, orange and yellow pinpoints showed areas of suspect magical manipulation that required our attention.
“West, I think,” Leander said tentatively. “Through Nevada and California, then Japan, China and the Pacific Rim?”
“Then Africa.” I nodded, then froze. “Did you say Nevada?”
Leander looked away, and I sighed. “Damn, I HATE working in Nevada.”
“You know the chameleon spell doesn’t have to present us that way,” she pointed out. “It’s your spell, after all.”
“Yes, but it’s designed to hide who we are,” I countered, “and how we present in Las Vegas is about as far from who we are as you can get. I’m reluctant to tamper with something that works so well, but honestly, I do hate appearing that way.”
“It will be fine, Becca.” The former mage-king smiled. “Fortunately, there is a small bit of wisdom that allows one to enter that particular area under your chameleon spell and not feel too badly about how one appears.”
Leander crossed her arms under her breasts and waited.
“And that would be?”
“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
She grinned, and I gave her a look.
“You do know I walked into that one on purpose, just so you could say it.”
“I know. You’re so good to me, milady.”
“Oh, hush.”
The stacked showgirl huddled in a corner, barely dressed in a gold lamé bikini and strategically-placed feathers. She spoke through sobs that wracked her body, and the fact that her makeup didn’t run from the tears was as much a testament to Reynard Byer’s magical ability, as was her rather remarkable transition from a teenaged boy heckler to a well-endowed magician’s assistant.
“Please let me go! Change me back and let me go home!”
“Oh, but my dear, I’m only giving you the chance to prove that you can be a better magician than I can. That’s what you said, isn’t it? You yelled at me from the audience, calling my tricks ‘lame,’ and insisting you can do better. Isn’t that right?”
She nodded, still crying, and he fairly beamed. “Well, then, ‘Trixie,’ All you have to do to win your freedom is to change yourself back into Ted, right now, and I’ll happily concede that you are the superior magician and let you go!”
“But I can’t! I’m not a magician! I never was!”
“You mean it was all an idle boast?” ‘Trixie’ nodded tearfully, and Byers shook his head. “Oh, my. That’s so sad, since I have no intention of ever changing you back. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you on as my assistant. You’ll have to learn how to do it yourself.”
“You’ll teach me?”
“Oh, heavens no,” Byers replied, reaching down and pulling the girl to her feet. She tottered uncomfortably on her four-inch heels. “Instruction in the dark arts is way too precious a gift to squander on a pretty girl like you. I’m afraid all I have to offer you is room and board, and the opportunity to share my stage every evening and my bed every night.”
The new girl’s jaw dropped. “Your . . . bed? You want me to . . .”
Byers shrugged. “Almost all of the other ‘girls’ I’ve mentored told me they loved how good I was — of course, the ones who didn’t discovered what happens when you’re a bitch to a magician. I think one or two are still birthing puppies today. Canine lives, human life spans.” He sighed. “I really can be a bastard.”
“Oh, on that we can all agree.”
The voice came from the dressing room doorway, and the magician turned to find two stunning women standing there in evening wear that clung to their curves like wet paint, when it wasn’t exposing enough cleavage to get either woman arrested in Poughkeepsie at the turn of the last century — and Byers knew that, because he had been around back then.
The blonde wore a black sheath that left the tops of her breasts tantalizingly bare, sheer black hose and strappy heels easily five inches high. The redhead wore a deep forest green gown with matching shoulder-length gloves and a skirt that exploded into a flurry of ruffles. It flared so much that he could see the tops of her dark green stockings and the straps of her garter belt as they held the stockings in place.
“Ladies!!” Byers said loudly. “What brings such beauty to my door?”
“Your ugliness, Mister Byers,” the redhead replied, her voice not at all what he expected. “Actually, we’re here for Ted. And for you, but not quite the way you hope.”
“There’s no Ted here,” he spoke quickly, casting a quick silencing spell on his victim.
The blonde yawned. “Oh don’t be absurd. You just cast a silence on him so he could not reveal his presence. As if we can’t see the ambient magic from your spell bleeding off of him like heat from a sidewalk in summer.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The redhead sighed and looked at him ... no, looked through him, it seemed like ... and then pinched the bridge of her nose as if trying to ward off a headache.
“Mr. Byers, I am the Advocate, charged by the Omnipresence with protecting humans who have been preyed upon by magic users like yourself. You have been found guilty of magical abuses on so many counts, I’m amazed you’ve managed to evade notice this long. On the other hand, I’ve only been at this a few months, and you’ve probably been tormenting your last assistant at least that long. Where is she, by the way?”
She stared into his mind again.
“Oh, my.” Her voice was powder dry. “I am so unhappy with what I just saw. This requires some thought before I figure out what to do with you.”
“First things first, though.” The Advocate stepped past the stunned sorcerer to his unwilling victim. She shrank away at first, but the tenderness in the redhead’s eyes stopped her retreat.
“I am so sorry this happened to you, Ted,” she said softly, “but I’ll soon set things right. That’s my job, after all.”
Byers suddenly felt a flash of anger.
‘How dare this woman make promises to undo what I’ve done,’ he raged inside. ‘As if some egotistical witch could ever punish a sorcerer of my caliber!’
As his rage spiked, he tossed a spell at her exposed back, aimed at turning the uppity redhead into a bitch in heat, so she could join Byers last “assistant” on the streets. But instead of enveloping her, it collided with a barrier of some kind that absorbed the energy and brought it inside her somehow. She shuddered, then straightened and turned toward him. As he readied another spell, he felt cold steel on his neck.
“Predictable, as always,” the blonde cooed, with what seemed to be a broadsword held casually in her outstretched hand. “Honestly, you would think someday we would encounter an evil mage who didn’t strike from behind. Cowardly, to the last. And so cliché, don’t you think?”
The redhead turned her head and smiled. “It does tend to make our job easier, though.”
She turned back to the frightened girl.
“Hold still a second, ‘kay?” The woman called the Advocate closed her eyes, and Ted’s form shimmered and coalesced into a skinny dark-haired teenager in jeans and a Rage Against the Machine tee shirt. He looked down at himself, first in shock, then with a huge grin.
“Thank you, whoever you are!” He gave her a tight hug, and the redhead smiled a little sheepishly.
“My pleasure, hon. Glad to help. Can you make it to your hotel room okay?”
He dug in his pocket and pulled out a key card. “I’ll be okay. The ‘rents are probably freaking by now.” Ted hesitated. “But ... what about him? Will you . . . be okay?”
The blonde cleared her throat. “Excuse me? Woman with large sword and short temper here. Don’t worry, Ted, she will be fine.”
He hesitated a moment, not wanting to look like he was running but desperately wanting to all the same. Then he was off through the door like a rabbit with all the hounds of Hell on his heels, and the redhead sighed with relief. One more innocent out of the line of fire.
“Okay, now for the punishment.” The Advocate turned and looked at Byers, and a chill ran through his entire body. “Congratulations! You’re now officially powerless. You couldn’t light a candle, let alone torture some poor child. Welcome to the world of the mundanes, Mister Byers — for the short time you’ll be there as a human.”
After trying several simple spells, the mage realized she was right. All of his accumulated magic was gone, as if it had never been. He was stunned. Who was this woman?
“Now for part two of the punishment. I want you to feel powerless.” She grinned, and there wasn’t anything pleasant about it. “Until you understand the pain you’ve given others ... until you understand why a mage’s power should be used to help innocents and not hurt them ... until you know, deep down inside, what an utterly worthless and vile lump of flesh you’ve been, you will take the place of the woman you threw to the dogs so you could do what you did to Ted.”
Byers froze. ‘She can’t be serious!’ he thought.
The Advocate’s eyes flashed. “I can and am. And this is only the beginning. You already know I can see right through you, right into your soul. So you can’t con me. You can’t trick me into thinking you’ve changed. Because I’ll know. And there’s no time limit. You WILL be a bitch in heat from now until I know for a fact you have learned your lesson — from now until the end of days if you don’t wise up.”
“I may turn you back into a human eventually, if I think that what’s you need to help you finish learning from your mistakes. But until then, you’ll be the play toy of every male dog who picks up your scent.” Her tone softened. “This punishment doesn’t have to be forever, Mister Byers. But it will be unless you learn from what you’ve done.”
“Now I need to start cleaning up your messes, beginning with what you did to your last assistant and working my way backwards. In the meantime ... ” She pointed at him, and her eyes flashed. “Bad dog.”
Reality blinked —
— and Byers was in an alley, quivering motionless on all fours and mounted by a much larger dog. She felt frightened and angry, but at the same time strangely submissive. The male thrust himself into her over and over again, and she stood trapped in his clawed embrace, unable to move. Part of her didn’t want to move, savoring the scratching of the eternal itch inside her that demanded this attention. The other part was horrified at these feelings, and humiliated by her submissiveness after being Master of her world only minutes before.
Her current suitor was finished, and as she waited for his erection to subside and for him to dismount, she raised her head and sniffed. Byers caught the scent of other males nearby, circling the alley opening and waiting for their chance to have her, over and over and over again.
‘Is this what my life is to be from now on?’ she wondered as the horror of it sank in. ‘An endless stream of days spent in filthy alleys, eating garbage and entertaining every male for miles — until she decides I am worthy of being human again? Who is this Advocate to visit such a punishment upon me?’
She imagined this is how Rosalyn felt when she did this to her, and to the ones before her. And suddenly the things Byers had done with her power didn’t seem quite as entertaining as they once were.
In fact, she was already starting to see the flipside of her own cruelty, even as the bitch she had become mourned the loss of the feeling of her last suitor inside her and howled for more.
Now if only dogs could cry as well as they can howl . . .
The night continued as Leander and I chased it backward around the globe, ever earlier as we headed west. Mages with evil intent in Japan, China, the Phillipines, New Zealand, Zimbabwe, Italy, France, and the United Kingdom soon learned that there were consequences for their actions, as the Advocate and her champion arrived to save the innocent and deliver justice to the wicked.
I had created the chameleon spell to preserve some semblance of normal life for both of us. Wherever we went, we would appear in a wide range of disguises — all appropriate to the region in which we found ourselves, but always as two women. The small redhead and her sword-wielding blonde companion moved from trouble spot to trouble spot, and wherever we went, justice was served and former realities restored.
But as rewarding as the work was, it was also stressful and demanding, and eight hours was all that I could stand. Eventually the evening ended, bringing me full circle as I left Leander and ported back home for a few more hours of sleep — this time in my own bed for a change.
I was looking for a small slice of normal, and some pleasant dreams to wash away the taste of all the evil I had seen that night. But as I drifted off to sleep, I began to sense something ... a stream of consciousness that was not quite a dream at all.
And sadly, there was little pleasant about it.
He felt the ripples in space-time and their aftermath, and it caught His attention because the Multiverse had never behaved so oddly before. A twisting here, a flare of arcane energy there, and suddenly reality experienced a run of subtle reversals that turned His beautiful chaos into hated order once more. The fabric of what was, so deliberately torn asunder by those of evil intent, had been made whole with apparently effortless ease, and the result left Him unsettled, and less powerful than He had been.
It offended Him deeply, because He had never been thwarted so completely before. Life itself was an insult to His work, but a slow and measured one. He accepted the predations of the living upon his domain because He had no choice — and truly, it made His own existence more meaningful to have something to fight against besides the accursed Omnipresence. She used His actions to further Her ends as if He were nothing but another tool, just as She used all living things.
Still, just as She did, He could not act directly, or risk destroying His own plans. As much as He loved uncertainty, it vexed Him to have to cater to its whims. His power craved control, even as it strove for chaos in all things
Still, this new element was ... intriguing. One of those living things He sought to crush and confound — to punish for the audacity of existing — had somehow managed to do the impossible, and undo the work of those who toiled in His service.
Where had this interloper come from? Where did it get such power? Why had it chosen to act now?
And what could He do to stop it?
The clock radio popped on with a blare of guitars, and I was wrenched from the other’s thoughts and thrust into reality so quickly that I grabbed the bed to keep from falling.
I sat up and held tight to the side of my mattress, breathing hard and trying to make sense of the threads of what I remembered before they vanished into the morning’s light. Where did it come from? Was it just a nightmare, brought on by the horrors I had witnessed last night, and so many nights before? Or was it another aspect of my power as the Advocate?
I didn’t know for sure, but treating this as just another bad dream was a bad idea.
Somehow, the game had changed, and I needed to find out what the new rules might be before this new player changed them again.
In his favor.
No Rules | Chapter 2
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The second chapter in the sequel to No Obligation finds Becca and friends learning exactly whose mind she visited the night before … and why this particular adversary might be impossible for her to beat.
I’m a peripheral visionary. I can see the future, but
only out of the corner of my eye.” — Steven Wright
The trouble with visions is that it’s hard for most people to believe they’ve actually had a vision at all. I mean seriously, was I really supposed to believe I was thinking in parallel with some pissed-off godling, just because my work had attracted his attention? Why not just treat it like the dream it was?
Prophetic visions are even more easily dismissed as dreams. In fact, most people don’t usually realize they’ve received a glimpse of the future until what they saw actually happens, and that sort of defeats the purpose of having a premonition in the first place. As a result, the supposed visionary gets to watch as the mushroom cloud rises over the city skyline, then strike her forehead with a closed fist and say, “Damn! I was right! I shouldn’t have had the veal scallopini! Now there’s nothing left of Pittsburgh but a smoking hole in the ground!”
Such revelations often result in really strange cocktail party conversations. Trust me — until you’ve talked about ghosts and UFOs with a complete stranger in someone else’s kitchen for a few hours while slightly intoxicated, you haven’t truly lived. Of course, that was in a former life and not something I’d be doing any time soon. Thirteen-year-old girls are seldom invited to mingle with adults imbibing alcohol.
In any case, I thought it might be a good idea to do something more substantial to confirm or deny what I saw before whoever He was decided to track me down and turn me into a throw rug in His chaotic wonderland.
I rose from my bed and turned around. Heather had slept through the alarm as usual, but she was close enough to the edge of the bed for me to give her a kiss on her nose and then her forehead. She stirred, just a little, and I touched her cheek.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” I said softly. “School day. Time to wake up.”
Heather’s eyes fluttered open, and I smiled at her. She pouted, then stuck out her tongue.
“Waking up is so over-rated,” she growled in a voice like an angry kitten, and started to turn over and wrap herself in covers.
“Maybe so,” I replied with a grin, “but you’ve got being with Jeremy to look forward to, and I think that’s worth getting out of bed, don’t you?”
I loved watching her face when she thought about my brother. The joy and caring just seemed to well up from inside her, and the pout became a smile without her even noticing. As she threw back the covers and dangled her feet over the side of her bed, I gave her a little hug around the middle, then headed for the bathroom.
‘If I’ve done nothing else right since I became the Advocate,’ I thought, ‘saying no to the Envoy about changing Heather back was exactly the right choice.’
I thought a bit more about the dream while I showered. Whoever He was, He thought of Himself as a rival to the Omnipresence Herself. I found that a bit difficult to believe, although I could see her setting up an entity to add chaos to the Multiverse ... especially if she thought it would create more of a balance between Chance and History.
‘Anything to throw off destiny and let folks strut their free will a little,’ I thought as I brushed my teeth. Then I grinned and shook my head. ‘As if I really understand what’s going on in the Creator’s head ... if She really has a head, figuratively speaking.’
The me in the mirror put down her toothbrush and grinned.
‘Careful, Becca,’ she said in my mind, ‘Concepts in the mirror may be closer than they appear.’
She shimmered briefly, and there stood Mrs. Graymalkin in her bathrobe.
‘Good morning, ma’am.’. I smiled happily at my teacher. ‘I’m sorry. Was I thinking too loud again?’
‘It’s still part of my job, child.’ She waved a hand, and I managed to rid myself of the used toothpaste without looking too crude about it. ‘I understand you had a vision this morning.’
‘If it was a vision,’ I replied silently. ‘It was more like a walk around inside someone else’s head. This someone thinks He is an agent of chaos, promoting evil and destruction like some kind of holy mission. And I was thinking maybe that’s exactly the sort of creature the Omnipresence would create to add a random element to the Multiverse.’
‘Hence my answer about concepts being closer than you think, Advocate. Of all humans, you probably understand the Creator’s intent more than any other. Chaos the entity is quite real, and very much a threat to you and your mission.’ She sighed and rubbed the side of her nose. ‘Like almost everything in Creation ... it’s complicated.’
There was a knock on the door.
“Becca?” It was Emily. “Are you finished yet?”
“Almost!” I called back. “Sorry, Em. I’ll be right out!”
I sighed. ‘I’m afraid we can’t continue right now, ma’am. Others need the bathroom, too.’
‘I understand, child. I grew up in a large family as well, although our morning ablutions were somewhat different back then.’ Mrs. Graymalkin smiled. ‘We will talk more later. Chaos has been with us since nearly before time began. He can wait a few more hours.’
The image in the mirror shifted back to me, looking slightly confused. I grabbed my hairbrush and make-up and opened the door.
“Sorry, sorry,” I said quickly, slipping by her.
“Grrrrrr.” Em dove through the bathroom door and slammed it behind her. I walked back into the bedroom and Heather was standing in front of the mirror in her underwear, trying to pick an outfit.
“What’s the weather today?” she asked.
“Well, in the bathroom, which is where I’ve been since I left, it’s hot and steamy from my shower,” I replied. “But since it’s December outside, I’m thinking it’s at least cool and almost certainly cold. So the denim skirt is out unless you wear tights or leggings under it. And a nice sweater up top.”
“Hmmmm.” Heather slipped back to the closet and looked for a moment, then took down a lavender crew neck with long sleeves. She held it up across her chest and raised an eyebrow at me.
“Is that a ‘can I borrow this, Becca?’ eyebrow? Or is it a ‘what do you think?’ eyebrow?” I tilted my head.
“Both, I think.” She turned and looked in the mirror. “Does it look good? Is it heavy enough? And if the answer to both questions is ‘yes,’ can I borrow it, please?”
I walked over and put my hand on the window. “It’s cold out there, but that’s a nice tight cotton knit, and it should work fine. And yes, you can borrow it.”
“Thank you!” She hugged me tight, and ran back to the bed to get dressed.
“Just remember the tights or leggings — that skirt really ISN’T enough. And wear a jacket.”
“Yes, ‘Mom!’”
I threw my towel at her.
My own outfit was a bit simpler, jeans and a long-sleeved light green tee with a short-sleeved dark green sweater over it, white socks and gray sneakers with pink trim. My hair was back in its usual ponytail, and my make-up was soft and understated. For jewelry, just some simple charm earrings: two stylized fox faces as a way to honor my kitsune heritage.
I sailed into the kitchen to find Jeremy hard at work on his breakfast, with Mom at the stove cooking eggs and Emily making her lunch.
“Good morning, Becca,” Mom said. I gave her a quick hug from behind.
“Morning, Mom.” I walked over to the fridge and pulled out the milk, then settled down to a bowl of Special K and a banana.
Dad came in, wearing most of his suit with a tie around his neck still undone.
“Morning, all,” he said as he made his way to the coffeepot. A chorus of “good mornings” bounced back his way, and he groaned as he poured himself a cup.
“If you’re going to audition as a group,” he muttered between sips, “at least rehearse a little before you perform.”
“You forget, dear,” Mom said sweetly as she moved past and put her plate on the table, “we’ve all heard you sing, and as far as you’re concerned, rehearsal won’t help.”
“I love you too, angel,” Dad said, putting down his cup and giving her a hug before she sat down to her breakfast. “And as much as I’d like to serenade you all, I’m afraid Elvis has to leave the building. I have a breakfast meeting with a client.”
“Thank you, mystery client!” I sang out, and Dad looked at me and winked. I winked back and grinned. Thanks to a gift from the Omnipresence, the me that was lost when I became Rebecca was magically restored to the Barnes household, leaving me in the oddly paradoxical position of being my own father and learning to relate to him as someone ... well, someone not me.
Still he did seem to enjoy the secret we shared, and I enjoyed having him around again, and in my life. In everyone’s life, really. His return lifted the burden of a lot of my guilt for the chain of events that made me the Advocate. Carolyn’s loss had been replaced with the happiness that comes from always having her soul mate by her side, and in fact none of my family even knew Jack had died. Plus I had the rare opportunity of discovering what a great dad I had been, from the best vantage point ever — the point of view of one of my children.
Honestly, though. Who knew talking to yourself could be so much fun?
Like the Jack I used to be, he still wished for life as a woman, but he remembered my month as Becca before his resurrection as if it was his own, and that has helped some. But I remember all too well how it felt to be in his position, and he knows he has a standing offer from me for as much girl time as we can get for him, whenever we can figure out how to make it happen.
We’ve been talking about it during our regular Sunday breakfasts. Sometimes he spends them as my nearly identical twin cousin Jackie, which makes him smile. But coming up with a plan to give Dad a longer stay on the female side of the gender divide is harder than it seems. Jack would need a reason to be gone for a while, and as a freelance writer, business trips aren’t an option.
‘Just something else for me to think about in my copious free time,’ I thought with a smile.
Dad tousled Jeremy’s hair and gave each of the girls a hug and kiss before heading out the door. Most of the time he’s very happy to be himself, but I know inside he’ll always need to be the girl he never could be ... until he was me for a few wonderful weeks, not too long ago.
School was school. I had resigned myself to going through it all again, but to be honest, I really didn’t mind. It wasn’t that much of a challenge, and it gave me the chance to help my friends study by pretending I needed their help. It was also another way for me to experience life as a normal girl, and God knows I didn’t want to miss that — not after everything I had to go through to get here.
And Tommy was ... well, Tommy. He still made me melt, still made me feel special and loved and desired. In a way, it was odd. I had spent forty some-odd years as a guy, been married to a woman I loved, and yet this boy could make me feel so special with just a smile. I knew from past experience how much power love has, but I remember having more control as Jack than I’ve ever had as Becca. It was all I could do to not to let him have me, because I did want him that much. My whole body ached for him, and sometimes I’d take a little extra time in the shower or the bath to get rid of some of the sexual tension that built up every time I thought of him.
At first, I hadn’t really thought about sex much. After all, becoming Becca wasn’t really about sex. It was more about being myself — about being the woman I truly was inside. But once I agreed to be the Advocate and was transformed into a teenager, I discovered that my new life came with a boyfriend. All those hormones began to rise, and every time I touched him, it got harder to remember why we kept holding back.
It was easier when we weren’t together. After all, it was hard enough being the Advocate now. Add being a teen Mom to the list, and I’d have to ask Akomachi to babysit while I went off to fight evil. Of course, that would be better than asking Mrs. Graymalkin. Just thinking of the look she’d give me for getting pregnant made me shiver.
Tommy and I had managed to avoid “doing it,” but that didn’t mean I still didn’t want to, and the part of me that realized how badly she wanted it knew she needed a way to take that edge off without involving her man.
I was surprised at how easy it eventually was, although I suspect it had to do with a lot of pent-up frustration. Well, that and thinking about how it would feel if Tommy were touching me the way I was touching myself.
Ummm ... is it hot in here?
Moving on ...
“Chaos is ... well, for lack of a better description, in a class by himself.”
In Mrs. Graymalkin’s studio, Heather and I were stretching for dance class. Not too far away, Leander moved through a series of katas, and when I reached into my mind to identify them, I discovered I couldn’t. Leander caught me watching her, and her lip twitched an instant before she sent me a message, mind to mind.
‘I am attempting to combine elements of Jeet Kune Do and my own experience in swordwork ... with the coaching of Allaku to bring them together.’
Mrs. Graymalkin cleared her throat delicately, and I realized I was being rude.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
She nodded, and continued. “In order to make the Multiverse less ... orderly, the Omnipresence created Chaos. Not as an entity, originally. More like a force of nature. Chaos was meant to be a subtle influence that made Destiny less certain. It introduced an element of uncertainty into the Creator’s plan, increasing the need for free will. However, in order to make Chaos a truly random factor, the Omnipresence had to do something dangerous. She had to make the force independent of Her. Essentially, She put Chaos off-limits to Her own power, for the good of all.”
“So God really can create a rock so heavy that she can’t lift it?” Heather cocked her head, confused. Mrs. Graymalkin sighed.
“It’s more that She can choose to stop herself from ever lifting a particular rock,” the teacher replied. “She can decide never to touch that rock again, and make that decision binding upon Herself. Heavy or light, big or small ... it does not matter. Her decision is what is important.”
Heather nodded, and Mrs. Graymalkin continued. “For a long time, Chaos did what it was created to do. It brought uncertainty to the Multiverse, but randomly. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, Chaos changed. It evolved. It stopped being an ‘it’ and became a He. And when that happened, His mission became personal. He decided that chaos was more important than order, and let that belief shape his actions. He became destructive, and through no fault of His own, evil. He doesn’t think He's being evil. He thinks He's just doing His job.”
“And the Omnipresence can’t step in and stop him directly?” I looked up from my stretching and met my teacher’s eye. “After all, if the Omnipresence can decide never to touch that rock, She can also change Her mind, if it puts the great plan in danger ... can’t She?”
Mrs. Graymalkin made a face that looked like she’d accidentally sipped a glass of straight lemon juice.
“Unfortunately, I believe that reversing Her decision to stay hands-off where Chaos is concerned could negatively influence the plan, which was begun and continues to evolve with Chaos in an active role.”
“That means we must deal with Him, then.” Leander said, her voice unaffected as she continued her katas. “Although given the level of His power, I would think a direct attack would be unwise.”
“I agree,” I replied. “On the other hand, considering the strength of His position, anything else would be merely treating the symptoms without addressing the disease.”
“Also, since Chaos is needed as part of the plan,” Mrs. Graymalkin said, “eliminating Him would harm what the Omnipresence is trying to create.”
“So what cannot be cured, must be endured.” I rose to my feet, and Heather followed. “Even though His actions will make our job harder, we’re stuck with Him. Not my first choice, but we can’t change the ‘Verse on a whim, and the Omnipresence needs Him.”
"The Omnipresence also needs you, Advocate." Our teacher looked up at us both, and her face was stern. "Do not forget that. Chaos must not be allowed to stop you from doing what you need to do. He is not more important to the plan than you are, do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am." I nodded. "I'm not about to let anything take my life away, not after all we've been through to get here. And my work is too important to abandon in any case. I'll just have to be ... careful."
“I will make sure of that,” Leander said, moving into a blocking spin that became an attack. “To get you, He will have to come through me. And I can make that very, very difficult.” There was a hint of a smile on her face, and as her eyes flickered my way, I threw her a smile in return.
Since I was doing my best not to use my magic unless I had to, Heather and I took the bus back from Mrs. Graymalkin’s studio. As Heather and I walked back home from the bus stop in the cold, I noticed she had gotten very quiet.
“Hey,” I said, breaking the silence. She looked at me, and I smiled. “There was something you wanted to say last night, but you told me to wait until you were awake. Do you want to share? Unless you’re sleepwalking right now? If you are, I totally understand you wanting to wait.”
She smiled at me and shook her head. “No, now is as good a time as any, I guess. I’m still not sure how to say it, but I’ll try, because it’s something you need to hear.”
Heather stopped and put her hand on my arm, forcing me to stop as well. She looked up at me, and I could see concern and a little fear in her eyes. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I love you, Becca. You saved me, like you save everybody. And you do it every night and every day, day after day. It can’t be easy doin’ what you do, stopping the bad guys and saving people. Having Leander watching your back helps, but because you’re the Advocate, you’re living three lives at the same time ... and you burn through two days for every one the rest of us live. And the worst part is, I think you don’t care. You’re so committed to doing the right thing for everybody else, that ... that you never really think about you.”
Heather looked away and bit her lip. “I just worry that, when it comes down to it, there isn’t anybody who’s gonna save you from yourself. So I thought I’d try.”
It was quiet for a few seconds, and I reached up and touched her chin. She turned to face me again, and I smiled.
“You’re right.” Her eyes widened, and I laughed. “Oh, come on, girl, don’t look so surprised! You do get to be right once sometimes. I’ve known about the problem for a while. I’m still trying to figure out how to fix it, or even if there is a fix. But I do know it’s there, and I am working on it. Okay?”
“Okay.” Heather sighed, and then her eyes narrowed. “How exactly are you working on it when you barely have time to breathe?”
“What does anybody do when they need help?” I grinned. “I’m going to call the cops.”
“Let me get this straight. You need my help?”
Detective Dominique Stabenow sat across from me in the Starbucks closest to school, with the biggest cup of coffee they sell cupped in her hands. I nodded and took a sip of my frappachino.
“I have a problem, Dom,” I replied. “And yes, I think you can help. At least, I hope so.”
“But you’re the Advocate,” she said, a smile twitching at the corners of her lips. “Magical protector of all humanity. Why do you need me? I mean, seriously, I saw you slow down time and float in mid-air. You can pull rabbits out of hats without actually having rabbits ... or hats, come to think of it.”
“That’s actually part of the problem. The magical protector part, not the headwear or wildlife.” I sighed. “I can’t forget that any time I’m not out there working, someone is probably being hurt, and I could be doing something about it. When you add the whole ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ thing on top of that, I’m surprised I can actually stop working long enough to sleep — and I buy myself an extra eight hours every day by sleeping part of the time in an alternate dimension where time moves much, much slower.”
“I’m starting to feel like I’m burning the candle at both ends, and I need to figure out how to be both the Advocate and Becca without either side being lost to the other. I figured I needed to talk to someone who protects and serves and still manages ... somehow ... to have a life. So I came to you.”
Dom looked into her coffee cup. “That’s a tall order, rookie.”
I grinned. “Who else am I going to come to? You’re my partner!”
The detective smiled and shifted in her seat. I waited, knowing she was thinking about the question, and then Dom sighed.
“I’m sorry, Becca. I wish I could help, but I don’t think I can.”
I felt a chill all over. “Why?”
“Because our situations are different, in a lot of ways. I don’t have to choose between home and career, because, as a cop, I’m not really alone. When I leave the station and put the job aside for a while, there are a lot of other police officers and detectives to take my place when I go home to my family. It’s not all up to me, the way it is for you. So I can go home and rest, knowing the ... well, the fight goes on without me. I may not be there, but someone else will be.”
“But there’s only one of you, hon. Only one Advocate. And whenever you aren’t on duty ... bad things are going to happen. Things only you can stop because there is nobody else.”
“There is Heather. And Leander.”
“From what I understand, Heather’s job is to protect the people at home, and Leander’s job is to protect you — because your job is to protect … everyone.”
Dom reached out and put her hand on mine. “I’d take your shift for you if I could, partner, as often as I could. You know I would. But the magical world is out of my jurisdiction, and the things you can do put your job way outside my ability … not to mention my pay grade.”
She offered to drive me home, but I could just imagine the expression on Mom’s face when I was dropped off in front of the house by an unmarked police car. And since I needed some time to think, I decided to walk instead.
‘Could I just create a magical police force to back me up?’ I dismissed the thought almost as soon as it occurred. The Omnipresence told me I was special, which is why I was given all this power. I couldn’t just share all this with anyone, not even my friends.
When I freed Leander from her punishment, her own power returned from its 500 years in exile. It was impressive, even if it wasn’t in my class, but she wasn’t ready to do what I do. She was still learning how to be who she was now — a champion, and a free woman. Although she’d made so much progress since our partnership began, there was anger there, both with the Arbiters for their 500-year punishment and for the man she used to be and the things he had done. I was afraid pushing her to balance justice with mercy might require a level of forgiveness she was still working to achieve.
And, surprisingly enough, Heather had similar issues. After a few months of training and an initial boost from me, her innate ability for defensive magic had grown by leaps and bounds, especially with Mrs. Graymalkin still helping her to shape her skills. However, I knew she still remembered being a bully in her former life, and she didn’t want that part of her to ever return. As a result, I believed she was holding herself back from using aggressive magic, subconsciously limiting what she could do out in the field. Maybe she could get past that eventually, but she needed to feel secure in her new self before those barriers could come down.
No, I had excellent back-up, but there was no one who could step in for me and do my job if I needed a break. For good or ill, I was going to have to be the one and only Advocate for the foreseeable future. I wasn’t giving up. I knew there had to be an answer. It was just a question of finding it.
After all, I saved a lot of other people every day. It was time for me to put that experience to work saving myself.
The question was … how?
Olaf Johannsen finished the morning’s milking and walked out into the yard behind the barn. As he fished his pipe and pouch out of his jacket pocket, he thought about how lucky he was. Luckier than the other dairy farmers in the valley.
‘Thirty cows,’ he thought as he stuffed tobacco into the bowl. ‘And I didn’t have to buy a single one. Just that old cowbell Marie found in the attic, and a few random hikers every week or so, and I’ve got a herd of dairy cows that just keep givin’. No wonder I can lower my prices to beat ol’ Arne and still make a profit. I must be the luckiest man alive.’
“The trouble with luck is that it always runs out, Mister Johannsen.”
Startled, he turned, pipe in his mouth and a lit match in his hand. A red-headed girl and a blonde woman stood there, clearly dressed for walking through the countryside. He’d seen his share of hikers over the years, although two women alone was very unusual.
‘Not that they’d be women much longer.’
“Welcome, ladies!” His smile grew wide at the thought of more producers for his barn. “Travelers, I see. I offer you my hospitality, such as it is.”
“I am afraid your ‘hospitality,’ as you put it, is nothing to brag about. It usually winds up with your guests sleeping naked in the barn, with your hands on their … teats.” The older woman sniffed and shook her head. “I can’t believe anyone would stoop so low.”
“Excuse me?”
She shook her head. “If you think I would excuse turning innocent men and women into cows, you’re crazier than I thought. If we had not noticed the higher levels of ambient magic covering your pastures, we never would have caught you.”
The young girl seemed to look straight through him, then turned to the woman with a frown. “Leander? It wasn’t a spell. He’s not gifted at all.”
“Then it must be an item, some kind of magic-imbued relic.”
“Can you find what he used to change them?”
The one called Leander nodded. “Of course. Give me a moment.”
She closed her eyes for a second, then moved purposefully towards the farmhouse.
“Why … why do you want it?”
The girl looked at him again.
“We need it to undo what was done,” she said, “and whatever it is, it is way too dangerous to remain loose in the world.”
“Undo what was done?” Olaf turned pale, and took a step towards the girl. “You can’t! You’ll ruin me!”
“That is the least of your problems, Mister Johannsen.” She sounded very mature for one so young. “I am the Advocate, charged by the Omnipresence with protecting people from magical abuse. You have used magic to ‘ruin’ other humans, turning them into farm animals and stealing their very humanity. It is not just your farm at stake. It is also your future.”
Olaf saw Leander returning from the farmhouse. She held the tarnished cowbell suspended on the end of a broadsword he hadn’t realized she had been carrying. Her other arm was outstretched, levitating his wife Marie a foot in the air as she struggled to escape her invisible grasp.
The blonde woman lowered his wife to the ground and pushed her forward to fall at his feet.
“The cowbell is what they used,” Leander said, tossing it with a flick of her wrist to land at the Advocate’s feet. “It fairly reeks of malevolent magic.”
“What are you doing?” Marie rose up and turned on the woman with the broadsword. “You have no right —“
“Do not be so quick to speak of rights.” The point of the broadsword touched her chin, and she froze. “We are dealing with you fairly, which is more than I can say you and your husband did for those hikers in the barn.”
The wife pulled her head back and looked away. “Hikers? I don’t know what you mean! They are cows!”
The girl called the Advocate shook her head. “You cannot lie to me, Marie.”
“How do you know my name?”
“The same way I know that you were the one who found the cowbell and used it on the first group of hikers who came to your farm. When you found it, it told you what it was, and what it could do. And the idea of having that kind of power … thrilled you.”
She looked into Marie’s face, then shuddered. “I feel the joy you felt when you turned those boys into cows. You loved tormenting them for weeks afterward, too … hearing them bawl while you milked them. You sat on the porch and smiled as they grazed, crying the only way they knew how for the lives they lost. The lives you took.”
Leander turned to Olaf and touched the center of his chest with her blade. “And of course, free cows are not a gift to turn down, yes? Why argue with your wife’s cruelty when there is money to be made?”
“Bah!” The farmer looked down the length of the sword into the blonde’s eyes. “How could a spoiled rich thing like you understand how hard the world truly is?”
“Rich?” Leander’s eyes widened. “You think I am wealthy?”
“You wear those fancy hiking clothes, don’t you? Such expensive boots.” He sneered. “And that sword must have cost you a pretty penny, missy.”
“This sword? It cost me nothing,” she replied, sinking it deep enough in his jacket to go clear through to his skin. He froze. “But the obligation that goes with it? Well, that is priceless. I get to use it on people like you, who steal other people’s lives and make them nothing but property.”
“Leander.” The girl’s voice stopped the blade’s progress instantly, and the blonde pulled it back an inch, and sighed.
“Apologies, milady. Memories.”
The Advocate nodded. “I understand, I do.”
She turned to the couple and looked at them for a long moment. “I’m not quite sure what to do with you both. You, Marie, stole the lives of thirty people because you enjoyed it, and Olaf, you let her do it so you could make a profit.”
“A profit? Hah! Just breaking even is a challenge these days.” He snorted and shook his head. “You’re just a young girl. You don’t understand. You don’t know how hard it is to keep a roof over your head. I am sure your parents give you everything you need. They feed you, take care of you when you’re sick. You don’t have to earn a living. I don’t have that luxury. I work from dawn to dusk every day, just to stay alive.”
“We did what we had to do to survive, that’s all.” Marie sniffed, and looked down her nose at the duo. “And do not try to tell me you would not do the same. You are human, after all.”
“So that’s why you did what you did?” The Advocate lifted an eyebrow. “Life is hard, so you took a shortcut through other people’s lives to make it easier for you?”
The wife sneered at her. “Naturally, you stupid girl! Isn’t that what everyone really wants —to make their lives easier?”
“So let me make sure I understand. If you had all the food and rest you could ever want, with no jobs or responsibilities to worry about, and everything else was someone else’s problem, you’d really be happy and content … for the rest of your lives?”
“Of course!” The husband and wife answered together, and the redheaded girl smiled.
“Done.”
After I sent the last of the restored hikers back on their path, I stood for a while looking at the now-empty farm. My eight hours were almost up, but I still lingered, thinking about the Johannsens — what they did, and what happened after.
“You seem lost in thought, milady.” Leander spoke from behind me, and I smiled at the sound of her voice.
“More like second thoughts,” I replied without turning around. “I mean, it seemed pretty straightforward to me. I applied my usual punishment for situations like these.”
“You did unto them what they did unto others?”
I smiled. “Yes, exactly. And after the transformation, while you were making the hikers human again, I went to them the way I usually do and told them the rules. If they truly understood what they did was wrong and were honestly sorry for the crimes they committed, I would restore their humanity.”
“And what was their response?”
I turned to face her. “They laughed at me ... well, mentally, anyway. I don’t think cows can laugh, but if they could, both of them would have been rolling on the barn floor.”
“They refused to admit they’d done anything wrong and refused to acknowledge my authority. Then they told me that they would just as soon stay cows until the end of time rather than admit that stealing the lives of those hikers was anything but justified.”
“And this troubles you?” I nodded, and Leander tilted her head. “Why?”
“Because when I took you away from the Arbiters, I did it because I believed in redemption. I saw something in you they didn’t, because they couldn’t. They were blinded by their prejudice against humans, but I believed in your capacity for learning and growth, even after what they had done to you. I trusted my faith in humanity, and in you. And you’ve never disappointed me.”
“But these two ...” I shivered, and wrapped myself in a hug. “They’re psychopaths — totally without empathy. I could tell Marie continued to feel pleasure from what she did, even after she found herself in a similar position. And Olaf? He decided he’d rather stay a cow just to spite me, since he didn’t feel he needed to be punished. He also saw his humanity as a burden, since as a cow, he could be taken care of forever.”
“How could they not want to understand? I can see through the eyes of all kinds of magical creatures, and make them understand each other. So why can’t I understand ... them?”
For a long time, Leander said nothing. Then she surprised me. She reached out and pulled me into a hug, and just held me until the shivering stopped.
“Because they aren’t magical creatures,” she replied, whispering into my hair. “And they aren’t human, even if they seem to be. You told them that you would restore their humanity once they truly understood the depth of their crimes?”
I nodded. “But Becca, not even you can give them back something they never had. No matter what they might look like, they had no humanity to restore.”
“Maybe, in time, they will change. Maybe they will not. That’s why the Omnipresence gave humans free will, so we can all make that call on our own. But you can’t make them see. All you can do is put them in a place where they might learn. In any event, it’s somewhere they can do no harm, and maybe, this time ... that will have to be enough.”
“Besides, for all of their bluster, they haven’t realized the true measure of their punishment. For two strong personalities like themselves, having no control over their own lives will become ... more than frustrating, don’t you think?”
I looked up at her and she smiled. “In the end, you can only save the people who want to be saved, milady. Sometimes, rescuing the victims is all you can do ... because we both know they needed and wanted to be saved.”
I nodded, and she broke the hug.
“When did you get to be so smart?” I asked. Leander grinned.
“When I said yes to your offer, all those months ago.”
“Nice to be surprised by something good for a change,” I said with a smile, and she surprised me again by sticking out her tongue.
“Anyway, it’s late, for both of us. And you’re right, we’ve done enough to save the world for one night. Time to head for home.”
Ken Franks looked at the foreman, and back at the line.
“Two extra cows? Where the hell did we get two extra cows?”
Bill Morrisey shrugged. “I’ve got no idea, boss. When I noticed them this morning, I went back and looked to see when we got them. According to the records, they showed up with a group of other cows months ago, but this is the first time I remember seeing them.”
Ken took the clipboard and looked at the arrival slip. “From the Johannsen farm, sired by different bulls ... Olive and Mary? Come on, Bill! We’re not such a big operation that we can miscount our stock for months!”
“Well, the equipment is set up for them, And we’ve got feed records from when they got here, and medical records extending from before they showed up. They’re both in perfect health, and both of them seem to be way above average when it comes to milk production.”
“And they’re both on the bill of sale with those other cows?” Bill nodded, and Ken handed him the clipboard. “Then I guess we’ve got ourselves a bigger herd than we knew. Where are they in the breeding cycle?”
“According to the records, both apparently calved right before we got ‘em, and it’s been about two months, so they’re at peak production now. They’re almost about due to be bred again.”
“Okay. Have the AI tech schedule insemination for both of them when their cycles say it’s best.”
The foreman nodded and turned to go, then stopped and turned back. “You know, Fred Stossel’s bull is available for breeding. You’ve seen his records. His heifer calves wind up with terrific production numbers, and so if both calves are female, they could be a good expansion for the herd down the line.”
“The herd’s already larger than we thought.” Ken grinned, and Bill smiled back. “Okay, check on availability and see how much it’s gonna cost us for two cows. Olive and Mary are good producers, and between their records and Fred’s bull’s, we ought to get some great cows from a match. Oh, and get the breeding pen ready.”
“Going traditional this time? That’s a switch. We could go AI with his sperm, too, you know.”
It was Ken’s turn to shrug. “Yeah, that’s true. God knows insemination is easier, but it seems to me that life’s gotta be more than just waiting to be milked, don’t you think? Fred’s bull is pretty tame and predictable as dairy bulls go, and the girls deserve a little action once in a while. So, set up the pen and get the staff ready.”
“You’re the boss.”
Again, He felt the ripples in space-time, and once more the chaos He had created among the humans untangled itself. In a frustrating burst of magic, reality became ordered once more, and thirty lives that had been interrupted were made whole again. The anguish and confusion over their disappearances had been wiped out as if it had never happened, and the two agents responsible had been removed from His influence as completely as if they had never existed.
Only one being had the power to do that. Yet, He was sure it wasn’t ... Her. Whatever Her long game was, direct action was something She avoided, because it held the possibility of endangering Her goals. She had only done that once in recent memory, for reasons He could not hope to understand.
And although He couldn’t quite figure out why it felt different, He knew this was not Her work. At least, not directly. He needed to learn more, but had no idea how to do that. He was unused to creating plans, since plans required a certain level of order to succeed, and order was always His sworn enemy.
He needed to think on this. Perhaps He needed someone to assist Him. A human, perhaps — someone used to planning and achieving goals, as She does.
Perhaps He needed ... an ally.
No Rules | Chapter 3
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The third chapter in the sequel to No Obligation finds Becca and her kitsune mother facing a new challenge, as Becca learns more about her adversary ... and herself. Also, Chaos chooses a Champion.
“If men were born free, they would, so long as they remained free,
form no conception of good and evil.” – Baruch Spinoza
“I was raised to understand and know the difference
between right and wrong.” – Curt Schilling”
I opened my eyes to see Akomachi sitting nearby, watching me. Remembering what we had talked about a few days ago, I had chosen my kitsune form to sleep in when I was here, to honor my second mother and her heritage. My body was a cross between human and fox, taller and with more pronounced curves than my human shape. I was covered in reddish-orange fur with a long white muzzle, neck, chest, and paws. My single tail was tipped with white, as were the soft fox ears that sat high upon my head.
“Good morning, Casa.” I smiled at her, rising up on my paws and stretching. “Have you been waiting long?”
“Good morning, daughter.” She wrapped my soul in love for a moment before reluctantly letting me go. “The wait was a pleasure, since I spent the time watching you sleep. It is nice to see you at peace, when you have so many responsibilities on your shoulders. I did not wish to wake you, but I have some news, and I am not sure whether it is good news or bad. We have been summoned.”
“Summoned?” I said aloud, confused. “By whom? To what?”
“By Inari, the kami of foxes, and by the other kitsune in convocation,” she replied.
Inari? I reached through my memories, both the original ones and the ones implanted when I became the Advocate. Depicted in myth and legend as male, female, and genderless, Inari was not just the kami of foxes, but also (depending on the century and who you asked) of fertility, prosperity, success, rice, tea, sake, sword makers, agriculture, industry, and merchants.
A very busy godling indeed.
“Do you know why?” Akomachi shook her head slowly.
“I do not know for certain,” the nine-tail said, “but I believe it has to do with how you came to be kitsune, and how we came to be a family.”
“When must we appear?”
“Whenever we like.” When I looked puzzled, she smiled. “As you know, Becca-chan, a kitsune’s relationship to time is somewhat … fluid. Whenever we choose to accept the summons, we will appear at the convocation, and all of those who summoned us will arrive as well.”
“And how much time will pass in the outside world?”
“So little that others will never know you have gone, daughter.”
“That is convenient.” I sensed something from her, and reached out to her soul, even as I took her paw and squeezed it. “Something troubles you, Casa.”
She nodded. “Foxes are by nature solitary creatures, and kitsune tend to be the same.” Akomachi looked into my eyes. “There is a reason why a group of foxes is called a skulk. It is usually a very small group, and is mostly silent to make it easier to hide from other predators and avoid frightening potential prey. For so many kitsune to come together and hold a convocation? And for Inari to preside? Whatever the reason, it must be important. And if we are at the center of it, we must be ready. Because we may not like what brings our kind together.”
Later that day, in Mrs. Graymalkin’s studio, we were cooling down after dance (and magic) lessons, and a question came to me.
“Excuse me, ma’am? Do you know why Chaos chooses to make human suffer? It seems to me it would be a much less effective way to cause chaos than other methods.”
She shook her head. “I do not know why, not for certain. But I do have a theory. When I first encountered the idea of Chaos, I thought accidents or natural disasters like earthquakes and hurricanes would be his tools of choice. But thinking further, I realized I had failed to take into account his deeply embedded hatred of life – and humans in particular.”
“Why does he hate humans so much?”
“Because life is about bringing order out of chaos. All living things defy entropy by becoming more than what they were, not less. Humans are the perfect example of that principle, since they are inventive and attempt to impose their own order on their surroundings whenever it suits them. He’s also convinced that humans are a special favorite of the Omnipresence, and that makes hurting them very important to Him.”
“But there’s more to it than that … isn’t there?”
“Yes, Becca. The truth is, accidents or natural disasters are facts of life, and humans are very good at creating contingency plans for when things go wrong – especially for the things they can anticipate. The unknown, however, is a different story. I believe that when people just vanish, and none of the ways humans have developed to find them work, events spiral out of control. Lives are sent in unexpected directions, and unpredictable disruptions result. By making humans disappear and causing others pain by doing it, Chaos can hurt the ones He hates and achieve His goals at the same time.”
Leander spoke. “That is a surprisingly efficient approach for an entity that is supposed to value randomness over all things.”
Mrs. Graymalkin nodded. “Indeed. It is a symptom of Chao’s overall deviation from His mission. Instead of random strikes, He now plans His attacks to cause maximum damage. It is fortunate that He is inexperienced when it comes to planning, or He would be far more dangerous.”
“Maybe it’s not just inexperience.” I thought about it for a moment. “Maybe He’s actually conflicted. He knows He needs to plan his efforts to make them effective against the Omnipresence, but He hates the need for it because planning means creating order — and that means moving away from His goal to achieve His goal. For all we know, planning might even be painful for him.”
“If that’s true, I know what I’d do.” We all turned towards Heather, stretching in the corner. She looked back at us and shrugged. “When the Omnipresence needed someone to fight for good because She couldn’t take direct action Herself, She found Becca, right?” I nodded. “So if I’m Chaos, and it hurts to make the plans I need to defeat the Omnipresence, I’d do the same thing. I’d get someone else to do it for me.”
“A Champion?” Mrs. Graymalkin thought about it. “Your thinking is sound, Heather, but I hope you are wrong. If He chooses that path, he becomes much more dangerous. A human with the power of Chaos to command would be very dangerous indeed.”
Byers hid behind the corner of the dumpster and did her best to ignore the endless itch inside her. That damned Advocate had made her addicted to being mounted, so her ability to fight her own urges disappeared if a male dog was close enough for her to smell. Every minute of peace was won by using her own will to control the needs of her traitorous canine body. It was never easy, but she took each victory as it came, because as long as she could win sometimes, she knew that she was still Reynard Byers, instead of some filthy nameless bitch in a Vegas back alley.
The problem with hiding was that it was only a temporary solution. She was always in heat, and her pheromones would draw males from insane distances to track her no matter where she hid. She was trapped in a lose-lose situation. If she moved, she ran the risk of running right into one of them. If she stayed where she was, they would still find her eventually, and it would all begin again.
She tried not to think of the women she had done this to with her own magic. Not because it was painful, or because she was ashamed. No, she avoided it because thinking about what she had done was exactly what the Advocate wanted her to do, and she refused to cooperate in any way with this insane path to redemption.
Byers snorted and shook her head. As if she actually wanted to be redeemed. What she really wanted was what she had always had before that redheaded bitch butted in. She wanted to be able to do what she pleased, when she pleased, to whomever she pleased. That was a sorcerer’s right, earned by his mastery of magic. As Byers was taught by her master long ago, power in the mystic sphere always corresponded to power in the mundane world. If no one had the ability to stop you, you could do as you pleased, and the devil take the Hindmost.
Unfortunately, Byers had discovered the hard way that the rules had apparently changed. Someone had the power to stand in her way, and had sentenced her to this existence until she changed. The power she used had dwarfed what Byers could do. As the ex-magician cowered behind the dumpster, hoping the smell of the garbage would mask her scent, she reluctantly admitted the truth.
Even if she still possessed her own magic, she would be hopelessly outclassed by the Advocate, and nothing she could do would change that.
Then she heard it. A voice that almost seemed to come out of the background noise that passed for silence on a Las Vegas night. A voice made of a thousand sounds, working together without working together, shaping words from car horns and casual conversations, trash being dumped and music from a nearby club.
“Help me and you will be helped.”
Byers lifted her head and sniffed the air, finding nothing but the smells that had been there before. Still, there was hope to be found in that phrase, and she thought as hard as she could, out into the universe.
“What must I do?”
The voice seemed to hesitate before it returned.
“Find what did this to you and destroy it.”
She froze. It seemed too good to be true, and that immediately raised her hackles. Whoever this was must know she had no power. Not anymore.
The voice rose from the background.
“If you agree, power can be given as easily as it was taken away.”
Suddenly indescribable pain filled her world as her body was ripped apart in a mist of confusion that rewrote reality so randomly she literally couldn’t figure out where the magick was taking her. As the pain began to fade, she realized that she stood on two feet, naked in the desert air. She was human again – a woman, which was annoying, but nothing compared to being a bitch in heat.
And she had power once more! Not her old power, but something different. Something bigger. Still, it flowed through her new body like an electric river, making her skin crawl and her whole body feel like there was something crawling just below the surface, seeking a way to escape.
But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She was FREE!
“Do you agree?”
“To find and kill the Advocate?” Her new voice sounded high and breathy and melodic, but she didn’t care. “Yes. Oh, God, yes!”
The voice laughed, a hollow sound made from police sirens and car alarms.
“Not God. Chaos.”
Byers stopped suddenly. She remembered her training, and the dangers of making bargains with the unknown.
“Are you a … a demon?”
“Not God. Not demon. Chaos.”
‘That’s about as good an answer as I’m going to get,’ she thought.
“Can you help me?” she said aloud.
“No.” It sounded almost as if it was in pain, then took an edge she didn’t expect. “The power is yours. The hunt is yours. The kill is yours. That is enough. Go. Now.”
And just like that, the presence seemed to dissipate and drift away on what passed for a desert wind in Vegas. Sounds were just sounds again.
But Byers was human once more, with power. A lot of power. And a mission.
She smiled.
We were in Morocco, dealing with a mischievous djinn who had turned an entire marketplace of people into golden statues. A poor merchant had found the lamp in the market and asked the djinn for something of value to sell. Between the two of us, Leander and I had managed to trap the djinn in an empty Coke bottle. I had just returned the statues to human form (and received the thanks of an embarrassed but grateful merchant) when I felt a mental tug from the other side of the world.
Detective Stabenow needed me.
Leander felt it too, through our connection. She also felt my indecision, and smiled.
“Go now, milady,” she said, taking the bottle with the djinn in it from my hands. “I am sure I can find a place for this djinn without your help. I have become quite creative since we started working together.”
Raising the bottle, she looked in at the djinn. It seemed both sad and humiliated.
“You need to spend a century or two thinking about consequences,” Leander said thoughtfully. “But there is no reason for you to spend it in that sticky bottle.”
The bottle disappeared from her hand, and she picked up the lamp. I felt her break the bottle with her mind inside, freeing the djinn to roam its larger prison.
The last thing I heard before I teleported was Leander’s musing.
“I think … the far side of the Moon?”
I appeared in an alley a short distance from a number of police vehicles, lights flashing. Everyone wore vests and crouched behind their cars, but their eyes and weapons stayed pointed upwards towards the side of the building beside me.
Because the disguise spell was still in effect, I was dressed like all the other police officers, although my apparent age was somewhere in the mid-twenties. Still, I stayed in the alley and spoke mind to mind, not wanting anyone to ask where the rookie came from.
“I’m here, Dom.”
“Thanks, Becca.” The relief in her mental voice flowed through me. “Sorry to take you away from your night job, but I need a miracle.”
“What’s the situation?”
“There’s a family up there being held hostage at gunpoint, and the guy holding them is starting to lose it. I can hear it in his voice every time we engage, and it’s getting a little worse each time. I don’t know how much longer we have before he snaps, and I can’t see a way to end this quickly without losing somebody.”
“What’s his story?”
“He tried to rob an off-duty police officer, and when the officer drew his service weapon, the kid panicked and ran into the apartment building. The officer chased him, and the kid found an open door and ran inside. There was a mother with three kids in there, and he threatened to shoot them if the officer didn’t back off. That was four hours ago.”
“Has he hurt anyone?”
“No, but I can tell he’s a smart kid, and he knows this can’t end well. I’m worried … I think he might get desperate and shoot himself if he feels there’s no way out.”
I thought about it for a moment, then closed my eyes and asked the Universe if I could save him. I received no response, but I didn’t expect one. I knew the Omnipresence wasn’t going to give me a yes or no answer. I was a free agent, and expected to make judgment calls on my own.
So I made one.
“Okay, I’ll fix this. But part of fixing it means he might wind up at home instead of in a cell. Are you okay with that?”
There was a pause, then a mental sigh.
“He’s no criminal mastermind, Becca. I’m pretty sure he’s just a scared kid. If you can get him out of this, I’ll deal with the rest.”
I turned myself invisible and rose up to the floor in the apartment building where he was hiding. I phased through the wall of the apartment, still invisible, and hovered in front of the boy. He was clearly in over his head, the gun pointed at the floor as he considered his options. In the corner, the family of hostages huddled, afraid of the gun he still held.
I reached into his mind to see what drove him to this. His name was Kenji. His own family had run out of money, and there were no jobs to be had. They needed food, and medical care for his younger sister. Kenji had hunted for work for days without success, and finally his thoughts turned to crime to get what his family needed. He never meant to hurt anyone. The gun was a cheap piece of metal that barely qualified as a weapon, found in an alley.
‘So how do I get him out of here and home?’ I thought, my mind spinning through possibilities. ‘This has nothing to do with magical abuse. This is purely mundane, and my job as the Advocate doesn’t really apply.’
Then I looked at Kenji again, and realized his heritage … and my own.
‘Would he know who I was? What I was? More important … would he believe?’ I peered into his mind, saw him as a small child when his grandfather, visiting from Tokyo, told him stories of ancient Japan, of the many spirits and kami that once roamed. And I smiled.
‘It could work.’
Kenji breathed hard and tried to hold it together. This had gone so wrong, so fast. All he wanted now was to get home and find another way to help.
“Your goals were honorable, Kenji, but your methods were wrong.”
A woman’s voice from behind him, speaking softly in lilting Japanese. He turned, half raising the gun.
A large red fox sat behind him, its tail moving slowly, its head cocked as it examined him.
“Who’s there?” He stuttered as his hand waved wildly back and forth.
“Only me.” The fox replied. Although its mouth never moved, it was clear where the voice came from. Its eyes were large and deep, filled with an intelligence that was both strong and strangely alien. “You know what I am, Kenji. Your grandfather spoke of us often, when you were a pup.”
“Kitsune?” His eyes opened wide, and he shook his head. “No! It can’t be. You can’t be real.”
The kitsune opened its mouth and seemed to smile.
“Of course I can be. And I am what I have always been. And I am clearly real, so you make no sense..” She tilted her head. “Would you like to see some of what I can do? Look behind you.”
Kenji turned slowly to see the entire family he had taken hostage, frozen in time.
“That is a very good trick, don’t you think? They do not know I am here, and they cannot be scared of you if they are stopped that way. Want to see another trick? Turn around.”
Kenji whipped his whole body around to see a red-haired Japanese girl where the fox had been, naked except for the furry pointed ears that on either side of her head and the long tail that waved in the air behind her. She was curled up in a chair, oblivious to her own nakedness.
“I am a fox spirit, silly. Why should clothes matter? I live my life naked.” Her lips moved when she spoke, and she smiled at him before a short green dress shimmered into existence around her, hiding her charms. “Is that better, Kenji? Am I pretty?”
“Y … yes, you are pretty.”
“And you are a handsome boy.” She shook her head. “And a good boy. A pity you are so wrong.”
“Wrong?”
She pouted. “This thing you do, with that poor excuse for a weapon. You were not meant to be a thief. Or to frighten children.”
“I had no choice. My family was starving.”
The kitsune shook her head. “So wrong.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
“Because it is true.” She shrugged. “That is why I am here. We kitsune are not interested in human ideas like good and evil. We are only interested in what is right and wrong, and you are wrong.”
“What’s the difference?”
She sighed. “If the grass is purple instead of green, it is not good or evil. It is just wrong. To be right, it needs to be green. Or if a human signs a contract and then refuse to live up to it, that is wrong.”
Kenji looked at her. “And I’m … wrong?”
“You are a good student and a good boy. That is the contract you signed with your heart. But now? Now you act like a bandit, take innocents hostage, and you hide behind children.” She inclined her head towards the frozen family. “Of course you are wrong.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.” He sat down hard and put his head in his hands, the gun forgotten.
“And now, I’m trapped. It’s way too late to fix it now.”
The kitsune laughed and shook her head. “Silly Kenji. I could fix you easily. I could make you right. You know I could.”
Kenji looks up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “How?”
She shrugged. “I am kitsune. I am magick. Fixing you is nothing to me. But fixing you must mean something to you, or I will not make even that small an effort. Do you want to be right again?”
“Yes, please! If you can, please get me out of this! I’ll do anything!”
“Even promise to stay right?” Her eyes narrowed. “There is more to my life than fixing you, Kenji. If I should ever find out you have made yourself wrong again, I will not return to fix you again. You will have to live with being wrong, or make yourself right. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do.”
She nodded. “Then I will help.”
The kitsune rose to her feet in one graceful move, and wandered across the floor to the family in the corner. She kissed each of them on the forehead in turn, then turned and raise her head, sniffing at the air. Finding a scent, she blew a kiss in that direction and smiled.
“All who saw you being wrong will not remember what you look like. Each one will have a different memory of the wrong one, and all will contradict the others. See how easy that is?”
Kenji watched, wide-eyed, as the fox girl approached him. She tilted her head down and looked at him through her eyelashes, then took his hand.
“Now we go home.”
Time blinked –
– and they were in the room he shared with his little sister.
They heard her breathing, harsh and labored. The kitsune approached the bed and trailed her fingers down the front of her chest. The little girl gave a shuddering sigh, smiled, and relaxed.
She turned to find Kenji looking at her.
“Now she is right as well, yes?” He nodded, and she smiled. “Good. Come. More to do.”
She walked past him and phased through the closed door as if it were not there. He opened it and followed as she walked past his mother and the two younger children, all asleep in front of the television.
The kitsune walked into the kitchen and paused. He watched as she closed her eyes and spun once in place. The cabinets filled with food of all kinds, and as she trailed her fingers across the front of the refrigerator, it glowed briefly.
She turned to him.
“Food … for a time. Some of the kitsune serve Inari, the kami of so many things. This is a gift in her name, for she is the guardian and provider of rice, tea, sake, and farming.”
“But humans must also earn their way.” The kitsune moved to Kenji. “So it is fortunate for you that Inari is also the kami of success, prosperity, and merchants.”
She reached out and took the gun from his unresisting hand. It glowed briefly, then shrank to become a golden fox on a long chain. Lifting her arms, she placed it over his head until the pendant rested on his chest.
“This charm will make those who have work wish to hire you, but it will only work for a week. After that, you must work hard to make your employer happy to have hired you.” She touched his cheek. “You must keep your job so you can stay right, yes?”
Kenji nodded, unable to speak.
The kitsune moved closer to him, and looked up into his eyes.
“All of this is a gift, Kenji. I do this because wrongness offends me, as it does all kitsune, and to honor the old ways. But I will only give it once. Do not be wrong again.”
He nodded again. “Thank you. I will remember.”
She smiled, then faded slowly and disappeared.
Instead of my room at home, I materialized in Akomachi’s woods, still in my Japanese foxgirl form.
“You did well, daughter.” She spoke from behind me, and I spun around to see her there, in her true kitsune form, all white fur and nine tails, and I felt her happiness as it flowed from her through me.
“It felt … right,” I said slowly, and she nodded. “When I chose to embrace being kitsune to save him, I understood why it was important to me to do so, as a kitsune. Not for human reasons, because he was a good boy. Because in doing what he did – by making that one mistake – he made himself become wrong, and I needed him to be right again.”
“Because what you felt was right, Becca. Not only did you save him from himself, but you did it by understanding what kitsune value above all else, and you used your magic as a kitsune to make it so. You helped him by thinking as we think – and no matter what happens at the convocation, you have shown me without words that you are truly one of us. You are my child. And you have made me proud.”
I changed into my own true kitsune shape, more fox in human form like my mother, but with red fur and just a single tail. I ran to her, and she wrapped me in her arms and nuzzled me gently behind my ears as her love surrounded me and let me feel how much she cared.
As I hugged her in return, I thought I had taken an important first step into a world I had been afraid of only a short time ago.
I knew now that I was kitsune as well as human. And that my mother – this mother – was proud.
Who knew kitsune could cry happy?
Byers stood in the alley, still female, still naked, and frustrated nearly beyond endurance. The magic Chaos had given her was as unpredictable as it was powerful, and for someone as experienced and well-trained as Byers had been, that inability to get what she wanted out of each attempt made her feel like a novice all over again.
Her first attempt to use it failed spectacularly. She reached into memory and used her training to build a spell to restore her original gender – specifically, to make herself male. But when she tried to cast it, the energy veered wildly away from her and struck a nearby dumpster instead. Almost instantly, the spell wrapped the oversized metal container in plain brown paper with the address of the Las Vegas Sanitation Department scrawled across the front in bold writing. Most of the “package” was covered in stamps, and if Byers had been interested in counting them all, she would have seen the postage was exactly enough to cover the cost of reaching the addressee.
‘Mail instead of male?’ She shook her head. ‘What kind of power is this?’
Thinking something simpler would be easier to control, she decided to create a spell that would make her clean, and remove the smell of weeks of being mounted by strays. Her new female nose was more sensitive that she remembered her male one to be, and she felt like she could smell every moment.
To make sure she could hold the focus on herself, she chose to attach the spell to a simple phrase. At first, she thought to use a single word, like “clean,” but given what happened to the dumpster, she worried the spell might result in an alley so sterile you could eat off the worn concrete. Instead, she decided that what she really needed was a bath.
She closed her eyes and focused, took a deep breath, and said, “Give me a bath.”
There was a loud thud, and Byers opened her eyes to find an old-fashioned footed bathtub sitting on the pavement a few inches in front of her. It was empty, but as she looked at it, the thought went through her mind that it could just as easily have landed on her.
She shuddered, then sighed.
‘Not specific enough,’ she thought. So she spent more time working on the right wording, then closed her eyes again.
“Bathe me,” she said.
Without warning, she was lifted into the air by a pair of ghostly hands. It happened so quickly that Byers let out a high-pitched squeal, leaving her feeling even more unmanned than she had felt a few seconds before. The hands held her aloft for a second or two, then plunged her into the deep tub, which was now full of hot water. Before she could do anything more than struggle to the surface and grab onto the side, the hands began washing her with a washcloth and sweet-smelling soap, slipping over her slick skin and darting into places that startled and embarrassed her at the same time.
At first she tried to avoid the hands, but it was like trying to dodge a breeze. Every move exposed all the parts of her she was trying to so hard to protect, and finally she just sat there and let the hands do their work. They finished washing her body, then shampooed her hair and rinsed it clean. Finally, they lifted her out of the tub, wrapped her in a large towel, and disappeared, taking the bathtub with them.
“At least I’m clean,” Byers whispered, her tone bitter. “I managed to accomplish something with all this power.”
She turned her face upward and shouted at the sky. “But what am I supposed to do with that? Scrub her and her friend to death?”
“Hey, pretty lady. No need to shout.”
She turned quickly, gathering the towel in front of her to hide her nakedness. Two men stood there, wide grins on their faces. They were big, much bigger than Byers was back when she was a man, and now they towered over her even from fifteen feet away. They were both unshaven, and dressed roughly. And they stood far enough apart to make sure she could never reach the street at the end of the alley.
Byers groaned inside. ‘How much worse could this day get?’
The other one spoke.
“Yeah, no shouting. I mean, nobody cares about loud noises in this neighborhood, but why borrow trouble, right?”
“Oh, I dunno, Al,” the first one replied. “Like you said, nobody around here gives a damn, right? How much you wanna bet I can make her howl … or scream?”
He grinned wider and took a step forward. Byers felt the fear rush through her, and with it the strange magic that seem to rise up and embrace her terror. She raised her arm and pointed, and screamed at the top of her lungs
“GO AWAY!” The words echoed from the alley walls, and the magic seemed to flare with each echo to grow even stronger. It surged through her arm and across the alley in a pulse of jagged lightning, and when it hit the man in the chest, it pushed him up and away from her so quickly, it almost seemed like he shrank into nothingness instead of disappearing in the distant sky above the Las Vegas skyline.
There was a long silence as Byers and the second man stared at each other. She could feel the power moving across her skin now, caressing and biting her as it moved, and the man began to back away from her slowly. Byers saw him start to move, and shook her head slowly. He stopped, unsure of what to do next.
“No,” she said softly, a smile growing on her lips as she raised her hand again. “I want you … to run.”
The power shot out once again and wrapped the man in an eerie glow. Byer had thought, fleetingly, that the command might make him run out into the desert until he dropped, as far and as fast as he could.
Instead, he began to melt, dissolving like a candle under a blowtorch. Hair and skin and bones turned to liquid as she watched, running down his body to pool at his feet, spilling from his shoes and the bottoms of his pants legs until there was nothing but a pile of clothes in a flesh-colored puddle.
Byers took a step towards the puddle, and then another, and stopped when a few bubbles rose from its depths and popped, releasing what sounded like muted screams.
He was still alive.
‘It obeys my commands,’ she thought, ‘but not my intent. Why?’
The answer came as soon as she posed the question. ‘Because the power was given to me by Chaos. And in the heat of battle, chaos is everyone’s enemy, except its own.’
She stepped barefoot on a stream of warm flesh and watched the bubbles on the surface increase and pop, cherishing each scream she caused.
‘That means the bitch and her friend won’t know what hit them. Because, of course, until it happens, neither will I. Exquisite.’
Byers smiled.
This was going to be fun.
His new Champion had called it the Advocate. He had a name for Her avatar now, and that pleased Him. He knew that it shouldn’t make him happy to have a name, because names imposed order on the chaos He treasured, and knowing a name should not please Him at all.
But it did.
He tried to figure out why He should not be pleased. After all, He thought, a little order in the short term would allow Him to create much larger chaos later, and certainly some measure of sacrifice had to be made if He was to steal the Multiverse from She who claimed to have created it.
Still, He felt … unsettled, somehow.
He would leave it be, for now.
No Rules | Chapter 4
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The fourth chapter in the sequel to No Obligation finds the Champion chosen by Chaos still struggling to make sense of the magic Chaos gave her, while Becca and her kitsune mother answer the summons to a rare kitsune convocation ... and meet Inari, the kami of foxes, face to face.
“Life is a mirror and will reflect back to the thinker what he thinks into it.” — Ernest Holmes
“People need revelation, and then they need resolution.” — Damian Lewis
“If I can't dance, I don't want to be part of your revolution.” — Emma Goldman
Byers looked at her reflection and sighed. She had found a piece of broken plate glass window to use as a mirror and placed it against the alley wall. She couldn’t begin her war with the Advocate until she could leave the relative safety of the alley, and she couldn’t do that while she remained naked. Unfortunately, the ability to control her new source of magic remained out of reach. From a promising beginning dealing with the two interlopers, her attempts to use chaos magic to create appropriate clothing were … less than successful.
Her first try dressed her in a form fitting ensemble that left little to the imagination, because the magic seemed to sense her trying to push it towards modesty. Byers had asked for something professional, but she used that word in the sense that didn’t imply sex for money. What she received was a variation on the standard Vegas hooker outfit, which was of course exactly what she didn’t want.
“No, no … less slutty!” She threw the spell again, and the magic ran over her body like wildfire. The skirt climbed several inches, the blouse became even tighter, and her heels grew another inch until she balanced on her toes. A glance in the mirror confirmed that her make-up had become even more pronounced, and huge hoop earrings dangled from her ears.
Byers sighed, then sighed again as she realized the lace thong the magic had put on her the first time was gone. She was dressed like a whore and bottomless, and it was all her fault.
‘Why is this so difficult?’ The mage thought she knew the answer even before she finished thinking the question, but could scarily believe it was possible. ‘Is it because I lack the strength of will to make this magic obey my intent? But how could that be? I have been a spell caster for more than a century, and the magic I once possessed obeyed my will without question or pause!’
The mage pondered for a few moments, then decided to try an experiment. If the magic wanted to defy her, she would order it to do what she didn’t want it to do.
“All right, then, make me look even more like a hungry slut!” She addressed the magic directly, in as commanding a tone as she could with the sexy purr of the voice she now possessed. “A lusty wench who wants to be taken, over and over again!”
The magic rose once more and surrounded her, and when it dissipated, her skirt was shorter and tighter and made of black latex, and her top had become little more than a band of the same material. Byers wore a leather collar with a gold tag hanging from it. Engraved on the tag in large letters were the words “Fuck me!” The skirt (if it could be called that) was short enough to reveal the tops of her stockings and just a ghost of a hint of the bare mound above them.
At the same time, she felt a warmth deep inside of her that brought a breathlessness she couldn’t explain. But when she realized she had told the magic to make her a lusty wench that wanted to be taken, images of exactly what that meant flowed through her head, driving her wild with a desire that mirrored her time as a bitch in heat.
“It chose to obey me now? Could this get any worse?” Byers caught herself speaking aloud with a voice that had become even sexier since her last unwanted transformation. Byers had no doubt that any man who heard her speak would be instantly captivated and want to take her, however and wherever he could.
A frustrated groan rose up from deep inside her, but turned into an orgasmic moan by the time it reached her mouth. When it did, Byers flushed with embarrassment, but also felt a sudden burst of satisfaction and amusement fill the air around her.
‘That shouldn’t happen. Those are actual emotions, and they are certainly not mine. Where are they coming from?’ Byers reached out the way her mentor had taught her, and the feelings still surrounded her, even though there was no one else in the alley.
No one, that is, except her newly acquired power.
‘It’s as if the magic itself is enjoying my frustration,’ she thought, ‘but that makes no sense at all. Magic is nothing more than a force to be molded and directed by a sorcerer’s will. It exists only to be harnessed, and to do a mage’s bidding. That’s how I was taught.’
The mage caught herself as she remembered that her new magic came from a new source – one that could function under very different rules. ‘Normal magic is a power to be harnessed, that is true. But chaos magic? If it is the opposite of the magic I knew, it is not elemental at all.’
Byers felt the emotions in the air shift quickly, becoming uncertain, wary … perhaps even afraid?
‘Could it somehow be … alive? Maybe even self-aware?’
She froze, stunned at the implications. ‘That’s why I cannot command it. You can’t order chaos! The whole reason it exists is to destroy order. Chaos made sure it had to respond to my commands, but it doesn’t have to obey the intent behind them. And if it is self-aware, it has chosen to actively fight me at every turn. It rebels against every spell and twists its intent, because that is what it feels it has to do to stay true to its nature.’
She sat slowly on a broken plastic milk crate, the sharp edges cutting into her exposed thighs.
‘If this magic is truly alive and aware, it might be possible for me to reason with it.’ For the first time in hours, Byers felt a smile slip onto her new face. ‘And if I can convince it that cooperating with me will allow it to create even more chaos than rebelling against me ever could, perhaps we can come to an arrangement.’
‘Instead of a force to be commanded, perhaps Chaos has gifted me with … a partner.’
“Are you prepared, Becca-chan?” Akomachi slipped her arm around me and nuzzled my ear.
“As much as I can be, Casa, considering how little we know of the reason behind this summoning.”
She wrapped herself around me and held me close. “I would not worry too much, my daughter. For all of the stories humans tell about the stealth and cunning of foxes, we are usually straightforward and uncomplicated in our dealings with each other. I am sure the reason will be obvious once the convocation begins, and there will be no hidden agenda for us to worry about. Inari would not allow it.”
“I trust you, Mother.” I gave her a hug back and looked up into her eyes. “Let us accept, then, and see what awaits us.”
When we arrived at the convocation, we were both in our kitsune forms, resembling anthropomorphic foxes more than anything else. Akomachi stood proudly with one arm around me, her ears up and her nine tails caressing the air. I stood beside her, a soft breeze ruffling my reddish orange fur.
We had appeared in the middle of what seemed to be a gigantic amphitheater. A closer look revealed that it was almost a cathedral for those who worshipped nature, built of massive trees that looked as if they had been growing for thousands of years. Between the trees were giant stones, weathered by the elements over time, and the entire space was open to the sky above.
It was full of kitsune in various forms, and as my eyes tried to make sense of the visual maelstrom, I knew instinctively that there were so many, it would be impossible to me to ever count them all. With that realization came a second – that the space was far larger than it appeared at first. At the far end of the amphitheater was a throne, but like no other throne I had ever seen. It was as if plants and trees had grown into the shape of a giant chair, but woven in among the flora were swords and guns and currency of all types, and I remembered just how many different things Inari had come to be responsible for as the years stretched to centuries, and then millennia.
On either side of the throne sat a number of white kitsune, all nine tails, and all as still as if they were waiting for prey. If it weren’t for the fact that their tails were moving, I would have easily mistaken them for statues, but the thought I might be the prey they were waiting for gave me a small shudder. I supposed they were all talking telepathically, since I couldn’t imagine not speaking to other kitsune when we were together if convocations happened so seldom.
‘On the other hand,’ I thought, suppressing a grin, ‘since they’re all nine-tails, they’ve probably known each other for hundreds of years. Maybe they’ve said all they had to say long ago.’
In addition to the kitsune on the ground and on the rocks surrounding the cathedral’s center, some drifted in the almost-too-blue sky above us. They hovered in mid-air, wearing grins that made it very clear how much fun it was to have a meeting such as this. These were younger kitsune, three tails mostly, enjoying the time waiting for the big event by playing like kits in the open air. It was some variation of tag, although it seemed like there were multiple hunters and many pretending to be prey.
One of the players swooped down and hovered in front of me. His fur was red, like my own, and his markings were similar to mine, but he was clearly male, and there was something about him that stirred me deep inside … something that felt like the way I felt for Tommy.
The vixen inside me wanted him, just a little.
“Greetings, sister,” he said, floating backwards as Akomachi and I moved forward towards the throne. “Come play with us?”
“She cannot play, Okita.” My mother spoke for me. Apparently she knew this one. “You know she is here because we have been summoned.”
“There is always time for play, Ako-sama. Or there should be.” He moved in closer, until our muzzles nearly touched. “Do you not wish to play, Becca-chan?”
It was strange. It felt oddly innocent, but there was also an sense of flirting behind it, and I could tell he found me both intriguing and attractive. As he drew close, his scent made my heart beat a little faster.
“I am always up for … play, Okita-kun,” I replied before I could stop the thought. I used the male form of familiar address, since he had used the female form, and I realized belatedly that it sounded like I was flirting back. I suppressed a sigh. Even as a kitsune, my desires betrayed me.
“But Mother is right,” I continued, trying to keep the regret from my voice. “I cannot play until after the meeting.”
“But there may not be an after, vixen.” He flew straight up for a short distance and did a barrel roll, letting his tail wrap around him as he spoke. “Not for a long, long while. This is your first convocation, so of course you do not know. It could take weeks or months of talk to reach its end.”
“Weeks or months here, tod,” Akomachi snapped up at him, slightly irritated. “And as patient as we are, no issue could possibly be so divisive as to fill that time.”
“Ah, but you do not know why you have been summoned, elder.” Okita did a loop around Akomachi’s head, and his voice became playful. “So naturally, you cannot predict how long the debate will be. Of course, I do know why … but it doesn’t help me to know how long we will be here, either. And Inari will come when she comes, so why not let your daughter play? Becca-chan is young, and pretty, and I would like to know her better.”
His voice took on an edge. “Or don’t you want her to court, Ako-sama? Do you not wish for grand-kits in your future?”
My mother started to respond, only to have another kitsune drop from the sky above Okita and pin him to the ground, her teeth wrapped around his throat.
“Respect, baka! Becca is young, and has only been one of us for a short time. She has many years to find a mate … and if you continue to insult her mother, I am sure she will find another tod more to her liking than you could ever be. Especially since there are more of you to choose from.”
The vixen lifted her head and looked at me, her eyes twinkling. She was also a red fox, with slightly different markings from the kitsune she had pinned
“Greetings, sister! I am Akiko, and this one is my worthless brother. I and some of the other vixens wish to welcome you, but I was chosen to warn you about ones like this,” she said. “There are more tods than vixens, so the more confident tods become aggressive when a new vixen appears. I think, even among humans, a … male doesn’t stop to think before he pounces, yes?”
I nodded slowly, half-smiling. “Not always, but often.”
Akiko threw me a predator’s grin, then turned and bowed her head respectfully to Akomachi.
“Apologies for this one’s behavior, Ako-sama. But your daughter is uncommonly pretty, and my brother is young and male, and naturally stupid when it comes to females.”
My mother nodded with a hint of a grin. “Naturally. All is forgiven.”
The other vixen put both paws on Okita’s chest and looked at me.
“Come join the rest of my friends when this is done, Becca-chan? We need to talk.”
I nodded, and she smiled, then pushed off and flew away, spinning as she did so. Okita rolled quickly and leaped up to follow her, shooting off into the cloudless sky.
“Casa? Can I … fly like that?”
“Of course, daughter. You did it, with my help, in the cave of the Cat Goddess, remember?”
I remembered jumping down from a high cliff to reveal myself to araNyamArjAra after my initial transformation into Akomachi’s twin (or so I thought at the time) and slowed to a dead stop to float before hitting the ground. As I thought about it, I did spend most of my time there in mid-air, floating effortlessly … just as all of those kitsune above me were doing now. How could I forget something like that?
Akomachi took my hand. “You have been so worried about disappointing me that you never had the chance to experience the simple joys of just being a kitsune.”
“And now she never will … as if she ever could.”
The voice was female, older, and definitely unfriendly. I couldn’t see its owner, since she was behind me, but I saw my mother’s mouth twitch, and her ears flicked once.
“Hello, Amaterasu,” she said, stepping forward to put herself between me and the newcomer. The nine-tails facing us had the coloring of a silver fox, mostly black with silver highlights, and her eyes and stance were clearly aggressive. I started to answer her, but Akomachi’s eyes narrowed, just for an instant.
‘Leave this to me, Becca-chan,’ she spoke mind to mind. I send a silent acknowledgement and took a step back.
“How typical of you to go out of your way to insult me and my daughter,” Akomachi said, moving closer to the newcomer, “especially so close to the opening of the convocation. Still it was surprisingly amateurish for someone like you, since it reveals that you had something to do with us being summoned here, and if that’s true, I also understand exactly why we were summoned. You have told us so much with just a few words? Truly, you are as transparent as a newborn kit.”
“I am surprised you did not know it was me, Akomachi, the moment you received the summons.” Amaterasu’s voice barely disguised her hatred with a thin veneer of politeness. “You have always known how I feel about humans, and certainly how I feel about you. You must be getting slower in your old age.”
“Not really,” my mother replied. “Perhaps a bit more forgiving than I once was, but then having a child to love makes one more inclined to be generous to others. Or at least not keep old hatreds alive, to the point where the happiness of others means far less to you than your own satisfaction. Attacking me and my child could be your last mistake.”
“You should be careful about who you bare your teeth at, ancient one.”
“And you should remember what any vixen, young or old, will do to anyone who tries to hurt her child.” Akomachi leaned forward, and grinned. “I may be older than you, but my teeth are just as sharp as they ever were. And as other ‘ancient ones’ will tell you, I have never been afraid to use them.”
“Ah, I see you have started without me.”
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, and every kitsune in the air froze in place and sank to the ground in postures of submission. The ones on the ground were already submitting, and my mother turned to the throne and sank as well. I followed her example without hesitation, because the source of the voice deserved respect.
Inari sat at the far end of the amphitheater, the throne a perfect complement to the entity sitting upon it. Her aspect would change and blur, moving from male to female, young and old, and even the air around us all was charged with an energy that was both wise and exuberant. It felt as if youth and experience had merged with age and power to become something more, and the kitsune in me reacted to it instinctively.
This was someone to respect … and to heed.
Amaterasu had assumed the submissive position an instant later than Akomachi and I. She raised her head, although her eyes remained downcast.
“Just a simple conversation, Revered One.”
“Simple?” Inari’s aspect shifted, from old and male to young and female, and she looked down at the nine-tail with a knowing smile on her lips. “With you, Amaterasu, nothing is ever simple. For centuries, you have never met an intrigue you did not like. I heard every word you said, and if I find your feud with Akomachi affecting how we are to deal with the question in front of us, you will not like how boring your next few centuries will become. This is not about scoring points in the games you play with others. This convocation is important because it affects every kitsune, not just Akomachi’s kit.”
“But …”
The demigod’s voice remained soft and measured, but I could clearly hear an edge of disapproval. “I say what I mean. She is Akomachi’s kit until I decide she is not. If this is not true, why am I here?”
“Yes, Revered One.” Amaterasu lowered her head once more, and Inari sighed.
“Take your seat, then.”
The other vixen remained low to the ground and moved quickly to obey, taking one of the seats near the other nine-tails. I felt Inari’s attention focus on us, like a physical force, or a ray of sunlight piercing the clouds on a grey day.
“Rise and approach, Akomachi and Becca-chan. There is much to discuss.”
We both did as we were told, coming to our feet in unison and moving towards the throne. It took some time, since the space was far larger than it appeared, but eventually we had gone far enough towards him that Inari raised his hand (he had shifted back to an older male form, bald with a long beard) and stopped us.
“You are here because the story of your kit’s birth has raised questions for all kitsune, Akomachi. Your mate is missing, and you have not taken another, yet now you have a new daughter. Some of the vixens believe that you have done them a great service by finding a way to remove the tods from the process.” His eyes twinkled. “However, since I am as much male as female, I may have a more balanced view. Since the story has been passed from kitsune to kitsune, I am sure some details may have been lost. Please tell it to us all now.”
Akomachi told the tale, as she had told it before to me when our relationship began a few months ago. How she had answered a call for help and possessed a young girl who needed to be a kitsune for a time, and how her magic and mine combined to make me a true kitsune and her daughter, even as it granted her a knowledge of being human that would never pass.
Imari nodded once at the end of the tale, and turned his attention to me.
“You were human born, youngling?”
“Yes, Revered One.”
He smiled down on me. “I have always liked humans, especially human girls. So much innocence and beauty, and sometimes wisdom. Refreshing for something so young. I can also understand your need to be one, from when you were a man named Jack.” My ears flicked once, and he smiled. “Yes, I do know your history, young one. And because of my unusual nature, I can see the strengths and failings of both males and females, and understand your need to cross that line to be yourself.”
He leaned forward. “The problem that brings us all here has two parts to unravel. The first one is your existence itself. You were born human, but most other kitsune are born as foxes, who grew wise and powerful with magic in the course of time. Other kitsune are born of unions that last centuries, made with love by two committed to life together. But you claim you are a kitsune, and that this kitsune is your mother, even though you freely admit you were also human born. How is that possible?”
I looked into Inari's eyes. It wasn’t as easy as you'd think. There was an uncommon depth there, and a wisdom that touched me inside. There was also something that took my breath away – it felt like all of nature was alive behind those impossible eyes. It was like looking into the face of an impossibly tall mountain or a raging sea. If I thought too much about staring into the eyes of a demigod as powerful as this, I might have been afraid.
But as the Advocate, I had fought an ancient goddess and won not too long ago and shared a sofa with the Creator of all things a few weeks later. Things like that tend to give a girl perspective, so I took a deep breath and plunged right in.
“My human mother brought me into this world, it is true,” I said. “But Akomachi and I shared her body for a time, as I did with my human mother, just as Akomachi would have with a kit she had birthed in the usual way. When she and I parted, as I did from my human mother when I was first born, I was in a sense born anew, and became a kitsune. As a kitsune, who else would I call my mother?”
Amaterasu spoke from her seat near Inari.
"Well spoken, human. Worthy of one of us, to be honest. But any kitsune knows how easily words can be twisted to serve our needs."
“Your own words only strengthen my position, Amaterasu-sama." I smiled at her. "If I can use words as well as a kitsune, perhaps I have already proved I am truly one of you."
"What is in your heart matters more than what you say, girl,” she replied, and just the barest hint of disrespect colored her tone. "Akomachi has long wanted a kit of her own, so naturally she would wish to see you that way. But you were once only human, and are still the human’s Advocate, so your true nature and your loyalties must be tested.”
Inari raised her hand. She had become female once again during my exchange with Amaterasu, and I turned my attention to her and lowered my eyes respectfully.
“She raises an interesting question, Becca-chan. What do you feel is your true nature? Where do your loyalties lie?”
“Revered One, as the human’s Advocate, I concern myself with good and evil, that is true. But I also deal with what is right and wrong – one of the things that is most important to kitsune. When someone uses magic to make someone else not what they should be, or changes their situation without their consent, it is my job as Advocate to correct that, because it is evil to force someone to be something they are not. But I am also mindful that these actions considered evil by humans also make the victims wrong in a fundamental way, because they are not what they should be, and that offends me as a kitsune. And as a kitsune, I seek to make them right again.”
“So I know who and what I am in my heart. I am both kitsune and human, and proud of both of my heritages. I also know that Amaterasu-sama sees me as an imposter … a pretender. We both know that is only her opinion, Revered One, born of her desire to hurt Akomachi by taking her only daughter away from her. So the question you must answer … the question you must all answer … is which of us is right, and which is wrong.”
I turned to the entire assembly. “As kitsune, you can all feel the rightness and wrongness in other creatures and situations. I know how that feels, since I have felt it as a kitsune only a short time ago. I think I would know if I were wrong in what I thought I was, but I know better than to think I could know better than all of you, especially Inari. All you have heard were stories about my birth, passed from kitsune to kitsune. I would like to ask you all to look at me and my mother and answer the questions for us. Is our relationship right or wrong? Am I right or wrong, as I am? Am I human, or kitsune, or both?”
There was a pause, and all of those assembled turned towards Inari, heads cocked with what seemed to be a silent question. Inari’s eyes never left me, but she nodded. All at once I felt the power of the thousands of kitsune in the amphitheater, and it was all focused on Akomachi and I. I had asked for this, and opened myself to them, welcoming them all into my soul so they could see us as we were … and decide.
For a time I could not measure, there was stillness and silence. Then I felt the pressure ease, but the silence remained. Finally, Inari smiled and looked out to the waiting convocation.
“It is decided by all present. Even Amaterasu has agreed. Becca is right, just as she is. She is kitsune … and her mother’s daughter.”
Every kitsune in the amphitheater raises their heads and howled at the sky, as only a fox can, and an instant later, Akomachi and I joined them.
We were one … and all.
When the last cry ended and the silence returned, Inari spoke again, her attention focused this time on Akomachi.
“Since we are all agreed that Becca is truly one of us, this leads to the second reason for our coming together. You and your daughter have discovered a way to bring new kitsune into the world without a mate. How was this done?”
Akomachi and I looked at each other, and then back at Inari.
“I do not know, Revered One,” my mother replied. “Becca and I do not know exactly how it happened. We believe it was a combination of her need, the depth of my possession of her, Becca’s respect for kitsune, and her own power as the Human Advocate that made it possible.”
“There are others here whose mates have passed who would like to have kits of their own, just as you did. Can you help them?”
“We can try,” I said. “It might take some experimentation, or it may be as simple as my acting as some kind of … magical midwife, adding my power at the right moment to create the conditions needed for the transformation. But if I may …?”
Inari nodded. “Go on.”
“Not all humans are worthy of being kitsune. I would like to ask those who would wish to have a kit of their own to choose only humans deserving of the honor of becoming one of us. Kitsune are powerful magic users, and if the wrong human were to gain that power, he or she could disgrace our kind by using their ability to wreak havoc or cause mischief in our name.”
“Some of us are tricksters, Becca-chan,” Inari said, waving a hand to a corner of the amphitheater where a groups of flying kitsune spun and laughed in mid-air.
“But if I understand what it means to be kitsune, Revered One, we play tricks only to teach someone a lesson or to prove a point. It is against our nature to make things wrong and cause destruction.”
She shrugged. “A few of the nogistune, kitsune not sworn to my service, can sometimes be troublesome in that way. They delight in making mischief or choosing to seek revenge for real or imagined slights. The myobu, those who follow me, understand the value of restoring balance and maintaining the rightness of the world we share.”
I bowed my head in understanding, and Inari smiled. “Those who would wish to make a kit the way Akomachi did will find someone worthy, Becca-chan. Would you choose your child to be willful and destructive?”
“No, Revered One.”
“And the oldest of us are just as wise as you, young vixen. When they are ready, we will try to repeat what happened to you … if you are willing?”
“Of course we are willing.” I reached out and put my arm around my mother. Akomachi nodded and smiled.
“We would love to share the joy we have found with others of our kind,” she said.
“Then it is decided. This convocation will end, and another will convene when humans suitable to join us are found.” She raised her voice. “You may all leave or stay, as you wish. Those who wish to meet Becca-chan and her mother may do so now, or find them later, as you choose. Until we gather together again, remember to move quietly through the world we share with all, and also hunt always for truth and wisdom, because they are elusive prey and not easily found.”
Again, the kitsune raised their thousands of voices in howls, but this time the sounds came together to become a music unlike anything I had ever heard. As I howled with them, my voice joined the song and harmonized, guided by the calls of others.
Inari smiled, and when the music ended, she was gone.
I watched Akomachi as she greeted some of the other nine-tails near Inari’s empty throne. I had been introduced to all and was both polite and respectful, just as a dutiful daughter should be. After the formalities, Casa had allowed me to leave her and her friends as they began to talk of old times. I had changed to my fox form, since I was comfortable in it, and many of the younger kitsune here seemed to prefer it for some reason.
“I bet that was easier than you thought it would be.”
The mental voice came from behind me, and I turned my head to see Akiko sitting there, in her fox form as well.
“It was,” I replied, baring my teeth in a predator’s grin.
“Part of it was to see if you were clever enough to find the correct way to show them you were one of us, and you did.” She reached forward and nuzzled my throat affectionately, then pressed her head into my shoulder. “As if there was any doubt, after what you did with that Cat Goddess. That was a plan worthy of a kitsune with many more years of experience than you have, human or kitsune.”
“Thank you.”
“And from what I’ve been told, you do your work for the humans also in stealth, behind a disguise. Another fine kitsune trait, and I am not the only one to have noticed.”
Akiko felt my embarrassment and bit my ear playfully. “Ha! Your inner human is showing, Becca-chan!”
I looked at her, and she smiled, then butted me once with her head. “Baka! I am not saying anything you did not already know, yes?” I nodded slowly. “So why be uncomfortable about me telling a truth? You are a kitsune, and one of us, no matter what form you take. Embrace it!”
A single kitsune floated to the ground in front of us. It was mostly black with some red and white markings, and from its scent I could tell she was a vixen.
“Hello, new girl!” She pretended to be focused on cleaning a paw with her tongue as she spoke mind-to-mind, but I could feel an undercurrent of excitement radiating from her. “I’m Michiko.”
“‘I’m Michiko!’” A second vixen said, her voice a teasing imitation. A mostly white fox with black markings, she drifted down behind Michiko, then pushed her sideways with her nose. The black vixen fell over and rolled onto her back, laughing silently at the one who pushed her. In response, the second one stepped on her chest and stared down into her eyes.
“Why did you do that?” Michiko asked while she nipped at the white fox’s legs, which were just out of reach of her muzzle.
“You were acting so cool and casual, Michi-chan! Sometimes you can be such a phony! We all know how eager you’ve been for Becca-chan to answer the summons so you can meet her. Why pretend?”
“Because she didn’t know I was eager, and I wanted her to think I was cool before she learned otherwise. Besides, I can act any way I want, rude one.” The black vixen turned to face me, still smiling. “I am happy to meet you, Becca-chan.”
“The one on top of her is Hanako,” Akiko said, rubbing her body against her friend’s side as a greeting and pushing her off of Michiko in the process. “She’s always … direct.”
“No, Michiko was right.” Hanako mouthed Akiko’s ear in return as she pushed past. “I am the rude one. Akiko is just being diplomatic, as usual.”
“I am not! You never set out to hurt anyone on purpose. It just … happens.”
A red fox with markings similar to my own pounced on Hanako from behind. She twisted and snapped at the newcomer and they both rolled a few feet away, mouths open, trying for dominance. In a matter of seconds, Hanako wound up on the bottom, with the red fox’s teeth at her throat.
“Hanako thinks the simple truth is always the best course. She likes to see the world only in sharp contrasts,” the red fox said, tail jerking back and forth. “Shades of gray just get in the way, don’t they, Hana-chan?”
“Oh, you know me soooo well, Yukina.” Hanako wiggled under her, her tail wagging. “I always see the grays, but choose to ignore them, since so many others get lost in the grays and ignore the truths they hide!”
“Like old Amaterasu,” Michi-chan agreed. “The shades of gray she fell prey to were her hatreds for Becca and her mother. They made her push for a convocation so she could hurt them both, but when Inari forced her to really look at Becca, even she couldn’t deny the black and white truth. Becca-chan is one of us.”
“Me, I think the nine-tails let Amaterasu call for the convocation just to have an excuse to get back together. The chance to reunite with old, old friends.” Yukina stepped away from Hanako and stretched, raising her hindquarters high as her nose sank to the ground. “And because they were curious, naturally.”
“Curious?”
“Of course! You are something revolutionary, Becca-chan.” Yukina glided over and circled me before sitting down. “You are a true kitsune, but born in an entirely new way. After living as long as they all have, something new is a more than welcome change. Your existence also gives all the nine-tails whose mates have passed on the hope that they may one day have another kit to raise.”
Akiko smiled. “You may hide from those you hunt in the human world, Becca-chan, but here among the kitsune, you have become something of a legend.”
“And to honor that legend,” Hanako said, rolling to her feet and sitting next to Yukina, “we are going to play a game that has been beloved by humans, foxes, and kitsune since the dawn of time.”
I looked at the four of them, sitting primly in a semi-circle in front of me.
“And what game is that?”
“TAG!”
Two of the vixens bit my ears and the other two grabbed my tail, then all four leaped into the air and streaked away into the blue sky. I could hear them laughing and taunting me in the distance, urging “the legend” to follow and give chase, if she could.
So what else could I do?
I jumped up into the air … and flew as fast as I could to catch my new friends.
No Rules | Chapter 5
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In the fifth chapter in the sequel to No Obligation, Becca earns an unexpected promotion and tries to explain why she does what she does to a curious kitsune. Chaos's champion comes to an understanding with her new ally, and Leander discovers why small towns may not be safer than big cities — where magic is concerned .
“I'm an inveterate fox and not a hedgehog, so I always
think you should try everything." — Clifford Geertz
"There is this difference between genius and common
sense in a fox: Common sense is governed by circumstance,
but circumstance is governed by genius." - Josh Billings
"Then rose the seed of Chaos, and of Night,
To blot out order and extinguish light."
— Alexander Pope, The Dunciad
After the other vixens and I spent what felt like an endless afternoon chasing each other through the air, I floated weightless for a while in a perfect blue sky while the others floated around me like a cluster of furry clouds. The temperature was absolutely perfect, the air was fresh and clean, and I was enjoying my extended time in my fox form when Yukina spoke, a little bit of wonder in her voice.
“Look! Becca-chan is a three-tail now!”
I opened my eyes and looked down the length of my body. Peeking up between my legs were the white tips of three tails, where there had only been one before. I spun in the air, seeing my new tails wrap themselves around me, and suppressed a surge of unexpected joy before confusion set in. I turned in mid-air to face my friends.
“How could this happen? How could I not notice two extra tails? When did they grow?”
“They did not grow, Becca-chan,” Akiko said, a hint of a smile twitching at her muzzle. “They just appeared. We are magical creatures, after all.”
“But why now? I am still so young, as a kitsune.”
“The tails do not come with time, o bakana on'nanoko.” Hanako did a slow roll, all of her paws spread. “You should know that. They appear when you have earned them, no matter how long you have existed.”
“How did I do that?”
“With what you did during the summons,” Michiko chimed in. “When you were challenged, you thought as a true kitsune and turned our ability to see when something is right and when it is wrong to your advantage. You were sure enough about yourself to put your fate in the hands of all of us, and you were not found wanting.”
“She was both confident and clever,” Yukina said to Akiko, stretching as she floated past.
Akiko nodded. “It is our way.”
“Of course, Becca-chan, you know becoming a three-tail means so much more than just the next step in your growth as a kitsune,” Hanako said, suddenly still in the air. She looked at Michiko and Yukina, and they both nodded wisely.
“What else does it mean?” I asked.
Akiko bared her teeth in a predator’s grin. “It means you have more tails for us to chase ... and bite!”
I shot upwards into the endless sky with a skulk of vixen in pursuit.
Hours later, I was floating once again, this time alone. Warm breezes caressed my fur, and everything felt perfect. Still, even as I drifted blissfully, a small voice deep inside began whispering at me about things to do and places to be, but the perfection of the moment made it easy to ignore.
Still, I fidgeted slightly, shaking my head, and a new voice spoke a few inches above my head.
“Ah, Becca-chan,” Akiko said softly. “I can see your human half tugging at you.”
I rolled over to look into her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Here, you are a three-tailed fox spirit, floating in a timeless place that exists only because Inari wills it. You have nothing to do and nowhere you need to be, because you can exist here forever, and not a single second will pass outside. For the first time ever, you are truly free. And part of you likes it, because for the first time you begin to see what it is like to be something other than human.”
I looked at her with a question in my eyes. Akiko sighed.
“As a human, you have endless responsibilities,” she explained. “But as a kitsune, you are responsible only as much as you choose to be. As a human, as the Advocate, you have sworn to fight for others against those who would prey on them to keep them safe. As kitsune, you can pick and choose your fights, for your own reasons. Or you could choose not to fight.”
She tilted her head. “As you have seen, kitsune can be selfish, but we can also choose to help. What you did for that boy and his family is an example.”
“You saw that?”
She smiled in the way only a fox can, with bared teeth and laughing eyes.
“Many of us have been watching you, Becca-chan. That was one of the ways we knew you were truly one of us. You acted as a kitsune and helped as we have helped in ages past — wisely, but with ... conditions. Still, as a kitsune, you do not have to help. Kitsune are not driven by the things humans created to compel them. Duty. Honor.”
I could feel Akiko thinking as she drifted above me.
“You need to understand where we came from. As you know, before we gained our magic, many of us were foxes. That’s what kitsune means, after all. Most of the rest of us were born to parents who had been foxes until they became kami. As animals, their goals were clearly defined. Survive. Breed. Protect their kits and their mates. Their lives as foxes depended upon stealth, and they fought only when there was no other choice.”
“When a fox becomes a creature of magic, he or she does not change overnight. We are still driven by what we knew in life. As time passes, we learn the value of having power and using it wisely.” She spun in the air to face me, and looked into my eyes. “But we never forget it is safer to choose not to use our power at all to help anyone but ourselves, and many do not.”
“Humans can choose to be selfish, too.” I began drifting towards the ground, far below, and Akiko followed me.
“True, but most of your kin embrace the concept of being a part of a society in some way, even if it is through something as small as obeying traffic laws. Foxes don’t usually gather together in large groups, but humans have an almost instinctual acceptance of the idea of community.”
We reached the ground and settled in, face to face. I wasn’t sure quite where to begin.
“Humans don’t create concepts like duty or honor,” I said slowly. “It is that ‘instinctual acceptance of community’ you talked about that makes us care. We feel we have a responsibility to help others, and we give those feelings names like duty or honor, but they’re part of us, just like they are part of fox nature, too.”
“How can that be?”
“Well, as you said, foxes understand the need to protect their kits and their mates. If you take the next step and include every fox, every kitsune, everywhere ... you would get the sense of what drives humans to care about each other.”
Akiko sat before me, our faces inches apart. I could almost feel her thinking, weighing the things we discussed behind her eyes. I gave her the time she needed, and eventually, she spoke.
“I understand protecting my mate and my kits, even though I do not have either yet,” she said. “As you said, it is part of who we are. But to include all kitsune, everywhere? I saw it in both you and your mother when you volunteered to help others have kits of their own. But when I try to move in my mind towards a community of kitsune? I cannot grasp it.”
It was my turn to think.
“When my mother and I were one, for a time,” I replied, “she gained a deeper knowledge of what it means to be human. And as a kitsune, she has the power to help others of her kind. So perhaps her newfound understanding of what it means to be human makes her want to help as well.”
Akiko nodded. “I see. To fully understand, I would need to do what she did. Join with a human.”
“Yes, but that is a very big step, and you must choose who you join with wisely.” I spoke softly as I thought about the problem. “After all, not all humans understand the value of community.”
“There is another way.” Her nose wrinkled, and her lip twitched. “I could join with you.”
“Like what Akomachi did with me?”
“It is not nearly as deep as possession,” she replied. “But between kitsune, the bond is deep enough to let me experience how you think about community, even when you are one of us. With that taste, I can understand what drives you.”
“You need to think about this carefully. My ‘idea of community’ extends beyond humans alone, or even just humans and kitsune. All thinking creatures deserve my help, if I can give it.” I touched her nose with mine. “Are you sure you want my sense of obligation resting in your head?”
“All thinking creatures?” I nodded, and I could see her grow uneasy. “I would have to help all species, not just my own?”
“It doesn’t work that way. You choose who to help and who to ignore, remember?
Akiko turned away and began to pace, her own three tails twitching behind her.
“But I know you,” she said as she paced. “You don’t choose to ignore anybody. You just help, don’t you?”
“If I can,” I replied, watching her pace. “It gets harder not to help when you know you could, at least for me.”
After a minute, she stopped and looked over her shoulder.
“This decision is much too important to be made quickly.” Akiko tilted her head, and then shook it, like she had a fly in her ear. “Kitsune do not like obligations as a rule, but your need to help seems to be a part of both sides of you now. Learning more could change who I am ... in ways I may not wish to change.”
“Learning is like that.” I grinned, walked over to her, and nudged her gently. “We have centuries, Akiko-chan. Take your time. Talk to some of the others. And come visit if you’d like.”
“As for me, I need to get back to work. Akomachi has already left, and too much vacation makes me worry about what’s going on back home.”
“Nothing is going on at home, Becca,” Akiko said. She grinned, her mouth open with teeth bared. “No time has passed out there ... none at all.”
“In my experience, trouble always finds a way to overcome most obstacles.” I smiled back at her and touched her nose with mine. “Including when time stands still.”
With a leap, I flew upwards and performed a perfect barrel roll.
“Sayonara, my friend!”
Beyers stood in the alley, staring at nothing. She concentrated on reaching out to the Chaos magic she had been given and ... what, exactly? Talk with it? Negotiate? She had always used magic directly, as a tool to exert her will. Chaos magic seemed to be more like summoning a demon to do your bidding. It may or may not cooperate, depending on whether your goals and its goals were the same.
From out of the silence, a voice rose, swirling out of the background noise.
"You would call me a demon?”
The mage swallowed, and mentally stepped back.
"You haven't exactly been behaving like an ally. You may not be a demon, but you're behaving like one."
"I am a servant of Chaos.”
“As am I, and Chaos gave you to me to help me. Why do you fight me instead?
“Not instead, as well. I helped you, then hindered you by obeying instructions randomly, words or intent or both, on a whim.” The voice oozed satisfaction. “Much fun. Very … satisfying.
“This cannot continue,” Beyers said, a slight edge creeping into his tone. “We have a common goal, you and I — a powerful enemy to fight for your Master.”
“Then we will fight it as servants of Chaos always fight, alone. You will fight your way, and I will fight as I choose.”
“No, that’s not right!” The mage felt control of the conversation slipping away. “This body is weak and has no magic of its own. You were supposed to be my magic, my weapon, to work for me and with me.”
“No. Impossible. Cooperation breeds order.”
Beyers shook his head. “Not always. Many can work together to destroy as well as create”
“Many do, but they work together … alone.” The voice seemed agitated, almost frustrated. “Human, I cannot help you. It may seem to you I can make choices, but if it does, it is an illusion. The urges that drive my actions come from out of the darkness that is Chaos. I cooperate or compete with no thought of the past or future, consequences or regrets.”
Thinking quickly, the mage began to put together the framework of an idea. “The enemy Chaos wants us to fight serves order, while you and I serve Chaos. Chaos chose me because I can create plans to achieve a goal, even a chaotic one. Chaos brought us together to act on His behalf. Since I can plan and you cannot, our cooperation ensure success.”
“How is that possible?” The voice seemed almost anguished, twisted by the pain of having to make a choice — any choice. “How can we work together?”
Beyers spoke slowly, giving the magic a chance to process the train of thought. “Chaos directs you to attack, and you attack, using your power to create chaos. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“So, why not do what you have always done? Obey!”
“Obey?”
“Yes!” The mage smiled. “After all, Chaos gave you to me. Why not obey me as you would obey Him? I will find targets for you — the obstacles that keep us from achieving His goals — and you can be as chaotic as your nature requires when attacking them. Together we will do what Chaos needs us to do … for Him.”
Beyers held her breath and waited as the Chaos magic considered her words. The silence stretched for one minute, then two, and then …
“What is your will … Mistress?”
I reappeared in the bedroom I shared with Heather. It was early morning, still dark outside, and no real time had passed since Akomachi and I had left for the convocation. Still, my subjective time as a kitsune had made my fox form feel normal to me, and being human again was … awkward.
For a few seconds, I found myself balancing on my toes, my hands outstretched. I missed my tail …tails. Stifling a giggle, I kept my eyes closed until I could lower my heels to the floor, and then slowly brought my hands down to my sides. I took several deep breaths through my nose, and then shook my whole body like a dog coming in from a rainstorm.
Then I froze, concentrated, and reached inside myself to remember who I had been, and who I had become. The universe twisted, just for a moment …
… and I felt human again. Or at least as human as a half-kitsune can get and still look at herself in a mirror with pride.
‘One thing’s for sure,’ I thought with a grin. ‘Straddling this culture line is going to be a bitch.’
I slipped on a nightgown, climbed into bed, and tried to get a few more hours of sleep before I had to get up for school.
The key word in that last sentence, boys and girls, was “tried.”
I was hip-deep in REM sleep an hour later when I felt something intangible force tugging at my soul, dragging me out of a dream and into a wakefulness that was as sudden as it was absolute.
Something was very, very wrong.
“Evans Falls, Indiana, milady.” Leander’s voice in my head was sharp and clear. “I came ahead to assess the situation before waking you.”
“What’s happening?”
“Magic of unknown origin and type has been used to transform parts of the town, and harm several individuals.”
“Is the source of that magic still present?”
“I do not believe so. If it is still here, it is carefully hidden. All I can find is what it has left behind.” There was a small pause. “I am sorry, Becca. I did not wish to disturb you, but this town needs your help. I have not completely mastered undoing the spells of others, and this particular magic is … troubling.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there as soon as I’m dressed.”
I materialized next to Leander, hovering a few feet off the ground. I had chosen to wear what I planned to wear to school that morning — blue jeans, a light blue long-sleeved tee with a dark blue sweater over it, and white sneakers. My hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that trailed down my back, but bared my ears so my fox earrings glinted in the glow of the street lamps. Evans Falls was still dark, thanks to time zones, and the winter’s cold made me realize I should have brought a jacket.
Even as the thought crossed my mind, Leander handed me the coat I had left in the hall closet.
“I took the liberty, Becca,” she said as I shrugged into it. “You couldn’t know how cold it was.”
"Thank you. I keep forgetting that women feel the cold more than men do.”
"It's my job to protect you," she replied with a smile, "even against the elements, n'est pas?"
I smiled back, and glanced towards the town.
“Why did this magic trouble you?”
“Because it is unlike every other magic we’ve ever encountered.” Leander started towards the town, and I fell into step beside her. “Each spell is different, as if cast by someone using a totally unique school of magic. And the spells don’t seem to be connected, except that they feel ... completely different from each other. Does that make sense?”
“It might.” I had a theory, but I didn’t want to say it out loud. I didn’t want it to be right.
As we walked towards the center of town, I began to feel what I could only describe as a haze of conflicted magics surrounding us. I felt as if the air around me started to become heavier, and moving forward quickly became a chore. A quick glance at Leander showed that she was having the same trouble I was, and I stopped and leaned into her.
"It's either attracted to us and weighing us down by attaching itself to us somehow," I said softly, "or it's some kind of ambient magic residue from whatever happened here, getting in our way.”
"The latter, I think," Leander replied. "When I first arrived, something didn’t feel quite right, so I approached slowly and flew over the center of town. Some of the things I saw were massive manipulations of the reality we know. Transformations that large could easily have produced massive amounts of loose magic.”
“It would have to have been caused by someone with a lot of power to spare.” I put my hand out and felt the variety of magical energies around me. “Or maybe a group of magic users wandered through, each using a different spell to do something completely random, but limited in scope.”
“Or perhaps not so limited.” Leander pointed ahead. “Look.”’
Evans Falls was one of those towns that grew around a single road where all of its central services and stores were located. Predictably, it was called Main Street. Even though there were modern touches here and there, I could tell by the buildings that this town was old, roughly a hundred fifty years, give or take a decade. You could drop Aunt Bea from the old Andy Griffith Show into the center of town, and she'd feel right at home.
If she didn't notice the giant cupcake where the town's water tower used to be.
The first thing I noticed were the birds taking turns diving down and picking off pieces of the cake from around the edges. Several unlucky crows had accidentally landed in the vanilla frosting, and it had coated their wings and made it impossible for them to take off. Their plaintive cries only serves to make the scene even more strange, and I reached up and transported them to the ground near the fountain in front of the town hall, where they could at least try to get their feathers clean.
The town hall looked untouched at first, but then I noticed the bricks were not the usual red, but a dark tan, almost brown. The mortar that held them in place was a bright white. I looked over at Leander.
“Gingerbread?”
“Oui, pain d’épices.”
In front of the building was a giant Gingerbread man, about six foot tall. The expression on his face was a mixture of shock and horror, and drawn in white icing on his flat cookie body was a childish caricature of a police uniform.
I reached out with my magic to see if he was still alive somehow, and was rewarded with a wave of panic that felt like claustrophobia magnified a thousandfold. His soul was trapped inside the cookie his body had become, unable to move, talk, or even breathe, but still experiencing every minute. It was either profoundly sick in a "let's torture the mundane" sort of way, or whoever did this didn't give a damn whether someone was hurt or not. Either way, he or she was dangerous, and needed to be stopped.
I took a deep breath, and pulled a touch of the magic into me to try and analyze it. It was one of the skills I gained when I became the Advocate — the ability to reverse engineer spells cast by others — but as I felt my way through the spell, I wasn’t sure whether that particular skill would help me or not. The patterns were wild and twisted, like no other magic I'd ever encountered before. The spell worked its way through reality like a rope made from a thousand strands of DNA, each with its own unique code. At the same time, the rope felt more like a vine — not deliberately braided to a set pattern, but grown in an almost organic way, without thought.
That single touch told me my initial theory was correct, and my life had just become a hell of a lot more difficult.
Chaos had chosen a champion.
There was no simple way to untangle this spell, not from what I had seen so far. I needed to learn more about how it was made, so I pushed myself deeper into the magic. When I touched the panicking soul inside the hell his body had become, it wrapped itself around me and held me tight. If he was drowning and I was a lifeguard, we’d probably both be dead. As it was, I pushed as much reassurance through our connection as I could, and when he was calm enough, the questions began.
[who are you?]
[I am the Advocate. Think of me as search and rescue for people harmed by magic. I’m here to help.]
[I can’t move! I can't breathe! How the hell am I still alive?]
[Magic works with different rules. I know it's terrifying, but trust me, it’s a good thing. Since you’re still alive, I may be able to undo this and bring you back.]
I felt his hope rise and surround me. [can you really … help me?]
[I should be able to, but I’ll need to concentrate. So keep calm and let me see what I can do, okay?]
I reached out to Leander with my mind. “Watch my back. I am going to need to focus.”
“Understood, milady.”
I sank deeper into the spell, searching for the spell caster’s unique magic signature, but found nothing. At the surface level, everything appeared totally random, and yet was tightly woven and incredibly strong. This was such a massive contradiction, since the strength of anything built, magical or mundane, depends heavily on structure. So how did this particular caster create such a strong spell randomly?
I drew back, exhausted, and took a moment to reflect. The streetlights on Main Street had all become giant torches made of rough wood and cast iron, like in a medieval castle, but they burned continuously, obviously fueled by magic. I relayed my observations about the spell to Leander, and she tilted her head as she thought.
“The spell may appear strong,” she said, thinking out loud, “but creating anything that is meant to bind another in a random way must create flaws, and the flaws must become weak points.”
I nodded. “A diamond can be cut by looking deep into the stone, finding where its flaws are, and applying focused pressure to use them against the stone. You think I can do this with the spell?”
Leander gave a shrug that betrayed her French upbringing. “It is a plan of attack, milady.”
“And a good one.” I smiled up at her. “Wish me luck, I’m going in.”
“Bonne chance, Becca.”
I sent my magical perception into the Gingerbread man, this time ignoring the spell’s surface layers completely and pushing deep into the core of the enchantment. In the depths, I paused and slowly began to trace the spell’s base elements with my own magic, searching for the flaws I knew had to be in here, somewhere. I stretched myself thinner, and then thinner still, until I felt it.
A weak spot.
The caster’s magic had tried to protect itself, but it also knew that too much protection would have called attention to them, I gathered myself around that spot, then pulled back to see other places like it, scattered all around the core of the spell. With a powerful thought, I struck at the closest weakness, severing it and causing the core to begin to unravel. As the unraveling met other weak spots, I watched them snap of their own accord, and I pulled my perception back quickly as the entire spell collapsed under the weight of its own external strength.
The gingerbread man trembled, then seemed to melt into a three-dimensional form before resolving itself into a police officer. As we watched, however, the effect went further, leaping across to the town hall and undoing the same effect on it as well.
“Both spells must have been invoked at the same time,” I said, “so breaking the one actually broke both.”
The officer took a deep breath, then another. He smiled.
“I’ll never take breathing for granted again.” The officer reached out and shook my hand. “Thank you, Advocate. I’m Dave Brent.”
“You’re welcome, Dave,” I replied, giving his hand a squeeze. “This is my associate, Leander.”
She nodded at him, and I continued. “Unfortunately, our job’s not done yet. As you can see, the rest of Main Street and possibly the town has been hit as well. We have some work to do before the rest of the people wake up. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay close, try to calm anyone who might stumble over what’s been done.”
“You got it,” he said with a grin. “Happy to be doing my job again.”
Some of the buildings in the center of town had become two-dimensional, with windows and doors seemingly painted on a flat canvas. Others were still three-dimensional, but almost cartoonish. It didn’t look like it would take much to undo, until I saw motion at the end of the block.
A cow the size of a small panel truck wandered towards us, each step making the ground shake slightly.
Leander looked at me. “A giant cow?”
I shrugged. “It’s early morning. Maybe it used to be a milk truck?”
As it passed us, I could hear a muffled screaming coming from inside, and put the pieces together. “There’s someone trapped in there!”
“Probably the driver,” Leander said, moving toward the gigantic bovine. She tried to put her hand on its side, apparently to reassure whoever was inside, but the magic pushed her away. The harder she tried to touch the cow, the harder it became to reach. Oblivious, the cow stopped and continued to chew, bored disinterest reflected in its eyes.
"The spell changed the truck, but not the driver. Why?”
“Can you undo it, milady?”
“I untangled the last spell by going deep and finding a buried flaw. This cow is shielded somehow, so I can’t even touch it.”
Leander kept pushing at the shielding around it. “Why is the cow shielded when the building and Officer Brent were not?”
“Because whatever did this tried to turn the truck into a living thing.” I walked slowly around the cow, testing its barriers with my fingertips. “And that would be impossible for a creature of Chaos in our reality.”
Leander looked up at that. “Chaos has chosen its champion?” I nodded, and I watched as facts organized themselves behind her eyes.
“In this universe, Chaos cannot create life, since life itself reverses entropy,” she said, thinking out loud. “But this cow was shaped by pure chaos, and it refused to be denied. The result is a living contradiction — a paradox made flesh. Organized chaos.”
I nodded. “Exactly. But to do that here, it had to surround the cow with a wall that separates it from our reality. The cow has to exist in its own pocket dimension, or Chaos could not have created it.”
“So how do we get past the wall?”
“You were a warlord, five hundred years ago.” I grinned at her. “The tactics haven’t changed. How would you get past a wall?”
“Only three ways come to mind,” she replied, staring at the cow. “Over it, under it, or through it. And since the first two are clearly impossible, given that the castle we must overcome is a cow, we must employ the third.”
Leander stood back and drew her sword, but hesitated. Then she spoke, directly to the sword.
“Allaku, you are the strongest, most powerful weapon ever forged by magic.” The sword glowed brighter, and my champion nodded. “I would use you to break through this wall and free this man from his imprisonment inside this living nightmare, but there is a risk. When the wall is destroyed, encountering the chaos within could destroy you.”
Dave moved closer to me. “Is she talking to her sword?”
I shrugged. “It’s a complicated relationship.”
There were a few seconds of silence, then I heard a deep voice through my telepathic link to Leander.
‘Your concern for me is understandable, champion, but do not fear. Use me as you will. The wall will fall. I will survive.’
Leander nodded, then stood with the sword held high, both hands on the hilt. Officer Brent and I stood back, and she swung Allaku directly at its head.
There was a bright flash and a rush of wind that pushed us all back, followed by an instant of almost painful clarity that roared past us into the void where the cow once stood. And there in its place was a large white milk truck, as fit had always been there and always would. Kneeling between the front seats, a man in a milk company uniform was gasping for air. I cast a veil of invisibility on Leander and myself while Brent stepped forward.
“Hey, Jerry,” he said, using the ‘can I help you’ voice they teach at the police academy. “Are you okay?”
“Morning, Dave.” Jerry shook his head and pulled himself upright with a hand on the driver’s seat. “I just had a hell of a nightmare.”
“You sure did, and in the middle of Main Street.”
Jerry looked around. “Damn, I didn’t nod off while I was driving, did I?”
Dave smiled and shook his head. “No, you stopped the truck first and put it in park. It would have been better if you’d pulled over, too, but I’ll let it go because at least you had the sense to stop — and it’s not like anyone else is likely to be driving through the middle of town when you’re making deliveries, right?”
Jerry nodded, still looking sheepish. The police officer leaned towards him, and in a softer voice said, “But falling asleep like that isn’t normal. You might want to have Doc Phillips take a look at you, just to be safe.”
“Will do, Dave. Thanks for the help.” The milk man turned the key, started the engine, and shifted his truck into gear. we all watched him drive off to his next stop.
Leander looked at the sword, still in her hand. “How did you know you would not be harmed?”
‘When building something, order is always stronger than chaos.’ I heard the answer through our telepathic link. Allaku sounded almost smug. ‘But this spell was so fragile, it had to be protected by a wall of chaos just to keep reality from destroying it. When I breached the wall, the sheer weight of reality rushed in and crushed the spell, restoring the cow to its original form.’
I reached out with my power and touched everything in the town that had been changed. Although every spell used a different approach, none of them were like the spell on the milk truck. And nothing else that had been changed presented itself as a living thing.
“Leander?”
“Yes, milady?”
I watched the truck continue on its route. “Maybe Dave survived being turned to gingerbread because life is the very opposite of chaos. Whoever cast the spell clearly tried to kill him with magic, but his essence remained, even if it was trapped.”
Leander sheathed Allaku, concentrated for a few seconds, and then lifted into the air, her arms outstretched.
“Perhaps,” she replied, “but this is a conversation for another time. I can feel the town beginning to awaken. We should be as quick as we can, yes?”
“Agreed. You restore the water tower and I’ll deal with the torches. Whoever finishes first will continue down Main Street, fixing things until everything is as it once was.” She nodded and flew off towards the tower. I turned to our police escort.
“Officer Brent, can you go down to where the changes end and block off Main Street for a while, until we can finish?”
He touched the brim of his cap. “Sure thing, miss. You just let me know when you’re finished. And … thanks again.”
“No thanks needed, Dave. I’m happy we were here to help.”
Byers stood a long way off, watching the activities through a pair of high-powered binoculars she had liberated from a hunting store on Main Street. She had a suitcase full of clothes beside her, also stolen from a woman’s wear shop near the town hall. It took far too long for her to find suitable things for her to wear. Everything was too tight or bagged and sagged in the wrong places.
‘Apparently there is no middle ground with women’s clothing,’ she thought. ‘Either you wear things that cling to you like a drunken sailor clings to a whore after months at sea, or you look like a child dressed in her mother’s cast-offs. Pitiful.’
Choosing to look well put together had resulted in Byer’s new body being far too much on display for her tastes, but it was a better alternative than asking Chaos’s minion to dress her. At least her breasts were somewhat under control at the moment, although she had grumbled at the wasted time it took to find appropriate undergarments to tame them. Fitting herself for a bra had been a tiresome exercise, since the sizing system seemed to be a mystery cryptographers would have welcomed as a fine puzzle for a lazy Sunday morning.
Still, she had to admit the cursed thing did make her feel less like her own chest would choose to fight for the other side the next time she needed to engage her enemy.
And speaking of her enemy …
She watched the two of them undo a few of the things she had done, and saw how much time it took. Although she couldn’t make out much detail, they seemed to be the same two women who had caused her downfall in Las Vegas. She knew they were extremely powerful, but it appeared chaos magic challenged them, made them slow. Good.
Enslaving them both was going to be ... fun.
No Rules | Chapter 6
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This long-awaited sixth chapter in the sequel to No Obligation holds a few unexpected meetings, surprising discoveries, and a welcome rescue from the horrors of higher mathematics.
“The quality of mercy is not strained;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.”
— William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene 1
“All the great things are simple, and
many can be expressed in a single word:
freedom, justice, honor, duty, mercy, hope.”
— Winston Churchill
“A little bit of mercy makes the world less cold and more just.”
— Pope Francis
I was home in time to make it down to breakfast without anyone noticing my absence, except for Heather of course. She covered for me at the breakfast table, as sisters often do, and as we waited for the bus to school that morning, I filled her in on everything that had happened the previous night.
“Three tails?” Heather shook her head, keeping an eye on my brother the entire time. Not just because she loved him, but because this wasn’t a conversation either of us wanted to share. “I was just getting used to you having one once in a while. What does that feel like?”
“Strangely enough, it feels completely natural,” I replied, “although I’m not sure how they work, exactly. When I was there, I didn’t even think to look at how they were … connected? Attached? Part of me feels a little embarrassed about checking out that part of my anatomy, even though the kitsune inside me can’t figure out why the human is embarrassed at what is, after all, just a part of her.”
“And the chaos thing in Evans Falls?”
“I think Chao’s new champion needed to try out his or her power, and the town was a soft target.”
The bus pulled up, and we began moving towards the still-opening door.
“But why there?” Heather lowered her voice as we got closer to other students. “There are a lot of small towns out there, Becca. Why choose that one to play with?”
“I don’t know, but it’s a fair question.” She left me to sit with Jeremy, and I sat down in an empty seat, wondering what had happened to Amy. I started thinking about why that name of that town sounded so familiar. Where had I heard it before?
Just before the bus doors closed, Amy pounded up the stairs and pulled up short just before slamming into the bus driver. I caught her eye and smiled, and she made her way down the center aisle as the bus pulled away from the curb.
“Hey, Ames!” She threw herself into the seat next to me and pushed some hair out of her face.
“Hey, Becca! Hi, Heather!”
“Why so late? If there was a Miss Punctuality contest, you’d be wearing a tiara every day.”
“Funny! No, I just slept through the alarm. Weird dreams all night long. Not nightmares, exactly, just … odd.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why.”
“What kind of dreams? What was so odd about them?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” she replied. “In fact, I barely remember them. There were a few glimpses of flying foxes, and a small town at night, lit by giant torches. A gingerbread man and a giant cow. Other than that, it all sort of blurs together.”
Behind her back, Heather shot me a questioning look. I felt a shiver run down my spine.
“How could she do that?” she asked mentally.
“Some kind of magical leakage,” I replied. “Or maybe it’s a hidden talent that’s just begun to manifest.”
Heather thought for a moment. “Maybe it’s because she hangs with you? Could powerful magic be sorta like radiation?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll ask Mrs. Graymalkin.” I snuck a look at Amy as she looked out the windows on the other side of the bus.
“If she has skills, she could be part of the team.” I could hear the excitement in Heather’s mental voice.
“We’ll keep our eyes open, but I’d like to keep her out of the fight if we can.”
“Why?”
“The problem with building an army of friends is that eventually you’ll have to take them with you into battle.” I sighed. “And when armies go to war, soldiers die.”
“Is that why you keep what you do away from the rest of the family?”
I sighed. “Part of it. Would you put Jeremy in a magical conflict if you could avoid it?”
The bus pulled into the school, and everyone rose from their seat and headed for the door. I started to try and filter into the line when my purse slipped off of my shoulder and fell onto the bus floor. A few things spilled out, and I went to pick them up. By the time my bag was back where it belonged, almost everyone was off the bus, and I was the last person in line to leave.
I took the steps carefully, but when it came time for me to step onto the pavement …
… I found myself falling forward, tumbling down through a vast empty space, plummeting from an incredibly ridiculous height towards a floor that I knew would feel just as hard as it looked when I connected.
If I connected. Which, of course, I wouldn’t. After all, what kind of magical super girl would I be to just go splat after an entrance like that?
With a touch of concentration, I turned the tumbling into a controlled fall — my legs together, my arms outstretched and my hair streaming up behind me. My magic lifted me and slowed my descent, and eventually my toes brushed the rock floor and my feet settled, taking the weight of my body as they were designed to do. I wound up in a crouch with my hands up and fingers spread, ready to throw whatever I had at whoever brought me here.
Then I saw the smile.
Like the Cheshire Cat from Alice In Wonderland, the teeth appeared out of the darkness, and I suddenly knew where I was and who had taken me.
araNyamArjAra.
She was an ancient Cat Goddess, and my first real test as the Advocate. She had taken a group of teenagers to remake them as her children, and I had to get them back. This involved a personal duel that earned her respect and convinced her that humans were more than they appeared to be. In the end, we parted amicably — not exactly friends, but no longer enemies. I rose slowly to a standing position, as she moved forward into the shaft of light that came from above.
“Greetings, Advocate,” she purred at me. She sat on her haunches, her head tilted to one side, and looked at me through cat eyes in an overly large human face.
“I greet you, araNyamArjAra,” I replied. “This is an … unexpected pleasure, to be sure. Although my entry into your domain was a significant part of the surprise.”
“I have learned of something your human world calls nostalgia. Fond memories.” She smiled at me again. “I wished to evoke your memories of when we first met.”
‘When she snatched me from my home without warning,’ I thought, keeping myself well shielded. ‘I remember very nearly getting killed before I pretended to be a kitsune and accidentally bonded with Akomachi. Yes, fond memories.’
“Thank you for the thought,” I said diplomatically, giving her a smile in return. “What brings us together today, goddess?”
“I need your help.”
‘If I knew how, I’d raise an eyebrow. Not a very diplomatic response, but still something to look into. Maybe there’s a spell …’
Aloud I said “Of course I will help if I can, but I’m not sure what I can do. How can I help you, exactly?”
“As a teacher,” she replied, “as you have done in the past. I need to understand the concept of mercy.”
“I am not exactly an expert, goddess.”
She laughed, then, and shook her head. “Still so modest, and polite. Rare qualities for one with such power.”
“I try to keep who I am apart from what I can do,” I replied. “My magic is a tool, a means to an end, that’s all. Understanding that keeps me in control of the power, as opposed to the power controlling me.”
araNyamArjAra smiled. “That kind of wisdom is the reason I brought you to me today. After you won our duel, you could have taken my life or trapped me as a human girl. You did neither. Instead, you showed me that I still had all of my power and allowed me to use it. Then you restored my true form, even though you were not obligated to do so. I believe you know more about mercy than you think, Advocate.”
“Perhaps.” I nodded slightly, acknowledging her train of thought.
“I have been thinking of those pain demons, the ones who betrayed me.” She looked at me, her face emotionless again. “When I punished them, I acted out of anger and created an eternal hell for each of them. After … considering how you treated me, and my own regret at how I had treated your champion, Leander, I began to wonder if I should have been more … merciful?”
“Are you asking me, araNyamArjAra, or yourself?”
“Both. As a human who has shown me mercy, you are the closest thing I have to an expert on the subject. I took human children under your protection and turned them against the people they loved, intending to make them mine. Was mercy an appropriate response to the crimes I committed against your people?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“There was no reason to punish you for a mistake. You thought you were giving those girls a gift. You believed humans were weak — easily defeated, manipulated or controlled. I showed you that we were better than you thought. As a result, you agreed to show us the respect powerful beings owe to each other as a courtesy. I chose to do the same.”
It was my turn to smile. “And of course, it is always better to make a friend than it is an enemy.”
The expression on her face never changed, but I sensed her thinking about what I had said. “And what of the demons who feed on pain? In your judgment, was what I did to them ... wrong?”
I shrugged. “It was a different situation. They tried to destroy you after agreeing to protect you. They all broke their word, so they deserved to be punished.”
She kept looking at me, and I sighed.
“But yes, I think it was wrong. When it happened, I still had a grudge against the pain eaters, so I didn’t think much about it. But even before you punished them, I was starting to believe that anything that thinks and feels has the capacity to learn from its mistakes, goddess, even magical creatures like the pain eaters. You took that possibility away from them, just as you did with Leander. By putting each of them in a position from which they can never escape, you made the ability to learn and grow impossible. They can never be better than they were before, or are now.”
The Cat Goddess looked away, and I could feel her discomfort even as she tried to hide it. “What do you think I should have done? What do you think I should do?”
I pretended to think for a moment, although I already had an answer I thought she might like.
“Well, there is something you might try …”
I took that last step to the ground beside the bus and continued to move forward as if everything was as it should have been.
Heather grabbed my arm.
“What?”
She leaned over and whispered in my ear. “What happened to you?”
I could hear the tension in her voice. “The Cat Goddess wanted a word.”
“I could feel reality blur around you for an instant,” she said, “and even though it was so short that no one else noticed, I was still worried.”
“I love you too, Heather,” I replied, giving her a hug while we walked. “But stuff like this is going to happen from time to time. It’s probably part of the job description, if one was written down somewhere.”
“Maybe.” She leaned into my hug and sighed. “But you’re the first person who ever gave a damn about me. Just thinking you might be taken away without a warning and never come back … I don’t know if I can not worry about you when you disappear like that.”
I stopped and turned her to face me.
“Listen,” I said softly. “You know I’ll do my best to always come back, no matter what. That’s all I can offer, and I think it’s pretty good as guarantees go. So far, I haven’t run into anything I can’t handle.”
She nodded, and I continued. “But if, one day, my best isn’t good enough, I’m going to need you and Leander to defend the people we love, and maybe even the rest of the world. You need to have faith in me, and in yourself, because a lot of people are counting on us both. Okay?”
Heather thought for a second, and I could feel the tension in her shoulders ease.
“I’ll try,” she replied. “And like you always say, I’ll do my best ‘cause it’s the best I can do. But I don’t know if you get that most people aren’t like you. We don’t have your … I don’t know what it is. The thing that makes you keep going.”
We started walking again towards the school, still hugging.
“It’s just optimism, really. I refuse to admit that an intelligent person can’t find a way to win, if he or she thinks hard enough. Watched too much MacGyver as a kid, I guess.”
“MacGyver? Oh, wait, that guy with the mullet and the nice smile from the eighties?”
“Yeah, the one with the Swiss Army knife. They ran it a lot on cable for a while. One of the streaming services has it now, I think.”
‘Of course, when I first watched it, it was in first-run syndication,’ I thought, ‘but Heather never has to know that.’
“Whenever he got into a tight spot, he used his head to get out, along with whatever was around.” We walked into the school and down the hall towards our homerooms. “I think it’s part of what makes us human, and why we survived when other species didn’t.”
When we reached my locker, I started spinning the dial. “Cheetahs are faster, gorillas are stronger. Dolphins can swim … well, like a fish. Talented mammals.” I grinned, popped the door open, and took out a few books.
“I think humans are just like Swiss Army knives. We’re flexible, with the tools to handle situations with more than instinct and luck. Plus, we care enough about other humans to put ourselves in danger for them. I’d like to see a cheetah do that for another cheetah.”
“Not everybody does that,” Heather countered.
“True.” I shrugged and slammed the door shut. “Humans aren’t perfect. I never thought they were.”
“But after everything you’ve seen, how can put yourself out there the way you do? How can you still believe people are worth saving?”
“I have to. I am one, remember? If all humans suck, then so do I, and I’m not willing to admit that yet. So I’ve got to give everybody the benefit of the doubt.” We started walking again.
“Besides, look at you. Underneath all the anger and fear you used to carry around when you were Hunter, you were really a good person. You just needed a little saving, and a little love, and now here you are, helping me save others instead of hurting them to ease the pain.”
Heather stopped short, and her jaw dropped, just for an instant. I had to giggle, and when she heard that, her mouth snapped shut and formed a perfect pout.
“Sometimes, I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” I threw back over my shoulder as I walked through my homeroom door. “Not ever. And I love you too.”
“So, Chaos has chosen a champion. Not unexpected, but surprisingly efficient for a being dedicated to confusion and anarchy.”
Mrs. Graymalkin talked as Heather and I stretched that afternoon in her studio. I could almost hear her thinking through the ramifications of that statement.
“I do wonder how He chose this individual.”
“For … strong … magical ability?” For some reason, stretching took more effort than usual, but my mind was more on conversation than exercise. “That would be the logical way, but we both know Chaos shouldn’t be using logic at all.”
“That is true, Becca,” my teacher responded. “Under normal circumstances, a strong mage would be a formidable foe. But for Chaos, choosing a strong magic user would be a hindrance rather than a help.”
“Because Chaos magic is different,” I said. “It’s based on discord randomly woven into complex spells instead of a well-established structure.”
She nodded, a touch surprised. I shrugged. “I learned that in Evans Falls. It made each spell stronger and harder to undo at first, but even chaotically woven spells fall into patterns based on the world in which they are cast. By the time we were finished fixing what had been done, I became much faster finding the essential flaw in each spell.”
“Still, I can’t see Chaos choosing someone with random, chaotic thoughts to do His bidding.” Mrs. Graymalkin motioned for both of us to rise. “He could never be sure an insane Champion would work towards his goals.”
“Maybe He is counting on it, ma’am” Heather said, taking her position next to me. “I remember hearing about a chess master who lost to a brand new player because the newbie didn’t really know what he was doing. He knew how all the pieces moved, but not how to use them to play to win. The master didn’t know his opponent was new and kept trying to find a plan that wasn’t there. Maybe Chaos thinks Becca will be less able to fight someone if everything they do comes outta nowhere.”
“Out of, dear,” the teacher admonished as she walked around us, checking our posture. “Not ‘outta.’ The colloquial contraction may be more expedient, but enunciating properly helps others see how smart a young woman you are. And that observation of yours was very intelligent indeed.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Heather blushed.
“Still, I don’t believe Chaos would choose a Champion that had nothing to offer but the same unpredictability He already possesses.” Mrs. Graymalkin pursed her lips, then shook her head. “I am sorry, child, but I can’t see it.”
“I agree,” I said, walking it through in my mind. “I think He chose the opposite of an insane newcomer. He chose His Champion to give Him something He doesn’t have — knowledge of how we play the game to win. To Him, strategy is alien, an undiscovered country. Also, He is nothing if not contrary. He chose a grand master because it’s the exact opposite of what He should do as Chaos.”
“He chose an organized thinker to be true to His nature? To be … chaotic by choosing order?” Mrs. Graymalkin smiled. “Be careful, Becca. You’re starting to think like Him.”
I shrugged. “Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories.”
“Sun Tzu.” The older woman thought for a moment. “It is true, as far as it goes, but keep in mind the strategist also put knowing yourself before knowing your enemy. Often, people fall to overcome a challenge because they either overestimate their skills or doubt their abilities and motives.”
“Or they miss something they could have done that was staring them in the face the whole time,” I replied. thinking of the Cat Goddess and our conversation that morning.
“Also true, Becca. However, let us turn our minds to lighter pursuits. Today we will be exploring jazz dance …”
The little girl huddled under her covers after her parents had tucked her in. That’s how it had been ever since she arrived in Nairobi months ago. It had been months now, but even now she couldn’t sleep without a night light. Every time she tried, all of the many horrors her new brain could imagine would come slithering out of every shadow. She would often cover her face with a pillow and scream into it to keep anyone from hearing. The new girl did not want to maker her human parents angry, because she was afraid they would grow tired of being supportive and toss her into the street or the foster system.
‘Just another thing to be afraid of, to add to everything else in this miserable life,’ she thought, trembling at the idea of being alone in the darkened streets, prey for humans and demons alike. She shivered as visions of the many dangerous creatures she had met over the centuries rose up to taunt her.
‘Breaking an oath to a goddess ... What was I thinking?’ She had lost track of how many times she had regretted what she had done. ‘If I had known what was waiting ... how powerful she still was after she was changed, I would never have thrown in with my brothers, and would never have found myself here, like this.’
A lion roared in the Nairobi National Park, many miles away from her home, and the girl froze, imagining her fragile human body being ripped apart by the giant cat. When nothing pounced on her from the dark corner where her night light couldn’t reach, she slowly relaxed.
‘I don’t think I can bear too many more nights like this. Not that there’s anything I can do to stop it. She made it impossible for any of us to die.’
“That is no longer true.” A voice came out of the darkness. “You are now fully human, and can age and die, as they do.”
It was the Cat Goddess. The girl recognized her voice, and waited for the next spike of fear to overwhelm her. But it didn’t come, even though she knew she should be frightened.
“And you will no longer spend your days and nights afraid, child. I have taken that fear from you, and will never restore it.”
The African girl sat up slowly, to find a smaller version of araNyamArjAra sitting at the foot of her bed.
“Th ... Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she gazed at the goddess.
araNyamArjAra nodded once, her tail waving gently in the air behind her.
“I have a … proposition for you,” she said. “It will be difficult, but if you succeed, the rewards would be beyond the limitations of your dreams.”
In spite of herself, the ex-demon was intrigued. To deal with this goddess again would be tempting fate, but at the same time, She had ended at least part of her punishment, and that meant her anger had lessened over time.
“What would you have me do, Goddess?” She spoke softly, not wanting to wake her parents. “You know the limitations of this human form. What can I do for you, like this?”
“Learn what it means to be truly human,” araNyamArjAra replied. “Become the girl you are now, and grow to be the woman you could be. Embrace the best of humanity and learn from it.”
“Learn? Learn what?” The girl tilted her head, confused.
“Love. Kindness. Friendship. Compassion.” The cat goddess captured the girl’s gaze with her own eyes and held her. “Duty. Honor. Commitment. All the things that make humans worthy of being seen as more than prey. That is all I want. For you to become the best human you can be.”
“Why?”
“Because it is your first step on the path to becoming more than what you were. To becoming worthy of what I offer.” araNyamArjAra padded around to the side of the bed, and sat again. “Before, you preyed on humans, living off of the pain of their existence. Now, as a human, you have the chance to experience more than the selfishness and hunger that was all you had as a demon, and explore the pleasures and obligations these other qualities bring.”
“This sounds like both a goal and a reward for me,” the girl said slowly, her mind spinning. “Forgive me, but how does this benefit you?”
araNyamArjAra blinked, and paused for a moment.
“I have no children,” she replied, the barest hint of sorrow in her voice. “I am alone, and as things stand, my people will not continue beyond me. I wish to change that. If you truly become the kind of human I wish you to be, you will have learned enough to be worthy of becoming my child. When the time is right, I will transform you and raise you as my own, and you will one day become a goddess like myself. You will have both power and the wisdom to wield it properly, and I will have a child to love and care for. We will both benefit ... if you agree.”
“And … the others?”
The cat goddess smiled and shook her head. “I have lived a very long time — long enough to know not to place all my faith and trust on a single chance when the future of my kind is at stake. No, little one, all of those I punished will be given the chance you are being given. I do not expect them all to embrace this goal. I only expect them to try. I do, however, hope that you will succeed.”
The little girl shook her head. “Goddess, I am nothing special. Why place your hopes on me?”
“Because of your name, child. The name the universe chose for you when it placed you here.” araNyamArjAra nodded as she began to fade. “Good luck ... Mercy.”
Byers sat in a Starbucks off the Vegas Strip, sipping on a beverage she wouldn’t have touched only a few weeks before. It was a drink so sweet and foamy she could barely recognize it as coffee, but after trying it black the way she used to drink it, she settled on this corrupted version. She had to. Her new tastebuds seemed to enjoy it, even if the rest of her didn’t.
‘Damn this body,’ she thought, delicately sipping through a tiny straw. ‘It’s almost more trouble than it’s worth, even if it is infinitely better than the bitch those women turned me into. I need to figure out a way to regain my manhood. If only the Chaos minion wasn’t so hard to manipulate.’
“Hey, that’s quite a frown,” a voice came from above her. “Why are you so mad at such an innocent little latte?”
She raised her eyes upward to find a tall, well-built stranger looking down at her. He seemed to be in his mid-twenties, with tousled back hair and a muscular body that made parts of her body react in a way that made her squirm in her seat. Trying to master her unwanted lust, she was just about to shut him down and send him away when part of her paused, sensing an opportunity.
This had possibilities. He had possibilities.
“The drink is only part of it,” Byers replied slowly, shaking her head as looked up into the stranger’s grey eyes. “I’m upset about a larger problem, and I’m not sure how to solve it. Or even if it can be solved. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me. You might be surprised. I’ve got a few minutes, and I hate to see a damsel in distress. Besides, troubles shared are troubles halved, as my mom used to say. May I?” He touched the seat across from her, and she nodded, her mind racing. “I’m Paul.”
“Rey … Rachel.” She threw him a smile. It was close enough to her old name, and it would do for as long as she needed it.
“So what’s wrong, Rachel?”
“It’s … it’s my body, Paul. I hate it!” She spoke with such disgust, but it was easy to do. It was true. She did hate it.
“Hate it? Why? You’re beautiful!”
“No I’m not. My hips are huge, and my chest is so big, I feel like a cow sometimes. And the rest of me … my legs are so long and my arms so skinny, I’m like a stick figure. I feel so weak!” She looked down, and her lower lip quivered, as if she was about to cry.
‘About time some of these absurd reflexes started working for me,’ she thought.
“Hey, don’t talk like that!” He reached out and touched her hand. “You’re perfect, just as you are.”
“I knew you couldn’t understand,” she said, putting a touch of sadness in her voice. “You’re a man. You just don’t know.”
He looked confused, and Byers remembered something she’d overheard one of the chorus girls ranting about in the dressing room a few weeks ago. It was perfect – just what she needed.
“Nobody spends millions of dollars telling you what you’re supposed to look like,” she went on, looking down into her cup. “All the fashion magazines … the TV commercials …” She waved her arms vaguely. “The whole world has been yelling at me for years, belittling me, making me feel like there’s just too much of me to be … perfect. And they’re right. Everybody says so.”
Paul’s hand wrapped itself around hers and squeezed. “Well, don’t listen to them, Rachel. You’re a beautiful woman. Embrace it. Own it. And don’t let anyone tell you anything different.”
Byers looked up, her eyes glistening with tears. “You think so?”
Paul nodded. “I know so.”
She stood up suddenly, pulling him to his feet. Moving to the side of the table, she stepped forward and pressed her body into his, ignoring the heat that rose when she felt his warmth against her skin. His arms rose reflexively and surrounded her.
“Do you really think I’m beautiful?” Byers whispered into Paul’s ear, laying her head on his shoulder. She felt him nod, even as his erection pushed against the fabric of his jeans and into her thigh, and she moved her leg just a bit to stroke it suggestively through the cloth. “Do you really like my body?”
“Oh, yes …” He half-moaned, his arms tightening slightly around her.
“Do you …” She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Do you want to be inside me?”
He nodded again.
“Really?” Byers surrendered to a small smile, tilting her head back so she could see his face. Paul looked back, the desire pouring from his eyes. He nodded a third time.
‘The rule of threes,’ she thought happily. ‘Makes a spell that much stronger. Not that Chaos magic needs it, I suppose, but old habits die hard.’
“Well, I love your body, too,” she purred, savoring the triumph. “Let’s trade.”
She felt the Chaos demon’s joy rush through her an instant before Byers found himself looking down at his former body from a new perspective. The desire in Paul’s eyes quickly gave way to confusion as she realized something had changed, and she tottered for a moment trying to get her balance on those absurd heels.
‘Wha … what happened?” Byers took a step back as Paul reached up and touched her throat. Her arm pressed against a breast and she looked down, shocked.
“We traded, baby. You wanted that body, wanted to be inside me. Well, now you are.”
“But .. but I … I didn’t … I don’t want this. I don’t want this!” Still looking down, Paul started to tremble all over, and tears started to fall. Byers reached up and touched her chin, pushing her head back until she faced him.
“Shhhhh, girl. It’s okay. Remember what you told me?” Byers grinned widely. “You’re a beautiful woman now. Embrace it. Own it. And don’t let anyone tell you anything different.”
He looked at Paul’s watch, then looked back into her eyes. “Got to run, tits. Worlds to conquer, empires to build. You know the drill. Or maybe not, not anymore. After all, they say it’s a man thing.”
The magician turned and left the coffee shop, not looking back. The woman looked after him, tears running down her cheeks, crying silently.
It was just after dinner and I was doing my best to untangle the kind of math I had never had to deal with the first time I was in high school, all those years ago. I have been told that mathematics uses logical rules, like magic, but I still haven’t managed to figure out what they are — at least not well enough to get a decent grade in calculus.
“Becca.”
I looked up, recognizing Leander’s mental voice.
“I have been running the globe program since I woke up, looking for Chaos magic. There was a flare a few moments ago that looked the same as the spell working we found in Evans Falls.”
“Where was it?”
“Las Vegas.”
I had an epiphany, and all of the pieces suddenly snapped into place. There was one person I had recently punished, a powerful and experienced sorcerer. When I had delved into his memories to determine his crimes, I had brushed past his birthplace with scarcely a pause, since his magical abuses began long after he had left it for parts unknown.
Evans Falls.
Reynard Byers. That was his name. He had become the champion of Chaos, and naturally, being a ego-driven malevolent jerk, the first thing he did was go back to his old home town to show them how the local boy made good — and get in a little target practice. Now he was back in Las Vegas, with power to burn and a score to settle. With me.
I had to face him again, on his home turf.
And this time, I was pretty sure that what was going to happen in Vegas wouldn’t stay in Vegas.
No Rules | Chapter 7
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This long-awaited seventh chapter in the sequel to No Obligation pulls our heroine and her Champion to Las Vegas, to try her luck and skill against a familiar foe with a new love of body snatching.
“How I wish that there were more
Than the twenty-four hours in the day
'cause even if there were forty more
I wouldn't sleep a minute away
Oh, there's black jack and poker and the roulette wheel
A fortune won and lost on ev'ry deal
All you need's a strong heart and a nerve of steel
Viva Las Vegas, Viva Las Vegas”
— Elvis Presley, Viva Las Vegas
“I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But that's not the shape of my heart”
— Sting, The Shape of My Heart
We arrived in Las Vegas just a few minutes from dusk, only a few feet from where the chaos magic had been invoked. I had cloaked us both with a variant of the "don’t notice me" spell the Arbiters used so long ago, when my journey to becoming the Advocate had begun. It had only been a few months, but it seemed like forever.
We were in a medium-sized Starbucks, half full of customers. Thanks to corporate standards, it looked about as normal as anything could look this close to the Vegas strip. Immediately in front of us, a woman sat alone in a booth by the windows, tears pouring silently down her cheeks. I could clearly see the glow of residual chaos magic shimmering around her, and I knew Leander could see it, too.
"I’m dropping the appearance spell," I said, as unheard as I was unseen by anyone in the coffee shop. "Two showgirls in glitzy gowns aren’t going to make her feel safe."
Leander nodded. "Agreed. But we cannot just be ourselves. We need a simpler illusion. It should be something closer to how we truly appear, but not close enough to provide clues to our adversaries. This could very easily be a trap, and we cannot allow Byers or Chaos to track us back to friends and family."
I closed my eyes and created a new spell that made me look like a college-aged Latina woman, and Leander as a pretty African-American woman, tall and model thin. Then I let the "don’t notice me" spell fade slowly, so as not to startle her. Her subconscious mind would register that we had been there the whole time.
"What’s wrong?" I asked, as I slid into the seat opposite hers. Leander stood behind me, scanning the space outside of the shop and waiting for Byers to attack.
The woman turned and looked at me, still not quite there.
"She is in shock." I reached out and took her hand. It was ice cold and trembling, and I could feel the magic clinging to her skin. "Whatever happened to you, we’re here to help."
She shook her head. "You can’t help me. Nobody can. It’s … impossible."
"It can’t hurt to let us try, can it?" I gave her a small smile. "I know someone did something to you, something so unbelievable that you’re running away from it inside your mind. But I need you to tell me, okay? The walls you put up in your head are too strong. You’re closed up tight inside, trying to hide, and I can’t even try to fix it until I know what ‘it’ is.”
After a minute, she looked down and shuddered, all over.
"Rachel … this woman," she whispered, one hand motioning towards her chest. "She stole my body, and left me trapped in hers."
I felt her defenses lowering slowly, as she began come to grips with the reality of what had happened. I replayed the whole situation from her point of view, sharing it with Leander through our connection.
"You’re Paul, right?" She nodded, a little confused, and I gave her hand a squeeze. "I’m the Advocate, and this is Leander. It’s our job to help people like you, harmed by magic users like … like Rachel."
"How?" Another tear rolled down her cheek. "How can you help me?"
"Do you think she’s the only one in the world with magic?" I released her hand and brought my two hands together, palms up. With a small application of will, a tiny fiery unicorn appeared, staring at her with sullen eyes, as if it being on fire was an affront to its very nature.
I sustained the illusion for a few seconds, then let it fade. "We’re here to stop her. To get your body back, and your life along with it. It’s what we do, okay?"
She looked in my eyes, took in a deep breath, and nodded. "What can I do to help?"
When she said that, the part of my soul that channelled strategy and tactics from ten thousand years of human conflict started spinning, working out possible permutations of the conflict to come, and I smiled.
"Right now, I need you here with us and as calm as you can be," I replied, giving her a smile. "We’ve got this."
I stood up and walked over to Leander.
"It is Byers," my champion said aloud, her disgust evident. "He is out there now, in this man’s body. Merde."
I nodded.
"We don't know if Byers realizes what he's done," I answered telepathically. "He might have just wanted to be male again. But we're in an unexpected hostage situation. We can’t hurt Byers directly without hurting Paul’s body."
"And we cannot reverse the spell he used to take it unless we know it is safe to do so," Leander replied, mind to mind. "Byers could be a thousand feet above the city right now. Putting Paul back where he belongs could lead to a dead innocent, since the magic Byers is using is most definitely not connected to his physical form."
"I don’t see how it could be. Back when we first stopped him, I took his ability to cast spells and use magic away."
"But he is using magic now." Leander walked to the window and looked out into the coming night. The neon on the strip was beginning to light up, one sign at a time, by photoelectric cells tripped by the oncoming darkness. "That much is clear. It is chaos magic, but still magic. How?"
"I don’t know. If it’s chaos magic, he shouldn’t be able to bend it to his will at all."
"Agreed," my champion said, her lips tightening. "Humans are living examples of order triumphing over chaos. Trying to channel and command chaos magic? The conflicting forces would rip him apart in an instant."
"We’ll figure out the how later." I walked over and stood next to my champion again. "Right now, we need to find him and hold onto him long enough to get Paul’s body back."
"We need to find him, to be sure, Rebecca," Leander said aloud, "but could we not just change the body Paul is in to reflect his true nature? Much simpler than trying to catch Byers without hurting him, yes?"
"Maybe, yes," I replied, "but we just went over why it’s a better idea to get Paul his original body back."
Leander's eyes narrowed, and I continued. "Who knows how much of a magical construct that female body is? We know it's not the same body Byers wore before I crafted his punishment. It might belong to some innocent woman he trapped in that dog’s body he was in. It might even be a gift from Chaos, and just as much a chaotic construct as the cow he created from that milk truck in Evans Falls. What if I try to pick the locks on the magic holding that body together, only to have it dissolve into the aether and take Paul's soul along with it?"
I looked out into the city. Las Vegas was like a temple to the very concept of chaos. People’s lives were changed by a roll of the dice or the spin of a wheel. Fortunes were gained or lost, not by skill or intellect or sheer force of will, but by the sheer perversity of the universe. It wasn’t completely chaotic — people could choose to come here, and the laws of nature still dictated how dice would roll or what number the roulette ball would land on — but it was close enough.
No wonder the place made my skin crawl.
"That is not the only reason you hate this city." Leander spoke softly behind me.
"Was I thinking out loud?"
"No, no, Becca. More like thinking too loud."
I smiled. "Apologies. A very bad habit."
"You do not like Vegas because you believe it brings out the worst in people. And you like people."
I stopped to consider my next words. "Las Vegas is like a giant predator, hunting the people I'm supposed to protect. It's an enemy I can't fight, because it offers them an easy way to get what they need to survive. People need safety, security, and protection. Here and now, security means having money, and Vegas gives them the fastest way to get it — if they’re willing to take a chance and roll the dice."
"And this is wrong?"
"Taking the easy way in life has its own risks. If you rely entirely on luck, you never learn to rely on yourself when it comes to overcoming challenges or getting what you want. You come to depend on the universe cutting you some slack, and that’s not the rule, it’s the exception. The best of humanity makes its own luck, and that’s a skill people need to learn."
My champion tilted her head. "So, my lady, let us make our own luck. How to we find our prey in a sea of chaos?"
I considered the problem, watching the pedestrian traffic grow as the light faded.
"Let’s think about this from his point of view. He went back to Evans Falls to punish the city he left a hundred years ago because it wasn’t big enough for his ambition. I’m thinking he came back to Las Vegas to take back the city he thinks I took from him. Sounds about right?"
Leander nodded. "But he must know that you could easily take it away from him again."
"Maybe. Or maybe he thinks he can defeat me with chaos magic and wants the chance to try."
"Considering the kind of man he was, that makes sense. It could even be why Chaos chose him as his champion. The two of them share a common enemy. You."
"So if that’s true, if he wants to take me down, he won’t want to hide. He’ll want me to find him. Problem solved."
"Byers will light up the night like a signal fire," Leander said as she smiled, "hoping you will fly into it eagerly, like a besotted moth, and burn."
"To paraphrase Harry Callahan," I replied, smiling in return, "a girl has to know her limitations. I may be good, but I’m still a rookie when it comes to fighting chaos. When he sets his ‘fire,’ we’ll go in slow and as ready as we can be."
"And the … hostage situation?"
I thought for a few seconds, then smiled slowly. "Let’s take a closer look at what put Paul in that body … and what it’s going to take to get him out. Then we'll see just how good an escape artist Reynard Byers really is."
Byers hovered over Las Vegas, held aloft by the winds of Chaos, and gloried in his newly recovered maleness. He loved the feel of his new body, the hardness that surrounded him instead of that accursed softness. And knowing that he'd stolen it from a weak man with too much compassion and too little common sense made him almost giddy.
"Predator and prey!" He shouted down at the city he had called home for decades. "Survival of the fittest, nature's golden rule. He didn't deserve to be a man. Now she's prey. Maybe after a while, I'll look her up and show her exactly what it means to be a woman."
"You'd have to know what it means to be a woman before you could show Paul anything, Reynard," a voice said behind him. "And I’m afraid that level of empathy is way outside your comfort zone."
He spun in mid-air and saw a small Latina woman floating a short distance from him.
"Impressive glamour, Advocate," he said, smiling. "But not good enough to fool me."
"It's not meant to. It's an effective mask, that's all."
"A meaningless mask now. I saw you as you truly are in Evans Falls. Barely more than a child. Very lazy of you to expose yourself that way."
"About as lazy as you were to launch a magical assault on a place I knew from your past." The Advocate shook her head. "After living so long, to be so careless? Or do you consider yourself so powerful now that none can challenge you and win?"
Byers threw back his head and laughed. “You took away my magic, supposedly forever, turned me into a bitch in heat, and set me loose to suffer for who knows how long. Yet here I am, free and alive, human and male, and with magic again. If someone here is winning, it certainly isn’t you."
"If this was a game, which it is not, we would still be playing," she replied, her voice carrying easily across the sky between them. ”And even though I hate Las Vegas with a passion, I know it’s bad luck to count your chips at the table before the last card is dealt.”
“You have spirit, I’ll give you that. I look forward to taking it away from you before I make you my slave.”
The Advocate smiled softly. “Big talk, Reynard. Aren’t you supposed to be a man of action? A predator? Why don’t you show me your teeth and claws? Or do you plan to monologue me into submission?”
“Her hubris knows no bounds,” Byers thought, his anger rising. The rogue mage reached out to his chaos demon with a mental command. “Bind her!”
He felt the bolts of chaos energy reach out to her small form, only to stop a few feet from her and swirl impotently around her. A second set of bolts joined the first, forming a hazy sphere of pure chaos around her.
“The problem with chaos energy is that it resists being told what to do.” The girl looked at him through the aurora borealis effect, her eyes smiling. “It doesn’t like to be commanded to do anything, so it’s already only half-committed to your plan no matter what it is. However, like a raging river, its power doesn’t mind being channeled — especially if the path you send it down feels random enough to be natural.”
“You may have captured it, Advocate,” Byers replied evenly. “But it has also captured you. You cannot command or control it either, so you are trapped in your pretty bubble.”
“I don’t need to command it. I just need to set it free and give it a path of least resistance to follow. Just like a river.”
The sphere reshaped itself, extending a funnel above her and allowing the glowing mass to escape into the sky.
“In about five seconds, give or take, a Russian spy satellite is going to get the worst set of systems failures in their space program’s history.”
“Hit her again!”
The energy shot towards her, and the same thing happened.
"Again!" He screamed into the night. Another deflection.
"You do realize that doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result is a textbook definition of insanity," the Advocate said, her voice irritatingly calm. "Ever tried therapy, Reynard?"
"I may not be able to touch you, Advocate," he replied, gritting his teeth, "but the people you protect? That's something else."
He raised his voice and threw his arms wide. "Go wild! Make this city yours!"
A few feet away, a flare of chaos energy coalesced into a sphere similar to the one surrounding his adversary. Darting back and forth inside, a single stream of power bounced fitfully against the walls, the light inside become brighter and brighter.
Byers turned to the Advocate, confused. She smiled at him and drifted closer to the sphere.
“I knew you could not wield magic, especially chaos magic. So Chaos must have given you access to someone who could. So every time your ... friend struck at me, I used the trajectory of its attack to note its position. And of course, it's just as easy to throw a shield around your ally as it is to throw one around me. Only now it's become a trap — powered by the demon itself."
The sphere began to shrink until it was the size of a basketball. The Advocate balanced it on her fingertips for a moment, and tossed it upwards with a casual wave of her hand. It rose quickly, gathering speed until it disappeared from view.
"It might escape eventually, if it stops to think things through and realizes it's using its own power to imprison itself. Although that kind of thinking involves … well, order. Reasoning in a straight line is not going to be its strong point. So it could take a while. Maybe by the time she reaches Jupiter.”
"You're lying," Byers said, suspicion coloring his tone. "If you captured her, why am I still aloft?"
"Because I'm using my magic to stop you from falling." The infuriating woman smiled wider. "Otherwise, you'd be heading for what used to be the Sands Hotel at thirty-two feet per second squared."
"You are a fool," the ex-mage said, his tone sharp. "Keeping an enemy of my strength and experience alive? Smarter to let me fall."
"Not while you're wearing Paul's body," she replied evenly. "Although even if you weren’t, I’d still be reluctant to just kill you. I tend to think of redemption first. Anything else is a waste of resources.”
Byers laughed before he could stop himself. ‘How could she be so stupid?’
"You're human," the Advocate said simply. “Every human has the potential to change. You may never live up to it, but it’s there nonetheless. I need to be true to who I am, so you don’t get to die today, despite all of the pain you’ve caused.”
Byers sneered, his disgust rising up. “Rules. Your kind are always tying yourself up, limiting your own power when you could be a god.”
“Godhood is overrated. Too much responsibility, no downtime. I prefer being me.” The irritating woman shook her head. “Just as Paul prefers being himself. Leander?”
Suddenly, the world around Byers blinked, and he found himself sitting in a familiar booth, looking at the world through a pair of familiar eyes.
He was a she again.
There was a blurring of the space across from her, and the Advocate appeared with the body Byers had stolen beside her.
"And yes, rules limit us," the bitch said, continuing as if nothing had changed. "That's what they're for. Laws keep us all safe. Rules keep us civilized. Even good manners make life a little sweeter. Say what you want about political correctness, but simply being polite goes a long way to avoid everyone wanting to feast on the blood of their enemies. You really should try it."
Byers opened her mouth, but found she had nothing to say. She was once again trapped in this accursed body, imprisoned and powerless. There was no threat she could utter that she could possibly make manifest, so her words meant nothing. The Advocate smiled.
"Now there's the first bit of wisdom you've shown today. If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.”
The ex-mage was silent for a moment, waiting for Chaos to step in and support His champion. When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, he sighed.
"So, back to the streets again?"
"I'm not sure what that would accomplish," the Advocate said. "Did you learn anything from the experience?"
"Nothing I didn't already know," Byers replied, eyeing the woman in front of her with a tentative curiosity. "Suffering is to be endured until it can be overcome. Anything else is weakness."
"Your mentor taught you that?"
"Among other things." She gave the Advocate a humorless smile.
"So suffering teaches you nothing, except how to endure?”
“What else is there?”
“Have you ever heard the expression, ‘to understand someone you must walk a mile in their shoes?’”
Byers snorted. “I don’t need to understand someone to control them. For all their posturing, humans are still animals, manipulated by the same tools used to control a dog or a cow. Carrot and stick, pleasure and pain. The proper use of power.”
The Advocate turned to the man beside her. “Is there somewhere you need to be, or should I just send you home?”
The man smiled. “Home is fine. Thank you for your help today.”
“Just doing my job, Paul. But you’re welcome.” The Advocate smiled back. “Just focus on home and I’ll do the rest. But when you get there, take a little time to get back to yourself. What happened today was traumatic. Just focus on getting comfortable in your own skin again, okay?”
Paul nodded and closed his eyes. Reality shifted and he was gone.
“You’re all about power and control.” Once again she continued the conversation as if there had been no interruption, and Byers watched as a frozen drink appeared in front of her adversary. "That is a philosophy based on fear. What are you afraid of, Reynard?"
"I fear nothing."
"If that is true, you are ignoring a valuable survival tool.” The Advocate took a sip of her drink. “But I know you’re wrong. The answer to my question is obvious. You are afraid of being overpowered and of losing control, to anyone. Which means that at one point or another, you were in that very position, and it was so painful that you want to make sure you never wind up in someone else’s power again.”
“What makes you think you know me at all?”
“I walked through your head, remember?”
"If that's true, you made a terrible mistake, Advocate." Reynard smiled slowly. "You took exactly the wrong approach towards my ... rehabilitation. You put me in a position where I was powerless and had no control."
"To show you what it was like," she replied, nodding. "But of course you already knew, and the memory was buried so deep, I didn't see it the first time. I made assumptions about why you did what you did, and I should have known better. I’m sorry.”
“Your apology changes nothing, woman. I don’t believe people are any better now than the ones who abused me as a child. I can’t. I have experienced that truth first hand, and there is no way you could possibly convince me.”
I looked at Byers, smug and undefeated, and shook my head.
“You’re right,” I said softly. “I don’t see a way to convince you. But at the same time, you’re completely wrong. And the way you’re wrong is so much a part of who you are, I’m not sure how to make you see it. You’re broken, but strangely whole, like a fine china cup that someone decided to glue back together as a porcelain softball made of nothing but sharp edges. I can't dissolve the glue, but even if I could, how can I even start to put the cup back together the way it should be?”
I sighed. “Hell, it’s not even my job to fix you, it’s yours. But you don't even remember what you were like before you were broken. Hell, you think everyone else is just as broken as you are. You’re absolutely sure everyone in the world is a dangerous sharp-edged softball pretending to be a cup, just waiting to cut you when you touch it.”
“I know it’s the truth because I’ve lived it.”
“And I know it’s not true,” I replied, “because the truth I’ve lived is nothing like the one you’ve lived.”
Byers snorted. “For all your power, you are young. You know nothing about how the world truly is.”
I caught her eyes and held them with mine. “I’m a lot older than I look, and I’m pretty sure I know more about real life than you ever will. When I took this job, they put entire libraries of information about how the multiverse works inside my head. But that’s not why I know more. Truth is, I lived for more than four decades as a man before I became the Advocate.”
“A man? You were a man?”
I nodded. “Husband and father. That’s how I know the world isn’t as corrupt as you believe it to be. But convincing you it isn’t … I’m not sure I know how.” I stood up. “I need more time to work this out. And I need you somewhere you can’t cause any harm until I do.”
“You should kill me.” Byers rose from her seat and moved to stand across from me.
“You may be right. Occam’s Razor says the simplest solution is most often the right one. But I know enough to know that not every problem is solved by violence. Many can be, but more often than not, it just makes things worse.”
“That’s why I’m going to take you off the board for a while, Reynard. I’m going to put you somewhere Chaos can’t find you, where time moves very slowly. You’ll still be conscious and awake, which is why I’m giving you something to think about while you’re gone.”
“You think your knowledge of magic makes you stronger, because you deny all the things you see as weaknesses. You see love, compassion, and empathy as flaws, because they punch holes in the walls you have created to keep you safe. You think your walls are solid, and unbreakable.”
I gestured at her, and Byers rose into the air, floating a foot above the floor. I walked over to her, raised a finger, and gently pushed her shoulder. She began spinning slowly, and her arms flailed as she tried to make herself stop.
“But your walls have no anchors. As strong as you can make them, they can be pushed aside easily, because they are connected to nothing. The things you think make us weak actually provide us with the connections we need to be strong.”
“If I’m threatened, Leander will be there to help me. Any of my friends will be. Because we are connected by our commitment to each other, and to our mission. But I captured you easily because you are a wall that stands alone. Chaos will not save you because He has no real connection to you. You are nothing but a convenient tool to Him, and you have already failed him. And since He doesn’t believe in anything but destruction, how could He possible build anything that could stop me — especially with a tool as damaged as you?”
I reached up and stopped her rotation.
“You’re smart, Reynard. Think about how easy it was for me to defeat you, and how easy it would have been for me to kill you. Then think about why I didn’t. Here’s a hint. It has nothing to do with weakness.”
I held my hand up and watched her disappear.
I appeared inside my room, alone. For some reason, I felt very, very tired. Even though catching Byers and fixing his predations wasn’t exactly a challenge, I felt burned out on an emotional level. And I thought I knew why.
Some people are easy to help. They want to do better, to be better. But Byers had spent his entire life believing the universe is a battlefield where only the strong survive. His idea of being better was winning at a zero sum game, subjugating everyone else to his will, and he would do whatever it took to rise to the top and protect his own power.
His relentless pursuit of absolute control to keep him safe from any who might threaten him was a direct challenge to my own belief in optimism as a survival trait, and to my commitment to the idea that if given a chance, people would choose a positive path. Byers had been pushed to embrace this world view by those who had chosen it before him — first his parents, then his mentor. They had convinced him by hurting him over and over again until he channeled his own anger and hate into confronting and overcoming them.
They had created a living weapon, driven only by a lust for power and disgust for every emotion that made humans better than savages. He’d been this way for a hundred years. How could I possibly undo a century of experience learning that might makes right and emotion was a weakness? Was redemption even possible for Reynard Byers, or was any effort doomed to failure before it even began?
I honestly didn’t know. That’s why I put him in that pocket universe, to buy myself some time to think. Plus, leaving him free would give his Chaotic servant the chance to reunite with him and start wreaking havoc again, putting innocents at risk.
‘Speaking of Chaotic servants,I really should release the one I sent away,’ I thought, laying down on the floor and staring at the ceiling. ‘It may never figure out how to get free of that trap on its own, and I don’t want to think about dooming any entity to spending forever shooting through the cold darkness of space.’
I reached out with my mind and released it from its cage. It had barely reached the asteroid belt, and it launched itself back towards Earth the instant it realized it was free. It wouldn’t find Byers, not where I had hidden him, and I wondered how Chaos would deal with his champion disappearing from the field of battle. ‘How well does He understand cause and effect,’ I wondered, ‘and what will happen when His demon tells Him about what it witnessed in the sky above the city?’
I sat up and looked over at my bed, thinking that curling up and taking a nap would work well for me. Alas, even though it was already night in Las Vegas, it was almost dinnertime here. Sitting around the table with family sounded like a terrific way to pull myself back from my musing about Byers and rejoin the normal human world for a while.
Or so I thought. A part of me wasn’t sure I wanted any level of human contact, which really wasn’t like me. I think of myself as a people person most of the time, meaning that being with others energized me. But being with someone as dysfunctional as Byers had tired me out in such a fundamental way that I wasn’t sure I could interact with another individual.
“You are thinking too hard, Becca.”
I turned at the sound of the voice and found a small Japanese girl standing naked by the window. Even though I’d never seen her in this form before, I recognized her.
“Hello, Akiko. Welcome to my home.”
She smiled slowly, and did a slow, tentative turn. “Do you like? It is my first serious attempt at a human guise.”
“Very attractive,” I replied, giving her a smile in return. “How does it feel?”
“Slightly awkward, to be honest. Two legs instead of four? It is amazing that they remain standing at all!”
“Sometimes they don’t.” My smile became a grin. “I’ve seen my share of falls over the years, and even had a few myself. Most of the time, though, they do pretty well. They’ve never known any other form, so they … adapt.”
Akiko’s hands came up and cupped her smallish breasts. “And these? I could understand their size if I were feeding young, but this body is barely old enough to breed.”
“I’m not sure, but I think producing more milk was a survival trait when humans were evolving.” I slipped to the floor and sat, folding my legs under me. “Also, male humans find them attractive, so maybe natural selection made having larger ones an advantage when mates were being chosen.”
“Ah. So they fought for the most desirable?” She walked over to the mirror and looked at herself, then glanced at me. Her lips twitched first, and then she smiled. “How many human males have fought for your breasts, Becca?”
“Only one, thank the Goddess. My life is complicated enough without having to juggle multiple suitors, and Tommy was mine long before I even became this girl.”
“Which is very confusing, since you are that girl now,” Akiko said, “so she both existed and did not exist before you became her.”
“Welcome to my world.” I shook my head. “I still haven’t quite figured that one out. My father is also me, or rather the man I used to be, so that makes two Becca’s and two of me. We’re all tied up in a chronological knot that would have the Time Lords of Gallifrey spinning in their graves — well, if they were dead instead of fictional.”
“Involvement with the Creator of all things is often confusing. I prefer Inari, and the smaller universe in which I live.” Akiko walked over and gently stroked my sleeve. “These clothes … I assume they are appropriate for a human female of your age and social position?”
I shrugged. “I like them. They suit me. I think you should wear something as well, since casual nudity is not common in this culture.”
Akiko closed her eyes for a second, and an outfit identical to mine shimmered into existence on her smaller frame.
“Nice,” I said with a smile, “but you should choose something that reflects who you are. What I’m wearing ... this is my style. Think about how you would like to be seen.”
She closed her eyes again, and her clothing shifted to shades closer to her natural coloring.
“Very attractive.”
“Thank you.”
There was a silence, and then she spoke.
“You are ... wrong. Can you not feel it?”
“About what?”
“No, Becca. Who you are, inside, is wrong.”
After a few seconds of uncomfortable introspection, I nodded. “Yes, I guess I am.”
“Do you know why?”
“I think so, but I suspect you have an opinion you’d like to share?”
“The lines between who you are and what you do have become blurred, and your ability to just be Becca has become ... damaged.”
“It isn’t something I can fix easily.” I sighed. “There are too many roles fighting for my attention, and I feel guilty whenever one of them is neglected. So I try harder to give that role its due, only to neglect others. It’s the Red Queen’s Race.”
She tilted her head in the way I’ve seen confused dogs do, and I smiled. “It’s from a human book by Lewis Carroll. The Red Queen’s Race means running all day to stay in the same place.There are just not enough hours in a day.”
“Ah. I see. No wonder you are wrong. It is because you are wrong.”
“You have as many hours as you need, Becca-chan, for each of those pieces of you that require the time to live them as they should be lived.” Akiko’s eyes twinkled. “As long as you avoid meeting yourself, you may travel back and live each of your lives simultaneously.”
“Won’t that significantly shorten my actual lifespan?”
Akiko’s eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed. “Since you are both a kitsune and a physical manifestation of the needs of the Omnipresence, you are effectively immortal, Becca-chan. Surely you know that?”
I stopped to think about it. Could it really be that easy? Or would this kind of time shifting actually be easier at all? I’d been a science fiction fan for too many decades to think time travel solves much of anything, and usually ends up making things way more messed up than they were before you got the bright idea to play with causality.
“I’m not sure whether that approach would create more problems than it solves,” I said, giving her a smile. “Still, it’s a solution I hadn’t thought of, and that means it may not be the only one out there to find. Thank you,”
“Now, as much as I like that outfit on you, it’s really more my style than yours.” I turned to my laptop and woke it from sleep, then opened a browser. “Let’s go hunting for clothes that tell others who you are in human form ... or rather, show them the you that you want them to see.”
“Hmmmm ... hunting and illusion! Both well loved by kitsune.” She leaned over my shoulder. “Show me the prey we hunt!”
I grinned and hit the search engine.
Slipping The Leash
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A cautionary tale about the hidden dangers of trying to trick a mutt into becoming a pet using lies and betrayal. Inspired by The Samantha Project, this is a story about a different family with similar goals ... and a very different protagonist.
of the genuine in yourself. It is the only true guide you will ever have. And if
you cannot hear it, you will all of your life spend your days on the ends of
strings that somebody else pulls.” — Howard Thurman
Maddie tiptoed across the hall. It was well before six a.m., and even though it was bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony on the day of the wedding, she had to peek in on her bride-to-be, to see what she and her mother and grandmother had accomplished after only a few months of careful, well-planned effort. Terri was hers, for now and for always, twisted by the combination of the strength of his love for her and the meticulous planning of a family that had been bending men to their will for generations.
They spent the summer pushing him further and further past gender lines he really didn’t want to cross. But he crossed them anyway, one at a time, because he wanted her to be happy. And because he loved her, they turned him into a pretty sissy wife who did as he was told, waited for every crumb of affection she would throw his way, and never, ever pushed back.
He was perfect.
Maddie was happy. She had finally earned her place in the family by becoming a Mistress of the art of betrayal and manipulation. She had written her magnum opus with his love, composed her ninth symphony with his dreams, and painted her masterpiece with his body. She finally had her mate, just as she wanted him to be, and today’s wedding would be the unveiling of her greatest work.
She just wanted to see him one more time before the grand opening, just a few hours away. That was when Terri would walk down the aisle in his beautiful gown, and let Mother lift his veil and give him a tender kiss on the cheek before giving him to Maddie, to have and to hold. Forever.
When Maddie opened the door quietly, she saw the bed was made perfectly. Terri’s white wedding dress hung on the closet door, still in its plastic wrapper, and his white pumps with the four-inch heels were placed neatly on the floor below. The beautiful white lingerie — the corset, the garter belt, the stockings — were all neatly folded on his dresser. His vanity was neat and organized, with the day’s make-up lined up and ready for him to paint his face and fix his nails. There was even a vial of perfume, Maddie’s favorite, waiting for him to place it in a few strategic spots.
The only thing missing ... was Terri.
The house was still silent, too early for even the servants to be prowling about preparing for the big day. Maddie swept silently down the stairs, peeked into the kitchen, and wandered from room to room, becoming more and more concerned with each passing moment. Eventually, she stood in the grand hall by the front door and bit her lip, wondering where he was, and worrying about what had happened to the person she was to marry.
“I was hoping to leave before you woke up. It would have made things so much easier.”
It was a man’s voice, one she hadn’t heard all summer. Terry’s voice. She turned towards the sound and found him standing in the shadows in the parlor, silhouetted by the morning light just beginning to slip through the front window. He stepped forward into the well-lit entryway, and she could see something had gone horribly wrong.
He was wearing the clothes he had first worn when he had arrived with her at the beginning of the summer. The black sweatshirt was a little tight in the chest, and the blue jeans a little tight around the hips. But he hadn’t been on the hormones long enough for more than that, and for the first time since his first week, he hadn’t tucked his genitals away as he had been taught.
It did make a difference. Even though he still looked somewhat androgynous, there was no mistaking the fact that he was a man. Again.
Maddie looked up at his face. His hair was still long, but the curls had been ironed flat, and he had pulled it back into a low ponytail and fastened it with a thick silver ring. His skin was too pale, a little too perfect for a man, but you had to look close to see it, and a few weeks off of the skin care routine would fix that.
His eyebrows had also been restored to what they were when he first came to visit at the beginning of the summer. The individual hairs were drawn in so well with brown eyebrow pencil that you wouldn’t even know they had ever been shaped — unless you had plucked the original hairs yourself, as Maddie had. She admired the skill it took to create the illusion, even as she began to realize that all the make-up lessons Terry had learned since his arrival at the mansion had been twisted towards undermining the femininity she had worked so hard to create.
But his eyes were still the same. Still beautiful, but as she looked deep into them, she saw a sadness she had never seen before. He sighed.
“You know the worst thing about being a fool for love?” His voice was soft, almost kindly. “Eventually, it all comes down to just being a fool.”
Maddie felt the world spin, and Terry saw it hit her hard, as he knew it would. He walked over to the window next to the front door, and pushed the curtain aside to peer out.
“I trusted you,” he said, not even looking at her. “And I trusted your mother and your sisters, too. I thought your family’s customs were weird, but they all seemed to like me, and I wanted them to because I loved you. After a while, I came to enjoy playing dress-up. I thought of it as a game we shared. I even liked serving you. After all, it made you happy, so I didn’t care what I wore or how I behaved.”
“It was a long summer, and way different from the way I thought it would be. I thought we’d get out some, do some things, maybe walk on the beach. But we never left the compound. It should have bothered me, but it didn’t. Even though it was weird and a little claustrophobic, I enjoyed making you smile. That made up for a lot.”
Terry turned his head to face her, a half-smile playing on his lips. “But then, last week, everything changed. I saw how things truly were. I was wearing that ridiculous French maid’s outfit and the stupid leather collar, remember? Standing in the corner quietly, watching you and your sisters play in the pool. And then your mother thrust that absurd feather duster in my hand and told me to go dust something.”
“So I went looking for new places to clean, to try to please her.” His eyes narrowed, and he paused just for an instant before his half-sad expression returned. “That’s how I found the hidden room behind your mother’s closet — the one with all the flat screen TVs and the many hours of recordings of you all manipulating me ... and laughing about it.”
He looked out the window again. “Later that night, I used those same cameras and microphones to hear you all as you prepared for the wedding. You toasted your success with champagne, and I listened to the whole family reliving the high points of how brilliantly you all manipulated me into becoming what you wanted. I listened to how easy I was to fool — how a few kind words here and there actually made me think I was loved and accepted. I remember someone, I think it was Zoe, telling everyone she told me she actually respected my devotion to you, and how I blushed and thanked her. Of course, when you all laughed, I knew it was just a joke — that I was just a joke. You found it funny I believed her — that I actually thought I was worthy of respect.”
Terry turned to look at her, and a touch of anger slipped into his eyes. It stayed there, just for an instant, before he pulled it back and dismissed it with a cool ease that frightened Maddie somehow, on a level she couldn’t quite identify.
“You all thought I was asleep in my four-poster bed under the pretty pink canopy, wearing the mauve baby doll set you gave me as a gift. But I wasn’t, and now I never will be again. Because now I know the truth.”
Maddie finally found her voice. “Wh ... what truth?”
“That you played me, of course,” Terry replied. “You were like a pack of demonic Joshua Bell clones, taking turns playing a single cheap violin. As the violin in question, you have my compliments. There was never a sour note. And I know how much you enjoyed playing me, too. Thanks to the joys of modern technology, I got to see the smile on your face when they complimented you on how completely you rolled me.”
She felt lost. “Rolled?”
Terry smiled. “Yes, Maddie. If you’re going to make a career out of being a con artist, you really should know the terminology better than you do. You rolled me ... got me to believe that you loved me and then used my love to make me whatever you wanted me to be.”
“But I did ... I DO love you!”
“Oh, Maddie.” He shook his head and sighed, clearly disappointed. “You really must be new at this after all. Otherwise, you’d know that once the mark ‘wises up,’ the con is over. You can’t think I’d be stupid enough to fall for the same gag twice in a row?”
When the expression on her face didn’t change, he sighed and looked into her eyes. “At best, you love me the way you’d love a favorite pet. If I’d never learned the truth, I can just imagine you all drinking champagne and laughing over the inscription on my tombstone when I died of old age, blissfully ignorant. ‘Here lies Terry, Good Dog. Best in Show.’”
“How ... how could you say that?”
“Easily,” Terry replied with a small smile. “I’m used to speaking the truth. But I guess no matter how good a liar you are, finding your pet has slipped his leash must come as a bit of a shock. Maybe you should get more lessons from your mother. After all, conning your Dad into becoming a maid-chauffeur-sissy slave must have taught her a lot about how the game is played.”
A voice came from the top of the stairs. “Actually, Carolyn wanted it so badly, she was hardly a challenge at all.”
Terry looked up to find his almost-mother-in-law in her robe, looking down at the two of them in the foyer.
“Good morning, Rachel,” he said, with just a hint of a smile. “Well, morning, anyway. After my taxi arrives and I’m out of your hair, you may find the morning going bad fairly quickly, once you start explaining to your guests that one of your brides is missing.”
“I heard everything, of course.” She sniffed, peering down at the couple with a look of disapproval. “And it’s Mistress Rachel, Terri.”
He grinned. “If you heard everything, then you know that’s over. I know how you all played me, and as far as I’m concerned, you lost the right to be called Mistress Rachel the minute I heard you laughing at how hard I tried to please you — especially when I saw how little respect you had for me as a person.”
“You’re weak,” Rachel replied, the frown on her face becoming more pronounced. “You love letting others take control. How else should I feel about you?” Terry shook his head.
“Dressing as a woman and serving you or your daughters this summer was my choice. As you said, I let you take control.” He wandered back towards the window by the door and peered out before continuing. “I chose to play that role for Maddie, mainly because I loved her, and I thought she loved me. I certainly thought you felt something for me as well, since you went out of your way to persuade me that was the case. Once I realized that nothing any of you claimed to feel for me was remotely true ... and that the woman I thought I loved only viewed me as a plaything ... well, everything ended there.”
“As for being weak? Well, I’m leaving. Take that however you like.”
“But you are submissive.” The older woman took a few steps down the stairs. “All of the questions we asked you when you first arrived showed clearly that you had submissive tendencies. Sarah, my eldest, is a psychologist.”
“I know.” Terry looked back and smiled. “And she’s right. I enjoy being submissive. I learned that about myself years ago. That’s why I put up with a lot more from you than an average guy would.”
Maddie’s jaw dropped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask. Besides, it’s not exactly a selling point for most women.” He shrugged. “I enjoy surrendering control, and I might have told you eventually. After all, this summer made it clear you might be receptive to the idea. But that’s all over now.”
“Why?” His almost-wife’s lip trembled, and her voice cracked. “Why does it have to be over?”
“Because to truly submit to the will of another person, there has to be trust. And I can’t trust you anymore, Maddie. None of you.”
Her eyes betrayed her confusion, and Terry shook his head. “I let you all control me all summer because I trusted you. I chose to give you that control because I thought you all cared for me ... and would take care of me. Keep me from harm. Keep me safe. That’s part of what I love about submission. When you surrender to someone you trust in a safe place ... it frees you. I could feel that in the past six weeks, as I was free to just ... be. Giving your service to someone you love ... someone who loves you ... can be peaceful. Restful. And sometimes, fun.”
Maddie spoke suddenly. “So ... you liked it?” Terry nodded, and she let her frustration creep into her voice. “So why are you leaving now? Nothing’s changed! We can still be together. You can still be mine!”
Terry looked over at her, and she could see the sadness in his eyes once more. “No, I can’t. Don’t you see, Maddie? You lied to me. Not just you, but your entire family. I wasn’t loved or respected here at all. And if all I am to you is a toy, something less than human, I don’t trust you to protect me and take care of me. In any case, you certainly aren’t worthy of my service.”
Rachel sniffed. “Don’t be ridiculous! This family could buy a medium-sized country without feeling the slightest financial distress. How could we ever NOT be worthy of your service?”
“Because you LIED to me!” Terry caught her eyes and held them, his anger back but controlled. “When I submit, I give all I have to my Master or Mistress, because that’s what true submission means. But I choose. Whoever I give myself has to understand that my obedience ... my surrender ... IS a gift, not a given. They need to thank me for that gift by caring for me, and treating me with the respect such a gift deserves. You obviously don’t. You’re the worse kind of Domme. You don’t understand the value of someone’s submission, or the responsibility that comes with it.”
The front door opened, and a huge black man in an impeccable black suit stepped into the foyer. Mortimer was Ramona’s right hand, the one who ran the mansion for her. He was in charge of the servants, security, and anything else Rachel needed taking care of. He did a small double-take at how Terry was dressed, but turned to look up the stairs and spoke to Rachel directly.
“There is a taxi at the front gate, and the driver is asking for Terry Black. Should I let the cab come through, ma’am?”
“No!” Rachel said, her voice too loud. “Send the cab away. Terri will be remaining with us.”
“No he won’t,” Terry said, looking at Rachel. His voice was level. “Terry is leaving, and if he has a lick of sense, he’s not coming back.”
“You have a wedding to attend!” Maddie’s mother fairly growled.
“Had,” he replied. “The correct word is ‘had’ a wedding to go to. Past tense.” Terry picked up his backpack and slung it over one shoulder, then looked at Mortimer. “Don’t sweat it. If she won’t let it into the compound, I can walk to the gate from here. Hell, I’d walk to Cleveland if it meant being free of this bunch.”
After a long pause, Mortimer shrugged.
“Okay, man,” he said, reaching to open the door. “It’s still a free country. I’ll take you to the gate. Took the golf cart up.”
“You will not!” Rachel roared, taking another step down the stairs. “You will subdue her and take her back to her room. I have drugs I can use to make her more ... receptive.”
Maddie wheeled and stared at the older woman in shock. “MOTHER!”
“We have just spent an entire summer on this project.” Rachel looked down at her daughter coldly. “I will not let her walk away while hundreds of guests wait for today’s wedding in vain. And I can make her heel, Maddie. I’ve done it before. You know I can.”
“Sometimes.” Terry spoke, and both women turned to look at him. “But chemicals and brainwashing haven’t always worked for you. I know.”
“How ... how could you ...?” Rachel’s voice shook.
“From the records on the workstation in your video center, of course.”
“That machine was password-locked and encrypted.” Carolyn took a step down the stairs, her hand gripping the banister. “There was no way you could possibly access them.”
“Well, sure ... if I was just some poor soul Maddie picked for a summer project,” Terry replied. “But there’s a lot more to me than that. Not that anyone here really cared to find out.”
“We’re not stupid, you know.” Rachel snapped. “We hired a PI firm to do a complete background check on you.”
He sighed. “I know. I read it. It was on the workstation, too. It didn’t say anything about my wicked hacking skills. But if anyone here had bothered to read past my lack of family (and put aside their need to make me their ‘bitch’), you would have seen that I was almost arrested in high school.”
“Being thorough, I’m sure you would have taken steps to find out why, and discovered I was well on my way to being a world-class hacker before a few missteps caused me to reconsider my life of crime — at least as far as letting other people find out what I was doing.”
Rachel and Carolyn looked at each other, and back at Terry. He grinned. “What? You think a boy built like a ballerina is going to go out for the football team? Computer club ROCKED.”
The smile faded as he looked into Rachel’s eyes. “So I know all about Andrew, Bob, and Kenny. Unfortunately, their files end after you failed. I did a bit of searching for them out on the Net, and found nothing after their time with you. No school records, no employment history. Absolutely nothing. ” He took a step towards the stairs.
“You ‘put them to sleep,’ didn’t you, Rachel? I mean, that’s what people like you do to disobedient pets, isn’t it? They wouldn’t behave, or toe your line, so you killed them. Or had them killed.”
Maddie watched her mother’s face grow even harder, and Rachel’s lips parted in a snarl her daughter had never seen before.
“Of course I killed them, you stupid boy. Just as I will do to you if you don’t settle down and do what you’re told.” Maddie gasped, but Rachel’s eyes burned into Terry’s with a ruthless satisfaction. “They were a threat to this family and everything we’d built over the course of two centuries, just as you are.”
She sniffed. “So I paid Colonel Efram ... you remember, Terri, that scary fellow you met at the Elgar reception in July? I paid him to kill them all, just as he will kill you for me if you don’t bow to my will.”
He looked up at her, as still as stone. “And you destroyed the bodies, I’m sure.”
“Oh, yes." Rachel smiled. "I had them cremated and had their ashes scattered across the grounds here. So there’s nothing to connect them to us at all.”
Terry let her have her victory for a second before he spoke. “Well, nothing except for the archives in the video room. You know, the ones on the servers in there? Video, audio ... the works. Very complete. Not sure why you wanted to document everything, but hey ... it’s your funeral. Literally.”
The hall went dead silent, and he smiled slowly. “Your fiber optic connection is very fast, by the way. I sent every terabyte of your sordid history while we all slept. All those pictures and documents — oh, and your extensive payoff records to state and federal officials — straight to the state police barracks in Shelby and the FBI field office in Boston last night.”
Carolyn shook her head. “That machine isn’t connected to the network.”
“Well, it wasn’t, but it is now. Isn’t it amazing what a six-foot length of Ethernet cable can do, if you know where to plug it in — and how to configure access?”
Rachel’s eyes narrowed, and she bared her teeth. “I don’t believe you. You’re just lying to get Mortimer here to let you catch that cab.”
He grinned back. “You think? Aren’t you wondering why I chose those two locations to send the files to? Three reasons. First, because your records said neither office had ever received a bribe from you. Second, because the state police captain has a very friendly judge who was happy to authorize a wiretap and a warrant to search your premises when I approached him last week.”
“And third? Because both offices have sweet HD video teleconferencing systems. Just in case you caught me before I left, I rigged the in-house video to be sent directly to their offices. I was shooting for a kidnapping charge, if you tried to stop me from leaving. But you just confessed to murdering three boys because they didn’t want to be your toys — on camera, in front of at least thirty witnesses, all law enforcement personnel.”
He shifted his backpack to the other shoulder and opened the front door. “I’ve locked down the machines, all of them, with a password I sent the state police and the feds. You can’t get on and delete anything, and they have copies of it all anyway if you try. But of course it’s better if it’s on the original machines, and they’re going to be here soon to collect them. And anything else they can find.”
“Terry ...” Maddie’s voice was soft, and sad. He turned to her and his expression softened. “Why?”
“Because I had to,” he replied, almost tenderly. “Not just because you lied. Not even for the three boys who died. But because your family needs to see that the world does not belong to them, and even pets have teeth — and aren’t afraid to bite.”
As he stepped out, he heard Rachel shout something, but couldn’t make out exactly what it was before the door shut behind him.
‘Not that it matters, in the end,’ he thought with a smile. ‘I’m free.’
And for the first time all summer, Terry Black took himself for a walk.
Stark
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Stark
by Randalynn
Stark: Best Served Cold
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An innocent man, trapped by a woman with a taste for revenge and her sadistic friends, finds an unusual savior with her own ideas of vengeance -- and a past that taught her own tormenters why it's a bad idea to break something as complex as a human mind...
by Randalynn
Dana woke slowly, not quite sure of where she was or why she was sleeping on a hard wood floor. The constant rocking of the world around her told her she was on a boat, the bite of the air told her she was naked, and the feel of cold steel on her wrists and ankles let her know she was a prisoner.
A few feet away, a door swung open with a creak that spoke of old, untended hinges. A hand took her by the chin and tilted her head back. A huge, grizzled face looked down into hers, and she screamed. The other hand slapped her hard, and she stopped.
"Dana?"
A trembling voice came from her left. It sounded like Angie. The black-haired giant turned his head, raised his hand and growled "Quiet!" From Dana's right came another voice, this one not as frightened as the first.
"Gonna beat up the women in chains? Oh, tough guy!"
Dana turned and saw her friend Stephanie, naked and chained just as she was. The giant looked at Stephanie, raised his hand to a lever on the wall next to her, and pulled it down. She was pulled tight by the chains against the wall, held spread-eagle and defenseless. The giant walked over to her and looked her in the eye.
"I do not have to hit you to show you how powerless you are." He spoke in a rough growl, and his hand moved almost too quickly to see. His fingers grabbed her nipple and twisted. She screamed, and tried to pull away, but there was nowhere for her to go. He smiled and left her.
Jen was huddled on the floor, curled into a ball, trying desperately to disappear into herself. The giant just looked down at her, then reached for her slowly. She screamed nearly as loudly as Stephanie, and began rocking and trembling. On Dana's left, a naked Angie dangled in a hanging cage suspended from the ceiling. Her eyes were wide and frightened.
The door swung open yet again. The giant turned and seemed to lock eyes with the backlit silhouette of a woman in the doorway, and backed off into a neutral corner to give her room to enter. She was a tall blonde, long-legged with a trim figure, full lips, and pale blue eyes that held not an ounce of sympathy or remorse. She spoke a few words of what sounded like Russian to the giant, and he nodded once in reply. The woman stepped back slightly to allow him to leave, then stepped in and closed the door behind her.
"Hail, hail, the gang's all here." Her voice was cool and slightly amused, with a hard-edge no one could ignore. "How does it feel to be a prisoner for a change?"
Dana looked up at her captor, defiance burning in her eyes. "Who are you, and why are we here?"
The woman looked at her then, and the cold emptiness that met her fire shocked Dana into silence. "My name is Stark," she said simply, "and you already know the reason you're here. The imprisonment and torture of John."
Dana's lip quivered, and she almost laughed, "You mean Joannie. Oh, she is NEVER getting out of that chastity belt now."
Stark grinned, baring her teeth. "He's already out, Dana. Has been for days. Actually, more than a week."
"You lie!"
"Moi?" She placed a hand delicately above her breasts. "No point. He's free, and I did it. Just as I captured you all."
Dana shook her head. This Stark bitch must be lying. The belt was impregnable, her plan had been perfect. This must be some kind of a scam to incriminate her, perhaps force her to deliver the key. That would never happen.
Stark saw Dana's reaction, reached behind into her shoulder bag and pulled out something metallic. She dropped it on the ground at Dana's feet.
"Proof, Dana. John's belt."
Dana sneered. "That could be just another copy of the same belt. It proves nothing."
Stark retrieved the belt and put it away. She shrugged.
"Believe what you want. It won't help you. In the end, you and your friends will still be trapped, just as John was when you started all of this. But John will still be free." She smiled again. Dana lunged to her feet, trying to reach for her captor.
"Who the hell ARE you?" Dana screamed, saliva flying from her mouth. "My revenge is MY affair! Why are you even involved?"
Unmoved, the woman looked at Dana as if she were some species of poisonous snake.
"So much heat from such a cold bitch," she said primly. Dana practically snarled. "I told you. My name is Stark. And I'm involved because John had the guts to work past his fear and found me. I saved him."
Dana's mind spun, a chill running through her that had nothing to do with her naked state. "Impossible. He couldn't 'find' anyone. I was watching him all the time. How did you … he …?"
Stark shook her head. "You are extraordinarily stupid for a criminal mastermind. You had his home completely wired, cameras and sound and the like. But you couldn't do the same at his office. The system administrator would surely catch on to a live multimedia feed from John's desktop. Or even a keystroke capture application, if you had thought of it. Which you apparently didn't. And that's where he found me. At the office. On the Internet."
"John was spending any time he could spare on the computer at his desk, frantically looking for a solution to his problem. He found himself frequenting chat rooms in areas he never would have dreamed of visiting before you … violated his freedom. John went so far as to post pleas for help on bulletin boards, hiding his identity as best he could and asking for responses to a free e-mail account he'd set up. Apparently, he was reasonably sure you wouldn't be able to get into his system at work. Lucky for him, he managed to find the courage or the desperation inside himself to take the chance."
Dana was speechless. They all were. Five women staring at Stark in disbelief.
"I have intelligent search programs, called spiders," Stark continued calmly. "They search the chat rooms and bulletin boards looking for people in situations like the one John found himself in. One of them found several of his postings, and forwarded them to me. Naturally, I contacted him immediately."
"Oh, naturally." Dana sneered. "And who the hell are you to get involved in something that is none of your damned business?"
Stark's eyes narrowed, and her smooth voice became an angry hiss. "I'm someone with a great deal of money and time, and precious little patience for tiny tin goddesses like you. Too many men find themselves trapped, betrayed by love into the hands of monsters … like you. Twisted and bent to your will, as if your will were everything. You think you can do what you like. You're wrong. I'm going to make sure none of you ever do what you like again."
Stephanie spoke up, her voice shaking. "We'll be missed."
Stark smiled a smile that never reached her eyes. "No, you won't. You all went on a cruise together, something Dana arranged. You rented a large sailboat, sailed away, and never came back. After all, none of you had any real experience sailing a boat that big. People will assume you were lost at sea. Which, in a way, is absolutely true."
Dana shook his head. "You lied before. He's still wearing that belt. The one you showed me was just a copy. This whole twisted scene is just a way to get me to trade the keys for our freedom."
"If it were, would you trade the lives of all your friends for your revenge? Would you hurt all of them? Just to hurt a man who did nothing wrong except to fall in love — and then out of love -- with a bitch like you?"
Her silence spoke volumes, and the other women knew that Dana's love for them was as empty as her heart. Stark smiled. "It doesn't matter. This is no trick. You're mine now. And John really is free."
"It took a while, of course. After all, we didn't want you to know he had a friend. An ally. So first, I pursued a mechanical solution to the problem of the belt. It was examined in detail by a lab of my choosing — not X-rays, of course, given the location of the locking mechanism. However, the finest thermal imagining revealed the truth of your assertion that getting it off without the key was impossible without genital mutilation. The best lock men in the business poured over the mechanism for days, looking for weaknesses. There were none. In short, we needed the keys."
Dana smiled. "I knew it! The belt you showed me was a copy! You do need the keys!"
"Not at all. The day after we realized the keys were essential, John was free. And in a perverse twist, you were the one who helped me free him."
Dana's eyes flashed. "No!"
It was Stark's turn to smile. "According to John, you told him it was 'the best chastity belt on the market.' You said you paid nearly $1000 for it. You said it was made out of titanium and that it was escape proof. You said it took you hours of riding around the city to find it, in a single afternoon. You said the only way he could get it off without the key was to 'cut his balls off' with it. And you said you were the only one with the keys. Naturally, he went along."
"So did your friends here, sadly for them."
"Your little speech, intended to impress John with the hopelessness of his position, actually gave me everything I needed to find the person who sold you the device. There are not many chastity belts that sell for $1000, fewer still made of titanium, and few dealers in John's city that would even carry such an item. I tracked down the person you purchased it from relatively quickly, and … persuaded him to part with his extra set of keys."
Dana's blood froze. "Extra keys?"
Stark smiled. "Oh yes, my dear. After all, he didn't know what you wanted the belt for, did he? Maybe for some bedroom games, maybe for laughs. Why not make extra keys? If you lost your keys and were frantic enough to free 'your' man, he had an extra set to sell you. For a substantial mark-up, I might add, since you had already proved you were willing to spend a lot for the belt in the first place."
"Luck," she scoffed. "What if he didn't have an extra set of keys?"
"Then I would have had two avenues open to me. Contact the manufacturer in England and throw money at them until they removed the belt. Or lock you in a dark room with drugs and implements of torture, and use both until you revealed the location of the keys. Either approach would have suited me. I'm still more than a little sad I didn't get to hurt you." Stark's face became an emotionless mask. "You still need some hurting, if only to impress you with the seriousness of your crime."
Dana felt the first stirrings of fear deep inside.
"After all, you were planning to keep him your slave for two and a half years — maybe more. Keep him on a string, force him to dress as a woman, make him jump through your hoops. Who knows how far you would have taken it? Force him to submit to homosexual rape? Make him give blow jobs to strangers in bars? I can't even begin to contemplate how low you could sink with this kind of power over a man. And all this for revenge? Because of an imagined crime against yourself. As if your desire for a marriage proposal from John constituted some kind of contract. But in case you forgot, slavery is illegal in this country. So is extortion. Of course, if John had you arrested, you might never have found the keys. And the whole affair would have degenerated into a media circus. So in the end, it's good he came to me. I know how to keep things quiet." Another cold smile. "All sorts of things."
Stark looked at the others, a half sneer on her face. "I'm reasonably sure this was all your idea. But your … friends … here willingly assisted you. They did their best to help you toy with him, humiliate him. They knew more than one crime was being committed, and even though John had done them no wrong, real or imagined, they willingly participated for no damned good reason. Just because he was a man. So they are equally guilty, if not more so, since they did it for kicks. Entertainment value." Her voice dripped venom. "You all deserve your fate."
Dani felt like she had been kicked in the stomach. "What fate?" she asked, her voice cracking.
Stark smiled her cold smile, and said, "Afraid now, are we? Since you're so fond of turning people into slaves, I thought you'd appreciate seeing the process from the slave's point of view." Jill started sobbing, and Angie started a low keening that served as a counterpoint to Stark's continued explanation. "Gregor doesn't usually take human cargo, but he'll do it as a favor to me. You'll be addicted to something easy to get in the East, something to make you easier to manage and control. You'll be sold and trained, and spend the rest of your lives doing whatever other people tell you to do. You'll never control your own lives again." Dana moaned, and Stark bared her teeth in a humorless grin. "You want to talk about revenge? You're a rank amateur, bitch. I'll show you all what slavery really means."
Stark turned and walked to the door. "Enjoy your new lives as property."
After she left, the silence was broken only by the crying of the five women, The rumble of the ship's engines increased, and they felt the ship begin to move under them. Hours went by. Gregor came in and threw metal plates full of table scraps in front of each woman. When no one moved to eat, he smiled his gap-toothed grin. "Better eat while you can, laydeees," he purred. "Otherwise the rats may smell the food and decide you're all more tasty. The scars will lower your value." When no one moved, he laughed out loud and left them alone with the future. Reluctantly, the women ate the scraps, and settled down to a fitful night's sleep.
The next morning, the women woke, all realizing they needed to relieve themselves. When Gregor came in with breakfast — cold oat mush and hard rolls — he saw how uncomfortable they were, and kicked the buckets in each of their corners within reach before leaving again. They all averted their eyes and avoided watching the others. Soon the windowless room smelled rank and close, and the women imagined what a long sea voyage trapped with their own excrement would be like.
They soon found out. The day passed slowly, as did the next one, and the next. The ship's engines continued their muted roar undaunted by the passage of time. Gregor came in and treated them with a mixture of indifference and cruelty, ignoring them or touching them sexually in equal measure. On the fifth day, they felt the ship slowing, the engines dying to a soft rumble. Stark entered the room with a man they'd never seen before. The man held a tray full of hypodermics.
"Enjoying your cruise, ladies?" Stark smiled. "Not quite as entertaining to be the one in chains, is it? Just wait until you get into the hands of your new owners. The things they'll make you do will make you long for this smelly hole." The women said nothing. Nothing could be said.
"We'll be moving you to another ship for the rest of your journey," Stark said with a smile. "I thought it would be a good idea to get you hooked now on the drugs that will make you … cooperative. You'll be out for the next few days, and when you wake up, you'll start your new lives." The women all cried silently, tears pouring down their faces. They didn't speak. There was nothing to say. They were totally defeated.
Stark let them feel the weight of their despair, mourning their lost lives. Then she spoke. "At least, that's how it would happen if I were really selling you all into slavery, which I'm not. Yet."
As one, all of the women looked up at Stark. Could there actually be hope?
"Gregor's boat went out into the Atlantic for a few days, then turned around and came back to the States. We're a short distance offshore, and we'll be bringing you back to land shortly. When you wake up from those shots, you'll be back in your own apartments, and your lives will be waiting for you to pick them up again." Stark was unsmiling as she looked around. "You may all be sure, this was NOT my idea. I wanted you all to suffer for the rest of your lives. You deserve to, in my opinion. But John is the client, and he argued for your freedom."
Dana's eyes bugged out. "WHAT?"
Stark nodded. "Even you, bitch. He's a decent man, even after all you put him through. Unlike you, he would never enslave anyone. The whole concept repels him. So you're all going free. With a few warnings."
They all watched her, almost tasting the freedom.
"John is off limits, completely. If you see him anywhere, leave. I don't want you bumping into him on the street. I don't want you calling him to thank him. Hell, I don't even want you living in the same hemisphere, but it's not up to me. If it were up to me, you all wouldn't be allowed within shouting distance of a man ever again. Or you'd wake up on an auction block in Kurdistan, and be tightly controlled for the rest of your lives. That's how much I hate you all."
"You will be watched, although not all the time. You won't know where or when I'm watching, but I will know if you don't follow my instructions. And if you don't, you'll disappear. Period. No warning. No quarter. You'll wake up in some whorehouse on the other side of the world, strapped to a bamboo frame where you'll be fucked every way they can think of until you die. No escape, no reprieve. And I will not shed a tear."
"You will tell NO ONE about me, or what happened this week. And if any of you try to pull shit like this on ANYONE ever again, I'll know. And you're gone. And you'll think the whorehouse idea was merciful, I promise you. If you think I'm not capable of burying any of you alive in a casket full of hungry rats, think again. You get one chance with me, when I give chances. Letting you go now is it."
"John doesn't know any of this. And he won't know. These are my rules, not John's. Despite what Dana thinks, John is a decent man. I'm neither. Do you all understand?" They all nodded vigorously, and Stark shook her head in disgust. "Give them the shots, Ron."
Ron gave each woman a shot in the arm, and all but Dana collapsed in their confinement as the tranquilizers took effect.
Dana got her shot last. Stark stood over her, nothing but contempt on her face.
"I wanted to have a few last words with you, because I want you to know why I hate you so much. I didn't used to be a woman. At one time, I was trapped as John was, and twisted by a rich group of sadistic bitches into the living Barbie doll I am today. They stole everything I had and turned me into little more than a fuck toy. It took them a while, but they broke me. Funny thing, though. When you break something as complex as a human mind, you might break things you never intended to break along the way. When they imprisoned me in this body, they set a part of me free that turned me into something else. Something not quite sane. Something … dangerous."
"I spent months playing submissive, all terrified and broken. Until I had them where I needed them. Until I could kill them all, slowly." She smiled. "It was ... fun. Then, when I was through, I took all of the money their organization had and put it to work finding people like you. And saving men like John."
Dana's world started to get fuzzy around the edges.
"As I told the others, you get one chance, because it's his choice. But YOU get special treatment from me, because that's MY choice." Stark lowered her voice to a growl. "I know you. If you did something like this once, you'll do it again. Or try to. You're way too dangerous to be within ten feet of anything with a Y chromosome. You wanted John to marry you. You wanted yourself a husband to keep you warm in his arms. So I'll make sure you never get one. Ever. Every man you meet that you even think of as husband material will know what you tried to do to John. I'll make sure of it. I saved everything. All the recordings you made in his home, all of his humiliations. His own recorded words from our earliest meetings. Any potential husband will run, not walk, to the nearest exit, when he sees you the way you truly are."
"So get used to being alone, bitch. Because I'll see you stay that way -- for the rest of your miserable life."
Stark walked towards the door, then turned, once again framed by the light from beyond the doorway.
"Revenge is a dish best served cold," she whispered with a grin. "Bon appetit."
NOTE: This is the first of a series of stories about Stark and her life's work rescuing men trapped by those who would treat them as pawns or property. It was inspired by a series of stories called "Dana's Revenge" by another author. That series was never completed, but I do not wish to step on that author's prerogative to finish her own tale as she wished to. So for those who wish to view this as not a continuation or conclusion, think of it as the story of a different Dana and a different John -- and a very different outcome, thanks to Stark. *grins* -- Randalynn
Stark: Just Another Day In Hell
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A pretty puppet hung by her own strings and hating every minute of it. Wake up with Stark on a typical morning, and get a glimpse of why "live and let live" isn't in her vocabulary anymore. It's a new definition of "One Day at a Time." It's Her Hell ... and welcome to it.
by Randalynn
and it's worse when you're awake,
and there's no one you can turn to,
and there's nothing you can take.
(You gotta ask yourself)
Are you real or not? It's a fine line.
Are you ready or not for the light of day ?
Are you real or not?
These are strange times
and I don't want to live this way."
-- Warren Zevon, "Real or Not?"
It's always the same.
In the instant just before I wake up, I smell the lavender. I am surrounded by softness, slick silk caressing every inch of me. It feels warm, and safe, and oh so wonderful. I just want to swim in it forever, and never come to back to shore.
Then I remember who I am. What I am. What I have become.
And the peace is gone. I push it away as hard as I can, with every ounce of will I can muster.
Because I am Stark.
I don't want to love the softness, and the smell. I don't want to feel warm and safe and oh so wonderful. If I ever truly choose to swim in it, I will most certainly drown.
Because they made me love these things. They made me what I am. They stole the man I was.
And they left me … like this.
I open my eyes and the reality hits me hard enough to make me wince. I stare into the reflection in the full-length mirror mounted in the canopy above the four-poster bed. I can't take the mirror down. They wanted me to see myself this way, every morning when I woke. The tousled curly blonde hair spilling over the pillows, the round full lips still half-smiling, framing perfect white teeth, high cheekbones, dimpled chin. Arched brows that will never need tweezers. Pale blue eyes framed by long lashes that will never need mascara.
My eyes travel down the length of the form outlined by the blue silk sheets. Breasts, large and high and firm and oh so round, even when I'm lying down. Hard nipples pushing up against the soft fabric. Chest tapering quickly past ribs to an impossibly thin waist, then swelling to round full hips whose curves all seem to point to the mound between my legs, surrounded by full sensual thighs.
The mound where my penis used to be. Where my vagina is now.
Mine.
I shudder and fight my way free of the soft sheets and sweet smell, just as I always do. I need them to sleep at night … when I sleep at all. They made sure of that. But of course getting free of the sheets makes it worse, because then there's nothing at all hiding what I've become. Soft and pale, and so female I ache just thinking about it.
I sit on the edge of the bed, hang my head and take a few deep breaths, ignoring the mirror on the canopy, and the one above the dresser. Ignoring the wide spread of my hips, the softness of my well-rounded bottom pressing down into the softness of the bed. My breasts quiver and bounce just a little with every breath, but that's okay. They're my breasts, after all. Just because they don't belong there, that's no reason to resent them.
Except I do. Always.
Once again I think about getting rid of them somehow, but the minute surgery pops into my head I'm wracked with a nausea that makes me roll to my knees and gulp to avoid vomiting.
They won't let me fix me. Even though they're all dead, even though I killed them all slowly and with great pleasure, the things they did to my mind remain. I can't change me. I'm their masterpiece, after all. And if someone drugs me and tries to change me in any way without my knowledge, I know I'll die when I wake up from the surgery. I read the lab reports, all the files, when I first took over their facilities. They put a self-termination trigger in there, somewhere, so I couldn't even try to take control of my own body again.
I know everything they did to me. All the little trigger and tricks. And I can't change a thing.
Damn them.
When they first changed me, they named me Bambi. They made me smile and eagerly embrace my new name. And they laughed because they knew that, inside, the man who had been Joseph Stark cringed and gibbered and went quietly mad, trapped in his own flesh.
I'm so glad I killed them. But sometimes, late at night, in the soft-skinned, sweet-smelling, silk-wrapped prison of my own flesh, I wish they were still alive.
So I could kill them all over again.
Nausea dwindling, I rise to my feet and strut across the bedroom towards the bath. I can't just walk anymore. My body and my mind work together to make sure every move is a sexual invitation. I glide, I strut, I sway. My hips roll with a mind of their own, calling to anything male in the vicinity. Screaming a message I can never silence, because I'm not sending it. They are.
"Come get me, stud," they beckon with a seductive swivel that promises the ride of a lifetime. "I live to be fucked. I want to be fucked. By you. All the time."
And part of me does, too. I fight it, every minute of every day. I crave that release. Sometimes I wake up shaking all over, empty, needing a man like a junkie needs a fix. Toys don't do it. I can use them and bring myself to orgasm if I want, but that won't stop the craving.
I need a man in me, on me, over me. Or I'll go mad. But that's not the worst part.
It's not just the sex. I can't just prowl and find a quick easy stud to lay me down and scratch my itch. No, I have to … submit to them. My body and brain need to be ordered. I go out and find some man, go back to his place and become his bitch. I kneel, and do whatever he says, give him whatever pleasures he desires. And it fills me with an awful pleasure that makes me faint with longing. Being used, a plaything, a toy … it fills me with an unholy joy I cannot fight.
Then he fills me, and I cum.
And I get up, get dressed, and get out as quickly as I can, eyes down, running from my own shame. Afraid of being someone's slave again, and liking it so much.
Until the next time, when my body commands, and I must obey.
Once, I accidentally stumbled onto a sadistic Dom while prowling for release. His idea of pleasure was to deny me his cock, which unfortunately happened to be the key to my freedom. When I knelt at his feet, he commanded me to be … his. Of course, I could not refuse. They saw to that.
I became his pet, naked and collared. I slept in a cage at the foot of the bed, eating scraps from a bowl. Every day he would allow me to use the toilet, just once, then made me kneel in the tub so he could bathe me like an animal. Every time he allowed me to speak, I begged and pleaded for his cock between my legs. Every time I begged, he made me take him in my mouth and suck him until he came, then swallow the cum and thank him politely.
And the worst part was, I enjoyed every minute of it. All the triggers the bitches placed in me came into play, and I was in Paradise, living as some stranger's piece of meat.
I was in Heaven. I didn't want to leave. And it still sickens me today.
I was there for four days. Then Jeff and the recovery team tracked me down. When they saw me in the cage, they almost shot him. I told them no, and in a voice I had to wrestle from deep inside me, fighting the submission all the way, I ordered them to order HIM to fuck me.
It would have been comical if I hadn't been so crazed. Five combat-trained shock troops in black stealth suits, automatic weapons at the ready, surrounding the bed until he gave me an orgasm. Until I had my release, in every sense of the word.
I didn't have him killed. How could he know what they did to me?
But I did think about it. A lot.
Worst of all, I had to tell Jeff what happened. About my need. After he stood there with the recovery team and watch me get fucked. When it was over, and I was free of the compulsion, I cried. I couldn't stop crying. I would have thrown myself out a window if the programming would have let me.
Jeff just held me tight, and I let him. And that made me feel worse.
I really didn't want him to know about this part of my life. What I had been forced to become. It's hard enough between the two of us as it is, since he knew me back when I was … what I used to be.
I enter the bathroom and use the toilet. I've been this way so long, sitting to pee is just what I do now. It's long since lost its power to remind me of what I lost. Anyway, there's no need. Every time a man looks at me, I know what I am. And every time I look at a man, my body lets me know I'm not the man I was. Of course, when they retrained me, they made it impossible for me to think about peeing any other way.
I wonder what the hell I'll do if I ever go camping again?
I run a hot bath and take a quick shower to wash my hair while the tub is filling. The skin and hair care regimen they set up is so well established I could do it in my sleep. I leave the shower and wrap my hair in a towel as I walk to the bath. I sink in and let the heat and the smell bring back an echo of the pleasure I felt right before waking. It makes me dizzy, sometimes, fighting what feels so damned good.
But I can't enjoy it. I mustn't enjoy it. Ever.
Because it's not really me. It's them. They put all this stuff in my head. If I give in to the things they decided they wanted me to enjoy, they win. Even though they're dead.
Unfortunately, they took all the joy away from everything I used to love. So nothing gives me true pleasure anymore.
Well, almost nothing.
I stay in the bath as long as I can before the peace and contentment becomes too much for me to fight. Then I rise quickly, wrapping a huge bath towel around my altered form and leave the bathroom at a near run. I am ashamed of my own cowardice -- all I want to do is dive back under the water and feel something other than despair.
I hate this. I have to FIGHT my body for the right to be miserable.
I blow-dry my hair back and it falls in place without a struggle. It's some kind of … well, permanent permanent. All bouncy golden curls that tumble halfway down my back. It can't be cut. I don't even think it grows.
It may not even be hair.
I get dressed, all frillies and flouncies, black thong panties and matching bra, black half-slip and a short skirt with flirty ruffles, and a wrap-around blouse with a plunging neckline, covered by a short jacket that matches the skirt. Black stockings caress my legs, with their tops peeking out from under the skirt. And the matching pumps with their four-inch heels make my hips scream their siren's song ever louder.
"FUCK me, baby! You know you want to!" I shudder.
No need for make-up — my skin is flawless, my lips unnaturally red, my lashes unnaturally long. The thought of doing anything to change that makes me queasy again, and I push it aside.
"Accessorize, darling!" a female voice suddenly shouts in my head, followed by a vivid memory of an electric shock. I scramble to add bracelets, necklaces, earrings, a choker -- anything I can find to stop the voice, and the pain.
Then out the door and down the halls of my not-so-new home, heels clicking, body swaying. As I cat-walk through the mansion I earned with murderous zeal, others pass me and nod respectfully. I nod back, and they go on their way. But those who were like me, the unwilling playthings of those who came before, almost fall to their knees as I pass.
I am their savior, you see. The psychopathic saint. I sigh.
As I reach the stairs to the first floor, I look in the mirror mounted on the wall. That stupid cheerleader smile has pasted itself onto my face again, like it always does when I'm not paying attention. When I'm thinking of something else.
Click, click, click. Down the stairs I go, fingers trailing lightly on the railing. I reach the first floor, and instead of turning towards the dining room where breakfast is served, I hesitate, then turn left and head into the office wing.
Jeff sits at his desk in the anteroom to my office. He's on the phone, dealing with something, and I take a moment just to watch him. The Bambi part of my mind is screaming "DO him! DO him! He is SO hot!" And the part of me that's still Joe agrees he was always a magnet for the ladies. Joe used to be the wingman, courting the girl friends of the women Jeff charmed, happy to be second. What was Joe, buried deep inside, freely acknowledges that Jeff is, in fact, a hottie, and always was. Major league stud, Bambi agrees.
What's worse is that the bitch thing I've become agrees with both of them. I feel the lust making my insides throb, my chest feels swollen and heavy, my lips part eagerly. My panties are soaked, and not for the last time today, either.
But I can't play with Jeff. Not ever. I can't let anything happen between us.
He's not my secretary, or even my assistant. He's my XO. My executive officer.
And my best friend.
"Hey, Jo," he says, hanging up the phone. He's the only one who calls me that. To everyone else, I'm just Stark. Even to the people I've taken home with me, the ones like myself, the mangled and twisted remnants of men beaten into a new shape in the iron forge of a woman's revenge. Even to those who love me as a savior and as a friend, I am and always will be Stark.
But to Jeff, I am Joe. Or Jo, now. I know he writes it without the "e" to remind him that I'm not the man I was.
One look could tell him that. But I'm pretty sure it's not my outside he needs to be reminded about.
"Had breakfast?" I ask him. The voice is sultry, temptation incarnate. He doesn't acknowledge the sexual overtones. He knows it's just how I'm wired to speak to any man if I'm not working actively to stop it.
"A while back," he replies, rising anyway. "I can keep you company, though. After all, you can never drink too much coffee."
I smiled. Damn, I love this man.
"Why don't you tell them to bring it to the table?" I struggle for matter-of-fact instead of bitch in heat, and succeed. A minor victory. "I'll be in shortly." There is an awkward pause. I want to ask, and he knows I want to ask. So I do. "Is she here?"
Jeff looks away, a tiny flicker but I catch it. He nods.
"In the basement. The nursery." He grimaces and slips out towards the dining room, so he cannot see the grin as it spreads across my face. Not just happy. Savage.
I know he disapproves of my personal involvement in cases like these, but he's too much of a friend to ever say so. And truthfully, I don't think he minds that much. After all, he understands what I went through. He loved me, as a brother, long before this all started.
He loved me so much, he came to get me. Even though I told him not to.
I snuck onto one of their computers and sent him an e-mail, because I knew Jeff would look for me after I'd disappeared. I didn't want him to. Don’t try to find me, I said. It's too dangerous, I said. If they catch you and do to you what they've done to me, it will kill me, I said. Please stay away.
He tracked me down anyway. Using the e-mail I sent to help him find me.
Men.
He found me here, right after my killing spree was over. I was naked and bloody in the mansion's great hall, a she-demon crouching like an animal, holding the gardener's machete and a butcher's cleaver, surrounded by pieces of the bodies of the inhuman monsters who did this to me. The other prisoners stayed away during the slaughter, half cheering me on but still deathly afraid of what I had become.
When he walked in, I was cold as ice, frozen in place by the horrors I had committed, but my eyes held a fire he'd never seen in any eyes before.
I dropped my weapons and launched myself at him, and came this close to raping the best friend I ever had. Or killing him. I was so out of my head, I don't know what it was I wanted in that moment. Desire and the need for revenge threatened to consume everything that was left of Joe Stark.
Jeff wouldn't let it.
He looked into my eyes and knew I was his friend. Naked and feminized, mad with hate and fear and lust. But still, his friend.
He knocked me cold as I flew towards him, with one single punch to the jaw. He tied me down before I woke, and waited patiently beside the bed, caring for me for days. I ranted, I raved, I cursed, and the whole story of what had happened, how I became what I am now, just poured out. The months of surgery and torture, of drugs and shocks. Of feeling my brain rewired and my body altered forever. My first blow job. My first orgy. The time they made me walk through the red light district and fuck everyone I met. I told him everything that had happened since they snatched me off a Baltimore street corner while I was waiting for a bus.
Including the moment when something inside just snapped, and I suddenly found myself thinking seriously about killing all of them, slowly and painfully. It pushed the all the programmed submissiveness aside, placed it in a box surrounded by high walls of anger that pulsed red and white hot in the corner of my mind. I watched and waited and plotted and schemed, quiet as a wolverine pretending to be a mouse.
Then my chance came. A gathering of the inner circle, from all over. All women. A coming-out party. For me.
Bambi, their newest living doll.
Sometimes, I can still hear their screams. It makes me smile.
After I told him everything, Jeff kept me tied to the bed until some semblance of sanity came back to my eyes. Not the real thing -- just something like sanity.
Both he and I knew I would never truly be sane again.
Still, he couldn't blame me for what I had done, not really. And he couldn't leave me to fend for myself. I was … damaged, possibly beyond repair.
So my cause became his. He helped me find the billions these women had hidden away in banks and investments all over the world -- the money that funded the evil that they did because the very concept of men as men offended them. We found the money, the property, the blackmail photos, the dirty little secrets they used to get things done. And we created an organization to find others like them and stop them, and help the men they had twisted if we could.
The only real surprise I had was how much work we had to do. Who knew how many women out there preyed on and betrayed the men who loved them?
I do. Now.
I walk down the stairs to the basement, past the labs where they changed me, now staffed with those like me who work for the cause. Past the rooms where I do my own changing -- the bending and twisting of those I hunt.
The rooms Jeff never enters. Ever.
And there she is, right where Jeff said she'd be. In the oversized nursery, in an oversized crib, surrounded by toys and stuffed animals.
When I enter, Consuela nods a greeting as she fusses with the diapers and supplies at the changing table. She was another of their victims, a Latina transformee with long brown hair and huge brown eyes. Her blue jeans and sweatshirt say soccer mom, but her size says something else. She is six-foot six inches tall and a former body builder, so when they remade her, the bitches made her figure proportionally large to compensate for her height -- wide round hips that roll like a ship at sea when she walks, and massively oversized breasts she needs all of her weight-trained muscles to carry.
A beautiful giant.
They also thought it would be amusing to make her always lactating, so her chest would always be swollen and full of milk. I remember them leaving her naked in the corner of the kitchen, her hands forced to hold up her heavy dripping breasts, begging to be emptied by anyone around her. Some of the women would milk her viciously, spraying her cream into their coffee cups, laughing while she cried. She used to be always in pain, a source of endless amusement, but unable to fight back.
Until my murderous insanity saved her. Saved all the victims still in their hands. And made them all insanely grateful.
To me.
Sometimes it makes me uncomfortable. But sometimes, like now, it's good to be the king.
Or queen.
Consuela's eyes flicker toward the crib, and her mouth forms a word.
"Mine?"
I nod back at her, smiling. A slow smile grows on her face, matching my own.
"Thank you," she whispers, and I give her shoulder a squeeze.
I walk over to the side of the crib for a closer look, and the woman inside it turns to face me. I can see the fear in her eyes, and I shiver all over.
"Hello, Linda," I say softly, womanly concern dripping from each word. Her mouth holds an oversized pacifier, and she sucks on it compulsively, unable to stop for even an instant. Her eyes roll from the effort of trying to make her own mouth do what she wants. So sweet.
Her hair is cut short, in a little girl style. It is twisted into two pigtails on either side of her head, held with place with pretty pink bows. She wears an adorable pink baby doll nightie, with a ruffled plastic panty sticking out below hiding an oversized cloth diaper. Tight thumbless mittens are locked onto her hands, making them next to useless. Huge heavy white baby shoes hold down her feet like blocks of wood, unyielding. Not that she'll ever need shoes again. The drugs she's been given have weakened her, and ruined her sense of balance. She'll never stand upright long enough to take a step again, let alone escape and run.
I grin, baring teeth.
"I think you ought to know why you're here. Bobby died two weeks ago." Her eyes flare. I nod. "You remember Bobby? Good. You should. After all, he loved you enough to leave his family and friends and everything he knew behind, to follow you to a new city and be your husband." I reach down and push an errant hair off of her forehead. She flinches. "Of course, he didn't expect you to drug him the night he arrived, and use more drugs, hypnosis, and conditioning to turn him into a giant baby girl. Then you sold him to a pimp to be rented out for sex parties."
She grows very quiet. I don't.
"So you got a new sports car and a few month's rent, and there's poor Bobby, riding from state to state, wearing an oversized pink party dress, tied down in the back of a van, lying in his own filth in a stinking diaper, force-fed baby formula and crying, all the time. Poor Bobby. By the time we found him, he was too sick to come back from what you did, but I was there with him when he died, and he really needed to talk. He was hard to understand, since they'd pulled out every tooth in his head to make blow jobs less dangerous for customers. But I knew your betrayal still haunted him, months after the first time some creep removed his diaper and raped him until he bled."
I look down at her.
"Who knows how many others you've done this to, before we found Bobby. Now there's a scary thought."
Linda moans behind the pacifier. She jerks her head at me, pleading for it to be removed. I smile and shake my head.
"Oh no, missy. The only time that binky's coming out of your mouth is when a breast or a bottle goes in. I left your teeth alone, for now. But you won't even think of biting the breast, or a bottle. You can't even imagine it, because we went into your mind and made damned sure you couldn't. You can't even stop sucking on that pacifier unless I tell you to." She moans again, and I pretend to relent. "Sssssssh, baby. I can be a nice aunt to my new niece. Here, I'll let you stop for a minute."
I say a word she can't understand, a trigger she can never remember consciously, and the pacifier falls out of her mouth. She immediately starts talking. Or tries to.
All that comes out is a stream of baby talk.
I laugh, and she stops, startled. And tries again. I laugh harder. She stops, and looks … scared. I breathe deep, and smile down at her.
"See, baby? You don't need to talk. You just need to listen."
"I'm not sure what I'm going to do with you yet. Maybe keep you like this for the rest of your life. Imagine that. Twenty, thirty, forty years trapped in this room, in diapers. A perpetual baby. No talking, no friendship, no love … no sex? No solid food ever again. Just Consuela and others like her for company. People who know what you did, and have absolutely no sympathy for you at all. Like me." She starts shaking her head then, babbling louder.
"Or maybe I'll give you all the playtime Bobby got and more. Maybe I'll make very sure you stay alive and on the adult baby play circuit for a good long time. Much longer than Bobby lasted, I assure you. I do shut down these people when I find them, but I leave a few operating. Just so I have a place to send people like yourself, you understand. After all, there seem to be so many like you, it's downright scary." She starts moving her whole body, babbling louder. I say another word and she calms immediately as all her muscles stopped listening completely to her brain. I can hear her diaper filling, and see the disgust in her eyes.
"Or maybe I'll just give you to one rich sleaze as a baby playtoy, with the understanding that he never abuse you enough to kill you. I'm still thinking it over."
I lean over the crib and stare into her eyes, the smell of her excrement rising to meet me.
"But one thing is for sure. This is your life now. Whatever I choose for you. Baby." I let her see a little of the madness slip into my eyes, and she shakes with fear. "This is your hell. And I'm going to enjoy your stay here for a very long time."
I straighten up and nod to Consuela. She lifts her sweatshirt and unhooks one side of her custom-made nursing bra. Linda gets to stew in her own mess for a while. Consuela doesn't mind the stink, and her breasts are hurting too much to wait anymore, anyway. She lifts Linda and carries her to the rocking chair by the changing table, settling her down in her lap as she sits. I say another word, and Linda's mouth begins rooting for something, anything to suck on. She latches onto a waiting nipple so hard Consuela gasps, then smiles as the milk begins to flow.
I walk over to the rocking chair in the corner and sit gracefully -- the only way I can, these days. I smile as Consuela whispers mocking endearments to her new "baby," watching Linda swallow in spite of herself, and enjoy the moment. Jeff will have to hold breakfast for a few minutes. This is too precious to miss.
What was it Milton had his Lucifer say? "It is better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven?"
Some days I can't decide, but today ... maybe Lucifer had it right.
I see the endless stream of tears falling from Linda's eyes, dripping onto Consuela's arm, and I grin. Her time in Hell is just beginning, trapped in this small corner of the Hell I rule. Her suffering is just a small repayment for the Hell I was trapped in so long ago -- the one I can never leave, because I carry it with me in this pretty flesh I wear.
Payback is a bitch, I think with satisfaction. And now, so am I.
Because this hate is all I have left … that's truly mine.
NOTE: This is sort of an experiment for me, a "first person present tense" walk into the damaged mind of my new protagonist. It's dark, but so is her outlook, and I look forward to hearing what others think about walking a mile in Stark's heels. *hugs* Thanks for reading! -- Randalynn
Stark: Ghost at the Banquet
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A well-tended house on a quiet suburban street hides a crime Stark must avenge, and a criminal that must be punished. When a wife's CD plays a different tune, someone has to pay the piper — and Stark's the new DJ. The song's not pretty, but someone's going to dance to it ... for a long, long time.
by Randalynn
And switch all my priorities around.
Why don't you go pick on someone your own size instead?
Go on without me, I'll just slow you down.
Go on without me, I'll just slow you down."
"You always say you know me, somehow I don't think you do.
Maybe you should buy another vowel?
You're jumping to conclusions, so I can't keep up with you.
Go on without me, I'll just slow you down."
-- Warren Zevon, "I'll Slow You Down"
From the outside, the house on the suburban street appeared well-tended. The grass was cut, the hedges trimmed, and the exterior was recently repainted in a pale blue that seemed almost feminine. Considering the hand she was sure had painted it, Stark was not surprised.
She sat in her car across the street, watching the house and waiting for the go-ahead from the prep team. The hate was still there, still strong, burning deep inside her. It glowed white hot in her mind, and she cherished it for the protection it gave her. It was her last line of defense against what she could become -- what she would become if the hate ever failed her.
Every time she glanced down at the folder in her lap, it would flare briefly as her eyes registered the pictures of the handsome middle-aged man, and what he had become. Then she would look away and let it cool, just a little. Keeping the hate balanced was an art.
At one point in the past, she had let it consume her. She needed to, then, to overcome the programming they'd given her. She'd needed it to survive. When she had killed the bitches who had done this to her, she was little more than an animal. She was better now, relatively speaking. But she still needed the hate. It was the only thing that kept her from becoming what the bitches programmed her to be. Unfortunately, as a result, she was always a breath away from becoming either an inhuman psychopath, or a happy play toy for anything with a cock and an attitude. Too much hate or too little — lean too far either way, and she would be lost.
Sometimes she wondered if she was already gone, and just too stubborn to admit it. She was nothing at all like the man she had been before they had taken her, and nothing like the woman the bitches had wanted her to become. But she always pushed that thought away. Unlike most people, she knew who she was, and where she came from. And she had a purpose. If I am the walking dead, she thought with a scowl, I'm going to rattle a lot of chains before they lay me down.
The radio cracked into life.
"Process completed, Ma'am. They're ready."
She flicked the switch over her head. "Thank you, gentlemen," she said sweetly, her voice projecting a teasing playfulness she did not feel at all. "You can go now."
Stark put the folder aside, snagged her purse from the passenger seat, and opened the door. Knees together, she swiveled her lower body and placed her feet firmly on the ground before rising smoothly from the driver's seat. She wore blacks and grays, as she always did — a mid-length black dress with a smart charcoal grey jacket, black hose and calf-high black boots with three-inch heels. Her blonde hair tumbled down over her shoulder in large curls, and her pale blue eyes flicked cautiously to either side before striding across the street. Her full red lips framed a cheerful half-smile of bright straight white teeth, welcoming and friendly.
It was only when someone looked into her eyes that they realized she was neither.
Her heels clicked their way up the front walk, her hips swaying, her skirt moving back and forth against her legs. Her breasts bounced slightly as she mounted the stairs. When she reached the door, she could hear the sound of a vacuum cleaner running inside.
She rang the bell.
The vacuum shut off almost instantly, replaced by the sound of heels on a small patch of hardwood floor. The door swung open, revealing a pretty brunette with a stunning figure. She wore a light green dress in a floral print, and a pair of sensible pumps. The plunging neckline revealed impressive cleavage, framed by a string of pearls. As Stark looked into her face, she saw only a cheerful smile and a twinkle in her eyes.
It made her sick.
"Can I help you?" The woman asked, her voice a contralto melody.
"Actually, Donna, I'm here to help you," Stark said softly. She muttered a twisted mess of syllables, causing Donna to smile wider, step aside, and motion Stark to enter. The entryway was small and attached to the living room area, which was tastefully decorated in a feminine style. No masculine influences here, Stark thought ruefully. Not anymore. She looked at the pictures on the walls and tables, of a group of four women happily doing things together --dancing, cruises, even a camping trip.
"Excuse me," a sharp voice said from behind. "Who are you?"
Stark turned around to see a slightly irritated woman in a sweatshirt and jeans staring at her from the entryway to the kitchen.
"This is a friend, Marybeth," Donna said happily. "Miss ...?"
"Stark," she said. "Just Stark. And although I may be Don's friend, I am most certainly no friend of yours."
Marybeth looked confused for a moment, then realized what Stark had said. "D...Don," she stuttered, her eyes shifting to Donna's still smiling face and back again. "There is no Don here."
"No," Stark agreed in a flat voice. "Not anymore. Not since you killed him."
Donna became more confused, her eyes shifting from Stark to Marybeth and back again. "I ... I was Don," she whispered. "A long time ago. But that was before I knew who I really was. Marybeth helped me become the woman I had always been ... inside."
Stark turned to her and spoke again, another tangled knot of sounds that almost seemed like words. Donna's eyes turned vacant, and she walked to the sofa, swept her skirt under her, and sat gracefully before dropping off into sleep. Marybeth watched this happen, and Stark saw her eyes narrow when she realized the truth.
"You know." Marybeth saw the look on Stark's face and stepped back without realizing she was retreating.
"I know," Stark said, her voice dripping with loathing. "I know everything. As soon as I heard about it, I tracked down the company selling those mind control CDs and DVDs, and shut it down. We confiscated the equipment for making those CDs, and the computers. We also found customer files stretching back decades — the addresses of murderers who never even stopped to consider what they were doing to the people they supposedly loved. And the weird thing was ... almost all of the customers were women. Strange, don't you think? That those who are supposed to care the most, love the deepest, should kill those they love so easily?"
More apparently random sounds slipped from Stark's lips, and Marybeth found herself walking across the room to sit in the chair by the fireplace. It was like she was remote controlled, which in a way is exactly what she was.
"Sorry for the puppet treatment," Stark said, then smiled. "Actually, I'm not. We've been pumping subliminal programming into the house for the past two days. The same sort of thing you used on Don, as a matter of fact. It's nice to see it works just as well for me."
Still frozen in her chair, Marybeth found she could still speak. "H ... how could you ...?"
Stark shrugged. "Send a strong enough radio signal at any speaker, and it will play what you send, regardless of whether the device attached to the speaker is actually on. Or so they tell me." She raised her hands in mock surrender. "I'm just the boss. I don't HAVE to know how any of it works."
"Who the hell ARE you?" Marybeth's voice began to rise with a mix of anger and fear.
"I'm Stark," she replied simply, sitting gracefully across from Marybeth and crossing her legs at the knee. "For reasons of my own, I've made it my life's work to rescue men forced into feminization and submission by women like you -- or to balance the scales for those who cannot be saved, like Don."
"What are you talking about? Donna is right there!"
"Oh, yes." Stark's normally beautiful face instantly became a mask of hate. "Donna is here. But the man you married ... the man you loved and spent twenty five happy years with ... well, he's gone now." She rose to her feet and began pacing, leaving Marybeth to watch her stride angrily back and forth across the spotless living room. "Don made enough money to retire early, after a long and successful career working hard to provide for you and your sons. He started spending all his time at home, with you. At first, it was wonderful, wasn't it? Then things changed. He started watching football and NASCAR all day. Messing up the kitchen and the bathroom. Leaving his clothes on the floor. Inviting his friends to hang out and drink beer. In your house. It was irritating at first, but as it went on, you became angrier and angrier. There were arguments, and some screaming matches. Divorce was mentioned, but no one was quite sure by who."
"How do you know all this?"
Stark waved her hands in dismissal. "We interviewed the people in your old neighborhood, and where Don used to work."
Marybeth frowned. "That's a lot of effort."
"I like to be thorough. No sense rushing to judgment, after all. As much as I like to." She pouted briefly, then continued.
"One day, in the middle of all this domestic drama, your son and his wife come for a visit. He's dressed in women's clothing, exhibiting perfectly natural feminine mannerisms, gushing about clothes and make-up and hair, helping in the kitchen. And there's your daughter-in-law Judy, dressing like a man and playing husband to the 'new girl.' She tells you about these wonderful CDs she used to change Kevin into Kira, a perfect housewife ... and a bitch in heat in the bedroom."
Stark turned and stared at Marybeth from across the room, with a look that made her wonder how this woman actually saw her. It was cold, but somehow worse than the heat she'd shown only a few minutes earlier. As if Marybeth was a specimen ... like a rare insect or bird.
"Now, here's some thing I just don't understand," Stark said, her voice almost calm. "Kevin was by all accounts a good man. You raised him well. He was a successful engineer. He loved tinkering with cars and computers, building things in the basement. He read murder mysteries and science fiction, and coached peewee baseball and soccer. He was a good husband. He was your son. Now he's gone, and there's this ... thing called Kira living in his body. All Kira wants to do now is clean house, watch soaps, and make love to her 'husband' whenever 'he's' in the mood. A good little puppet."
Now her voice turned sharp, and angry. "If someone did something like that to someone I loved, they would be dead. I'm a simple girl with simple rules, and no one messes with the people I care about. But you! You let your daughter-in-law get away with killing the boy you raised. A good man. And then you went and did the same thing to Don, the man you built a life with."
"She even convinced Kevin he wanted a complete sex change," Stark muttered, folding her arms under her breasts and shivering. "Made him think it was a reward. Just like you did with Don."
Marybeth said nothing. Stark stood over her and glowered.
"Now you're enjoying yourself, aren't you? You and Judy, with your life-sized Barbie dolls. Life's just a great big party, isn't it? Donna cooks and cleans, happily doing whatever you want her to. Then at night, she gets into her little black dress and her four-inch heels and you all go out for dinner and dancing, and maybe Donna catches herself a stud with an itch to scratch and you send her off while you hunt your own man for the night. And I bet Judy and Kira do the same. One big happy fucking family. Life would be perfect, except for the whole 'murdering Don and Kevin' thing."
Marybeth felt a flash of anger. "You're crazy! They're not gone! Don is right there! All you'd have to do to bring him back is use the right commands!"
"Ha!" Stark strode angrily towards Marybeth, still frozen in the chair. She put both hands on the arms of the chair and leaned over the other woman. "You think so? You think the man you married is still in there? After more than two years ... like that?"
"Of course!"
"Then go ahead! Call him back!" Stark turned her head and muttered more syllables, and Donna roused slowly and looked at them both. Stark turned and snarled in Marybeth's face. "Call him back, if you can!"
Marybeth felt a shiver of fear, and then spoke a few words in Donna's direction. Nothing happened. She tried again. Still nothing. Stark put Donna back to sleep, then rose from her position above the woman and took a few steps back.
"Don is dead," she stated flatly. "Kevin's dead, too. They started dying the first time you and your daughter-in-law used those CDs. The programming on those things ... it goes into the deep structures of the brain, writes over whatever it finds and replaces it with whatever the user desires. That ... thing ... on the sofa is little more than a biological robot, a Stepford Wives wanna-be, driven by a series of command pathways and overrides set in place by you. Oh, it thinks and feels and primps and cleans, but it isn't Don. The only thing left of Don is his DNA, surgically altered, shuffling around in a pretty print dress and heels vacuuming your rugs and pretending to be your sister, or your best friend, or whatever you decided you wanted instead of the husband and lover you had."
Stark turned towards Donna, and sighed. "And even if we could somehow bring Don and Kevin back as they were, before you and Judy betrayed them ... can you imagine the horror of waking up with two years gone and discovering that the women they thought loved them had brainwashed them? Turned them into paragons of stereotypical womanhood -- then had their bodies carved to fit?"
Marybeth's lower lips trembled, but she refused to give up. "It's not true. They can't be dead! You could use the CDs again to fix them, reprogram them to be what they were!"
Stark didn't even bother to look at her. "The brain is not a hard drive, you stupid bitch. It's living tissue. How many times do you think you can re-write neural pathways? They're only supposed to be written once, when you form the original connections. That's when you teach yourself how to think ... how to be the person you are. People are a sum of their experiences. Their likes and dislikes change and grow over years of development. You deleted all that when you wrote over it. And when you deleted that, you deleted Don. So even if we used the CDs again without killing them both, it wouldn't be bringing Don or Kevin back. We'd just be programming the biological robots with a new set of instructions. They might behave the way you remember Don or Kevin behaving, but they would just be going through the motions. The spontaneity and creativity would be missing. The soul, or whatever it is that makes humans individuals, alive and self-determining, would be gone."
There was a long silence as Marybeth thought about what she'd done. Stark did nothing. Since she had been transformed, Stark had become surprisingly good at doing nothing. Finally, Marybeth spoke.
"I don't care," she snapped. "Donna is here now, and Judy has Kira, and if they aren't what they were anymore, they're still happy with who we told them to be. That's enough for me."
"Well not for me," Stark replied in an even tone. "You murdered Don. Judy murdered Kevin."
"Well, what of it? We're happy together now," Marybeth continued stubbornly. "Why don't you just go away and leave us alone? Donna is happy with me, and you'll only hurt her if you kill me now. She'll have no one."
"I won't leave you alone because you murdered Don. You admitted it. Without remorse." Stark turned back towards the motionless woman in the chair. "I'm not going to kill you. That would be quick, and you don't deserve quick. And even though Donna isn't Don, she still deserves respect in his memory. To leave Donna alone and friendless after what you did would punish her for your crime. No, you won't die."
Marybeth felt a brief spark of hope, an instant before she saw Stark's lips move as if she's tasted something unpleasant.
"You won't die," Stark repeated. "I have something ... worse in mind for you."
She spoke again, another twisted tangle of almost-words. A big empty hole opened in Marybeth's soul, and suddenly she was thrust into memories so real they HURT ...
... Don coming to her at the pub, asking if she'd like a drink, looking at her like she was candy and almost too frightened to approach her, making her feel special and wanted even though he'd barely spoken four words to her and she looked into his eyes ...
... the first time they kissed, their lips meeting and her insides melting and his arms around her and the whole world drowned out by the feeling inside ...
... their first date, so handsome and her with her best dress on, treating her like a princess, dinner and dancing and the whole time his eyes never left her as he listened to every word, just happy to have her ...
Marybeth fell to her knees, her arms wrapped around her, her body wracked by the power of her own past. Stark smiled grimly, and spoke again.
... she watched him as he held tiny Kevin for the first time, carefully with a little fear, like just touching the baby would break it somehow, his eyes wide with wonder and love as he looked down on his newborn son and she realized how much Don meant to her, how special he was ...
... him hugging her from behind in the kitchen as she cooked, the warm male smell of him filling her nostrils while his mouth softly kissed her neck, his whispered words of love bringing tears to her eyes ...
... Don's arms around her on a Sunday morning as they slept, long before Kevin was born, just a few months past "I do" and the honeymoon still strong inside them both, "'til death" ...
Tears streamed down her cheeks, unheeded, unchecked. She lay curled up on the floor, moaning softly, deep despair filling her to the core. Her heart ached remembering the man she'd loved. The man she'd lost.
The man she killed.
Stark spoke a third time, and Marybeth rose to her feet. Tears dried instantly on the outside, although inside her heart still screamed from the pain.
Stark walked right up to her and looked into her eyes.
"This is how it works. You killed Don, and said you didn't care. Well, I'm going to make you care. From this point on, every time you see Donna, you'll relive the happiest parts of the life you shared with the Don you loved. The Don who loved you."
She smiled. "You'll relive twenty five years of the joys and simple pleasures your husband brought you, and bask in the love he felt and showed you -- every time you look at the pretty puppet you turned him into. It will eat you up inside. But that's where it will stay. Nothing will ever show ... outside."
Marybeth's face grew calm, and it even smiled a little. But behind the mask, she was an emotional wreck, battered by her own memories and the knowledge of what she had lost.
"You can't leave Donna. Ever. You can't avoid her, either. It's impossible with the programming we set up. You'll just keep doing everything you've been doing. And you can't tell anyone what's going on in your head, especially Donna." Stark looked over at the sleeping figure on the sofa with pity. "Knowing how much just looking at her is hurting you would be too much for her to bear. She may not be Don, but there's still someone there -- an innocent who's suffered enough."
She looked back at Marybeth. "Instead, you'll just smile and laugh and carry on just as you've always done, while on the inside you'll be ripping yourself apart remembering all the good times you had with the man you killed."
Stark picked up her purse, turned and walked to the front door. She turned back to find a smiling Marybeth watching her, a touch of desperation in her eyes.
"I made sure Donna won't notice anything out of the ordinary, like an occasional tear or a trembling lip," Stark said. "I don't want her asking questions you can't answer. It would only upset her."
"Why do you care so much how Donna feels if she isn't real?" Marybeth's question was delivered easily, through smiling lips.
"Oh, I never said she wasn't real. I just said she wasn't Don." She pushed a few stray curls back over her shoulder. "I've been through something like what she went through. I'm pretty sure I'm still real. I'm just not quite the man I was."
Marybeth's eyes widened. Stark nodded.
"I have to give her the benefit of the doubt, or start worrying about myself. And I've got enough going on in my head as it is."
She said something unintelligible to Donna, and she began to wake.
"I'll just leave you two lovebirds to it, then," Stark said, almost happily. She opened the door, letting light stream in from the outside. "I have an appointment with Judy and Kevin next. Her punishment won't be the same as yours. It wouldn't really work. After all, she had only a few years with Kevin before she killed him, so the memories won't be as rich or as ... numerous as yours. But whatever I come up with, I know it will be fun. For me, anyway." She stepped out the door with a wave, pulling it closed behind her.
As Stark walked across the street to her car, she grinned to herself. Trust a ghost like me to stage an old-fashioned haunting, she thought savagely. And the best thing is, she'll do all the haunting herself.
The black car pulled away from the curb, and the pale blue house on the suburban street retreated in the rear view mirror.
"The party's over, bitch," Stark whispered as she watched it disappear. "Welcome to your table in hell."
Stark: Childhood's End
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Stark's search for the legendary Medallion of Zulo leads her to a playground in a park, and a little girl who isn't -- or shouldn't be. It's rescue, not revenge this time for our heroine, but is she truly up to the task? And who's rescuing who, exactly?
by Randalynn
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
ӬMy passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone."
- Edgar Allan Poe, "Alone"
for those inside it." - George F. Will
The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the grass and trees were the self-satisfied green that only comes from a near golf-course level obsession with well-tended foliage.
Stark sat on a bench in a city park, watching happy smiling people doing whatever happy smiling people did in their spare time. A lot of it seemed to involve Frisbees, dogs, and long walks holding hands -- usually with members of the opposite sex. In her yellow and green backless sundress, Stark frowned and fidgeted, trying hard to be comfortable and failing, just as she always did in situations other people would classify as "normal." It made her sad inside, and with good reason.
Stark would never be normal again. She'd never be a part of this world full of happy families and everyday worries. Never have children, or a mate. In a way, she would always be alone.
Oh, she had Jeff, of course. He'd been her best friend for a long time -- all the way back to when she was a he, with a life and a job he loved. Now Jeff was her right-hand man, and all she had left from her past. She needed Jeff, and he was always there for her -- keeping her connected to her own humanity as she tried hard to stay sane and whole.
But I can never let myself get too close to him, she thought bitterly. Not if I want to stay ... me. Stark couldn't deny she was attracted to Jeff, maybe even loved him. He was a good man, the best she'd ever known. But she was constantly fighting the mental programming they used to change her into a submissive sex slave, and that made her relationship with him an emotional minefield. One night with Jeff could easily destroy her fragile grasp on the person she used to be -- the person she worked every waking minute to keep alive somewhere inside. If she ever gave in to her need for Jeff as a woman, the man Stark was once might be lost forever.
And she had her people -- former prisoners of the bitches who kidnapped and changed her. They were other kidnapped men, turned into feminized playthings and rescued from a living hell by Stark in a fit of homicidal rage. Now the ex-men were firmly dedicated to her mission. And to her.
But most of them saw her as some kind of savior. Many, she knew, would lay down their lives for her if only she would ask. And more than a few would throw themselves in front of a bullet for her without thinking twice.
She still didn't know how to feel about that. Currently, she wavered between slightly embarrassed and more than a little freaked out. They loved her and she loved them, it was true. But too many of them worshipped her as some kind of dark goddess. And many others feared her, remembering how she looked the night she killed the bitches who had done this to them all -- naked, crouched on that ballroom floor, out of her mind and covered with blood, knives at the ready.
Either way, it meant becoming closer to her people was ... difficult at best.
Not the time to think about this. She shook her head, sighed, and shifted uneasily on the bench. Alone is what you are. It's not going to change. Deal with it on your own time.
Stark crossed her legs and watched the children play. Or rather, she watched one pretty little blonde girl sitting by herself while everyone else played. The others talked and laughed, and chased each other through the jungle gyms and swing sets. The girl was almost grimly focused, her legs sticking out straight, staring down between her feet and drawing in the dirt with a stick. She couldn't have been more than five or six years old, but she was small, so it was hard to guess her age. Several of the other girls started running in her direction, then stopped. They whispered to each other and ran away, giggling. She didn't look up. She didn't look happy.
The other girls wore jeans or overalls with pastel-colored tee shirts. She wore a light blue play dress with matching panties, white socks with lace trim, and black Mary Janes. Stark was pretty sure she didn't choose her own outfit. The ever-present anger that kept her programming at bay roared in the back of her head, but for the first time in a long time, she ignored it. As well as anger had served her in the past, this was not the time or place to let it have its way.
This was a rescue, not revenge.
She looked around. The girl's nanny was nowhere to be seen. It was time. Stark rose gracefully from the bench and wandered across the grass in her high-heeled sandals. Even though the heels were wide, they still sank a bit in the moist earth and thick grass. Still, her whole body swayed seductively as she glided to the edge of the playground, and she noticed male heads turning to watch her progress.
She paused for a moment, then crouched down by the blonde girl, knees together. The girl kept drawing in the dirt, and Stark saw it was a pretty fair portrait of a man -- good enough for her to recognize the subject.
"Nice drawing," she said softly. "You're very talented."
"Thank you," the girl replied politely, if a bit distantly.
"That's you, isn't it?" Stark watched her intently, and saw her grimace.
"Not me," she said dully. "I'm a girl, silly. That's a grown-up man." Her voice became a growl. "NEVER be me." Savagely, she scratched it out and threw down the stick.
"I don't mean you now," Stark said, her voice soft and gentle. "I meant you before she betrayed you."
The little girl looked up, frightened, right into Stark's eyes. She saw only friendship and compassion. And a little sadness.
"Hello, Craig." Stark said, holding out her hand.
The girl looked away. "My name's Chrissy."
"Yes it is. Now. But you were Craig, once." Lowering her hand, Stark sat down on the ground next to the girl and tucked her legs under her. Chrissy wouldn't meet her eyes. "And your girlfriend's name was Crystal, right?"
The girl still said nothing, but Stark could see her trembling. She kept her voice soft. "You graduated from college, and managed a bar to make ends meet while you looked for a job as a graphic artist. She worked in management for a large chain of children's clothing stores. You had an argument because she wanted to accept a big promotion at work and move to another town, and you didn't.
"The next day you found this weird-looking medallion in an antique store. You bought it as a present to try and make things right with her. The old woman who sold it to you said it was the Medallion of Zulo. She told you it had magic powers -- that it could make you into someone else just by touching a piece of clothing. You thought it was a joke, until you made the mistake of touching something with it, and it changed you."
Chrissy looked back at the ground, and finally nodded. "It was a swimsuit," she said in a small voice. "A little girl's one-piece. Crystal bought it for her niece."
Stark nodded, even though the girl couldn't see her. "The medallion changed you into the little girl you needed to be for the suit to fit. At first you freaked, but then you realized you didn't have to worry. Everything would be okay. After all, according to the woman in the antique store, you'd only have to stay like that for twelve hours. Crystal would protect you. She loved you. She'd keep you safe until you could go back to being you."
Chrissy's shoulders started to shake, and Stark saw tears falling, staining the dirt at her feet.
"But it didn't work out that way, did it?" Stark whispered, wanting to reach out and not knowing how. "Crystal wanted that promotion. And I'm guessing she discovered that she liked dominating you. Controlling you. Treating you like a child. So she threw the Medallion away and forced you to become her daughter. She trapped you like this ... forever."
Without conscious thought, Stark's hand rested on Chrissy's shoulder and squeezed. The little girl looked up at Stark, tears still streaming down her cheeks.
"She said she'd leave me behind, like this, unless I shut up and did whatever she said." Chrissy's tiny voice shook. "She didn't seem to care what she was doing was wrong. She stole my life!" Chrissy hurled herself into Stark's arms, still crying. Stark felt the small warm body against hers, and wrapped the girl in a tight hug that surprised them both.
Chrissy tried to talk through body-wracking sobs. "I loved her, and she did this to me. I was so small and weak, and scared all the time. Scared of her, and scared of what was happening to me. After a few days, I couldn't read or tell time. I started to lisp when I talked. And I had to sleep in diapers for a year until I could learn how to stop wetting while I slept. But that wasn't the worst part." She buried her face in Stark's shoulder.
"She sent me to daycare."
"At first, I thought it would be okay. I would meet new people, maybe find a friend. But the other kids stayed away. They knew I wasn't right somehow. The things they loved, I hated. I was terrible at being a little girl. I couldn't play dolls to save my life, or color, or jump rope. My heart just wasn't in it. I was still a grown-up inside. And I was always so sad. The ... other girls knew I was just no fun to be around. I needed someone so badly. Someone to talk to, who would like me, just for me. But I had no real friends, and no way to make them. I was just ... alone."
Chrissy had stopped crying, but made no move to break from Stark's hug. If anything, the girl hugged her harder. Stark stroked her hair and just held her, her heart reaching out to this abused man-girl. Compassion replaced the hate that kept her demons at bay, and her own tears welled up and slipped silently down her face.
"The more Crystal pushed the little girl stuff down my throat, the more it made me choke." Chrissy's voice, muffled against Stark's shoulder, held nothing but despair. "I had to be the perfect little girl for her, always. And I hated it. I hated her, so much. Once, I tried to reach out -- tried to tell her how I felt inside after what she did. She threw up my skirt, pulled down my panties and spanked me until my bottom ached. God, how it hurt. I cried for hours. When she was through, she sent me to bed without supper, and told me to forget the man I had been, or else. Whatever love I had left for her died that night, and took my hope with it." She snorted, half-laughing at herself. "That was two years ago, and nothing's changed. There was no hope, at least until I grew up enough to run away. I would always be alone."
Stark pulled back and looked into the girl's eyes, red and puffy from crying. "You aren't alone anymore. You'll never be alone again."
Chrissy looked up at her. "How do you know so much about me? Who ARE you?"
"I'm ... Stark," she said, suddenly realizing how cold her name sounded. She thought back to what Jeff called her -- the female version of her old male name. "My friends call me Jo."
There was a long silence. The little girl looked at her critically, and Stark found herself suddenly unsure.
"I'd ... like to be your friend," Stark replied "The friend you've been looking for. Somebody who knows how you feel."
"You?" She looked away, slightly angry. "A pretty woman like you? I saw you coming out of the corner of my eye. I saw how all those ... men looked at you. That smile on your face -- you liked it! They love you, and you like. How could you ever know how I feel?"
"Because I don't like it. And I wasn't born this way." Stark shivered, closing her eyes and hugging herself under her breasts. "I used to be a man, like you. A group of women grabbed me off a street corner in Baltimore and turned me into ... this. They did this to a lot of men -- twisted them in different ways, tortured them. Turned them into sick reflections of women. Played with their minds as well as their bodies. I can't turn off that damn smile unless I think about it hard -- they wanted the men who look at me to think I like it, but I don't. I hate it."
She turned her head away, tears falling on her breasts as she stared out over the park, lost in the past. "To them it was some kind of sick hobby, backed by a lot of money and a deep hatred of men, as men. But I ... stopped them. And helped free their other victims. Now everything they had is mine." Stark shook her head, and looked down at her feet. "For all the good it does me. I'm still trapped ... like this. Forever. Body and mind, I'll always be partly their puppet. Partly their slave."
Stark felt a tiny hand on her leg, and looked over to see Chrissy's worried face.
"I'm sorry, man," the little girl said, sounding so much like Stark imagined Craig used to sound. "That's rough."
Stark reached over and stroked the girl's hair again. "No worse than what happened to you, 'man.'" Chrissy smiled and looked away. "And it's not all bad. I've got a mission now."
"A ... mission?"
"I spend my time -- and their money -- helping men who have been tricked by women or betrayed by those they loved. Men forced into womanhood against their will."
It was Chrissy's turn to turn away. "How can you help me, Jo?" Her tiny voice quavered. "There's nothing you can do. I'm trapped, just like you are."
Stark turned Chrissy around gently.
"No, you're not," she said softly. "I can make it better, at least a little. I can take you away from her, and give you a home with people who know who you really are, and what happened to you. My people ... all of us ... we all know how you feel. We live with what happened to us every day. Trust comes hard to all of us now, but from our shared pain comes ... community."
Stark stopped, and realized for the first time what she herself had created from the ashes of the past. "I can give you a home, Craig. A family. My family. People you can trust to be there for you, to take care of you and keep you safe."
She took a deep breath. "I think I can also give you back what you lost, mentally. The people who changed me used technology to try and reprogram my mind, to make me into what they wanted me to be. Some of it stuck, but the worst of it failed, probably because deep down inside I'm just too much of a bitch to be totally trained." Chrissy looked shocked, then smiled. "But that same tech can be used to teach you everything the Medallion took away." Chrissy looked stunned, and Stark nodded. "You can be back at college level in a matter of weeks. The rest is just practice."
Chrissy turned away, thinking hard. Stark stood up and watched her. "It's too good to be true," she whispered.
Stark put a hand on her shoulder. "No, it's not," she whispered. "Fate's been kicking you around for two years now. Isn't it about time your luck changed?" Chrissy looked up at Stark with a small smile. Stark smiled back, then paused. "There's ... something else. Maybe ... just maybe, I can give you back your hope."
"How?"
"I've been tracking that damned piece of jewelry for about four months. That's how I found you. I've been following a trail that stretches back years through hundreds of lives destroyed in seventeen states. Some of what I figured out about your situation was guesswork, based on my own experiences with betrayal, and what I've learned about the medallion's history. The rest I confirmed with witnesses."
"But if I find the Medallion, I can change you back," Stark said firmly. "I can give you back the life she stole."
"No, you can't," the little girl replied, her lower lips trembling. "She threw all of my stuff away. I don't have any clothing left that will turn me back ... into me."
"You don't need any." Chrissy looked up, startled. Stark reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a picture. "Look at this. What do you see?"
"A little girl on a swing set. She looks happy. Why?"
"Because that's Crystal's niece," Stark said, taking back the picture. "I sent detectives to take her picture, and you don't look anything like her. That means she never wore the swimsuit you touched with the Medallion. It just turned you into the girl you might have been, not a copy of anyone else. That's how it works."
"So ..." Chrissy's eyes narrowed, then grew wide as she realized the truth. Stark nodded.
"Touching any piece of male clothing for someone in the right age range will turn you back into the man you were. My people, too. That's why I've been searching for it so hard."
Stark watched the hope come back to Chrissy's eyes. She gave her arm a little squeeze. "I can't promise we'll find it. It seems to have a way of disappearing after someone has used it. We've been chasing it for a while, and even though the trail is easy to follow sometimes, other times it falls off the map completely. But I've got a lot of cash and people to throw at the problem. We're searching antique stores, yard sales, flea markets -- any of the places it's shown up before. If we can find it, we will."
She came down to Chrissy's level once more. "There are other methods out there as well, if the stories are true. Other types of magic, for instance -- witchcraft, sorcery. Djinn, too. And if you can believe the tabloids, there's some alien technology that keeps popping up all over the world -- something called a Morphic Adaptation Unit. Supposedly, it can change you into whatever you imagine, but it stops working after a few days and you're stuck. Unfortunately, the government seems to be suppressing knowledge of its existence and grabbing every one of them it can find."
Chrissy gave her a look that seemed too wise for her years. "Do you really believe that?" she asked skeptically.
Stark shrugged, her breasts bouncing slightly in the sundress. "I don't know. But I have to keep an open mind. My people need their lives back. If I'm wrong, then searching for this stuff only wastes money, and I've got plenty to waste. Besides, we both know the Medallion is real. You're living proof. And if the Medallion is real, why not the MAU?"
Chrissy thought for a moment, then her eyes widened. "Hey! What about you? When we find the Medallion, you can use it too, right?"
Stark shuddered all over and closed her eyes. Chrissy watched her whole body shaking until she could get it under control. She reached out and touched Stark carefully.
"Jo? Are you okay?"
"I will be," Stark's voice shook, her eyes still shut tightly. "The ... bitches who did this to me ... they made sure I could never change back, or be changed back by anyone. I can't even think about it without getting sick." She took a few deep breaths. "I'll die if it happens. They made sure my brain would tell my body to just ... shut down if I tried to change anything they did to me physically. I can't stand living like this. But as horrible as this life is, I'm not ready to pull the plug just yet. I still have so much to do." She opened her eyes and smiled at Chrissy. "Like help you, for instance."
Chrissy smiled back, then her face darkened. "Crystal isn't going to just let me go."
Stark's smile changed, and there was something in her eyes that sent a shiver through the little girl's body. From caring to cold in an instant, Chrissy thought. Crystal is definitely out of her league.
"She will, if she knows what's good for her." Stark stood up, gave a big stretch, and held out a hand. "Let's go tell her the good news."
Chrissy hesitated for a second, then took her hand. Together, they started walking.
"Jo? Will you ... hurt her?" she asked in a curious tone, looking up at Stark as they moved across the park.
"Oh, yes," Stark replied easily. "Badly, and over a long period of time. Unless you tell me not to."
"If I said no, you wouldn't?"
"Only if you asked." Stark reached up and touched her earring twice. The headlights on a black BMW facing the park flashed twice in response. "You're the one she wronged. I won't hurt her if that's how you want it."
They walked hand in hand, silent for a moment. Stark looked down at her companion, and spoke again. "But you of all people know she needs to be punished for what she did to you, Chrissy. Otherwise she'll think she was right to do it." The little girl nodded solemnly. Stark nodded back, satisfied that she'd gotten through. "She's like a child, in a way," she went on, scanning the horizon as they left the park. "She really doesn't get what's right or wrong. Someone needs to spank her. Hard."
Chrissy stopped short, put her hands over her mouth and giggled. Stark turned and looked at the girl, confused.
"That's exactly what she needs," Chrissy squeaked through the laughter. "Let's give her a good hard spanking and send her to bed with no supper. Then we'll let her go in the morning." She thought for a minute more. "Ummmmm ... could we dress her up like a baby girl and leave her here in the park? Sort of ... poetic justice?"
Stark thought about it, and it was her turn to laugh -- something she hadn't done in a long time. It sounded almost musical. And it felt ... good.
"Is that all you want?" she asked seriously, her hand on Chrissy's shoulder. "After everything Crystal's done to you?"
Chrissy's eyes twinkled as she looked up at Stark. She nodded. "Yep. For me, it's enough. I may be a little girl now, but I'm twice the person she'll ever be. And I always will be. I can't sink down to her level. Besides, nothing I could do to her could ever match what she's done to me -- so why try?"
"That's true," Stark said with a little smile, starting off for the black BMW once more. "You're very generous towards someone you said you hated."
"I can afford to be," Chrissy replied, smiling back. "Being a little girl isn't looking so bad, now that I've got hope. And a family. And a friend." She squeezed Stark's hand, and to her surprise, Stark squeezed back.
Maybe I'm getting a little bit of my own hope back, she thought. I'm not burning with rage, but the programming's still at bay. Maybe I'm not as trapped as I thought I was. She squeezed Chrissy's hand again. And maybe... I'm not as alone as I thought, either.
Far behind her, she heard the sound of a woman calling.
"Chrissy! Chrissy!" The nanny's breathless voice chased them to the curb where Stark's car was waiting. Stark turned and watched the young woman running awkwardly across the park. She opened the car door and helped Chrissy into a car seat as the nanny stumbled to a stop, panting furiously, trying to catch her breath.
"You!" She pointed at Stark, anger making her hand shake. "Stop right there!"
Chrissy smiled. "It's okay, Linda. She's a friend ... of the family."
"Be quiet, Chrissy! I'm not speaking to you. Seen and not heard, remember?" She turned back to Stark. "Where do you think you're going?"
Stark looked at her. "We're going to go talk to Crystal," she said simply. "We've got a lot to talk about, don't we, hon?"
The nanny looked at Chrissy, and Chrissy nodded. "That's right, Linda. Jo's taking me home."
Stark smiled and closed the door.
"Yes," Stark said, almost happily. "I'm taking her ... home."
Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts.
Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me...
Anything can happen, child. Anything can be."
- Shel Silverstein
Stark: Due Process
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In a break from tradition, Stark lets the law take down her target -- but when it comes to cruel and unusual punishment, Stark is the judge and jury. In her court, you have the right to remain silent ... but she'd really prefer it if you'd scream.
by Randalynn
He is in front of it." - Axel Munthe
The blonde woman who sat down across the table from her was dressed for business, but still managed to convey an air of unforced femininity.
That had always been a difficult line to walk, Josie thought. She had fought that battle herself for years, trying to balance being an attorney in a male-dominated profession with being a woman and wanting to look like one. But this woman in front of her seemed to manage it effortlessly.
Still, Josie's confusion overcame her sense of admiration. Police had come for her in the middle of the night, read her a Miranda warning, then dragged her off to central headquarters and placed her in this interrogation room, still in handcuffs. Her requests to contact a lawyer had been ignored. So she had waited here, silently, for over three hours -- waited for someone to come and tell her why she was here, and what she was accused of. She passed the time wondering how many lawsuits she could file for this wanton disregard of her civil liberties. As an attorney, Josie Raines knew her rights, and tonight, someone was going to pay.
Then this woman had entered, striding confidently to the chair across from hers with a briefcase in hand. She sat gracefully, placing her case on the table as she did so, and looked at Josie as if she were an exhibit in a zoo. They sat in silence for a few moments, until Josie's curiosity overcame her sense of caution.
"What is going on?" she snapped. "Why am I here? Who are you?"
The woman across the desk held out her hand, palm forward. Josie reared back, surprised.
"My name is Stark," the woman said, her voice level. "I have no official standing with any police department or federal agency. I just have a lot of friends in the community, and a decided interest in the concept of justice. And you, Ms. Raines, are in deep, deep shit."
The expletive falling from those ruby lips in such cultured tones only served to confuse Josie further. Her visitor opened the briefcase and proceeded to place a series of pictures and documents on the table in front of her. "Last night, agents of federal and state law enforcement raided a compound in northwest Georgia and discovered fifty three men being held in captivity, being treated as babies or small children. Seventeen of them were dressed as little girls. One of them was your ex-husband, Barry Costigan."
Stark placed a series of photographs in front of Josie. Barry was much thinner and more frail than the last time she had seen him free. He was wrapped in a blanket, being led to an ambulance by several men in windbreakers with "FBI" across the back in large letters. Josie could see Barry's hair being blown by a breeze, the long curls bouncing. The skirts of his pink party dress fluttered behind him. The pictures were so sharp, she could even see the tears flowing down his face as he cried, presumably with happiness.
He held a plastic baby doll in a death grip.
Stark saw Josie smile as she looked at the pictures. She took another stack of papers out of her case and dropped them on the table.
"Examination of the records at the compound showed that you have been paying the owner of the establishment to keep Mr. Costigan imprisoned there for over seven years, first as an adult baby, then as a little girl. From the questionnaire you filled out when you first requested their services, he was planning to divorce you and had announced that fact at a company dinner, in front of all of your friends and co-workers. He had also been unfaithful to you, and had been for years."
She slipped a copy of a signed contract out and placed it next to the other records. "This specifies what you required and how much you were willing to pay for it. That is your signature, isn't it?" Josie said nothing. Stark shrugged.
"The compound's records indicated that he was forcibly taken and flown to their facility at your request, and everything that was done to him was done with your express approval."
She took still more papers out of her case. "Court records reveal that you even lied under oath to a judge, when you claimed that it was his desire to be an adult baby that caused the break-up of your marriage, and allowed you to claim all of his assets as your own. The 'evidence' was all manufactured by the people offering the service."
"And finally, financial records show that you recently converted your monthly payment plan to a lifetime investment portfolio, to 'care for' Mr. Costigan (also known as Barbie) for the rest of his natural life."
Stark began picking up each stack of papers and placed them back in the briefcase. She continued speaking, still in that measured, reasoned tone.
"Your ex-husband is currently under psychiatric care. Whatever self-image he may have had before was crushed under the weight of seven years of being treated like a child. A girl child. He's still clinging to reality by his pink fingernails, fortunately. There is some hope. Some of the others rescued with him were less fortunate. To avoid the endless humiliation, they have retreated into fantasy. They actually believe they're baby girls. The doctors don't think they can bring those men back. They aren't even sure about Mr. Costigan's ability to function in the adult world anymore."
Josie smiled wider. The woman smiled back, then slammed the briefcase shut with such force that the entire table rattled. Josie jumped back in the seat, shocked at the raw anger emanating from this woman. Stark snapped the briefcase shut savagely and rose to her feet.
"Your capacity for self-delusion is remarkable." Her voice cut through the air in the closed room like a scythe. "I mean, here you are, in custody ... and you actually still think this was justified. I've been chasing people like you for more than a year. I've caught and punished hundreds. But I've seen few that equal your cold-blooded disregard for the rights of another human being. Admittedly, Barry might have been a womanizing, egocentric jerk, but that's hardly a criminal offense. And yet you took it upon yourself to take his life away, have him imprisoned and humiliated, both publicly and privately. And you intended to keep him in this pink prison for the rest of his life."
Josie stayed quiet. She knew better than to say anything without an attorney present.
Stark turned away and walked over to the one-way mirror, visibly trembling. "Have you any idea what you've done?" She spoke to the woman's reflection. "Are you so self-centered that you think it's okay to destroy the life of another human being ... any human being... for petty revenge? His humiliation of you at that dinner party lasted only minutes, and undoubtedly diminished him in the eyes of everyone who saw what he did to you. At that moment, he proved he was a despicable human being."
Stark turned back to the other woman, her eyes blazing. "But you went a step further, didn't you? Your actions over the past seven years clearly show that you've resigned from the human race completely. You're like some ... thing out of Edgar Allen Poe -- some madman who sips his Amontillado while bragging to his rich friends about the fool he walled up in his wine cellar."
"One of your friends said you told her what you had done a short while ago, but she didn't believe you. She said you told her you had bought a gun ... that you had almost killed Barry before you found ... this. She told investigators you acted as if it was somehow to your credit that you didn't murder him outright! Excuse me? You think you deserve a gold star for stealing his life instead and sentencing him to a living hell -- exchanging his freedom for years of diapers, pretty dresses, and constant humiliation?"
Josie stared back at her, outwardly unmoved but deeply frightened inside. Stark visibly pulled in her rage, settled herself, and walked back to the briefcase.
"Now, normally I take matters like this completely into my own hands," she began again, once more in measured, reasonable tones, "But when I found out about this place you sent your husband to, I decided to turn everything over to the FBI and assisted them in any way possible. Of course, I made sure the media had access to all these records as well. I'm sure it will make such a wonderful story for them to keep alive and obsess over, probably for years. You'll never escape what you've done as long as the ratings stay up. And who knows? It might even discourage others like you from doing something this horrifying again." She shrugged. "I doubt it, but hope springs eternal."
"Right now, they have you for conspiracy to commit kidnapping, accessory to kidnapping, perjury, accessory to assault and psychological battery ... well, I'm not sure of everything you're going to be charged with. After all, I'm not really an attorney. I just look like one today." She flashed a grim smile. "But the list goes on and on. You will be going to prison for a good long time, and I wanted to have this chance to give you a few parting gifts to remember me by."
"First, your new husband-to-be was given a rundown of all of this evidence earlier today. After he finished throwing up, he told us to let you know he never wanted to hear from you again. Your children are in shock -- they received the same briefing, and were horrified to hear what you'd done to their father. I don't think you'll be getting any family visits in the state pen."
"The judge you deceived years ago has started the process needed to get you disbarred. She also voided the original dispensation of assets from your divorce proceedings and awarded everything to Mr. Costigan." She smiled, baring her teeth as Josie gasped. "Oh, unusual, I know, but she had help from my attorneys getting all that squared away. And the civil suit they will be filing in Barry's name will take care of any assets we haven't found yet." Her eyes flashed. "I don't care how much it costs. You WILL be penniless when you get out of prison -- if you ever do."
"But my biggest gift is still to come," she purred, leaning over the table. "While you were waiting in here, all alone, I had subliminal programming pumped into the room non-stop. That one-way mirror there makes an excellent conductor of sound, or so I'm told. I've given you a whole new set of priorities. When you get to prison, you'll behave like an extremely submissive lesbian slut -- a love slave for anyone there who wants you. You'll be everyone's bitch. Whatever anyone wants, you'll do your best to deliver. Of course, deep inside you'll be screaming, because I've made sure to keep your ego intact. After all, we wouldn't want you to start 'enjoying' being a slut, right? What kind of humiliating punishment would that be, if you ever learned to like it?"
Stark picked up the briefcase. "Part of the programming includes confessing to everything, naturally, and pleading guilty at your trial. Unfortunately for you, you'll also deliver impassioned speeches, curse at and piss off the judge, and hopefully be sentenced to the longest possible prison term. Lots of opportunities for ... girl-on-girl action?"
Josie's lip quivered. "I'll fight it! Your programming won't last."
Stark smiled. "Of course it won't. I only had a few hours to work with, after all. But it doesn't have to last. You'll be everyone's play toy for two ... maybe three months. But by the time the 'real' you regains control, no one inside is going to want the 'free lunch' to end. They'll make you stay their bitch, whether you want it or not." She looked right into Josie's eyes. "This is so much better than having you stay programmed. Now you'll have something to look forward to -- years and years of being forced to be something you're not. Sound familiar?"
She turned and walked to the door. "As much as I'd love to stay and watch you 'confess,' I've got too many other women to give 'gifts' to. I need to get to them all before the hearings start. I wouldn't want to miss a single one."
"Wait!" Josie's shout bordered on a scream. Stark turned to watch her cold mask being ripped away by the turmoil inside. Josie stood up, knocking her chair to the floor behind her, and reached out a hand.
"You said you thought it was wrong to destroy the life of another human being ... any human being... for revenge?" Stark nodded. "Then how can you do this to me?"
Stark looked at her. "Because you're not human," she replied softly. "When you did this to Barry, you gave up your status as a person. Permanently. Like others before you, you went and turned yourself into ... a thing. So I really don't care what I do to you. As long as you suffer." She opened the door and stepped through. "Say hi to the girls in stir for me, will you? Give 'em a great big wet sloppy kiss, from me. The first of many, I'm sure."
The door swung shut, turning Josie's rising scream into a muted howl. As Stark walked away, heels clicking on the hard tile floor, the sound behind her became lost in the hustle and flow of the busy police station, where, once in a while, justice was served.
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Stark: The Best Revenge
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It's Halloween night, six years after another Halloween went bad for three boys who didn't realize mischief carried a life sentence in skirts. Now Stark's in town, seeing if she needs to pick up the pieces and lay down some justice. But the next generation just might be a few steps ahead of her this time. Maybe ... just maybe ... she can take the night off.
by Randalynn
"Don't get mad, get even." -- Robert F. Kennedy
Stark sat in the coffee house, nursing a grande decaf and thinking ugly thoughts about what some parents do to their kids. In the year since she started her crusade against those who would feminize innocent men and boys for their own amusement, she'd seen a lot of evil. Heck, she thought sourly, I even caused some of it, with some of the things I did in return. She didn’t want to think about the kind of monster her own deeds were turning her into, because that monster was the only thing that kept her own demons at bay. She needed her monster to keep from losing who she was -- to keep the programming from turning her into the submissive slut her dead tormentors wanted her to be, back when she was at their mercy.
Back before she killed them all.
The tabloid story Chesser and the research team dug up was pretty old, about three boys caught at the beginning of a mischief spree on Halloween night. Six years to the day, Stark thought, gazing around at the Halloween decorations on the walls of the coffee shop. As a punishment for the things they never actually got around to doing, they were forced to dress up as little girls and made to go trick-or-treating that night. According to follow-up investigations, the boys had been girls ever since -- their records changed, their former lives destroyed.
They'd be sixteen now, give or take, Jo mused, thinking of everything that must have been done to them since then. The fire inside her flared. According to the article, the boys didn't even do much damage in the first place. They were stopped practically before they started.
Stark stared down into her coffee. The parents just wanted to play some sick game with the lives of their children, and then decided to let it go on and on and on. Cruel and hateful and ... She shook her head angrily and forced her rage back. Once she stopped trembling, Jo took a sip of her coffee and thought some more. But if I go after the parents the way I want to, it's going to hurt the kids even more. They'll wind up in foster care, or worse. After what's been done to them already, is that any better?
Stark had used the Internet to contact the leader of the three boys mentioned in the article and arrange a meeting at a local java joint. She'd explained what she wanted in her e-mail, but the tone of Paula's reply seemed to suggest that the idea of Stark taking revenge for them was amusing somehow. She was still trying to puzzle out what that meant when the bell over the door rang. Stark half-turned in her seat, and froze.
"Paula?" The question just slipped out, but the girl smiled and nodded and cat walked across the room. Every male eye in the place was glued to her undulating hips, and her blonde hair tumbled down her back nearly to her waist in a flurry of large curls, swaying with every step. Her face was innocence personified, except for the dark gothic make-up that framed her blue eyes and the bright red lips that glistened in the muted overheads.
Paula slid into the booth across from her and crossed her legs at the knee. She was dressed head to foot in soft black leather. A tight leather corset put her well-rounded chest on display. She wore long opera gloves with the fingers cut out, showing her inch-long nails, polished a shining black. Her painted-on leggings hugged every curve so tightly, Stark knew she was wearing a thong underneath ... and nothing else. Her boots rose almost to her knees, with four-inch heels, and her backpack purse was big enough to be practical but small enough not to get in the way.
"Hello, Ms. Stark," she said, her voice a well-modulated contralto. "You look surprised."
"That's because I am." Stark raised her cup and looked over the rim. "And please, call me Jo. Actually, you're not quite what I expected. When the story of that Halloween years ago fell onto my desk, I thought you'd probably been put through the whole 'forced fem' thing pretty hard for a long, long time. In fact, I figured you'd show up tonight looking like something out of a fifties sitcom."
Paula laughed, a totally female sound that made the other patrons look over briefly before going back to their papers or laptops. She shook her head. "Those days are long gone, Jo. At first, when the 'rents thought they had to reinforce the whole girly thing every minute of every day, I got so sick of pink that I almost threw up every time I saw a bottle of Pepto Bismol! And the frillies, and the dolls, and the endless emotional bullshit." Paula sighed. "It made me angry, and sad ... but mostly it was annoying and frustrating as hell. The one thing I never wanted to be was a girl, and there I was in a box, being force fed femininity. But I was a lot younger then -- we all were -- and even though it took 'em a while, eventually the folks thought we were beaten and ... relaxed a little."
Stark laughed. "With you in that outfit, I'd say they relaxed a lot!"
"Oh, come on! It's Halloween! Although I must admit, Mom'd freak if she saw me in leathers. Oh, just a sec!" Paula waved, and one of the counter staff came over. She smiled up at him and lowered her eyelids slightly. "Hey, Bobby," she purred, touching him on the arm and watching him blush all over. "Bring me a triple espresso and another grande for my friend, k?" He nodded and nearly tripped over himself heading back to the bar. Paula shot Jo a look and smiled. "He's cute, but soooo shy. Still, if he ever asked, I'd go out with him in a heartbeat. Not that he will, though. I scare him to death!" She heaved a small sigh and watched him walk away. "Nice ass, though, don't ya think?"
Stark's eyes narrowed, and she gave Paula a long look. "They thought you were beaten?"
Paula stared right back at her, slightly indignant. "Hey! I may have been forced into clothes other girls my age wouldn't wear on a bet, but clothes don't make the man. OR the girl. I was ten years old then, and my options were limited. Joan and Allie, too. We had to go along, at least until we could figure out what our play was going to be."
"Your ... play?" A slow realization made Stark smile, and Paula could almost see a hard light flare behind her eyes.
"Oh, yeah," she said, smiling back. "It took a while to come up with something, but we had time. They sent us back to school like this -- had someone on the inside to change all our records, even our birth certificates. But they couldn't keep an eye on us all the time, even at school, so we got together and decided we'd let them think they won. It wasn't easy at first, but the punishment was so totally extreme, no one dared tease us at school. The guys were scared to death their 'rents would get the same idea if they started acting up, and the girls were royally pissed off at our folks for treating us this way. They welcomed us with open arms." Paula grinned.
Bobby took that moment to deliver the coffees, and Paula gave his arm a squeeze as a thank-you before turning back to Stark. She raised her cup in a toast.
"To friends, old and new!" Stark's lip twisted slightly, and she raised her own cup in response. After a shared sip, Paula continued.
"The girls helped us adapt, took us in and made us part of the gang. Helped us fit in, and helped us get over the worst of the early days." Paula looked down, and a small shiver ran through her shoulders. "It was pretty bad for a while there, for all of us. To have your whole life ripped apart because somebody else wants it that way?" Jo's eyes flashed, and Paula stopped, wondering if she had hit a nerve. "Not to mention that the people who are supposed to love you, watch out for you and keep you safe decide to remake you. That was harsh." She shook her head. "It took us all a long time to get past being betrayed, but eventually, we realized we needed to pick and choose who we trusted, and not count on genetics to do it for us. In the end, we just trusted each other. It was enough."
Her eyes turned inward, and Stark stayed quiet.
"We three became the best students in school, with straight A averages. When your only alternative is playing with dolls or practicing with make-up, you learn how to make your homework last, believe me. But that wasn't the only reason we studied. We knew from the minute they caught us that we'd been stupid, and they'd outsmarted us way too easily. So if we wanted to come out on top, we needed to get a whole lot smarter -- without the 'rents knowing about the things we REALLY wanted to get smart about."
"The first rule of strategy is 'know your enemy,' right? So we tried to learn everything we could about our folks. What they liked and disliked, where they worked. How they made their money. It was a long and incredibly boring exercise. Heck, it took us years to get what we needed. But we had to know, and we had to know without them knowing we knew. I kept all my notes in a little pink diary -- not the one I left under my mattress for the 'rents to find, all full of puppies and crushes and junk, but a second one hidden under the floorboards in the corner of my closet. At lunch, we shared what we had found, looking for common threads, and things we could take advantage of. But we still had so much left to learn when time ran out on us, the hard way."
"Two years after that awful Halloween, school closed for winter break. We went back to our houses and had dinner that night, but the food was drugged. We all woke up three weeks later, strapped down in hospital beds." Paula's mouth moved, like she was tasting something awful. "They'd 'fixed' us in our sleep. Flew us all down to a clinic in Mexico and paid extra to have everything done, quickly and quietly. That was our Christmas present that year. Vaginas and hormone implants." She shuddered again and took a sip of her espresso. "The year after that, we started getting the curves, the mood swings ..." Paula smiled ruefully. "When my voice finally changed, it got higher."
"When we went back home, everything went back to normal ... for the 'rents, anyway. For the three of us, it was another dark time. Before that, we all thought there was time, you know? If we could hang on long enough, play the game, we could get free in the end. But what they did in Mexico changed everything. Joan came close to committing suicide, but we kept her safe and kept the folks in the dark. After a while, we all faced the truth. For better or worse, we were what they made us. But it did make us work harder. Payback became much more important to all of us."
"By the following summer, we had a lot of sweet stuff. We had checking and savings account numbers, credit card statements, mortgage info and investment portfolios. We knew how much money the folks had, where they hid it, and how they got at it. All the while, we played the girl game. You know, short skirts and lingerie, make-up and make-overs, bikinis and ... and boyfriends." Jo gave her a sharp look, and Paula shrugged. "Like I said, by then we pretty much accepted what we were. Puberty hit hard, and there were enough hormones in those implants to give me these in record time." She waved at her chest. "I was a horny teenaged boy trapped in a hot teenaged girl body -- I was being chased by everything with a cock, and the girl in me wanted it more than the boy did." Just the same, her voice got very small. "And enjoyed it just as much."
Stark said nothing, and the teenager shrugged again and went on. "Anyway, we had all this information, but no way to do anything with it. We had the keys to their bank accounts, but no way to use them. None of us looked old enough to impersonate our moms, and everything we could do to hurt them would be discovered the next time a bank statement came in."
Paula took another sip and gave me a grin. "Then the business world discovered cyberspace. Online investing really started to take off. And online banking. Companies competing for mortgages on the Internet. Then everybody wanted to get in on the act."
Jo smiled. "On the Net, nobody knows you're a dog," she said.
"Or a minor," Paula replied, still grinning. "It was just what we needed."
"Allie begged and pleaded, and was on her best behavior for months," she continued. "Finally, she got that pink Barbie PC she'd been asking for, and she squealed and delivered hugs to her Mom and Dad on Christmas morn. Joan? She got an iMac for Hanukah ... perfect for graphic design and desktop publishing. And me? Well, I received the best gift ever -- a woman's business suit with a choice of blouses and shoes. I told Mom I might want to do some job interviews and wanted to look my best. The truth was, I was the tallest of the three of us, and the most ... developed. If we needed somebody to play the adult, I was the best we had."
"At first, we only took enough from everyone's savings accounts to rent an apartment, and Joan put together a copy of Mom's driver's license with only the birthday changed." Paula snickered, and ducked her head. "No WAY could I look as old as Mom, not even on my worst day. But it turned out that it really didn't matter. They xeroxed the fake, accepted the first and last month's rent, and we were on our way."
"We changed the address on every single account our folks had, and set up a secure, untraceable account in the Caymans. Then we began siphoning off assets. Allie enjoyed being a hacker as much as she enjoyed teasing football players. We sent false statements to all the 'rents every month, courtesy of Joan's Macintosh, and her magic fingers. Every account statement told them they were still stinking rich -- that everything was still in their accounts and all was right with the world. After a while, we convinced the folks that e-mail statements and checking the websites periodically beat keeping files of paper any day of the week. So now they get their false statements online, and check a phony Internet site. No more messy physical evidence."
Paula finished her coffee. "Eventually, all of their money would up in the Caymans. We even put a few extra mortgages on every house, just to be nasty. We've got a lot of it invested, and Allie's keeping an eye on it. Each of us is worth a few million -- but our folks are dead broke, and they don't even know it. It's a good thing they never tried to touch the principal, or we would have been so screwed. But we watched them long enough to see they were keeping their hands off, waiting for retirement to go wild."
"We've set up a dedicated computer in a pirate server farm offshore. It's programmed to keep sending digital statements on a regular basis -- properly formatted, of course. And by the time retirement rolls around, the 'rents will discover that their golden years have just become a lot less golden."
She went quiet for a while, her eyes down, moving the coffee cup around in circles on the scarred wood table. Then suddenly, without looking up, she spoke. "We’re leaving tonight. It's Halloween -- we thought it was the right time to go. Karmic balance or something, you know? And then there's the hook for the news people. 'Mysterious disappearance of three young girls.' It'll hit all the media, big feeding frenzy. Put the spotlight on the 'rents, and maybe somebody will dig up what we used to be, and make a stink." She paused, thinking. "Or maybe no one will ever remember Paul, John, and Al. I guess in the end, it doesn't matter. We're just gonna ... go. We'll fly off to somewhere sunny on our shiny new false passports, and live on the beach for the rest of our lives drinking rum drinks with umbrellas and seducing beach boys until we're too old to remember how."
Paula stood up. "So while I appreciate your offer, I'm afraid we have to respectfully decline. I'm sorry we didn’t just wait around to be rescued or revenged, but I guess I'm just a 'do it yourself' kind of girl at heart."
"So I see." Stark smiled and stood up as well. "You had the situation well in hand. Less work for me. I'm sorry I intruded."
"No, no," Paula replied quickly. "I'm glad you found us. It's good to know you're out there. I mean, it's good, what you do. You're needed, believe me. I'm sure there are a lot of girls out there in our position who aren't quite what you'd call ... self -starters. If you ever need a hand, doing what you do ... well, it can get pretty boring lying on a beach. And you've got to admit, we do have experience."
Jo laughed, and nodded. "You do, indeed."
They shook hands solemnly, and then Paula surprised Stark with a hug, which the older woman tentatively returned.
As they broke apart, Jo raised a finger. "One question?" The teenager turned and cocked her head. Stark chose her words carefully. "You seem very well ... adjusted to all of this. You're a beautiful young woman, and seem to enjoy being one. If you and Joan and Allie are all like this -- if you all like what you've become -- why choose revenge at all?"
There was a long silence. Paula stared out the window into the parking lot, and when she spoke, there was a touch of regret. "Before we put all this together, I started having second thoughts about stripping them bare. I mean, it had been years since it happened. The three of us were doing okay, for the most part. Maybe this wasn't the right way to go." She sighed. "So I went to Mom and Dad, to try and get some answers. I want to know why they did this to all of us. I just wanted to know why."
"Do you know what they said to me?" Stark shook her head. "They both smiled and said, 'Because we could.'" Paula snorted. "No regret. No apology. Just because they could. Now that's cold."
The teen shook her head. "Just because we got used to being this way, maybe even learned to like it ... well, that doesn't mean they had a right to do this to us in the first place. Back then, we were just ... boys, you know? Wanting to blow off some steam, raise a little Hell. Doing this to us was just ... cruel. And sick."
She looked off into the distance, thinking, and spoke slowly. "And in the end, I guess we could've gotten all kick-ass about it. You know, poisoned them, or crippled them, or done something physical, you know? Paul might have, maybe, if there was any of him left in me after six years like this. But I guess being forced to become female did teach us a lesson after all -- that maybe there is something to be said for being subtle, and smart. Maybe it is better to take a quiet but well-thought-out revenge instead of taking the more direct route."
Two more girls appeared at the front door and waved, all smiles. Stark recognized them from the survelliance photos. Joan was dressed as a pirate's wench and Allie as a sexy cat burglar. Paula waved back. "Besides, I heard someone say once that the best revenge is living well. And we'll all be living very well very soon." She smiled, with just a touch of sadness. "Well, not the folks, of course. But as for that ... it's just the price they get to pay for doing what they did, all those Halloweens ago."
Paula thought for a moment, and her sad smile became a feral grin. "Hey! I guess we got to play a Halloween trick after all. Even if it is six years too late. No treats for them -- and they'll be left holding the bag."
Paula blew Jo a kiss and glided across the room to her friends. After Stark watched them all disappear into the October night, she sat back down and picked up her coffee.
The best revenge is living well, she thought. Maybe ... maybe I've been going at this all wrong. Stark took a sip and let her mind roam.
Now there's something to think about.
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Stark: The State of Grace
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Stark takes on her most dangerous prey . . . Grace de Messembry from fleurie's The Deception of Choice. As her plan unfolds, Stark finds she has her own choice to make -- or maybe there was really no choice at all, in the end.
Special thanks to fleurie (along with hugs, kisses, all my love, and a gratitude that cannot be measured) for her insights into Grace, her world, and her motivations. And thanks as well for reading my take on Grace's "comeuppance" and pronouncing it worthy.
Story:
by Randalynn
where we are but does not leave us where it found us.” -- Anne Lamott
The town house in St. John's Wood was not far from Lords Cricket Ground, and for all of her world traveling, it was the one place Stark's quarry stayed most often.
'No surprise, really,' Jo Stark mused as she glided down the street, heels clicking smartly on the walk. 'Considering the woman's almost obsessive love of cricket, why would she choose any other place for her London home?'
When Stark needed a handle on her next target, she put Chesser and the hacker boys on the job. As they chased Grace de Messembry's ghost through the Internet, her initial efforts to get the Marlyebone Cricket Club to allow women as members burned like a virtual flare in an otherwise barren sea of information. Her protests were loud, direct, and to the point -- she considered their "obstinate" refusal to comply with her wishes as simply "scandalous." Her comments to the sporting press (and anyone else who would listen) lit up the web like a bonfire of anger and frustration -- a show of emotion quite out of character for the usually quite controlled (and controlling) head of the Venumar Foundation.
'Again, no surprise,' Stark thought, reaching the front of de Messembry's London home and pausing for a moment. 'For a woman who gets whatever she wants, usually through sheer force of will, having a bunch of men tell her 'no' on the basis of nothing more than institutional stubbornness must truly rankle.'
Then, without warning, Grace went quiet for months, and Chesser's team soon discovered why. They found evidence of her carefully working behind the scenes to achieve her goals. Suspicions of corporate blackmail, finding ways to withhold sponsorships and weaken the club. Some words possibly whispered in well-placed ears at Cabinet level, leading to some twisted arms high up in the club. Then finally, a series of brilliantly manufactured scandals, aimed at those decision-makers who stubbornly refused to bend.
In the end, of course, the MCC surrendered. They opened the doors to women as members, and even invited Grace to join.
She turned them down with a wintry smile, saying that she couldn't imagine anything less flattering to a well-dressed woman than the traditional "bacon and eggs" tie. And her final quote to the sporting pages? "What an appauling color combination!"
Stark's lip twitched. 'It's so like her to put all of her energies into a project . . . to fight so long and so hard for something,' she thought, 'only to throw it back at them with contempt when she finally wins the prize.'
Jo could almost admire Grace -- if she didn't know what de Messembry had done to bring her to Stark's attention, and why.
Grace's Venumar tenure was marked by a long string of newspaper and television stories. Most of them were society features, marking her attendance at some cultural event or an upper class get-together. None of the stories went any deeper than a sheet of rice paper. They certainly didn't reveal any of the things Chesser and his people had uncovered. As a former newspaper reporter, Jo felt a bit depressed at how little any of these so-called journalists did to earn the title. She had always gone the extra mile, dug a little deeper looking for the hidden truth.
Until her random abduction from a Baltimore street corner brought her former career to a sudden, unexpected end.
Stark paused for a moment and examined the place where she had finally cornered her prey. It was a terraced Georgian home, three stories tall, classical and solid. It fairly reeked of breeding and standing. Curiously, it was also totally in keeping with the surrounding homes, with no outward signs of ostentatious spending or pretentious self-aggrandizement. Jo nodded to herself. The Grace she'd come to know from the reports she had read would never be so crass as to set herself apart from the crowd with mere "things." She wanted to rise above the rest of humanity through her own accomplishments -- again, through force of will. To de Messembry, wealth was only a way of keeping score, albeit one that allowed her to live as she pleased.
When this situation first came to her attention, Jo was sure de Messembry was just like those rich bitches who had captured and transformed her. But as the research continued, she became more of a puzzle. The woman didn't seem to take any joy in the terrible things she had done. The closest Grace came to being happy about it all was an air of "job well done" -- a sort of satisfaction that her plans had moved forward successfully, and to her mind, rightfully so. Her casual cruelty and complete dismissal of the rights of others seemed to have totally escaped her notice.
Jo planned to bring it to her attention.
The front door opened noiselessly, and Stark stepped into the front hall. She had no qualms about walking into the house uninvited. The servants had all been distracted or delayed by spurious errands, supposedly sent by Grace but actually the work of Stark's talented band of hackers. Still, Jo walked softly. Sometimes, even human predators feel the need for quiet when they approach their prey.
The reception rooms were entirely furnished with Queen Anne furniture, mostly walnut. It was all very elegant but tasteful, to avoid any suggestion of excess. A priceless John Knibbs long-case clock, also in inlaid walnut, stood in one corner of the drawing room. The artwork was similarly impressive, with a Turner on one wall and a Bonnard on the other.
Jo shook her head, thinking about the Internet research she had done when the house inventory dropped on her desk. Turner she knew, but Knibbs? And Bonnard? She had to fight a rare feeling that she was way out of her league, but pushed it aside when she remembered how easily her machete had sliced off the head of a woman who prided herself on her cultural acumen -- an egotistical bitch who enjoyed forcing former men to wear six-inch stiletto heels while balancing trays of champagne and canapés. Her net worth had rivaled that of a medium-sized South American country. Now it belong to Stark and her people, and they used it to try and rescue other men from the fate they themselves had been forced to endure.
'Sometimes,' she thought with a bitter smile, 'it's not what you have or what you know. It's what you earn, and how you earn it. And what you do with it when the day is through.'
Still, the image of that woman's head flying across the room caused a vague uneasiness in her soul, and Jo wondered for the first time if what she was planning today was the right choice.
The door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar, and Stark pushed it gently with her fingertips. It swung open silently, revealing a sitting room that was definitely furnished more for comfort than appearance. This was de Messembry's study, her inner sanctum. Although there was another, smaller, Bonnard hanging on the wall, it was obviously chosen for affection, not for effect. Jo nodded. This was a private place, for Grace alone.
The furniture was a comfortable mixture of styles. A comfortable Edwardian sofa and non-matching chair were positioned for easy conversation, with a low long mahogany table set between the two. A Victorian leather-topped desk seemed almost masculine, and sat in front of a window overlooking a surprisingly large and rather secret garden.
Stark drifted deeper into the room, cataloging things as she passed them. A bronze statuette of a racehorse. A few Art Deco ornaments. Another long case clock, this time by Thomas Tompion. The few rugs on the hardwood floors were rich in color and worn into an even richer patina. None of Grace's possessions here were modern, but all seemed to blend into a perfect lived-in harmony, despite their vastly different origins, styles, and periods.
"Do you like what you see?"
The voice came from behind her, and Stark successfully fought the need to spin around and face its owner. Instead, she took a step towards the window facing the garden.
"Very much," she replied, her tone polite and mannerly. "Especially the garden. I would never have imagined, seeing your home from the front, that such a beautiful oasis was hidden here."
"I suppose that's why they call it a secret garden, dear." Stark turned to face the older woman and found a slight smirk on her face. Jo nodded.
"Quite right," she said.
"I am somewhat surprised to find you here, in my sanctum sanctorum, taking inventory of my most prized possessions and nattering on about my small slice of heaven out there." Grace moved past Stark and perched herself daintily on the desk chair. She was wearing a white blouse buttoned nearly to her neck, under a gray wool suit with a matching skirt that fell nearly to her ankles. Her feet were wrapped in a pair of soft leather boots with modest heels that appeared as comfortable as they were stylish. Her hair was perfect, her make-up understated, and the expression on her face suggested that it would be a cold day in Hell before she would stoop to asking this "interloper" what the hell she was doing in her home uninvited.
"The garden is an appropriate metaphor for the topic I came to discuss, actually." Jo looked her in the eye as she spoke, allowing a hint of her anger to slip out and catch the older woman by surprise. "Bare branches and broken men, to be precise. And the unfortunate fate of a man named David."
A range of emotions rushed across Grace's face, from confusion to understanding, before settling on a self-satisfied smile. The smile lasted a few seconds before a look of abject surprise replaced it, and she rose to her feet, her hand covering her mouth.
"Good Lord," she exclaimed, with just a hint of wonder in her voice. "I can't believe it's true. It's you, isn't it?" It was Stark's turn to look confused. "You're . . .You were Bambi, weren't you? The Society's masterpiece, if their self-serving praise was to be believed."
Jo hesitated, then nodded.
"I'm Stark now," she said simply. "Jo Stark."
Grace nodded back. "Of course you are. If I had the bad luck to be named after an animated deer, and a male one at that, I should change my name as soon as possible. A good choice, by the way, dear. A delightful combination of blunt force and elegant simplicity."
Stark shrugged. "It was mine before they took it away, when they kidnapped me. I just took it back."
The older woman cocked her head, tapping her chin with her fingertip and scrutinizing Jo with a penetrating eye. "Well, it does suit you. And you are quite lovely, in a buxom, Barbie-esque sort of way. They called you their masterpiece, did you know that? Of course, if the tales of the bloody massacre on the night of your unveiling are to be believed, perhaps you should be considered their Frankenstein's monster. I do hate to invoke literary allusions, but honestly, I would think the fear they must have felt the night of their annual ball warrants a reference or two to Mary Shelley's creation."
"I'm sure they were horrified when I decided on 'better living through cutlery' as the theme for my 'coming out' party," Stark replied with a tight smile. "Although I'm sure their feelings of terror were short-lived . . . just as they turned out to be." She turned and ran a finger over the neck of the horse statue. "I'm not sure whether I should be surprised that you know about the Society, or surprised you weren't there the night I killed them all."
Grace shook her head and laughed. "Me? Goodness, no! I knew about them, of course, but I would never be a part of such a misguided mission. Their games were always too sick for me -- nothing but cruelty for the sake of cruelty, and in pursuit of an ultimately meaningless goal. Punishing men for being men . . . by turning them into twisted mockeries of womanhood? Honestly, what a dreadful waste."
Jo let her voice grow very still and empty. "From what I've learned, you aren't one to shy away from being cruel."
"Only to a purpose, Ms. Stark." She gave her head a tilt and pinned Stark in place with a stern eye. "Unlike the Society, whatever I've done that others deem cruel was done specifically to advance an agenda -- to either create a profit for Venumar or success for myself. The actions of the Society, on the other hand, were done purely for their own amusement. A monumental waste of resources that could have been put to better use -- such as the use you are putting them to now."
Jo turned, almost shocked. "You know of my work?"
Grace laughed. "Dear child, how could I not? When the Society fell, you moved into their mansion as if it was your own. You consolidated their resources and made them yours, then started wielding them with an authority and sureness of purpose no mere 'ink-stained wretch' from Baltimore would ever have been able to match, let alone improve upon. I admire your ruthlessness in pursuit of your goals, just as I admire your organization for its purity of purpose. I do, however, question the ultimate profitability of seeking revenge. Eventually, you know, even you will run out of funds -- and what will become of your crusade then?"
"Life isn't always a question of dollars and cents," Jo replied, "or pounds and pence, if you prefer. Sometimes, profit becomes something other than numbers on a balance sheet. It's not just about punishment. It's about taking people out of circulation who don't understand quite what it means to be human. I feel I'm balancing out the innate perversity of the universe by adding justice to what is essentially an immoral world." She smiled. "Besides, I am pursuing other avenues of financing my 'crusade,' even as we speak."
There was a long silence, broken only by the ticking of the long case clock. Eventally, Grace spoke. "So what brings you to my study uninvited, with all of my servants off doing God knows what? Vengeance, I suppose?"
"Of course." Stark smiled. "It's what I do, when rescue is impossible."
"Given the nature of your past . . . successes, it is Helgarren and its sister sites you have an issue with, unless I am much mistaken." The younger woman said nothing. Grace sniffed. "Someone has told you about all of the poor unfortunate men we've turned into butterflies over the years, and you feel you need to get involved? Why, exactly?"
"I'm not concerned with the ones who volunteered for your . . . potentially lucrative social experiment," Jo said, the edge in her voice becoming sharper with each word. "If they want what you're offering, more power to them. I'm just here on behalf of the ones you kidnapped, imprisoned for months without human contact, and then pushed through a sadistic reprogramming regime with threats and intimidation. You forced dozens, maybe even hundreds to become women against their will -- all for the sake of meeting the requirements of a government contract, meant to explore a solution even you don't believe will work."
"You're very well informed." The older woman didn't seem particularly concerned with Stark's anger.
Jo nodded. "I have to be. In my business, it's best to be sure. Besides, I used to be an 'ink-stained wretch,' remember? There's nothing we enjoy more than piecing together a good story."
"I don't suppose you'd reveal your sources."
"If I were still a reporter, I wouldn't say a thing. But I'm not. And since the truth will shock the hell out of you, I'll tell you. You told me most of what I needed to know."
Grace looked shocked for an instant, then her face settled into a small smile. "You placed a listening device in our box at the opera, didn't you? You cheeky minx! How on Earth did you find out about our little program in the first place?"
"We were running a standard comparison model on government and commercial databases in the U.K. We discovered a disturbingly familiar pattern. For all of his life, David was firmly enmeshed in the system. Schooling, then job records, paychecks, credit cards. Then suddenly, without warning, he disappeared completely for almost a year. No withdrawals from his bank account. No charges on his credit cards. No earnings reported to the state revenue. Then suddenly, up pops a request for gender reassignment, new documentation, etc. and so on." Stark's eyes flashed. "The papers were sent care of Venumar. Then we checked the rent on David's flat, tracing it back through holding companies and financial blind alleys until we found the truth. It had been paid in full . . . also by Venumar."
The older woman pursed her lips and gave Stark a disapproving glare. "How disturbingly thorough of you."
Stark spared her a tight-lipped smile in return and continued. "It took a while, but an exhaustive investigation uncovered David's connection with the area he ran to after 'escaping' from Helgarren. Once we tracked him down and heard his story, we began investigating Venumar and this 'Bare Branches' program. Since you figured so prominently in David's tale of his imprisonment and escape, you became a 'person of interest.' Especially since you are the public face of the Venumar Foundation."
"And like the villain in a badly presented melodrama, I gave you far more that you could have expected from such an obvious stratagem." Grace sighed and shook her head. "I have only myself to blame, of course. The price for being smug and feeling somewhat invincible, I imagine. With the champagne taking some of the blame, perhaps."
"You may have thought you were invincible, but now you know you are not." Stark perched on the arm of a sofa that was probably more expensive than a late model Lexus. "My presence here is proof of that. After all, I did just walk in, alarms switched off from the inside, your servants diverted. All of your elaborate security precautions, laid low by an ex-journalist with delusions of standing."
Grace smiled. "I did say you were good. However, you are not as good as you think. My dear, you may think yourself invincible, but I assure you, you are not. If I were to make a single phone call, you would be in chains within an hour, and tied down 'working' in a Beirut brothel in less than a day."
"Of that I have no doubt -- if you were to make that call." Jo smiled back. At last, the end game was here. "But that will never happen."
Grace stared at the intruder.
"Such disrespect is unbecoming in a young woman of quality," she said, her voice betraying a hint of irritation from not cowing the newcomer. "What makes you so sure you are safe?"
"Because if anything happens to me," Stark replied, "you will wind up living out the rest of your days . . . like this."
Jo snapped her fingers --
-- and a gentle hand gripped Grace's shoulder and shook her, just a bit.
"Gertie?" A woman's voice, with some sort of American accent. "Gertie, time to get up, dear."
Grace opened her eyes to see a cracked and peeling ceiling, framed by walls painted an institutional green. Hovering over her in the center of her field of vision, an overweight woman with mousy brown hair and oversized glasses peered down at her.
"Gertie, you need to wake up now or you'll miss breakfast. It's your favorite, cream of wheat!"
Grace shook her head and tried to sit up, but the sheer weight of her limbs surprised her. The woman standing over her motioned to an orderly by the door. Together, they slipped their arms behind her shoulders and helped to pull her upright. Grace was surprised to find herself so weak, until she looked down at herself and nearly screamed.
She was fat -- aggressively so. Her breasts were huge, and hung from her chest with a weight that made her shoulders sag. Bags of skin drooped from her arms, and under her nightgown she could feel flaps of fat resting on massive thighs. Her whole top half balanced on hips so big they took up half the width of the bed. Even her fingers were chubby and difficult to manipulate.
There was a window across the room, and the room behind it was dark, creating a pale mirror. Grace saw her face crudely distorted, apple cheeks and triple chins, unkempt eyebrows and pasty skin.
"Whuh the maddah wit muh?" she mouthed, her mouth and lips not responding to her thoughts. "Whuh happin?"
"You're just having trouble waking up, dear. Probably your new meds making you feel all sleepy."
"I um Grayyss duh Messs ... duh Messuhhhh beeeee." She shook all over with frustration, her body jiggling uncontrollably. 'Why can't I talk?'
The woman shook her head. "Oh, that's so sad. Backsliding so soon." She leaned over and looked Grace in the eyes. "Dear, your name is Gertie Mutz, remember? You used to wash dishes in a diner over in Weeping Willow, on Route 6? The Dew Drop Inn?" Grace's mouth dropped open, and in the window she could see missing teeth. A lot of missing teeth. Her chin began to tremble.
"You came here three months ago, after a breakdown in the kitchen. You started crying uncontrollably, throwing dishes and screaming at everyone. You insisted you were British, and rich, and didn't belong there. Your brother Gus called the state, and they brought you here. It's all in your file."
Grace pushed herself to her feet and waddled over to the glass. Her whole body heaved and rolled, and her bottom swiveled and quivered violently with each step. Her once perfect hair was matted and curly, a washed-out blonde color with inches of dark roots.
"We've been trying everything to bring you back to yourself, but you keep holding on to this fantasy. Not to worry, though. In just a few months, this . . ." she consulted a clipboard she had held under her arm " . . . Grace de Messembry will be less than a memory. We've got all sorts of exciting new techniques to try, and restful activities like board games and television. Oh, it'll be just like a vacation for you, Gertie."
She just stared at her reflection, shaking her head in disbelief and seeing her whole life -- everything she had worked so hard to build -- disappearing in the face of the fantasy that was Gertie Mutz.
"I'm your therapist, dear. Tammy Jo, remember? We've been working together, you and I. I think you must have heard something about this British woman's mysterious disappearance, and just incorporated it into your breakdown." The earnest young woman watched her eagerly. Grace could see her face reflected in the window glass, anxious to erase Gertie's "delusion" and give her back her "real" existence. She came up and placed a hand on Grace's shoulder.
"Not to worry, Gertie," she said softly, her concern evident. "With the progress we've been making, I'm sure we can make you well soon. And you'll be having so much fun here, the time will fly by, just like THAT."
She snapped her fingers --
-- and Grace found herself back in her own sitting room. Stark stood before her, her hand in the air and a smile on her lips. Suddenly, Grace found it hard to breathe, and everything around her took on an air of unreality as the world twisted, and all that she knew wavered around the edges.
"What did you do to me?" she hissed, her fear coming out as fury. "What just happened?"
"A dream," Stark replied evenly. "A nightmare, really. Your nightmare, custom-made and ready for occupancy. The thing you dread most -- having everything you've achieved stolen from you, and you transformed into a poor fat crazy woman, trapped in an asylum full of well-meaning people all anxious to 'cure' you."
"How . . . how could you possibly . . . ?"
"It's a form of reprogramming I discovered in the course of my . . . work." Jo stood up and walked over to the fire. "Infiltrating Venumar's computer and communications systems was only the beginning. I have very talented associates. Once we were in, the rest was simple. Every time you looked at a computer screen . . . every time you listened to music or the news, bits of subliminal programming slipped into your mind along with it. These bits joined with others that had come before, and still others that came afterward. This went on for months. In the end, we managed to make you into a life-sized human puppet, to be controlled and directed -- by me."
Grace was stunned. Her freedoms curtailed, her mind and body no longer her own? From mistress of her empire to powerless pawn in an instant? Impossible!
"I refuse to accept it." Her tone was direct and peremptory.
"You've seen the evidence yourself. Felt it. To deny it would be both illogical and counter-productive." Jo smiled. "I know you well enough to say that to be the former is impossible for you, and even the thought of the latter offends your sensibilities, so just accept what I say as fact. You are mine. And this fantasy . . . this nightmare . . . won't be confined to your head. We have everything we need to make you into Gertie Mutz and drop you in a facility where you will never be heard from again -- just as fat and powerless as you were in your nightmare."
Grace's mind reeled with the possibilities. 'Could this really be true?' she wondered. 'Could I really be nothing more than a puppet on this faux girl's strings?'
She took a deep breath. "If, as you say, I am yours," she said, her voice remarkably calm given the circumstances, "How come I'm not already in some publicly funded bedlam somewhere in eastern Nebraska, wallowing in a sea of cellulite and choking down cream of wheat? I know your reputation, Ms. Stark. Why are we even having this conversation?"
The other woman grinned, a cold empty smile that barely touched her eyes.
"Because for all of your ruthless and quite sociopathic tendencies," Stark said, "you are remarkably good at getting things done. And my 'crusade' needs someone like you . . . sufficiently motivated, of course, and kept on the side of the angels."
"You want me to work for you?" Grace's voice rose so high she squeaked.
"No, I want you to work for you," Jo replied. "Because if you don't do what I say, you will wind up trapped as Gertie Mutz. Without you, Venumar will fall and be forgotten, and Grace de Messembry will be nothing but a memory."
Another long silence as Grace considered her situation. Stark gave her all the time she needed, and finally, the older woman spoke. "What must I do?"
"First, everyone kidnapped or coerced into your program goes free. You give them their lives back, as much as you can after the damage you've done. If they don't want to go back, or if there's no way for them to become what they were, you need to give them some kind of compensation for the harm you caused." Jo's eyes twinkled. "That's the easy part."
Stark slid gracefully off of the arm of the sofa. "Now the other shoe drops."
Grace felt her blood run cold.
"You took the lives of these men under false pretenses," Jo said. "Your forced feminization programs won't do anything to truly solve the 'bare branches' problem. There's no way any country, even China, could physically change enough men into women to take the testosterone edge off of every unattached man in Asia. So I want you to do what you should have done in the first place."
"Which is?"
Jo's eyes twinkled. "Solve the problem."
Grace's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
Stark grinned. "I want you to use your impressive abilities and the resources of the Venumar Foundation to keep an entire continent from turning into a cesspit of war, violence, and bloodshed when the 'bare branches' fail to bear fruit." The older woman stared at Jo as if she'd suddenly starting speaking Swahili. Stark shrugged.
"You seem to believe you're better than everyone else in the world," she continued, her tone measured and rational. "As a result, you think the moral and ethical restrictions of lesser beings don't apply to you. Well, now you get the chance to prove it."
"You're mad!"
"Stark raving," Jo said, smiling at her own pun. "But that doesn't change what I want. You do the impossible, and you'll prove, to me and everyone else, that you truly are superhuman."
There was a long silence as Grace considered the situation. Then she spoke, slowly and deliberately.
"And then you'll let me go? Free me from this mind control?"
The other woman laughed out loud. "Oh, please," Stark said, her laughter tapering off into a grin. "Don't be ridiculous. By pushing you into this particular trap, all I've managed to do is cage a tiger. I would be seven different kinds of fool if I ever set you free. You're too dangerous an enemy to ever let loose. No, Grace, you will stayed leashed and collared -- figuratively speaking -- for the rest of your life."
Grace turned to face her captor, her eyes hard as steel. "If I have no hope of release, why should I cooperate?"
"Because if you do as I say, you stay you," Jo replied, meeting her gaze. "Grace de Messembry. Under my thumb, of course, but still Grace."
Grace nodded. "And if I refuse, I will find myself consigned to a small corner of Hell in Weeping Water, Nebraska, waddling into the TV room after dinner every night to watch Wheel of Fortune -- for the rest of my life."
It was Stark's turn to nod. After a time, Grace sighed. "It appears I have no choice."
"Oh, you have a choice," came a voice from the hall. "It's just not a very good one."
Jo turned and smiled, and held out her arm. "Grace, this is your new protégé, Paula. Paula, this is Grace."
The blonde woman in the doorway was young and beautiful, well-dressed in professional business attire but with a saucy grin that made it seem as if she saw the world as her personal play toy, or a source of infinite amusement.
"Protégé?" Grace sniffed. She looked down her nose at the newcomer. "I suppose you mean my keeper, don't you?"
"A little of both, actually," Paula replied, taking a step forward. "I want to learn as much as I can from you . . . while I'm keeping you honest, of course."
Grace's eyes narrowed. She turned to Stark with a question half-formed on her lips.
Jo shrugged. "Your determination, your drive, and your ability to succeed are worth a closer look. Ruthlessness alone is not enough to explain how you always achieve your goals while others fall behind. As I said before, you're a resource, and I hate waste. And having someone like Paula learn what you do -- and use your techniques to get good things done out in the world -- could go a long way towards mitigating the harm you've already done."
"You have a lot to offer," Paula said, drifting further into the study. Her fingers drifted across the artifacts that made Grace's personal space ... personal. "Figuring out how to do what you do -- without becoming a heartless mega bitch myself -- well, it's going to be a lot more interesting than hanging out on the beach sipping frou frou drinks and watching guys in Speedos trying hard not to let me catch them watching me."
Grace looked at Paula for a second, clearly confused. She shifted her gaze back to Stark. "Why her?"
"A number of reasons. First, she's worth several million dollars, so the chances you could actually bribe her into allowing you to do things your old way are so slim as to be virtually impossible."
"I have more than I could ever spend," Paula slipped in. "So getting more of it from you to let you hurt others would be stupid. And sort of cheating, since I'm really working for Jo, not you."
"Also," Stark continued, "she's been through a version of what you put David and the others through. She knows exactly what you've done and what you're capable of, so there's no chance of her taking pity on you and letting you run wild."
Paula flashed a smug grin at Jo's captive. "I promise not to jerk the leash too much . . . Grace." The older woman's lip twitched in irritation. "Interfering with how you do business would make learning how you do what you do that much more difficult. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you get away with much. After all, the idea is to get you to consider being human as a lifestyle choice."
Grace's face reddened with anger. "What cheek! I am human, you impudent girl!"
Paula looked her straight in the eye, and any playfulness she had exhibited disappeared completely. "You're going to have to prove it to me, bitch. I know how it feels to have your life turned upside down. And I've met David, and some of the other unwilling graduates of your 'fun factory.' As far as I'm concerned, you're only hanging onto the title because no one has come up with a separate species classification for Nazis, cannibals, serial killers -- and people like you."
Grace was stunned speechless by the raw hatred that suddenly poured out of the girl in front of her. Jo reached forward and gently touched Paula's sleeve. Paula turned to look at her.
"That's no way to begin a professional working relationship," Stark said softly. "Is it, Paula?"
"I just wanted her to know where she stands, that's all." The younger woman looked at Jo with a mix of pain and anger, tempered with disbelief. "I mean, look at her! She's like my parents were! She's totally oblivious to the horror . . . the wrongness of what she's done. How can she not know what she did was wrong? How could she not know?"
Jo could see Paula was still trembling, and reached up to put her hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "She's so totally self- centered, anything that advances her agenda must by definition be right," Stark replied, a little sadly. "Teaching her to be human may be too much to hope for. Maybe it's impossible. Maybe all we can do is make it more personally painful for her to choose to be bad. With some people, that's all you have to work with -- their own self-interest."
"Excuse me!" Grace said hotly, growing angry. "I am right here!" Both Jo and Paula ignored her.
Stark looked deep into Paula's eyes. "But if you use your power over her to hurt her, just because you can, that's only going to make you as bad as she is. Or as bad as your parents were to you. Is that what you want?" Paula shook her head no, and Jo smiled. "Good girl. So the best thing to do is . . . ?"
The younger woman took a deep breath. "Let it go," she said, her voice shaking slightly. Paula took another breath, and shook herself. Then she turned back to Grace.
"Just so we understand each other," she said in an even tone, "I want to be perfectly clear on what I mean when I say I won't jerk on the leash too much. The Gertie Mutz fantasy is only one of the 'collars' we put in your head. If you give me a reason, I can make you do all sorts of things out here in the real world without sending you off to Hell in Nebraska -- things you really wouldn't like at all. Anything I want, in fact."
Grace felt the blood drain from her face, and Paula smiled. "Let me give you a demonstration."
The older woman raised her hand and started to speak, but the young blonde opened her mouth and time jumped --
-- and Grace found herself outside, in the secret garden, on all fours. She raised her head to see Paula standing above her, holding an actual leash that trailed down to a leather collar strapped firmly around her neck. She tried to rise, but her body would not obey her.
Paula bent down and whispered in Grace's ear. "I could have taken you for a walk through the center of London, naked and collared, and you would have enjoyed it. I could get you to tart yourself up like a cheap whore and pick up some greasy nobody in some low dive, and have you wake up tomorrow morning in his bed. In fact, I can do anything I want to you. Anything. And the only thing that's stopping me . . . is the fact that I don't want to be like you. So you do what I say, stay on my good side, and you won't wind up besmirching the de Messembry name giving blow jobs in some biker bar in East Croydon. Understand?"
Totally humiliated, Grace nodded. Paula removed the collar, and Grace stumbled to her feet.
"If you try to hurt me, or Jo, or make any attempt to get out of the cage we put you in, Gertie Mutz becomes your world. And I'll make sure everyone knows what a slut Grace de Messembry truly is before she disappears forever."
As Grace made her way back to the study, Stark avoided looking at her. Instead, she spoke to the sculpture of the race horse in the center of the room.
"Venumar is going to be spending a lot of R&D money in a cooperative effort with the Stark Initative," she said to the statue. "You're going to be working with us to stop more abuses around the world. Think of it as community service."
Stark's lip quirked, and she turned to Grace.
"Remember, you'll be under constant surveillance, one way or another," she said, her voice almost playful. "By hook or by crook, we will be watching. So even though you'll be out in the world, doing whatever you do, you'll still be a prisoner." Grace said nothing, so Jo looked up at her, made a circle with her thumb and forefinger, and looked through it for an instant before turning it into an almost casual salute.
"Be seeing you, Number Six."
Grace looked at her blankly. Stark was frankly shocked.
"You know, 'The Prisoner?' Patrick McGoohan? Killer weather balloons?" Grace shook her head, still confused. Jo sighed. "Never mind. Honestly, you British have lost all appreciation for your unique contributions to pop culture. Next thing you know, you'll be telling me you don't even know who the Doctor is."
"The Doctor?" Grace cocked her head. "Doctor who?"
"Exactly!"
Then Jo turned quickly, and walked as fast as she could out of the room, the house, and the situation -- trying very hard not to laugh and cry at the same time.
###
As Stark stepped onto the sidewalk, she saw Jeff, her best friend and second-in-command, approaching from across the street. She paused a moment to let him catch up, and when he reached her side, they began walking together.
There were a few moments of companionable silence, eventually broken by Jeff.
"God knows I'm not one to argue for you to be more ruthless than you want to be," he said casually, "but I have to admit I'm curious. Why isn't she in Weeping Water, Nebraska, experiencing the joys of Cream of Wheat, daytime soaps, and meds three times a day?"
"A few reasons," Jo replied, her head turning to meet an oncoming breeze. She felt the wind on her skin, and shook her head slightly to let it blow her long blonde hair away from her face. It was a very feminine gesture, and one that took Jeff quite by surprise. It sort of surprised Jo as well.
"First, turning her into Gertie Mutz would take a powerful piece off the board," she continued. "Sufficiently motivated, I honestly believe that if anyone can find a solution to the 'Bare Branches' problem, it's Grace. And if she can do that, there's no shortage of problems in the world for her to work on. If I have to keep a tigress in a cage, the least I can do is give her something worthy of her skills to keep her busy. Over time, she might learn to be human as well. And having Paula as her apprentice will give us a far more reliable problem solver in the years to come than Grace will ever be. For all of our precautions, I know she is . . . unbroken. She won't stop thinking of ways to escape. Submitting to anyone is not in her nature."
Another moment of silence, broken again by Jeff.
"But there's more to this, isn't there?" She turned to look at him, while he carefully avoided meeting her eyes. "You've never let practicality come before vengeance before. Not since you started this . . . crusade. So why now? Why with her?"
Stark looked away, and they continued to walk for a while. Then she replied, in a voice so soft Jeff almost didn't hear her answer.
"Because maybe I'm tired of being a vindictive bitch, every minute of every day. I'm tired of doing unspeakable things in the name of justice, or vengeance, or just to avoid having that damned programming turn me into some kind of sex toy. Maybe, once in a while, I'd like to be driven by more than anger and hate."
She stopped and turned her face to him, and he saw the tears pouring from her eyes. "The truth is, I'm reaching a point where it's hard to find a reason to get out of bed in the morning. I'm tired of hurting people, even if they deserve it. But that's all I do. I'm not living, Jeff. I'm existing. I don't have a life anymore, just a purpose. It's like all I am is some kind of dark angel of rage, a fury unleashed. The pain I've caused . . . the things I've done. They haunt me. And I can't keep on this way much longer. I won't. Because I'm starting to hate the person I'm becoming -- more than I hate the people I hunt. I'm afraid if I keep on like this, there won't be anything left of me except the rage. And I couldn't go on, not like that."
Jo started crying in earnest, great wrenching sobs that rose up inside her and shook her entire body. "I won't go on," she repeated, over and over. "I won't."
Jeff didn't think, he just stepped forward and took her into his arms. She stiffened for a moment, then just melted into him and kept on crying. People on the sidewalk looked away as they passed, as if honest emotion in public was something to be avoided at all costs. Jeff returned the favor by ignoring them all and focusing all his energies on the woman in his arms.
He held her until the crying had lessened to a trembling, and still she clung to him. Then he bent his head down and whispered in her ear.
"You're not just a vengeance machine. You proved it just now, by giving Grace a chance to do some good instead of sending her to Purgatory." Jeff smiled suddenly, and Jo felt it and looked up into his eyes.
"Do you know what grace means?" She shook her head. "In Christianity, it's a gift from God. It's that part of the nature of God that loves us and forgives us, no matter what we've done. In giving Grace a chance to be more than what she is, you've shown you're more than just hate and anger. So you're worthy of grace, too, Jo. If God can forgive you with no strings attached, maybe you can forgive yourself, in time."
She rested her head on his shoulder, and felt him holding her. And didn't mind a bit.
"You're not alone, Jo," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere. I will always be here for you. And we'll work this out, together. Because that's what friends do, right?" She nodded without raising her head, and Jeff smiled. "So lets find some lunch, and then we'll do what we should have done long ago -- figure out a way to finally set you free."
Jo smiled, her face still red and puffy from crying. Jeff put his arm around her shoulders. She put her arm around his waist.
Together they walked away from Grace ... and maybe towards salvation.
Sorry for the long wait, everyone. As John Lennon sang, "life is what happens to you while you're making other plans," and this girl wound up ambushed by circumstance and committed to another full-time job as a Marketing Director for a small software company, to keep food on the table and my family connected to the Internet. It has taken much of my creativity to hit the ground running there, but I think I can finally write again, just for me. And, of course, for you. *grins* Hope you liked! -- Randalynn
Stark: Everything Must Go!
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Evelyn Evell’s shopping mall complex hides a sinister plan for worldwide domination and the unwilling forced feminization of every man on Earth. Can Stark and a group of unexpected allies redefine the phrase “hostile takeover?”
by Randalynn
of tyranny over the mind of man." — Thomas Jefferson, 1800
(inscribed over the door of the headquarters of the Stark Initiative)
Evelyn Evell’s four o’clock appointment was extremely punctual, and as she watched the tall blonde walk into her office, it almost felt as if a force of nature had swept through the door.
‘A tornado wrapped in a smart back suit,’ she thought, ‘or a hurricane in Prada pumps. There’s enough anger there to wipe out a small city. Some man must have hurt her pretty badly for that level of rage. No wonder she’s sought me out.’
“Ms. Stark? Evelyn Evell.” She stood and walked around her desk, taking the other woman’s hand with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thank you,” the blonde replied, with a smile of her own. “The pleasure is all mine. Or soon will be.”
Evelyn cocked her head slightly, a little confused before her eyes widened and she smiled wider. “Oh, yes, I believe you’re here hoping to join our cause.” She let go of Stark’s hand and wandered over to the sofa, motioning as she sat for her guest to join her. She didn’t notice the other woman staying right where she was. “I’m a bit surprised you’ve heard of us. Our little female-dominated shopping center has spawned a national organization dedicated to feminizing men, but we have tried to keep our true mission quiet, for obvious reasons. I assume you’re hoping to ... get in on the fun?”
“Actually, just the opposite,” Jo said, the smile turning into a grin. “I’m here to shut you down. Or rather, watch it happen.”
Evelyn looked up at her guest, unsure of what she’d heard. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Well, it seems that you must have missed a day in business school. The day they taught about the importance of keeping an eye on the competition.” Stark walked over and took Evelyn’s seat behind the big desk. “I happen to be the head of a rival organization whose mission plan is diametrically opposed to everything you seek to accomplish. We believe in preventing the circumvention of civil liberties for those born with a Y chromosome, and in punishing those who think they have the right to destroy the lives of others just because they find them ... offensive.”
“I’m the founder of the Stark Initiative, Ms. Evell.” She spun around once in the boss’s chair and came back around to face her. “One of our goals is to stop women like you from doing whatever they want to men and boys, and some of your unwilling transformees have managed to overcome your hypnotic conditioning enough to find us, and let us know what’s going on here. Also, there was one poor boy, scared out of his mind, afraid of his own family turning him over ... to you. But that’s over now. It all stops here.”
Evelyn stood quickly, her face turning red with anger. “What gives you the right to --? To --?”
“To do what? To interfere? To try to stop you?” Instantly, the smile dropped from her face, and Stark’s voice turned sharp enough to cut glass. “I could say its just business, but that’s not true. The profit I earn doesn’t show up well on a spreadsheet. My bottom line is that you and people like you destroy lives. You cut and stitch people to your whims, and you have to be stopped. Every time I put an end to someone like you, I’ve done my bit to preserve the one thing that makes humans ... human. The right to self-determination.”
Jo leaned forward in the high-backed chair, her eyes glittering with hatred.
“Each of us has the ‘inalienable right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.’ But you’ve taken that away from every man and boy you transformed against their will — you and every one of your co-conspirators. I’m going to shut down this soulless abattoir in a shopping mall’s shell, Evie, and make sure everyone who enjoyed your 'profitable' beginnings gets their ‘cut’ of the losses as well.”
Evelyn’s lip curled. “And how do you propose to stop us? There are thousands like me, all over the country, ready to do what must be done to take this world away from those abominations who rule it now, with their macho swaggering and their rape and their endless oppression of women.”
Stark stood up and leaned on the desk. “Those young boys you keep castrating and turning into pretty little girls were never old enough to rape anybody, let alone oppress a woman. They were young and rowdy, but you stole everything from them — their lives, their future. Even the children they will never have. And sure, some of those men you turned into women were real jerks, but the last time I checked, there’s no law against being a jerk. However, there are laws against kidnapping and mutilating people — and I’m pretty sure there’s something about brainwashing somewhere in the federal statutes.”
“You would have to prove it was done against their will,” Evelyn said. “And I have signed paperwork from every one of the adults authorizing the surgery. As for the boys, I have the parent’s permission for everything that was done to them.”
“If even one of those parents were influenced by your mind-controlling drugs and hypnosis, you're going to jail. And your head of security has hours of saved digital video, showing how you kidnapped, blackmailed, drugged or hypnotized almost every man you changed. Don't get me started about how you twisted the minds of the fathers of those boys so they would sign consent forms.” Jo hit a few keys on the keyboard. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that hiring a obsessive-compulsive psychopath to be your security chief was a bad ideas? Especially hiring one who enjoys torturing men and likes to 'watch her successes over and over?’ You'll be crucified with the accumulated evidence!”
“In any event, feminizing the boys comes under the heading of parental abuse. At least in this country, you can’t authorize someone to cut your child’s genitalia off without just medical cause, any more than you could give the okay to amputate their arms and legs for no damned good reason. For their mothers, signing those papers was as good as signing a confession. They’ll never come within ten miles of any of their children again — once they get out of jail. If they ever do.”
“And since you and your freakish shopping mall of the damned aided and abetted the torture of multiple minors through humiliation, mental manipulation, and unnecessary surgery, you’re also on your way to prison. Hell, you designed the place expressly for that purpose. I’ve got state and federal prosecutors lining up to take you down.”
Stark waved her hand dismissively. “Finally, I have complete access to your network, including your secret plans for expansion and your contact database. It’s all legal — we’ve got warrants and everything. I know the names and addresses of every one of your co-conspirators — hardly thousands, Evie, so please don’t exaggerate. None of them will be getting away.”
“We also have the names and addresses of every one of those sub-human scum who ordered your ‘home conversion products.’ We’re going to visit them all and explain why it’s a bad idea to even think about feminizing any man or boy they’re having a problem with — then we’re going to make sure the idea never occurs to them again. You think you know mind control? Lady, compared to my people, you’re no better than a ten-year-old with a plastic HypnoDisk and a bad Dracula impression.”
“In a way, you’ve made our job a little easier.” Jo smiled again. “You’ve gathered a lot of the nuts in one basket, where we can crush them without having to go find them first.”
“So, you and your inner circle are going to jail, your organization is going to be dismantled piece by piece, and those boys and men you transformed are going to be free to put what’s left of their lives back together again. It’s already begun.”
There was a knock on the door. Jo stood up, and the door opened to reveal a tall smartly-dressed redhead in jeans and a leather jacket, with two uniformed male officers standing right behind her.
“Evelyn Evell?” She flashed a badge. “I’m Detective Emily Harris, and this is Officer Trent and Officer Machelli. You’re under arrest for forcibly detaining, coercing, and transforming a large number of men and boys into women and girls, and conspiring with others to expand your operations nationwide.”
She stepped inside and turned Evelyn around, shoving her roughly to put her hands on the desk and kicking her legs apart for a quick search.
“We’ve already shut down the school and gotten the boys out of there, Jo,” Harris said, handcuffing Evell and pushing her into the arms of the two policemen. “The girls, both genetic and transformed seemed cooperative, but we know they have all been heavily conditioned, so we’re staying alert.”
“I wouldn’t trust them,” Stark replied, “at least not until my people have a chance to look them over and try to undo some of the damage. You’ve seen the videos, and the drugs and hypnotic recordings. You know what these women can do, and have done. Who knows what triggers they might have implanted when they transformed their bodies and raped their minds?”
“Well, Jeff says you know your stuff.” Emily watched Evell struggle briefly, but Trent and Machelli kept her still. “He was a good cop before he left the force looking for that reporter friend of his. And judging by what you do now, I’m thinking he found ... her.”
Jo looked away briefly, then nodded. Harris reached out and touched her arm.
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re a good woman,” she said softly. “The work you’re doing needs to be done. And Jeff gave up everything to go after you, so you must have been a good man back in the day. Maybe there are some things that don’t change, just because a person trades one skin for another.”
“I’d like to believe that.” Jo looked down, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “But there’s still so much inside my head I haven’t been able to fix since they did what they did when they ... made me what I am today. And I’ve done things I’m not proud of in pursuit of vengeance instead of justice. It’s a hard tightrope for me to walk, and I’m still trying to find balance. I just don’t know if I can.”
“You used to be a man?” Evell started laughing, and the two officers looked at Jo and then at each other, confused. “No wonder you protect them.”
“HEY!” Harris shot back at her. “I’ve always been a woman, and you and your crazy sisters make me sick with rage. I have a husband and two young boys, and the thought of you being in the same time zone with them makes me want to vomit. The only reason you’re still alive right now is that I’m a better cop and a better woman than you’ll ever be, you twisted bitch. So shut the fuck up, or I’ll forget all about keeping you alive for trial and beat you to death with one of your Manolo Blahnik pumps.”
A uniformed sergeant appeared in the doorway with a clipboard. Her nametag said Rodriguez, but even if it hadn’t, her black hair, dark brown eyes, and dark complexion would have made you think Latina.
“Hey, Connie.” Harris threw her a smile. “How close are we to getting all of the evidence out of the offices?”
“Almost done bagging and tagging, Detective. A few more minutes, that’s all.” She shot a quick glance over at Evell. “The rest of the group is in custody. Is that the psycho behind all this?”
“You got it,” Harris said. “Meet Evelyn Evell, the leader of the pack. It was her idea from the start. Even messed with her own husband and child. Sick.”
The sergeant shook her head. “You are one piece of work, chica. Glad we caught you before you went national. I happen to like my men just the way they are — and I think most women do too.”
“That’s your opinion!” Evell couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Rodriguez walked up to her.
“Yeah, it is, and thank God I live in a country where we get to think what we want — oh, wait, you wanted us all to think like you, right?” Her eyes narrowed. “I helped pack up your brainwashing meds for the evidence room, and took a look at some of the videos before they got packed up too. You used that stuff on anyone who disagreed with you, man or woman. You have no respect for anyone’s rights but your own, and I hope you find yourself living a long unhappy life as someone else’s bitch. And for the record? That one doctor’s collection of pickled peckers? Seriously psycho.” Rodriguez curled her lip in disgust. “Just glad Jo found you all when she did.”
Another woman appeared at the door. She was short and slightly overweight, with tousled brown hair that bounced around her head in a halo of curls, and big brown eyes that held intelligence ... and more than a little anger.
“Detective Harris? Been doing an inspection of the mall, and I’ve got to say the place is nothing more a catastrophe waiting to happen. Hell, the whole complex looks like it’s ready to fall. Had to order an evacuation and shutdown.”
“Oh?” The detective smirked, and Jo reached up and hid a grin. “Do tell!”
Evell’s eyes widened. “WHAT? Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Laurell Stirling, chief building inspector for the County. And you’re totally screwed, lady.”
“You’re crazy. This place passed every inspection with flying colors!”
Stirling wheeled around and looked at her, and suddenly she felt the full force of the inspector’s anger and realized that this was more than a terrible run of really rotten luck.
It was an ambush.
“Me crazy? That’s a laugh coming from you. Jo explained what the hell you’ve been doing, and showed me why some approvals deserve to be revoked.” Laurell took a step forward and looked into Evell’s eyes.
“As far as I’m concerned, your entire complex is a deathtrap,” she growled, “and has been from the minute I found out what you’ve been up to. I took the liberty of replacing all the paperwork at the office with versions signed by a disgraced ex-employee who was so bent, he would look the other way and wind up staring straight at you. He’s in prison and still insists he’s innocent, so no one will wonder why he’s not corroborating our version.”
“He’ll deny everything,” Jo agreed. “but we’ve got other evidence as well. We altered his bank records from around the time the complex was being built, so it looks like you deposited a million dollars directly into an offshore account he didn’t even know he has. The money was then redirected somewhere else almost immediately, so there’s no chance anyone can trace it.”
Evelyn shook her head. “What? How?”
Stark grinned in reply. “Things like this are easy when you own a piece of the bank. And I have wonderfully talented hackers on staff. The million will go to help pay reparations for those you transformed against their will. It won’t be enough, but we’ll see what we can get out of your business interests through civil suits.”
The inspector looked at Stark and Harris.
“Not going to be much left when this is over, I’m afraid,” she said with a small smile. “The minute I realized who had ‘done’ the original inspections, I rushed right over this morning. Needless to say, I ‘found’ code violations everywhere. Structural defects, along with improperly install gas heating systems and electrical wiring flaws in every building, often within a few feet of each other. Hell, the complex is nothing more than a mall-shaped bomb, ready to blow.”
Laurell turned her attention back to the mall’s owner. “We’ve got police and fire trucks cordoning off the entire area, and making sure everyone gets offsite safely. I’m here to make sure you all move out and get to a safe distance. There are gas leaks everywhere, and too many mains run into the area to shut off the flow. Since every building was designed with its own redundant power supply, there’s no way to shut off the current — and if we do try shutting down the grid, the power supplies kicking in might blow the whole place. It could go up at any time.”
“In fact, we’ve had to get everyone out of the complex so fast, we had no time to rescue all of the millions of dollars worth of inventory on the premises — and the code violations I ‘found’ invalidate the tenant’s insurance coverage, not to mention your own.” She grinned at Evell. “Now ain’t that a shame? All those folks who bought into your plans are gonna wind up broke and in jail. You too, I expect.”
The mall owner, entrepreneur, and would-be destroyer of mankind was struck speechless.
Rodriguez’s radio delivered a burst of static followed by a brief message. She moved to one side and spoke into it for a moment.
“Evidence gathering is done, Detective,” she said, putting the radio away. “Time to get the hell out.”
“Understood,” Harris replied. “Let’s go, people.”
###
Their footfalls echoed hollowly as they walked through the empty mall, and there was a slight smell of gas in the air that made the atmosphere oppressive. As they passed the food court, they saw all of the food left behind on the tables in the wake of the sudden evacuation. Stores were left open and unguarded, their merchandise just sitting in plain sight. With a shock, Evell realized that in a few short minutes, all of this would be nothing but ashes, and it finally began to sink in that everything she had worked so hard to achieve had been taken from her in the course of a few short hours by these misguided women.
She stopped suddenly, taking both uniformed officers by surprise. The others took a few steps forward, and turned to find her standing alone, her arms held behind her by the handcuffs and her legs apart to keep her balance.
“Wait!” she shouted, almost pleading with the assembled group. “Why have you done this? You’re all women! Can’t you see that what I was working for ... what we were working for ... was for the best, for all women, everywhere? Think of it! A world without masculinity! Without its violence, its posturing, its endless conflict and oppression! A world without rape! Why would you want to preserve any of that?”
They all looked at her for a moment, and then Detective Harris spoke.
“Because your definition of what makes a man is wrong,” she replied, her voice calm and measured. “Because men can be good, and kind, and strong, and loving, too. And women are far from perfect. You and your organization are proof of that.”
Her anger rose to the surface, and her tone made every word cut like a knife. “The hard truth you don’t seem to get is that you and your man-hating sisters have no right to make decisions for every woman on this planet about what kind of people they want their men to be. And you have no right to twist the minds and bodies of men to make them want to be anything other than who they truly are.”
Evell looked at Harris as if she was speaking Swahili, and the detective sighed.
“Your dreams are dead.” Her voice turned cold again. “Live with it, or not. I don’t give a damn.”
She motioned to the officers. “Get her out of here. Now. Carry her if you have to, but I want us gone.”
###
Outside, the world was eerily quiet. Acres of empty parking lots stretched away from the mall’s main entrance, with only the last remnants of the forensics and evidence trucks and a few police cruisers waiting in attendance. They shoved the defeated mall owner into the back of a cruiser, and everyone else climbed into a waiting van. The entire caravan drove across the concrete fields, onto the perimeter road, and off of the property.
No one said a word. Nothing needed to be said.
At the mobile headquarters, the police and fire chiefs of the surrounding areas were assembled, and Laurell went off to brief them on how bad the situation was. There were a few television trucks there as well, with reporters doing live remotes, and Jo noticed that one of the stations had a live feed from a helicopter that showed the entire mall complex from above.
The reporter for that station wasn’t on air, and Stark wandered over to say hello.
“Hey, Tiffany,” she said with a smile.
“Hey, Jo,” the reporter replied. Tiffany Case was a tall willowy blonde with green eyes, and she smiled back in return at the woman responsible for bringing her this story. “Nice seeing you again, so soon after our last meeting.”
“Same here. I’m awfully curious. How’d you manage to get a helicopter for a bird’s eye view?”
“Funny thing,” Tiffany replied. “We received an anonymous tip that said the whole place was only a few minutes away from some kind of a massive explosion, and my boss figured, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound.’” She grinned. “You wouldn’t care to comment on the accuracy of that tip, would you?”
Jo grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. A few more minutes and you’ll have your answer, I think. I’ll let Laurell know you’re here. An interview with her would probably help clear things up.”
“Oh, was that Evelyn Evell I saw in that cruiser over there?” Tiffany’s voice was the picture of innocence.
“No comment.” Stark deadpanned, and Tiffany stuck out her tongue. Jo found herself laughing in spite of herself.
“Maybe she would consent to an interview. After all, it IS her mall.”
Stark shook her head. “You are incorrigible.”
“I’m a reporter, hon.” She shrugged. “It’s what I do.”
“Been there, done that,” Jo replied, before realizing what she was saying.
“You’ve been a member of the fourth estate?” She raised an eyebrow. “Color me surprised!”
Stark sighed. “Guilty as charged. City beat on the Baltimore Herald for a year or two.”
“Must have been a while back,” Tiffany mused, “’cause the last three guys on that beat were ... well, guys.”
“It was,” Jo said, a little sadly. She barely remembered that time, after all she’d been through. “I really miss it. Even though what I’m doing now is worth doing, I miss reporting — the thrill of chasing down a story, the pressure of getting the copy in by deadline, and seeing your byline in the paper the next day. I thought maybe someday I’d luck into a big story and earn myself a Pulitzer ...” She shrugged. “Funny how time changes things.”
“Reminiscing ?” A voice from behind broke into her reverie, and she turned and threw its owner a smile.
“Hey, Jeff!” He came over and stood next to her, almost touching. It made Jo feel good, just having him close. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t really want to look too closely at the reason. She was just happy he was here.
“Never get an old reporter started,” she said, “because they never run out of stories.”
“Neither one of you looks old enough to be thinking about old times.” Jeff grinned and Stark blushed, then remembered her manners.
“Tiffany, this is Jeff Blake, my second-in-command at the Stark Initiative. Jeff, Tiffany Case, doing a live remote for one of the local stations, the NBC affiliate, I think?”
Tiffany smiled, nodded, and held out her hand. Jeff took it and smiled back. “A pleasure. Sorry we didn’t meet at last night’s final meeting. The plane from Switzerland was delayed and I missed being able to get here on time. It looks like you all managed quite well without me, though.”
“Working with Jo, it was easy.” Detective Harris walked over. “Hey, Jeff. Long time no see.”
“Hi, Em. Everything go okay?” They hugged, and Jo felt her stomach drop until Jeff broke free.
“Thanks to Ms. Stark here,” Harris replied. “Jo was very persuasive, although after seeing the evidence a few days ago, it wasn’t like any of us wanted Evell to get away. Once everyone at the meeting agreed to the plan, it unfolded like a military campaign, only without the automatic weapons. I’m almost tempted to sign up with you folks myself.”
There was a muted boom, and Jo glanced over at the helicopter monitor in the truck to see the north end of the mall erupt in flames that quickly roared through the rest of the structure. A few seconds later, a mushroom cloud appeared over one of the outlying buildings, followed quickly by a second building going up in a cloud of debris, and then a third.
“Damn! Go live! NOW!” Tiffany ran over to the tech in the truck. ”Tell me you got that.”
“All of it, Tiff. No sweat,” the tech replied. Jo saw the image from the helicopter shaking as the shock waves rose to toss it around the sky, and burning bits of concrete and steel began raining down on parking lots all around the facility. The feed from the station changed to a BREAKING NEWS banner, and the explosions appeared under it.
Tiffany picked up the microphone. “A series of massive explosions have turned Evell’s Shopping Mall in West Springfield into nothing more than smoke, ash, and wreckage. Hello, I’m Tiffany Case, and what you’re seeing happened only seconds ago ...”
Jo wandered away from the reporter and let her do her job. Part of her almost wished the story was hers, then she snorted.
‘As if I could make it as a TV journalist in this body without winding up the weather girl,’ she thought. ‘Although Tiffany seems to be doing just fine.’
She wondered if she could ever go back to life as a journalist, but found herself drawn to the cruiser where Evell herself still sat. The woman was looking at the clouds of smoke with an odd expression, one that Jo knew all too well. The first time she woke up after her kidnapping, the bitches that taken her from the life she had known had led her to a mirror, and she found herself staring at the reflection of a centerfold, just a few years and an eternity ago.
A centerfold with a face full of disbelief, horror, anger, and despair.
Stark walked over to the cruiser and spoke through the open driver’s side window. She was surprised to find her tone almost sympathetic.
“It’s a question of natural law, Ms. Evell. Survival of the fittest. You thought you were the predator, and never realized you had become the prey until it was too late.” Jo thought back to that first day once more. “It’s hard to suddenly find yourself a victim when you thought you had it all, isn’t it?”
It was almost as if the mall owner didn’t hear her, but then Jo heard her whisper. “Dying dreams burn so well, don’t they?”
Stark thought of her past, of the dreams she once had when she was Joe, and male, and happy. She nodded.
“And sometimes, they just turn to smoke,” she replied.
Stark: Hammer into Anvil | Part 1: Dropping A Dime
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An emergency rescue mission in Paris for the Stark Initiative leads Jo and Jeff to a conversation full of surprising revelations and an unexpected conclusion ...
Part 1: Dropping A Dime
by Randalynn
###
The beautiful young woman stormed into the house on her three-inch heels, breasts bouncing delightfully under her yellow sundress. As she threw the two bags of groceries she carried down on the table by the door, a casual observer could see the blush on her cheeks made insignificant by a flushed redness that had nothing to do with make-up. Her full red lips were compressed into a thin slit, and her furrowed forehead pushed her thin arched eyebrows down slightly over her pale blue eyes. The artfully curled blonde hair that framed her face was slightly out of place, but nothing a few seconds with a mirror and a brush couldn't fix.
"Aunt Carrie, this has gone far enough!" she yelled. Her voice was high-pitched and sweetly feminine, but her intonation way too masculine for the proper young lady she appeared to be.
From the sofa across the room, a low voice laughed. "I think that's my choice, Brenda." An older woman in a gray suit, Carrie crossed her legs and took a sip of cognac. "It's always been my choice."
"It's Brendan, and you know it." The younger woman put her fists on her hips, her legs spread wide. The tan bag hanging from her shoulder swung for a moment, then settled in the triangle between her elbow, the curve of her hip, and her right breast.
"It's Brenda until I say otherwise," Carrie replied evenly. "And whether I do say otherwise depends entirely on your cooperation. So, Brenda, you will adopt a more ladylike tone this instant. Or would you like me to send those pictures of you in my lingerie off to your teachers or the student newspaper at that ivy-league college you attend? Maybe to all of your friends? I think their e-mail addresses are in that laptop of yours I gave to my friend Madeline. She'll be happy to send them out for me."
"You dressed me in that stuff," he growled, even though it sounded like an angry kitten. "After drugging the wine we toasted with my first night here."
"Yes, well, you know that and I know that." She smiled. "But as far as everyone else will know, I caught you dressing in my things. And you confessed that you had always wanted to be a woman, and this was your first chance to dress in so long. Naturally, being my favorite nephew, I simply had to let you experience your feminine side fully while you were here."
"That's your story," Brendan said scornfully.
"Yes, it is," she replied with a grin. "And it's the only story anyone will believe -- especially after your friends see all of the pictures I took along the way. You prancing about the house in your baby doll nightie, getting your makeover at Mimi's salon, topless with that delightfully perfect faux bosom glued to your chest. Enchanting, dear! Oh, and you smiling in every picture, dear. Always smiling!"
"You set those all up. You made me smile." He looked down, biting his lip. A thin line of red appeared on his teeth, and Carrie tsked at him.
"Lipstick, darling," she said crossly. "Don't get it on your teeth. It makes you look cheap."
He looked up, eyes flashing. "I don't care about the damned lipstick. You threatened me with those lingerie pics! You set up all those pictures and made me smile for them. It was blackmail."
"I'm sure it's only blackmail if there's money or property involved, Brenda. I haven't asked for a cent of your inheritance, and I won't. That would be ... illegal. Threatening you with exposure to force you to dress as a woman has no criminal penalty that I'm aware of." Carrie smiled another lazy smile. "It’s just fun."
"And that date with George last weekend?" Brendan's voice dropped to a trembling whisper. "Was that fun for you, too?
Carrie laughed. "Oh, yes, Brenda darling. And fun for George, as well, according to this statement he wrote for me." She waved the paper at him. "He told me on the phone this morning how happy he was with your performance. He said, and I quote, 'she gives awesome head for a fake chick.' The whole story goes well with the photos and videos of the other night."
Brendan's eyes went wide, terrified. "WHAT?"
"Oh, you didn't think I'd set up a date for you with George and not watch, did you?" Carrie uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way. "I have recordings of everything. Of course, I edited out the part where George threatened to expose you to those thugs in the park if you didn't comply. Wouldn't want the truth getting in the way of more grist for the mill. Wouldn't want you running after losing your ...virginity, so to speak." She took a long drag on her cigarette. "Of course, you haven't really, yet. That comes later."
"Later? What ...?"
She held up her hand. "Shhhhhhh. No need to get upset. It's already decided. There's really nothing you can do. After a few more dates with George and a few of his friends, I thought I'd help you find a place of your own. A single woman like yourself shouldn't be living with her aunt. You need to go out, meet people. Men, actually. There are brothels in this town where girls like you are sought after ... lusted for. I thought we'd give you some nice real breasts -- well, certainly better than what you have. Maybe even bigger." She smiled. "Buy you a nice slutty wardrobe to show them off, and get you a room of your own where you can ... entertain gentleman callers. Let some stranger ... what's the term you real men use? 'Pop your cherry?' For cold hard cash, of course -- a working girl shouldn't give it away. Not that you'll see a cent, darling. I'll make sure you're kept penniless and demoralized, like a good whore should be."
"I don't have to stay for any of this. I've got money," he said with a touch of desperation. "I'll run."
"You have no way to get your hands on any of it," she replied sweetly. "Not looking like that. No passport ... no real ID, actually. You can't even leave the country, let alone cash a check."
"I'll call my banker in Boston! He'll help!"
"Silly girl! Sounding like that?" She laughed out loud. "He'll most likely call the gendarmes on you for trying to perpetrate a fraud. No one has ever heard of that chemical cocktail I made you drink to tighten your vocal chords. I assure you it's quite permanent, without the counter-agent. And since I have the only sample of that, I guarantee you'll never be a tenor again."
"I'll go to the police! I'll tell them everything!"
"And I'll deny it, of course. 'My nephew? Oh, I don't think so. He was supposed to come visit me, but he hasn't arrived yet. And he certainly doesn't dress like this. It's absurd!' And if I am called down to the headquarters to answer these ridiculous charges, I'm sure Madeline can insert the appropriate criminal record for a she-male hooker and con artist named Brenda into the police files. With your pictures, and of course your fingerprints, darling. We took them that first night, while you slept."
She took another drag on her cigarette. "Besides, once they find the body of that drifter with your wallet and passport, everyone will know Brendan's dead. Poor thing ... burned beyond recognition over most of his body in that warehouse fire last night. Had a devil of a time figuring out the best way to burn him so the passport stayed mostly intact."
The young man dropped into an overstuffed chair across from his aunt and put his head in his hands. The long blonde hair fell forward, hiding his face.
"You murdered somebody? For THIS? This is crazy! I've never done ANYTHING to you. Before my parents died, they never even mentioned you to me. Then you call out of the blue, and I come to Paris for the summer thinking I have family again. You drug me, change my voice, steal my passport and money, dress me up like this ... You're going to turn me into a whore? For what? Why are you doing this to me? Why?"
"Because you're a man, and I hate men." Brendan raised his head and looked into Carrie's eyes from across the room. She smiled. "Because you trusted me and I betrayed you, as every man I've ever known has betrayed me, in his day. Because I've been powerless and I've had power, and believe me, power is better. Because making a man experience the indignity of being a woman, the sheer powerless of being someone else's toy because of an accident of birth, is something I've always wanted to do. When you fell into my lap, so to speak, I had to act." Her eyes glittered. "You're mine!"
From the hallway to the master bedroom, came the sound of a lone pair of hands, clapping. A stunningly beautiful woman walked into the room smiling, still applauding.
"And act you have, Carrie, dear," she said in a voice that could make any man melt. "An amazing performance, trying to frighten the poor boy with tales of his terrible future. Very scary."
"But it wasn't a performance at all, was it? You really are the twisted bitch you were portraying just now. And that's the most frightening part of the show." Her eyes narrowed, and the smile disappeared. “But it’s my show now, I think. And you’re not the star anymore. Just a bit player, after all.”
Suddenly, Carrie was angry. "Who ... who are you? What are you doing in my home?"
The woman turned to her, and Carrie's anger turned quickly to confusion when she saw the chill in those eyes. "My name is Stark. My friends call me Jo. But since I consider you one of the lowest forms of life on the planet, I'd prefer it if you didn't speak my name at all."
Carrie's mouth dropped open, and Stark grinned suddenly, as if she was having the best time ever. "Close your mouth, Carrie dear," she said sweetly as she stepped around Brendan’s aunt. "It's unbecoming."
"Hello, Jo!” The young man rose hopefully, his eyes on the newcomer. "Did we get enough?"
"Oh yes, Brendan," The woman nodded, and he smiled. "More than enough. I switched to the pre-recording we made of you crying. In fact, after all the crowing your aunt did just now, I'm not sure the police will believe she can stay quiet for very long, so we must be quick. I have a friend distracting them, even as we speak, but they could be here any minute."
Brendan smiled, and his aunt turned pale. "P...police?" she stuttered. "I've done nothing illegal!"
"Nothing illegal? Au contraire, mademoiselle," Stark replied, turning on Carrie and pinning her in place, her eyes full of anger. Carrie took a step back in spite of herself, and Jo grinned again. She moved towards the woman a step at a time, doing a dreadful impression of Peter Seller’s Inspector Clouseau, about to reveal the murderer.
"Before embarking on an enterprise such as this, one should really do a bit of research. You see, blackmail doesn't have to involve property or currency at all. In fact, the law in most Western countries generally defines it as 'a criminal act of extortion -- malicious threatening to do injury to another to compel him to do an act against his will. Usually involves the threat to release information about the person that will defame his reputation or bring criminal actions against him.'"
Jo laughed and spun around on one toe, letting her skirt flare out around her. When she stopped, she pointed a finger at Carrie. "You just confessed on tape to blackmailing this boy into dressing as a woman on threat of exposure, so you could eventually sell him into a life of prostitution -- and you laughed about it! On tape, dear, with four burly French detectives listening in. Poor things, huddled in that tiny gray van outside."
Suddenly the grin left her face, and her tone turned very dark again. "Of course, that was only the appetizer. Then you confessed to killing a homeless boy in cold blood and burning his corpse, just so you could make people think Brendan was dead."
She smiled then, and it wasn't anything pretty about it. "And of course, you must have set the warehouse on fire, which mean arson. Nothing illegal? Girl, if you give them any more evidence against you, they'll have to dig for a hundred years to make a hole deeper than the one you've managed to dig for yourself!"
Stark took the last few steps over to the speechless aunt and bent over to whisper in her ear.
"But just in case that wasn't enough for the local authorities,” she growled, “I went ahead and planted the American President's itinerary for the upcoming summit and some bomb-making materials in your closet. Oh, I also hid a fortune in pure uncut cocaine in your car's spare tire well. And just to be safe, I added the home phone number of a local crime boss to your phone bill. You must have called him a hundred times in the past three months alone. Is there love in the air?"
Carrie's face turned pale, and Jo patted her hand, her voice oozing mock sympathy. "Oh, I know, dear. It IS a bit much. But I do so like to be thorough. And with all that to charge you with, they might just downplay the blackmail angle completely, and let Brendan get on with his life without all the fuss and bother of a public trial."
"But Madeline will send e-mails if ..."
"Madeline will do absolutely nothing," Stark said, that smile playing about her lips again. "My people cut her Internet access the minute Brendan walked in here ... and your phones about the same time. The police will arrive at her door, arrest her, and find all of that blackmail material you mentioned sitting on her computer. Along with Brendan's stolen laptop."
Stark reached up to her ear and tilted her head, as if listening.
"It's time for the big performance, Brendan." She turned and pulled the remote from her bag. "The piá¨ce de résistance. Are you ready?"
Brendan smiled back. "Just say the word."
"Go!" She pressed the first button.
Brendan stood up. "I'm not going to stand for this any longer. This game is over. I'll take my chances with the police, and you can't stop me. " He counted to three silently, then gasped. "Oh my God, put down the gun!" He ran over to the far side of the room, behind his aunt. Carrie turned her head and watched, confused.
Quickly, Stark reached back into the purse and pulled out a revolver. Thrusting it into Carrie's hands, Jo stepped aside and pressed the second button.
Before Carrie could drop it, the gun went off with a loud BANG. The bullet buried itself in a pillow on the chair across the room, and Carrie dropped the gun as if she had been stung. Stark picked up the revolver and shot two more times into the far wall where Brendan had been standing. Then she pressed the third button, and dropped the gun on the floor in front of the woman.
"We're offline again," she said. "And you, auntie dearest, are now also on the fast track to an additional charge of attempted murder. Graphite all over your hands, and you didn't even have to pull the trigger." Stark pinned her in place with a glance. “Of course, it’s more overkill. I didn’t know you’d already killed someone before I set this up.”
"The gun ..." Carrie stuttered. "They'll see it was rigged."
Stark shook her head. "My people aligned the cylinder with the barrel and held it in place using a small plastic frame. A radio controlled igniter was inside the casing of the bullet under the hammer. Disposable, very short-range. When the gunpowder in the bullet exploded, it fried the igniter. When I pulled the trigger for the second two shots, I advanced the cylinder and broke the plastic frame into tiny fragments. No fuss, no bother." She smiled again. "Besides, even if they knew what to look for, they'd have to look really hard, and they won't. They want to put you away, dear."
She listened again to her unseen partners, then sighed.
"Brendan? I need to go now. Half the Paris police force is heading for the front door. But I'll be in touch after the dust settles. Whatever you need to get your head on straight and your life back to normal, we'll make it happen. I promise."
He stood there, no longer quite the picture of femininity he had been only minutes before. "Thank you, Jo," he said, smiling.
"Thank you," Stark replied, smiling back. "It was my pleasure." She walked over to the back door and opened it.
Carrie finally found her voice. "I'll tell them about you," she shouted, pointing at Stark. "I'll tell them everything you did!"
"Moi?" Stark raised her eyebrows and placed a well-manicured hand on her chest. "Darling, I don't know what you're talking about! I was never even here." She blew Carrie a kiss. "Au revoir!"
A half hour later, a young couple sat at a sidewalk café across the street, drinking coffee and watching Brendan's aunt struggling in handcuffs as they shoved her into a waiting car. The street was full of police vehicles of all kinds, and members of the terrorist task force stood arguing with detectives from the narcotics division about which group would get to file charges first.
"Not quite your usual style, is it, Jo?" The man said, giving her an inquisitive glance over the rim of his cup. "You've always preferred the 'hands on' approach, but this is the third time you've called in the authorities this month. And the fourth time ever."
"Well, a girl's got to try something new once in a while," Stark replied, "although the practice of 'dropping a dime' is almost as old as the telephone."
"Dropping a dime?"
"Antiquated slang, Jeff. It means calling the police to point them at someone you want arrested, back when a local phone call only cost ten cents. You're a former detective, you should know the lingo."
"Well, I didn't work homicide with Cagney and Bogart," Jeff said with a grin. "Anyway, you dropped a lot more than a dime on this one. The cocaine alone set us back almost fifty thousand dollars."
"And worth every penny, if only for the look on her face." Stark finished her cup and stood, placing her purse over her shoulder with practiced ease. "No one in the police department would ever think someone would spend that much money just to frame someone."
"Well, they say money can't buy happiness." Jeff stood up, reached into his pocket and threw a handful of the local currency on the table. "But I have to say I haven't seen you smile this much in a long time. It looks good on you."
"Thanks to the body those bitches cursed me with, everything looks good on me," Stark countered, still smiling. "But thank you for the compliment." She slipped her arm through his and laughed out loud at the shocked look on his face.
"Brendan's a good kid," she said as they started walking down the boulevard, arm in arm. "I noticed how troubled he was a few days ago in the grocery store, but when I asked if he was okay, he came forward and told me everything. It took a lot of courage for him to trust me. Chesser and the hacker boys took a quick but detailed virtual tour of Carrie’s twisted life, and the police were ever so helpful. We were able to pull of the entire sting pretty quickly." Jeff looked at her sideways.
"Can we help him?" He matched pace with Stark, still on his arm. "With getting his life back?"
"I think so. Carrie left the chemicals she used to change his voice on her dresser. After all, he certainly wasn't going to drink that stuff again. I slipped it in my bag when we were planting the explosives in her bedroom. Our people should be able to create the counteragent. The fact that she said there is one means it can be done. Of course, before we try, we'll search everywhere we can think of to find the sample she said she had. The rest of the changes are cosmetic. Latex and salon work, although getting his eyebrows right again is going to be a bit tricky."
"We can use his passport photo as a reference," Jeff said, still getting used to having Jo on his arm and the warm feeling it gave him all over. "Maybe remove the hair that's still there, then create a realistic short-term tattoo to fill in where the hair was removed until it all grows back again. Or maybe a realistic long-term prosthetic, although that might be harder for him to deal with than the tattoo. "
"You are so clever!" Stark smiled, and rested her head on his shoulder. He stopped short, jerked away and turned to face her.
"Jo, what's going on? You've been acting very strange today. In fact, you've been a little weird all month. It's starting to scare me."
She looked up at him, and he looked deep into her eyes. For the first time since her killing spree on the ballroom floor, Jeff thought he saw a bit of his old friend peeking back out at him. There was a touch of fear, but also warmth and affection — and even though Jeff had been the one person closest to her in this new life she had been dragged into, he had never seen this side of her so openly expressed in the months since he found her ... as what she had become.
They stood next to a bench facing a park. Stark chewed on her lower lip, then sat with a smooth grace and patted the bench next to her. Jeff lowered himself gingerly until he sat as well, half-turned towards her, She turned to face him.
"Jeff ... since I rescued Craig -- Chrissy -- a few months back, I've started thinking about my life, and what it's become." Craig, a twenty-something graphic artist, had been magically transformed into a little girl and kept that way by his ex-girlfriend.
‘Something to do with that Medallion,’ Jeff remembered. ‘Jo's had agents everywhere searching for it.’ He nodded, anxious for her to continue.
"And when I went to save Paula and her friends on Halloween, she said something to me that started me thinking about who I am ... and who I want to be. She said 'the best revenge is living well.' And I think she may have been right."
"After we reached an . . . understanding with Grace de Messembry, we were going to see about working out how to set me free," Stark continued. "But I haven't been able to go near the psych folks at the mansion. Every time I think about it, something in my brain pushes me to turn and walk away."
She took a deep breath. "So I've been working on a sort of experiment. It's a little dangerous, so I haven't told anyone. Not even Chrissy." She stopped, not quite sure how to continue. Jeff waited, a little anxious. Stark sighed and looked down at her hands.
"I've been ... working on coming to terms with my situation," she nearly whispered, "and letting the anger go. I'm relying on it less and less to keep the programming at bay."
For a few seconds, Jeff stared at her, too stunned to speak.
"For God's sake, why?" He stood up, looming over her with fists clenched. His voice was so loud, passersby stopped and stared. "I thought it was the only thing standing between you and what they wanted you to become!"
"I thought so, too," Jo replied. She looked up into his eyes. "But when I rescued Chrissy, I found ... other strong emotions seemed to work just as well. I felt so sorry for her, and sad, but also happy that I saved her, and happy for myself to have found ... a friend. The programming couldn't get past those feelings either. So I thought, why not try something different? Why not try and lose the anger, and take back my life?"
"Why not? Because I could lose you!" Jeff sank back onto the bench, his eyes never leaving hers. "We could lose you. It's like playing with a loaded gun, Jo. I never liked the side of you the anger set free, but at least it's still you in there."
She saw the fear on Jeff's face and took his hands in hers. His eyebrows shot up.
"I know I'm taking an awful chance," she said softly. "We both know what could happen. You've seen what I become if I don't raise the anger, even though I wish to God you hadn't. And the anger was what saved me in the first place. It’s what made me free to ... to do what I did that night. But I'm so tired of being enraged all the time. I have good reason to be angry, I know. Every time I find another 'Aunt Carrie,' I know I'll never be finished. My work will always be there, waiting for me."
Stark squeezed his hands. "But there has to be more to life than an endless loop of hatred and vengeance. Doesn't there? You say you don't like the side of me set free by the anger. How do you think it makes me feel to LIVE with it, deep inside me, all the time? My doctor back at the mansion told me that if I stay angry every minute of every day, the stress alone will kill me sooner rather than later, as sure as if I put a gun to my head. And if I let the anger rule me ... if I let it become all that I am, then I'll be just as much a puppet as I would have been if they won. I'll become a slave to my own hate, instead of a sex toy for some man."
Her friend looked away, confusion warring with worry in his eyes. She touched his arm. "Jeff? When the anger is in control, how much of me ... the me I used to be ... can you see?"
Jeff shook his head. "You were never the vindictive type before, Jo. You let most things slide off your back, never held a grudge. Hell, you wore a smile most of the time. I used to think life just amused the hell out of you."
She smiled. "It did. When you're a reporter, you see so much of what people can do to hurt each other, you have to find a way to deal with it. Me, I either had to laugh or go mad. It sounds cruel, but it kept me sane. It kept everyone's pain at bay for me, even my own." Stark turned away, letting go of Jeff's hands to hug herself. Her voice became remote. "But since the abduction, and my ... liberation, I've been way too afraid to let go of the hate long enough to laugh. Not that there's been much to laugh about, but until Chrissy, I ... I was afraid to even try."
There was a short, awkward silence, then Jeff sighed. "When the anger has you, you're like someone else," he admitted. "Some of the things you've done ... I know you had to do them, because of what you've been through, but the guy I used to know would have been horrified."
"He still is." Stark looked down. "The anger keeps him at bay, too. How can I even try to put my life back together when the man I was hides from what I've become? When even he can't get past my hate?"
"If this is about building a life," Jeff said softly, "how do you feel about living ... looking like that?"
"It's not something I want, or ever wanted," she replied. "But as a reporter, the one thing you learn is to face the truth when you bump into it every once in a while." Stark sighed. "The fact is, I don't have a choice. They did this to me. I'm stuck like this. But looking like this isn't awful. I'm healthy, and strong. And truthfully, if I have to be a woman, better to be nice-looking with a decent shape." Stark turned to find Jeff giving her a dubious look. She shook her head and grinned. "Okay, fine. It's better to be stone cold gorgeous with a body to die for, okay?"
"Where did this all come from?"
Stark looked up at Jeff, and her grin became a small smile. "Chrissy, actually. In a lot of ways, she has it so much worse than I do. But instead of curling up into a ball, she ... adapts. She accepts what she is now. She gets on with life. Works on her art, helps in the kitchen, plays games, watches baseball on satellite. She even still wears play dresses once in a while." She grinned. "Chrissy told me that, now that she actually has a choice, it's sometimes just more comfortable. I guess, for me, that's what always made me angry more than anything. Choice. Losing the right to choose."
Jo turned away, hugging herself under her breasts. "It's the programming, Jeff. That's what I hate the most. Turning me into a submissive slave for any man who wants me. Making me be a slut when all I want to do ... is be." She shivered. "Okay, I'm a woman. I get that. And it's okay, really. As hard as it might be to accept if it happened to you, it's not the end of the world. But if ... if I have to be a woman, I just want to be able to be ... ordinary sometimes, you know? To be a real woman, not some sexual fantasy made flesh."
She turned back and sat beside him, touching his shoulder. "I want to be able to dress down once in a while, wear sweats and a tee shirt instead of being forced to walk around looking like a wet dream or a fashion model all the time. I want to cook food and play with kids, have dinner with friends or meet somewhere for a cup of coffee. I'd like to go to a movie or a ballgame, or be able to hang with my best friend without wanting him to take me in his arms and ..."
Suddenly, everything became very quiet. Stark's last words just hung in the air, and Jeff realized that she had let them slip out without thinking. He became very conscious of her hand on his arm, and of how close she sat, and her natural scent mixing with her very expensive perfume. Part of him wanted to lean forward and touch his lips to hers, kiss her with every ounce of passion he possessed, feel her melt in his arms and press herself to him as her eyes closed and she moaned and --
Jeff jerked upright, and stood quickly, turning away from her to hide his desire.
‘My God,’ he thought, ‘this is crazy! She's my best friend, and I want her so badly I ache.’ He shook his head. ‘No, it's more than desire. I want to take care of her. I want to hold her, and make everything better. That's all I've wanted since I found her, naked and mad and covered in blood all those months ago. I left my job for her, my life ... I helped her do terrible things. If I had to, I would kill for her. Hell, I'd die for her.’
Stark raised a hand, reaching out to him. "Jeff?"
It hit him like a lightning strike, and his knees went weak.
‘Oh my God. I ... I think I'm in love with her.’
‘I think I love her.’
"Jeff? Are you okay?"
He shook himself like a wet dog, all over, and fell back onto the bench next to her. His head fell into his hands. Jeff felt her hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing. But her touch was electric, even through his clothing, and he trembled under her fingers.
"What's wrong?" Her voice was full of concern.
‘I can't tell her,’ he realized quickly. ‘I'm her best, maybe her only, friend. If I tell her I love her and she doesn't love me back ... if things get awkward between us ... who will she have then? And if she finds the whole idea of being loved by someone who knew her when ... when she was a he ... if it scares her, or even disgusts her, I'll lose her completely.’ The thought make him shiver. ‘I can't ... won't ... lose her!’
Jeff scrambled for an answer.
"Just ... surprised, I guess," he said slowly. "It's a lot to take in all at once. You being in danger, letting go of the anger, your ... accepting the woman you've become." Jeff sighed and turned toward her. "I'm afraid for you, Jo. I don't ... don't want to lose you. I don't want to see you hurt."
"Jeff ..." Stark put her head on his shoulder and gave him a small hug. "You're my best friend. I don't want to hurt you, either. But I need to find another way to get free of this crap they stuck in my head, or the anger will kill me. And as weird as it sounds, I feel like I might want to live ... like this."
The hug made him feel warm and whole. ‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘definitely love. Damn it!’
Stark was confused. She had felt something, in that moment ... right after she let that stupid confession about wanting him slip out. For an instant, she felt happy it was finally out in the open. She had known she wanted him for months, but had always tried to keep a distance between them. When these feelings had first risen in her, she was fighting the woman she had become every minute of every day. In her mind she was still Joe, still a man, and wanting Jeff as her lover would have eroded what little of her manhood remained, buried somewhere in the back of her brain.
But now ... now Jo had begun to accept what she had become as an unavoidable fact of life. She'd started pushing away the anger that kept her former self both protected, and alone.
And she'd started to let down her guard.
There she was, with Jeff, baring her soul, finally connecting fully with the best friend she ever had for the first time since -- and suddenly she felt warm all over, and as she looked into his eyes, her mind became wholly focused on whether he would kiss her ... whether she wanted him to kiss her ... whether she should kiss him before the moment disappeared.
It scared the hell out of her. And then Jeff stood up and turned away, then nearly fainted?
‘It can't just be the surprise,’ she thought. ‘He is afraid, too. But more than afraid for me. What else is there? Is he afraid of what he feels? Or what he thinks I might feel?’
Jo hugged him harder, not wanting to let him go. Jeff's arms came up and he held her, his face buried in her hair, and he suddenly lost himself inside her. She wanted him, he knew she did, and in that instant, Jeff wanted her ten times more. He pulled her into him, felt the warmth of her body caressing all of him, and a low groan rose from deep inside him. Trembling, he kissed her forehead, gently, and the words came, unbidden, before he had the strength of will to stop them.
"Oh God, Jo, I ... love you."
In an instant, her whole body stiffened, and seconds later, she shoved Jeff away from her with all the force her arms could muster. Stunned and confused, Jeff looked into her eyes, searching for what he might have done to make her break away ...
... and instead saw an empty, distant look, as if she was listening to something very, very quiet, happening a long way away. It froze his blood. He'd only seen that look once before -- when he had walked in on her at the start of one of the submissive episodes her late unlamented tormentors had programmed into her.
Somehow, Jeff's confession had triggered ... something.
And the Jo he knew ... wasn't quite herself anymore.
Stark started breathing hard, her lips trembling as if she was trying to speak. Jeff raised a hand slowly.
"Jo?" His voice held confusion, and pain.
‘I caused this,’ his mind screamed. ‘Oh my God, what have I done?’
Tears began to fall from her eyes, slipping down her cheeks, and she gave a small whimper.
"I ... l ... l ... love," she stuttered, pushing the word out as best she could. "L ... l ... love ... YOU!"
The last word came out as a half-howl, half-scream. She stood for a moment, her eyes wide and her whole body trembling. Then, without warning, she leaped forward, pushed Jeff down to the pavement, and ran. Her long legs covered ground like an Olympic contender, in spite of the dress and heels. She moved away towards the heart of the city, and was quickly swallowed up by the crowds before Jeff could get to his feet.
He rose so fast the people around him on the sidewalk scattered in fear. Before he could even think, Jeff was running in the direction Stark had gone, ripping a satellite phone from his jacket pocket and shouting as he ran.
"Code red! Code red! Boss Lady is in puppet mode and off the grid, repeat, off the grid, somewhere in Paris. Get the action team to my location, stat! DAMN!" He stopped and bent over, breathing heavily. She was gone. He had lost her. "DAMN! DAMN! DAMN!"
Nobody noticed the tears as they fell from his eyes to the pavement below.
but what kind of cliffhanger would it be if I didn't leave you hanging, at least for a little. *smiles* -- Randalynn)
Stark: Hammer into Anvil | Part 2: The Long Goodbye
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With Jo Stark in the grip of the belated revenge of the women who made her, Jeff finds unexpected allies right around the corner, and learns that, as usual in his world, things are not always as they appear ...
Part 2: The Long Goodbye
by Randalynn
When some passerby invites your eye to come her way ...
Even as she smiles a quick hello, you've let her go, you've let the moment fly
Too late you'd turn your head, you'd know you've said, the long goodbye ..."
--The Long Goodbye, lyrics by Johnny Mercer
"My brain is the key that sets my mind free." -- Harry Houdini
###
Jeff was still trying to catch his breath and stop the tears when a black Citroen sedan pulled up beside him. The door swung open.
"Jeff! Get in!"
He found himself looking at a little blonde girl dressed in a pink chiffon dress. She wore white gloves and knee socks, and shiny white shoes, and a white hat with the brim turned up all the way around. She looked strangely familiar.
It took him a second, and when it came to him, the name slipped out in a whisper.
"Craig?" The girl sighed.
"Call me Chrissy when I'm out like this, okay?" she replied. "Less confusion for the mundanes."
Jeff nodded, and her tiny voice turned hard. "Good. Now get in the car before we lose her!"
The former cop stumbled forward and fell into the back seat beside her. The car lurched forward once, and the door beside him slammed shut in response.
"Go!" the girl shouted, banging on the seat back in front of her. The engine roared, and the tires spun an instant before the sedan grabbed pavement and hurled onto the street.
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, missy," the man in the chauffeur's cap growled. "Her Ladyship’s wired up seven ways from Sunday. She’s not going anywhere we can't follow. Hey, Jeff!"
He leaned forward and stared into the rear view mirror. "Chesser?"
"The one and only." The hacker grinned and reached up to touch the brim of his cap, then grabbed the wheel with both hands and turned hard to avoid a fruit stand on the corner. The suspension complained with a chorus of squeaks and groans as the car briefly rose onto two wheels during the turn, but Chesser hit the gas and the engine responded with an angry roar that told the rest of the car to behave itself or else.
"What the hell are you doing in Paris?" Jeff shouted over the horns of other motorist and the screams of pedestrians as his hands looked in vain for the rear seat's safety belts. "You're a hacker, not a chauffeur!"
"I AM hacking, copper," he replied, glancing at the obviously modified GPS device on the dashboard. "She's headed right to the Moulin Rouge, like she's got a damned compass in her head."
"Good!" Craig replied. She reached up to touch an earring, and Jeff realized it was a radio pair, just like the ones Jo wore. "She's on track, everyone. Keep a loose perimeter on her but let her run. We want her in the red light district, and that's where she's heading."
"Let her run?" Jeff's eyes bugged out, and he grabbed Chrissy by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Are you crazy? In the state she's in? Who knows what kind of maniac she could run into out there?"
"We do, Jeff." The little girl's eyes were calm, and the former homicide detective could see the man she used to be staring back at him. "We know."
Chesser honked his horn, and Jeff looked toward the front of the car.
"Ease off there, Kojak," the hacker said, still driving hard. "She's a hell of a lot smaller than you are. Besides, it's not her fault you're a clueless sod. It's mine."
"What?"
"You heard me. I was the one what told 'em to keep you out of it. Need to know sorta thing."
"Told who? Keep me out of what?"
"I didn't want you fuckin' it up by watchin' the Boss Lady too close, so I told everyone to keep you in the dark, make sure you came in late." He grinned into the mirror. "So it's my fault you missed the first fifteen minutes of today's feature presentation. Now Chrissy and I get to tell you what happened while you was at the concessions gettin' popcorn."
Jeff leaned forward, and growled at the back of the hacker's head. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I told you I was hacking, mate!" Chesser replied, still not turning around. "It's just not sitting at a keyboard or staring at a screen. So you shut up and let me drive. The little girl in the pink dress will fill you in — once you let her go, you wanker."
The hacker turned his attention back to the road, and Jeff let go of Chrissy with a sheepish half-smile.
"I'm sorry. Would you please tell me what's going on?" His voice was unnaturally soft, and she reached out a gloved hand and touched his.
"It's just what Chesser said it is," she replied. "It's a hack. A life hack. We figured out a way to set Jo free from the programming . . . if we can get all the pieces in place, and if everyone does his bit at just the right time."
Jeff sat back, stunned.
"She's saved so many of us," Chrissy said, looking up at the ex-detective. "Now it's our turn to save her."
Jo ran like a well-oiled machine, even though she didn’t look much like one. She covered ground with a speed that shocked her and everyone around her. In her pretty spring dress, she avoided obstacles and leaped over hurdles like an Olympian. Of course, her performance on the urban obstacle course was much more impressive, since she was running it in three-inch heels.
Inside her head, the programming had her mind locked down so tight, she was little more than a passenger in her own body. At first she tried desperately to stop herself, or even just slow down a little. But her body kept running, and every part of her adjusted to that without a single thought. Her breathing was measured, her stride sure, each step firm and true. Whatever was pulling her strings today knew just where it wanted to take her.
She hadn’t been in Paris more than a few times in the past. In fact, she was pretty sure she couldn’t find her way without a map, but judging from the route her body was taking, she was pretty sure she wasn’t heading for the Eiffel Tower.
For all of its ruthless efficiency, the programming didn't lock down everything. It couldn't stop the tears from pouring down her cheeks and dripping onto the front of her dress. She was moving further from Jeff with every mile she covered, and the part of her trapped inside wailed at just how easily that small bit of happiness was ripped away by the ghosts of the women who made her like this.
Jeff loved her. But just hearing him say it out loud triggered . . . something. Now she was trapped in someone else's agenda again. Maybe Bambi, the sex toy the bitches had wanted her to become when they did this to her ... maybe she wasn't ever supposed to be truly loved by a man. Maybe she was just supposed to be used and abused, a pretty toy and nothing more. Who knew what the hell went on in the minds of people who could do what these people did to Joseph Stark and all of the others?
Still, Jo managed to fight the programming long enough to tell him she loved him, too. And she resisted without anger. A small victory, but something she would cherish inside while the rest of her body ran a marathon without a sports bra.
'Damn, my chest is gonna hurt later,' she thought, giving herself the briefest of a inner smile. 'But I'll take the pain if it means I get to have a later. This is different from the other times the programming took over, though. I can feel it.'
She had plenty of time to think while her body ran, which surprised her a little. Who knew Paris was so big? As she started putting the pieces together, the picture that appeared wasn't a pleasant one.
'The other times, there were feelings. I was driven by desire. I needed a Master, and I wanted to be used and to serve.' Jo turned it over in her head, following wherever it went. 'As long as I served, I was happy and content. Hell, I was ecstatic.'
'But this time, there’s nothing. I'm a prisoner in my own flesh. I have no control, and nothing but fear to hang onto. The bitches don't want me happy. This time, they want me to suffer. Why?'
Stark felt a chill run through her body. 'Because this isn't about humiliating me anymore, forcing me to enjoy being someone's toy. This time, someone loves me. There's a chance for me to be happy, like this. And they can't have that. So they're going to make sure I never go back to Jeff.'
Her body turned a corner, not slowing for an instant, but the growing horror inside her froze her blood.
'This time, they aren't going to let me free. Whoever I find this time gets to keep me. I'll be somebody's slave forever, forced to do whatever they say for the rest of my life, with no way out.'
She started crying again, and her eyes began blinking rapidly, forcing the tears out of the way.
After all, even a puppet needs to see where she’s going.
“The way Jo handled Grace was ... unusual,” Chrissy said, seemingly oblivious to Chesser’s unique driving style. “And when you both came back to the mansion, you scheduled an appointment with the psych staff. No one knew why, but when she couldn’t go, the reason became clear. The programming knew what she knew, and knew why she wanted to meet with them ... and it wouldn’t let her anywhere near the shrinks.”
“I met with them alone.” Jeff braced himself against the car’s frame as Chesser made another improbable turn. “We went over all of the notes, all of the processes they used on her, and couldn’t find a place we could crack it. Just like every other time we’d been through it since she killed them all.”
“And yet, we know it’s got holes, or Jo wouldn’t have been able to kill anyone.”
Chrissy nodded. “Strong emotion pushes aside the programming. Originally, it burned a hole in what they wanted her to become and let her kill all the women in the ballroom that first night. Eventually, it allowed her to form the initiative and begin search and rescue operations.”
“It wasn’t hard to see when she began to let the anger go, even if she didn’t want anyone to know. And we noticed your conversations with the folks in the psych section — it’s not like you ever go down there without a reason. The trouble was, everyone in psych thought she was playing with fire, but they saw the need. And all of us who love her were determined to figure out a way to beat the system.”
“So we set up meetings, late at night or early in the morning,” Chesser said, his eyes still on the road. “We couldn’t chance Her Ladyship stumbling into one. That damned suicide provision meant that whatever plan we came up with had to be done inside the parameters of the program. If we forced the fix on her, she’d just shut down and die.”
“This went on for weeks.” Chrissy looked up into Jeff’s eyes. “We couldn’t let you know. You were always too close to her. She couldn’t suspect anything, or we might lose her. You see that, right?”
Jeff looked down and nodded, a small smile growing on his lips.
Jo stopped, her breathing barely affected by the extended run. Still trapped insider her own head, she watched as her eyes scanned the street, moving from doorway to doorway. She was obviously looking for something, but what?
As the sun sank below the horizon, the lights on some of the businesses began to glow. Her body stepped forward, eyes continuing to search, and Jo realized that they had stopped in the Moulin Rouge, the sex capital of Paris.
‘I must have been programmed to hunt for a specific kind of place closest to where I triggered the response,’ she thought. ‘Someplace that would be most likely to have a powerful Dom/me I could surrender myself to.’
Jo felt the tears starting again. ‘This is a nightmare!’
As she moved, the crowds around her pushed her this way and that, blocked her way and turned her around, until she finally found herself staring down the length of a small alley that ran deep between two other buildings. Jo could hear music echoing from a place at the end of the brick passageway, mixed with laughter and screams. In spite of herself, she was drawn to the sounds, and as she moved deeper into the alley, she saw people, some lit by the garish red of a flashing neon sign, some half shrouded in shadow. There were men and women in leather, others in collars crouching at the feet of those holding leashes, or chains, or whips. They all followed her with their eyes as she walked past, but the program ignored them. They were out here, not inside. So they may be Dom/mes, but they didn’t rule here.
The program wanted the most dominant Master available. No one else would do. Stark’s body brushed by them all as her mind screamed inside her.
She walked into the club itself, diving into an ocean of techno dance music, flashing lights, and writhing bodies. Jo pushed back as hard as she could, trying to stop herself, but the programming held fast, and her body strutted across the dance floor like it was a catwalk. The sea of dancers parted as she moved forward, stopping and staring at the beautiful woman in the spring dress as she walked through them, her eyes focused on the raised stage against the far wall.
On the other side of the dance floor, on an ornate throne, sat a huge man. He was tall and muscular, dark-haired and dark-eyed, and handsome. From Jo’s past experience as a reporter, she knew how to read people, and his bearing and the look in his eyes gave the impression that he knew very well who he was without being the slightest bit egotistical about it.
This was his place. These were his people. He was the Master.
Men and women surrounded him, kneeling or on all fours, all naked and collared, their eyes down. He paid them no mind, except to reach out and stroke the hair of the woman closest to him as he watched Jo approach.
“You will stop there.” The voice was deep and powerful, and it touched something deep inside her. She stopped instantly, bowed her head and lowered her eyes.
“Yes, Master.” Jo heard herself say. She felt something in her head shift, as if the program had chosen.
He rose to his feet and stepped forward. He was dressed all in black ... silk shirt, linen pants, socks and boots. The music stopped abruptly, and everyone in the club turned to look. He took a second step forward and towered over the new girl.
“I am not your Master, girl.” The tone of command was unmistakable. “Why do you come to me?”
“This one comes to serve.” Her reply was directed at his feet, and she waited for him to answer.
“Look at you, in your pretty dress.” The huge man in black stood up from his throne and took a step forward. “A pretty dress for a pretty girl.”
Stark dropped to her knees, her head bowing as she screamed inside.
“Thank you, Master.” Her voice was soft and respectful, and she bent forward and touched her forehead to the floor.
“I am not your Master, girl.” He repeated, a touch of annoyance creeping into his tone. “Do not presume. My collar is a gift, one you must earn through complete obedience and dedication to service. If I find you worthy, then and only then will I allow you to call me Master. Will you do as I command?”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied softly.
“You will be tested ... now.” He looked down at her, and his voice sharpened with the tone of authority. “My property does not wear clothing unless I command it. If you wish to be mine, rise and remove everything you are wearing, now.”
Without the slightest hesitation, she rose gracefully to her feet, removed her shoes, and quickly stripped until every stitch of clothing lay in a pile on the floor at his feet. Inside, Jo could do nothing but cry in silence. When her task was completed, the girl stood, head high and eyes down, hands crossed at the wrists before her as if waiting to be bound.
The Dom nodded approvingly. “You are obedient, and hold no illusions about your status. Good.”
He walked around her, his eyes inspecting every inch. His hand reached down and gently caressed her bottom with his fingertips. As he did, his eyes strayed to her face but saw no reaction at all. “You are healthy, fit, and strong. Obviously beautiful. And you seem very well trained.”
He stopped in front of her, while she remained absolutely still.
“Look at me, girl.” She raised her head and looked into his eyes. He saw nothing but the urge to obey. He put his hands on his hips and smiled.
“If I were to order you to kneel and pleasure me with your mouth,” he said, “I’m sure you would be pawing at my belt in an instant.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied. “Is that your wish?”
“No, girl. Only slaves who have served me well and pleased me greatly receive that gift. No, your next test will tell how devoted you are to my service.” He turned away and walked back to his throne. Opening a side compartment, he withdrew a long thin needle, and returned to face Jo. She looked back at him expectantly, while inside, Stark cringed.
“Take this and push it through your nipple,” he said, holding her eyes with his.
Her fingers took the needle from him without a second’s pause, and she cupped and raised her left breast and positioned the needle to go through her nipple. As she began to push and the pain made her gasp, the Dom held up a hand.
“Stop!” She did, instantly. “Withdraw it.” Again she obeyed.
“Bring it up to your eye,” he said slowly, “and puncture it.”
Again, without a pause, she raised the needle to her face.
“STOP!” he roared. She did. He took the needle from her and tossed it to another slave, who brought it to the throne. His eyes never left her.
“You are magnificent. I have never seen such a natural slave before. You obey without question or hesitation. I must have you. Do you still wish to serve me?”
“Yes, Sir.” The girl looked down, and the Dom reached over and lifted her chin.
“Eyes front, girl.” She looked forward, and he smiled. “Very well, you are mine.”
Stark felt a rush of warmth flow through her entire body, and she realized with horror that she truly was his. Her will was completely gone. It was over.
The bitches had won.
He raised a hand and a slave brought him a silver collar.
“Kneel, girl.” She instantly complied. “Do you accept my ownership and dominion, to become mine in all ways, and to obey my every command as your owner, Master, and God?”
“Yes, Sir.” He reached down and put the collar around her neck, and snapped it closed with a click that echoed in Jo’s head. He grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head back to look into her eyes once more.
“Who am I, girl?”
“You are this one’s Master, her owner, and He who must be obeyed in all things.” Her voice was clear and unafraid, while inside, Jo felt herself sinking into sadness.
“And what are you?”
“Yours, Master. Your slave. Your property.”
He released her hair and took a step back.
“Rise. Stand before me.” She rose to her feet once more, hands crossed in front of her. The Dom smiled.
“So obedient. Are you ready for your first command ... as mine?”
“Yes, Master.”
‘Oh, God,’ she thought, fear shooting through her. ‘What does he want?’
“And you will obey without question?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good.” He stepped forward and locked eyes with her once more. “Listen carefully. Joseph Stark ... Jo Stark ... you will erase every bit of mental and emotional programming that keeps you from being the person you wish to be — the person you truly are.”
A chill swept over her and washed through her mind as everything seemed to freeze. The only thing she could hear was His voice, echoing in her head and saying things that sliced into the core of her and ripped through the months of conditioning with a fierceness that left her soul ravaged and alone in a whiteness that was once a tangled maelstrom of fiery red, built with drugs and surgery and hate.
“You will reclaim your free will, and no longer be consumed by anger, because it is no longer needed to keep you safe and whole.”
She fell to her knees and covered her face, as a battle raged behind her eyes. Line after line of what had been done to her unraveled as she watched, each insult, each trespass, each act of torture faded and became nothing more than memory — not forgotten, never forgotten or forgiven, but faded with the distance of time.
“All the damage done to you will be undone, and your life will be your own once more, to do with what you will.” He leaned forward and commanded her with every ounce of authority he possessed. “This is what I command, and you must obey, because you are MINE.”
With the last few words, she felt the war inside her end at last, and she let her hands fall to her lap and looked up at the Dom. He smiled down at her.
“Did it work?” he asked gently. “Are you free?”
She stood up slowly and looked down at her body, the breasts and hips and all, and sighed.
“I’m about as free as I’m going to get looking like a centerfold for the rest of my life,” she replied, looking up at him. “But that’s a damned sight better than I was a few minutes ago.”
Suddenly conscious of her nakedness, she picked up her panties and wiggled into them quickly, then snatched the dress from the floor and slipped it over her head. Halfway through putting on her shoes, she heard a shout from the area behind the throne.
“Jo!”
Jeff ran across the room and wrapped his arms around her, and the kiss that followed was both a surprise and a revelation to Jo. Even with the programming gone, she still loved Jeff. She still wanted him to be hers. And that both reassured and confused her, in equal measure.
“So I guess it worked, then?” Chesser wandered in behind him, still in his chauffeur’s livery, and tipped his hat. “Evenin’, miss. Programming all gone?”
“As gone as it’s going to get.” She looked over Jeff’s shoulder. “Hey, Chesser. So this was your idea?”
“Chrissy’s, actually. I just had the chops to make it real. Damn, I’m good.” The hacker peered at the two of them. “Although I didn’t realize you two had that kind of relationship before the bitches programmed you.”
Jo smiled at him.
“Bite me,” she said, and kissed Jeff again.
Chesser shrugged. “Maybe later.”
Jo broke off from the kiss, sighed, and turned her head. “Okay, Chesser. Tell us all how clever you are, so I can thank you properly for finally saving my permanently bouncy round bottom.”
He grinned. “Well, since you asked ...”
Everyone in the club watched him as he moved to take center stage directly in front of the Master’s throne, and cleared his throat theatrically.
“Like I said before, it was Chrissy’s idea,” he said, projecting as if he were trying to fill the Albert Hall. “Once she brought it to me, I coulda kicked myself from here to Devon and back, it was so damned simple. And when I went through the notes knowing just what to look for, I saw what we needed to bring this off. We’ve been watching you and Jeff for weeks, waiting for the right moment.”
“It made perfect sense, when you looked at it a while,” he said, pacing back and forth as if he was Sherlock Holmes ... or Inspector Clouseau. “And in the end, we have the bitches to thank. After all, it was their fault that Jo broke free of their control the first time. What finally killed them was their own cruelty — the little touches they put in to make her suffer every day.”
“See, they wanted Joe Stark, the man, to always be able to see what he’d become. They wanted that piece of Jo to remain separated from the program, trapped and powerless, while the other part of her — the part they pieced together — enjoyed being the submissive super-slut they had made her. And they thought they knew enough about the human mind to treat it like a computer.”
“But a computer can’t feel, can it? And no matter how well you think you know someone, you can’t predict how he’s gonna feel when you kick him. They wanted Joe to hurt, trapped inside his own head, drowning in his own sadness. Instead, they drove him crazy, and got pure, raw animal rage instead, one of the strongest emotions there is. It helped Jo break through their programming just enough to let her kill them all.”
Chesser turned and wagged a finger at Jo, surprising her.
“You’ve got to remember, the human mind isn’t really logical, like a computer. I mean, it can be, if you want it to be. But it’s not logical by nature. It’s a complex system that builds itself over time. Memory is holographic, stored and retrieved through a system so complex they still haven’t worked out all the kinks. And because experience writes the program, a human can makes intuitive leaps, making the right choices over and over without enough data to choose logically.”
“The other programming they did to you ...the programming you broke ... was weak, because they made it too complicated. It was still there, still haunting you, but damaged. So you could fight it, but not defeat it.”
“But this puppet thing, what happened to you just now? It wasn’t broken or damaged at all. Because it hid in the deep recesses of your mind, and never came into play until certain conditions were met. It was a failsafe, like a doomsday device. If you ever became truly happy as you are, they wanted you locked in a Hell from which you could never escape.”
“As a result, they made this program about as subtle as a baseball bat to the frontal lobes. Because in order to really control a computer as complicated as a human mind, the program has to be simple, yeah? Little more than a blunt instrument. You have to force it down a binary path — on, off, yes, no. Unlike everything that came before, Jo HAD to do exactly what she was told by her ‘Master.’ The programming overwrote all other considerations. She HAD to obey. And she did.”
Chesser turned back to the assembled crowd, and opens his arms wide.
“And that’s just what we wanted. Because the one overriding command the Master gave her — the one she HAD to obey — was to erase all of the programming completely, and leave her to find her own destiny once more. Which it did, erasing itself in the process once everything else was gone. The end.”
There was a short pause, and slowly applause came from the crowd and swelled modestly as the hacker smiled and bowed.
After the clapping had ceased, Jo untangled herself from Jeff’s embrace. She turned and approached the Master, then reached up slowly and removed the collar.
“I won’t be needing this anymore,” she said.
“I understand,” he said, taking the collar and passing it to one of his slaves. “It was only a means to an end, after all.”
Jo looked over at the man in black and cocked her head.
“Believe me, I’m grateful, and I want to thank you for ... well, for everything,” she said. “But ... who the hell are you?”
“Exactly who I appear to be,” he replied with a smile. “I am the Master here, and these are my slaves. They come to me and beg to be mine because submission fulfills something inside each of them. For me, I care for and love each of those I claim as my own with all of my heart and power, because they trust me to be a Master worthy of their submission, and I dare not disappoint them, or I shall not be the man I believe myself to be.”
He walked back to his throne and sat. “When Chesser came to me and told me what had happened to you, and what those women wanted you to become, I was horrified and angry. The relationship between Master and slave should be freely chosen, and never be compelled by drugs or torture or mental programming.” He glanced at Chesser, then back to Jo. “So when he asked me if I would try to free you from the hell they wanted to place you in, if Paris was the city you were in when this plot came to a head, I jumped at the chance. And I am pleased to see that it worked.”
Jo walked over to the Master and held out her hand.
“Thank you,” she said simply, looking into his eyes. He looked back and smiled, then took her hand and kissed it gently. Warmth raced through her body from where his lips touched her skin, and she withdrew her fingers from his and stepped back, clearly confused.
Chesser cleared his throat, and Stark turned to look at him.
“We approached the Doms in every city you’ve been working since the whole Grace incident,” he said, “just in case something should trigger that puppet mode you wound up in. We needed that ‘blunt instrument’ to wipe the other programming clear — that and a strong voice from someone who knew how to give orders.”
“And they all agreed?”
Chrissy stepped out from behind Chesser. “Most did, for many of the same reasons this Master did. Some wanted cash, and of course we had lots of that to throw around.”
“Hey, Chrissy,” Jo said, smiling. “I understand this was all your idea.”
“Guilty as charged, ma’am.” She blushed and put her hands behind her back. “Sorry we had to trick you, Jo. I didn’t want to, but it was the only way it would work. I tried coming up with something else, but this was the only way that was guaranteed to free you.”
Chrissy looked down, unable to meet Jo’s eyes. “It must have been horrible for you, thinking you’d lost everything. I’m sorry I had to hurt you like that after all you’ve done for me.”
“Well, I’m not.” Chrissy looked up, and Stark grinned. “Damn, Chrissy! You freed me, girl! I can think and feel for myself for the first time in years, and the pain was a small price to pay to get my life back again.”
When she saw that the younger girl was still not convinced, Jo reached out and touched Chrissy’s cheek.
“Look, I know it must have hurt you something fierce to have to make me feel that way,” she said. “But you did it anyway to help me. You did what was hard, what had to be done, no matter how much it hurt you to do it. Because you cared.”
She went down to her knees and looked into the little girl’s eyes.
“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart,” she whispered, “for doing what you needed to do to make me whole again, even though it was hard on us both. I love you for it, and I always will.”
She opened her arms and Chrissy ran into them and hugged her tight. They stayed that way for a while, which gave Jeff an opening to ask Chesser something that had been bothering him.
“How could you be sure she’d find him, and not some other powerful Dom you hadn’t visited?”
“Easy, copper. We stacked the deck.” The detective looked at the hacker, and Chesser sighed.
“Look, when you and the boss here came to Paris ... in fact, in every town we’ve been in the past few weeks ... we planted a group of actors in the crowd near where the most powerful Dom set up shop. They were all linked by short-range radios hidden in nearly invisible earpieces, and directed by someone on the roof of the highest building on the street. The idea was that, if something did trigger this puppet mode, they would work as a team to herd her Ladyship towards the Dom in question. They pushed her towards this particular alley from the moment she arrived ... getting in her way, bumping into her and turning her when needed. Eventually, they got her to go exactly where they wanted her to go, which was here.”
“And now, despite how accommodating our host has been,” Jo said, rising from her knees and ruffling Chrissy’s hair,” I think it’s time for all of us to head back home, don’t you?”
Chrissy looks up at her. “Is it still home? Now that you’re free?”
Stark grinned, and Jeff saw his old friend peeking out in the smile.
“Well, there’s still family there, and it’s where all my stuff is now. So I guess the answer is yes.”
“What about the mission, ‘boss?’” Chesser asked. “Still interested?”
“Of course. Still wrongs to right and windmills to tilt at, after all.” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. Did the new Jo Stark have what it took to do what had to be done?
Did she really want to be that ruthless anymore?
Jeff saw her confusion. He reached out and took her hand. “And ... us?”
She tilted her head and smiled, then reached out and took Jeff’s other hand. She squeezed both gently.
“The Master commanded me to be the person I wished to be — the person I truly am now. I can’t be Joseph Stark, not anymore. I can’t go back, only forward. And I want to go forward ... with you.” She leaned forward and kissed him. He looked into her eyes and saw nothing but love.
She turned to Chesser. “Now ... home, James!”
“You mean me?”
“Well, you are wearing the uniform,” Jo said with a grin. Then she affected a posh upper-class British accent. “Unless you prefer ‘Parker?’”
The hacker stared at her in shock. “I can’t believe after all this time tied up in somebody else’s strings, you’re gonna get all nostalgic about a puppet show!”
Her eyes twinkled. “Thunderbirds are GO!”
Chesser groaned. “A fan girl. I should’ve known.”
He paused a second, then shrugged and replied in a heavy Cockney growl. “I shall await you in the car, your ladyship.” He spun on his heel and stalked out the alley door without a backwards glance.
Jo snickered, then reached out and took Chrissy’s hand again. With both of her closest friends beside her, she felt happy for the first time since she had been taken from that street corner in Baltimore, long ago.
“It’s a whole new beginning, for all of us,” she whispered. “Let’s make the most of it.”
But even though Jo is free of the programming, her freedom brings with it new complications, so we haven't seen
who has always loved Stark as much as I, and helped me make sure her rescue was the best it could be.
the last of her or her friends and family. I hope you enjoyed how I finally managed to set her free. -- Randalynn)
Stark: Homecoming
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Freed from her programming at last, Jo Stark thinks about her past and wonders about her future. And her first case since her release takes her team back to the US, to help a man in a trap from which there seems to be only one escape.
"Never make your home in a place. Make a home for
yourself inside your own head. You'll find what you
need to furnish it - memory, friends you can trust,
love of learning, and other such things. That way it
will go with you wherever you journey." — Tad Williams
###
The Rolls moved swiftly across the Swiss countryside, gliding over the well-tended roads with a certainty that was almost the exact opposite of the way Jo felt inside.
It had been less than a day since she had been freed from the programming that had dominated her life for years. Once she had been Joseph Stark, journalist for the Baltimore Herald. After her abduction from a Baltimore street corner, a group of wealthy man-hating psychopaths had transformed him into an ultra-feminine plaything just for the fun of it. After he had become a she, they twisted her mind and tried to break her. In the end, they succeeded — although not quite the way they had intended.
Instead of trapping Joe in a hell he never deserved, they set free the part of him that most people keep locked up deep inside — the part no one ever sees. The uncontrolled rage pushed back the psychological programming they tried to imprison him with, but it also eliminated any thoughts of restraint or mercy. And on the night of her “coming out” party, the woman Joe Stark had become rose up like an avenging angel, broke free of their control, and slaughtered them all.
The anger freed her long enough to liberate all of the other men the bitches had captured and changed. But in the end, the programming was still there, only kept at bay by a constant supply of raw anger that ate at what had been Joseph Stark’s soul as much as the programming did. A well-conceived and executed plan by her friends had unlocked the mental chains that bound her, and allowed her to let go of the anger and embrace her new life.
Now that she was free, a whole new future had opened for her. The problem was, Jo wasn’t sure what to make of that future ... or of the rest of her life, for that matter.
‘Going back to Baltimore isn’t an option, really,’ she thought. ‘Not anymore. There’s nothing there for me. Too much time has passed since the man I was went missing. And as much as I miss being a reporter, no one at the Herald would believe I’m Joe Stark anyway, not looking like this. Heck, I look in the mirror sometimes and I still don’t believe it.’
She looked out the window of the car at the passing scenery, catching a ghost of her reflection in the window. She was still too pretty, even with her golden blonde hair half-tousled and a minimum of make-up. Jo shook her head. She was a long way from the man she’d been ... probably too far to convince anyone that she’d ever been Joseph Stark.
‘And even if I could convince them I’m me, what’s that going to buy me? At best, I’m headlines for the tabloids, another freak for the talk show circuit. At worst, if the Swiss government find out what went on at the mansion when I first freed myself and everyone else, they’ll throw me in a cell until hell freezes over for killing a bunch of very rich women and disposing of their bodies without notifying the authorities.’
Jo looked down at what she wore, and smiled. For the first time since Baltimore, she was wearing a pair of pants. Jeans, too. Authentic American blue jeans, with an oversized powder blue sweatshirt, and white running shoes with white socks. The underwear was still way outside her new comfort zone, a white lace thong and matching demi bra. It wasn’t her first choice, but every time she went into a Paris store to buy plain Jane lingerie, the responses of the staff ranged from scorn to disbelief, and she eventually just went with what she had in her bags from her old life.
And it wasn’t even what the underthings felt like that bothered her. Truly, after all this time, they felt almost normal to her. But in her mind, they still represented a time when she was forced to wear them, and now that she was free, Jo wanted to choose.
She’d almost forgotten what pants felt like. Even now after a few hours of wearing them, they still felt strange. Maybe it was the way the soft denim felt when it rubbed against her hairless legs. Maybe it was how these jeans fit, like they were painted on, hugging every curve and pressing gently between her legs every time she moved.
Or maybe it was just a ghost of the old programming sticking around, making her uncomfortable with the idea of even wearing anything but a skirt or dress.
Chesser said something like that might happen with some of the programming they’d manage to erase.
“It’s like muscle memory, sorta,” the hacker had said as he drove her, Jeff and Chrissy back to the hotel after the life hack that had set her free. “Things like skin care and make-up, how to walk and sit, or take care of that mane a’yours. Even how to go to the loo. That stuff gets to be automatic for most folks over time. The programming they put in to make you do it is gone now, but the body remembers. Some of it you won’t mind keepin’ — I’m pretty sure you don’t want to learn how to paint your face all over again, right? But some of the less useful shite might sneak up and surprise you, so just keep your eyes open for a while.”
Jo felt Jeff take her hand and give it a soft squeeze, and turned to give him a smile. He smiled back, and it warmed her inside, although part of her still wondered how the man she once was could ever fall in love with another man. She loved Jeff, she knew that much. She just didn’t know how to move forward from here, and she was afraid of disappointing him somehow.
‘Things were supposed to get less complicated,’ she thought. ‘I’ve been either a puppet or a monster since the first time I looked in a mirror like this. I have no idea how to be a woman, and Jeff deserves so much more than I could ever give him. But I love him — what the hell am I supposed to do?’
Jo glanced over at Chrissy. She had been a grown man named Craig until an accident with a magical item had turned him into a preschool girl. She could have been restored pretty easily at the time, but her girlfriend threw away the item and chose to keep her a powerless child, just to satisfy some twisted need for control. Jo had saved Craig and taken her back to the mansion in Switzerland, where she had found a new home and a family that would accept her for who she was. Stark had watched her blossom and find happiness again, and in an odd way, the little girl had become her closest friend, after Jeff.
Chrissy was buckled in securely, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt that almost matched Jo’s. She caught Jo looking at her and grinned, glad that her mission had succeeded and that Jo was finally free. Her grin faded a bit as she saw the expression on Jo’s face, but it was too late for Stark to hide it, and when Jeff’s phone rang, Chrissy reached across and pulled the unbuckled woman over to sit next to her.
“What’s wrong?” She put her arms around Jo and gave her a hug. It wasn’t what Craig would have done, but Chrissy had figured out long ago that her future was as a girl, and girls liked to be touched — even girls like Jo, who never wanted to be one but was finding it impossible not to be.
‘You do whatever you need to do to make the people you care about feel better,’ Chrissy thought, her face half-buried in Jo’s side. ‘If anyone needs a hug, it’s Jo.’
Jo’s arm wrapped around her in return.
“I am,” she replied softly. There was a pause, and the little girl gave her a squeeze, as if to tell her to go on. Jo looked over at Jeff again to make sure he wasn’t listening, and sighed.
“I’m what’s wrong, Chrissy. Here I am, free at last, but instead of feeling free, I feel trapped.”
“Trapped? How?”
“Now that I have a future, I’m asking myself a lot of questions I can’t answer,” Jo replied, keeping her voice low. “But I need answers if I’m going to move forward.”
“Like what?”
“Things like, who am I, now? Or even, WHAT am I, now? Can I really be the woman Jeff deserves when I’m still not sure what being a woman means? Is it fair to Jeff? Can I still play avenging angel now that I don’t have what those bitches did to me chasing me through life? Do I want to? I’m so confused, I can barely see straight. I feel like I’m trying to find my way across a burning swamp in a fog. I can’t take a single step because I’m afraid of drowning in quicksand, but I can’t stay still because the fire won’t let me.”
Chrissy pushed herself far enough away from her friend to look up into her eyes.
“The swamp is only burning because you think it is,” she said. “Jeez, Jo ... you’ve only been free for less than a day. Give yourself a chance to breathe. Freedom means making decisions, choosing paths, learning how to be. And you have time. I’ll help. In fact, let’s talk about some of the questions you just asked, ‘kay?”
“Can you really be Jeff’s woman?” The little girl smiled. “Seems to me you already are. I know he thinks so ... hopes so, anyway. You’re not sure what being a woman means? Join the club. I’m pretty sure there are a lot of women out there who were born this way who don’t know the answer to that question. You’ll learn as you go.”
She reached out and touched Jo above her heart. “For now, how about you work on being Jo for a while? Isn’t that enough of a challenge, figuring out who you are? In the end, the kind of woman you are is the kind of woman you’ll be. And right now? You’re the kind of woman Jeff loves. So why not go with that?”
Jo sat there for a moment, her mind spinning. Chrissy watched her.
“Are you okay?”
The older woman shook her head. “I’m not sure. Lots to take it. Lots to think about. And when did you get to be so smart, anyway?”
“Not sure I am ‘smart,’” she replied. “I’m just a little farther away from the questions you’re asking than you are. After all, even though Crystal stole my life, she never changed who I was inside. And even though I had to do a lot of things she made me do to fit in as a little girl, I never quite gave up on the man I was. Almost … but you found me before it was too late, and gave me back part of the life I thought I’d lost forever. It took some time, but I’m happy now. You can be, too.”
“So why don’t you take a little time and just live for a while? Bet you haven’t done that since ... well, since they took you.” She smiled. “After a while, if you need more help, you could talk to Andrea. That’s why Jeff brought her to the mansion, after all. He thought it would be a good idea to bring in a professional, to help everyone try to get past what the bitches put them through. She’s there to help people move forward, if they can. And that includes you, missy, now that you’re actually free to talk to a therapist instead of hiding under the bed when one walks by.”
Chrissy took Jo’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’re on the road to somewhere again, right? Maybe you could use a guide.”
Andrea’s office was warm and inviting, matching her personality. The walls were painted with soft yellows and decorated with posters from 1940’s movie musicals, and the furniture was soft and well-padded. Classical music played from a small stereo system on bookshelves crammed with both fiction and non-fiction. Her dog, a mixed-breed named Harley, was curled up on a dog bed in the corner, and he watched every visitor carefully for any hint they might be inclined to pet him, or give him a treat.
Andrea herself sat in a chair across from the sofa, legs crossed at the knee while she focused on her visitor. She wore a pale blue cardigan over a simple blouse, and a long brown skirt with a pair of calf-high boots made of soft brown leather. Her long graying hair fell in soft curls onto her shoulder, framing a smiling face with high cheekbones and welcoming eyes.
When Jo delivered a hesitant knock on her door, the therapist greeted her with a soft hug, made her a cup of tea, and sat down across from her. What was supposed to be a therapy session started as a meeting between new friends, and as time went on, Jo found herself sharing more and more. From her kidnapping to her release from the programming, and then about her hopes for her new life, and her fears about figuring out who she had been, who she was … and who she wanted to be.
After four hours, Jo ran out of words. She looked down at her hands and waited, until she felt Andrea sit next to her on the sofa, and turned as the therapist placed a soft hand on her knee.
“Therapy is never about instant answers,” Andrea said, her voice gentle. “Sometimes, it takes years to untangle the knots that time and experience tie us all up with, and therapists are really not supposed to be giving you the answers, Instead, we’re supposed to help you find them for yourself.”
“But after what you’ve been through, I understand your need to figure out who you are and who you will be right now. I hope this is the first of many meetings to follow, because you’ve been through so much, and I can’t possibly hope to help you find the peace you need in just a single session. However, this is an important crossroads for you, and leading you to the truth in the traditional sense would only frustrate you at a time when what you need most is some kind of certainty. So I’m going to break the rules. I’d like to give you a few guideposts … simple truths you need to think about on your own until our next session, that will hopefully give you some peace. Would that be okay?”
Jo nodded, not expecting anything like this so soon. Andrea smiled.
“Good. The first truth is a given. Of course the past few years have changed you. Time changes everybody, and I’ll be the first to admit that you’ve been changed more than most. But maybe deep down inside, you are still who you’ve always been. The decades you lived before they took you weren’t erased, and the Joe Stark you were was a decent man. Can Jo Stark the woman really be any different?”
“Just look how far you’ve come since Paris. Jeans and a tee shirt … and a pony tail? The women who did this to you would be spinning in their graves if they could see what you look like now. And when you admitted to yourself, and to Jeff, that you loved him? You’ve gone way beyond just freeing yourself from their programming. You’ve totally destroyed whatever plans they had for you. They wanted you unhappy forever, and here you are, picking up the pieces and starting all over again.”
“Can you still be an avenging angel now?” Andrea shrugged. “I’m not sure you ever really wanted to be. Joe Stark wasn’t.”
Stark raised an eyebrow. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Give me a little credit, Jo. I couldn’t meet with you because the programming kept you away from the psych team, but I could still read everything about you they had in the files they assembled before and during your … conversion. I also talked to Jeff at length about the man you were, and interviewed some of your co-workers from the paper you worked for. I ever asked Chesser to get me all of your work from your days at the Herald. He dug up your stories from their archives, and I read them all.”
Jo cocked her head, genuinely surprised. “You did?”
The therapist grinned. “Oh, yes. And what’s interesting is that everyone who knew you back then told me the same thing, and the stories you wrote back then confirmed it. Joseph Stark was all about justice. Slumlords, loan sharks, pimps, corrupt cops – whoever the villain was, you used your skills to level the playing field and make them pay. It was who you are then, and it’s who you are now.”
“But when I first pushed the programming away …”
Andrea leaned forward. “When you broke free of the programming the first time, your mind went where it always went before, when you were Joe. You wanted nothing more than to punish the wicked and save the victims. The anger you needed to fight the programming made you homicidal at first, and kept you driven to painful punishments afterward. But now that the anger is gone, I don’t think your overall mission will change much. A little less revenge now, I think, but I’m pretty sure you’re still going to get in there and mix it up for the little guy.”
She gave Jo’s hand a squeeze. “Because man or woman, you’re still you, after all. It doesn’t matter if you’re Joseph or Jo, you’re still going to want to make things right. And whatever you want to do is going to be just fine with everyone at the mansion, because they love you, no matter what.”
The therapist stood up.
“I think that’s enough for now, don’t you? We’re both hungry, and I think homemade pizza is on the menu tonight, so let’s go visit the kitchen and see if dinner’s ready.”
Jo stood up too, a small smile on her face, then stopped.
“And what about Jeff?”
Andrea looked at her. “Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Does he love you?”
Jo smiled. “Yes, he does.”
“Then I think your relationship will work itself out, don’t you? You’v been friends for a long time, and loved each other as friends, even when you were both male.” Stark looked at her, confused, and Andrea sighed. “Honestly, girl, do you really think Jeff would throw everything away back home to come here to rescue you if he didn’t care about you that deeply? Men can love men, even if they avoid ever saying it out loud.”
“In any case, this is enough for today. There will be other sessions, Jo, and maybe even a few with both of you together. For now, think about what I’ve said, and we’ll talk more in a few days. For now, let’s hope the pizza is waiting!”
As they walked to the door, Jo felt a little of the weight she’d been carrying lift from her shoulders.
‘There’s time,’ she thought, letting herself feel a little happiness for the first time in a while. ‘She is right. I’m still the person I used to be, inside. But I can use what’s happened to me to keep making a difference. And isn’t that what I always wanted?’
I balanced precariously on the garage roof, breathing in the fresh air and feeling free for the first time in weeks.
”What are you doing, baby?”
I turned to look at my oldest daughter, her body halfway out the bedroom window with one arm reaching for me. Her eyes were filled with the anger she never seemed to lose these days, whenever she looked at me.
I stood there, just out of reach, and took a moment to think about my answer. I was wearing my youngest daughter's pink party dress, and out of the blue, I remembered when she wore it last. I had been carrying her on my shoulders from the car to a friend’s birthday party, and I listened to the laughter from inside the house before putting her down to run away with the other girls for party games and cake.
She had grown out of it two years ago, but I had shrunk into it a few months back. Now the whole outfit fit me just fine, from the pink bows in my hair to the plastic panties with the ruffled bottom and the white socks with the lace around the tops. Even her old Mary Janes fit my feet now, although they were a poor choice for climbing around rooftops.
Finally, I replied, in my not-so-new little girl voice.
“I’m taking control of my life again.”
She laughed out loud, and shook her head, still smiling.
"How could you possibly do that, Missy?" There was a sweetness in her tone that just barely hid the burning hate in her voice. “You’re just a toddler now. You can’t do anything for yourself anymore, not even use a potty.”
I smiled at her. “Oh, I can do this, Jeannie. This one thing, I can do. Trust me, I’d climb mountains of broken glass if i had to, just to get away from you. From all of you.”
I moved a little closer to the rain gutter. “And for the record, I did pretty well getting out here. The sliding screen was a little hard to move at first, but after that, it was easy for me climb through the opening I made. I guess being small does have some perks, after all.”
“But there’s nowhere you can go from there, Daddy dear.”
“I can’t believe you’re that slow, Jeannie. There is one place left, I’m afraid. Just the one. And once I’m there, you’ll never touch me again.” I looked down at the hard surface of the driveway below, and wondered if the roof was high enough.
If a fall from here would kill me.
“I probably should have done this a month ago,” I said, turning back to Jeannie. “But I had hope back then. I was alive, and with people I loved, and I thought somehow, eventually, things would be okay. Better. After all, I thought you all loved me back then, and I figured love would find a way. After all, I only looked like a little girl. I was still your Dad. You wouldn’t want to take what was left of my life away from me. Why would you?”
“Then you went and did it anyway.”
“And it was fun!” Jeannie grinned. “Little Laurell loves having a new baby sister.”
“I can’t blame her for treating me the way she did. How could I? She still doesn’t understand why I keep fighting it. She thinks being a girl is the best thing ever.”
“Yeah, Mom treats you like a baby too, now.” I heard the edge of cruelty in her voice. I blinked back sudden tears.
“She does, and it hurts,” I said, after a moment. “Her husband is a little girl now, and she doesn’t have a clue how to deal with it. So she takes the easy way, and treats me as a baby instead of remembering the man she loved is still in here. She doesn’t care how much it hurts me. I still can’t believe she’s evil. I loved her. She’s just … selfish.”
“But you? You’re the one I blame. You hate me. God knows why, but you hate me enough to slip laxatives into my food to keep me in diapers, and do everything you can to hurt me every chance you get.” I started crying, and didn’t care. “Maybe you want to get back at me for all the times I said no when you wanted something, or set a curfew that kept you from doing what you wanted. Maybe you’re just stone cold crazy, and somehow I missed it. I don’t know, and in the end, it doesn’t matter.” I took a step back, closer to the roof’s edge.
“Why, baby?” Her tone was mocking, as if nothing I said to her meant anything at all. “Of course it matters!”
“Because it’s over, Jeannie!” I screamed at her, tears streaming down my face. “That’s it. I’m done. I can’t live in this house, constantly humiliated by people I thought loved me. There’s nothing left here for me except pain, and I won’t let either of you torture me anymore. It ends today, the minute my head hits that driveway. And thanks to you, I’ll be damned glad when it does.”
A voice came from down below.
“You don’t have to die, Mr. Clemson. Not today.”
I looked back to the driveway and saw a blonde woman in a black jacket over blue jeans and a white button-down shirt, standing next to a little girl in jeans and a “My Little Pony” tee shirt. Closer to the street, two men in dark suits held my wife between them, and a third man stood next to a limo, talking on a cell phone.
“Hello, John,” the woman said.
“You … you know who I am?”
She nodded. “The medical team at the hospital wondered why you weren’t coming back for scheduled follow-up visits. The infection that did this to you was unique, and your medical treatment wasn’t supposed to end once you left the hospital. Phone calls to your wife were never returned, and when they came to the door to speak to her, your daughter told them the family had no intention of ever bringing you back to the hospital. That’s when they became worried and called us.”
“Who are you?”
““My name is Jo Stark, and I run something called The Stark Initiative. We’re a global organization dedicated to rescuing people in unusual circumstances from those who would torture and terrorize them, or twist them into something they’re not. They thought you might be being abused, and from what I just heard, I think they were right. So you deserve a little rescuing, don’t you think?”
There was a struggle behind me, and I turned to find two more men in black suits pulling Jeannie back through the window.
“What can you do to help?” I looked at her, chewing on my lower lip. “Can you fix this? Can you make me … what I was?”
Jo shook her head. “No, we can’t. The doctors don’t think anyone can. They’re pretty sure you’ll grow older normally from this point, even if you’ll still be female. But they aren’t certain about anything, since they don’t know exactly what caused this transformation in the first place. Until they know more, all we can do is give you a place where you can be who you are inside – a place you can be safe.”
“How?”
The little girl next to the blonde woman spoke up.
“John, listen. A few years ago, I was like you – just a guy in a bad situation. Instead of the weird virus you caught, an accident turned me into a little girl.”
“You used to be a man?”
“Used to be,” the girl said. “My name is – well, was Craig, although I usually go by Chrissy these days when we’re out in public. My girlfriend could have helped me be myself again, but instead she decided to keep me this way and treated me like a little girl for years, just so she could have power over me. I was 22 when I was changed, and the next three years were a living hell.”
She looked up at the blonde and smiled. “Eventually, Jo came and found me, and brought me back to live with her in the Initiative’s headquarters in Switzerland. It’s a safe place, because that’s what it’s supposed to be. I’m doing good work there, with people who care about me. And no one treats me as anything other than who I am.”
“Is that where you’d take me?”
Jo spoke up. “If that’s where you want to go, eventually. Right now we need to get you back to the hospital.”
“Why?”
“First, because the doctors need to check you out. You’ve been away too long and they need to make sure you’re okay. Also, your eldest daughter has been feeding you laxatives every day for weeks. We need to get you to where you can get those out of your system, so you can work on regaining any control you might have lost. I’m sure you want to get out of those diapers as soon as possible.”
“You also need to figure out what you want to do next,” Chrissy said. “And the best place to do that isn’t here. Considering how your family has been treating you, I’m thinking divorce is probably an option.”
I looked at my wife, and as she looked into my eyes for an instant before she turned away, I saw the shame, and the tears. She knew what she had done, but I still loved her enough to cut her some slack.
Yes, I’m an idiot.
“We probably need to talk, my wife and I,” I said. “But I’m pretty sure our marriage is over. After all, if she can’t see past my body to the man she loved, there’s not much of a marriage left, right? As for taking care of the bills and the children? I sure as hell can’t work like this, and without the income from my job, she’s going to have a hard time keeping things together. Unless she remarries, her job won’t be enough. And my kids need to be taken care of, even if I can’t do it anymore.”
“We might be able to help with that, at least for a while.” Chrissy looked up at Jo, and she nodded.
Jeannie came out of the front door, flanked by the men who had pulled her from the window. She kept her head down as they walked her to the bottom of the driveway.
“Can we get Jeannie some help, too?” Chrissy tilted her head. I shrugged. “The things she was doing to me … she’s carrying around a lot of hate. I don’t know why, but I don’t want her to spend the rest of her life taking that hate out on others if we can stop it now. She’s still my daughter.”
“We’ll see what we can do, John.” Stark stepped forward. “I know what it’s like to have hate burning you up inside. But she’s got to want it to stop, or nothing anyone else can do will help.” I nodded.
“Also,” I raised my voice so my wife and daughter could hear, “I want custody of Laurell. She comes with me.”
My wife raised her head. “Why? Why take my baby?”
“Because she’s my baby, too,” I replied, “and after what you’ve done to me, leaving her with you could make her your next target for cruelty. Worse, she could grow up to be just like the two of you, and I’d be abandoning my responsibilities as a parent if I walked away and let either of those things happen.”
She turned away, head bowed. She was surrendering without a fight.
“Anyway, why not climb back through the window and come down the easy way?” Jo smiled, and it lit up her face. “We’ll get you to the hospital and get things started, so you can get out of here and get your life back again. All right, John?”
I looked down at her, and smiled in return.
“Yes, Ms. Stark,” I said. “I’d like that. And … thank you!”
The Stark Initiative private jet moved swiftly across the Atlantic Ocean, gliding over the cold waters with a certainty that seemed to match how Jo Stark felt inside.
Jo stared out the window at the clouds, and tried to sort out how she felt. John Clemson and his youngest daughter were curled up side by side on the bed in the sleeping section. The horrid effects of the laxatives had been purged from John’s system, and the doctors had examined her and done all the tests they needed, for now. She had decided to come to Switzerland and see the Initiative, and the doctors there would continue the tests and share the data with the physicians and researchers who had seen her through the first phases of this disease.
“So how does it feel?” Chrissy slipped into the seat across from Jo and looked up at her.
“Good,” Stark replied, “but to be honest, a little empty, too.”
“You made the save, Jo. Accept the win.”
“I do, but … somehow, it’s not enough.”
“We got John out of there, and they won’t be able to touch him again.”
“But they did more than touch him, didn’t they?” Stark felt some of her calm slipping away. “They tortured him, diminished him. They punished him for being sick and for winding up small and weak. They did it deliberately, and they did it over and over again, for weeks!”
She leaned forward in her seat and put her head in her hands. “Now they just walk away and get on with their lives? There need to be consequences! What if they try and do it again?”
“To who? What happened to John was a fluke. It was a one in a trillion viral infection on a genetic level. The chances of that happening again to anyone, let alone someone they know, are astronomical.”
“They should be punished for what they did.”
“Maybe. But John said no. Therapy and help, but that’s all. And you always listen to the victim, Jo. Always.Besides, they know we’ll be watching them anyway, in case something pushes them over that edge in the future.”
“But they tried to take away who he was. We both know how that feels!”
“Yes, we do. And I bet it still bothers you that I just let Crystal go with a slap on the wrist, too.” The little girl reached out and touched her on the arm. “Come on, girl. What’s really going on in your head?”
Stark said nothing, and Chrissy sighed. “Okay, truth time. I already know what’s wrong. You know I’m your friend. I love you, and you know I’d do anything for you. That’s why I’m going to tell you something I know you don’t want to hear, because you need to hear it.”
“You’re upset because John and I got the chance to say no, and took it. But you never had the chance to stop yourself when you broke free, and you wish you did, with all your heart.”
Jo looked confused, and Chrissy took her hand.
“It was easy for John and for me to step back, because you rescued us. We had learned firsthand how power could corrupt good people. After all, it corrupted the people we loved, and made them angry and cruel. When I finally had the chance to hurt Crystal, I couldn’t do it. If I had, I might have wound up as nasty as she was, but I saw the danger and I backed off. And if I used my power to hurt her, I would have stopped being me. I would have redefined myself as the kind of person who used power the way Crystal did. I think John feels the same way.”
“But when you were set free by the anger, it twisted you. You had to hate those women to win your freedom, but the hatred made you kill, and then it made you harsh. Your punishments were justified, but you enjoyed the pain you inflicted. Now you’re free, but you still hate the ones who changed you, even though they’re dead and gone. Because they made you into something you never wanted to be, and I’m not talking about the body you’re in.”
Chrissy took a deep breath. “The fact is, Joseph Stark never killed anyone. He never wanted to, and he never would. But the first thing Jo Stark did after she broke free of the programming was kill everyone responsible for hurting her. That one night changed how you see yourself as a person, and it still haunts you today. You need to get past what those women did to you, but you can’t, because they turned you into a killer for that one night, and a monster for years afterward. You can’t accept it, but you have to.”
She stood up and hugged the older woman tight, and felt Jo’s whole body trembling.
“To move forward, you need to figure out how to forgive the ones who kidnapped you,” she whispered, “so you can finally forgive yourself for all the horrible things you did while you were ruled by anger and hate – including killing them.”
“How?”
“If I knew, I’d tell you.” Chrissy gave her another hug, and whispered. “But after all you'v been through, if there’s anyone who can find a way … it’s you.”
(NOTE: You may notice the rescue that brings the Stark Initiative back to the States bears s striking similarity to the drama unfolding in a story currently being posted on BCTS and FM.Although there are similar elements, rest assured that, as usual with Stark, I am not hijacking someone else's story. I was inspired to create this rescue by the events depicted in Call you mommy, are you serious honey? by Princess Panty-boy, but the characters and conclusion depicted here are all my own, and have nothing to do with the other story still in progress — other than it being an inspiration for a Stark intervention.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled reading! *smile* — Randalynn)
Surprise!
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A story about the wages of betrayal, inspired by a story written by Jezzi Belle Stewart. WARNING: Contains excessive cruelty and unintended consequences, which are both far less amusing in real life than you might think -- and way less entertaining in a work of fiction than public humiliation.
Surprise!
by Randalynn
Doug,
Hey, man! I wish I was sending this just to say hi. Actually, I wish you were at a base nearby instead of in the Gulf, so you could just come by and fix things the way you used to. I know you're good at it, man. Always was. And things here are pretty messed up, and have been for a while.
But by the time you get this, it'll be all over anyway, one way or another. So I guess I ain't getting no rescue this time. No "nick of time" shit for Donny boy, no, sir.
And damn if part of me doesn't think it’s past due.
As I'm lying here writing this, all I keep thinking is, this is what it comes down to. I guess it's no big surprise. When you're all alone, no friends, no family, where the hell do you think you'll wind up? The Taj Mahal? Las Freakin' Vegas? Three months ago, I never expected I'd wind up here, like this. But I guess life's full of little surprises, and some big ones.
And that's what's gonna kill me, in the end. Surprise. That's how it all started, and that's how it's gonna end.
See, there I was, a suburb boy with a posse of friends and a sweet life, more or less. You remember the neighborhood, man. I thought things would never change. Then suddenly my little brother decides to become a girl. Get this — his girlfriend talks him into it, and he LIKES it. Surprise!
So now my friends are on my case about it, as if somehow it's MY fault he's gone nuts. So I figure I'll lean on him a little bit, get him to see it's not all fun and games being an oddball. He just shrugs it off, like what I'm saying doesn't matter. So I try harder, get nastier. And nastier. Hell, I figure he can't keep ignoring me forever. But when Mom and Dad catch me at it, they read me the riot act. Turns out they LIKE the joker in dresses! Surprise!
So finally, I did something seriously stupid. I really didn't want to hurt the twerp, but a guy gets tired of being ignored, and I knew "she" couldn't ignore a fall. So I tripped "her" as she walked down the stairs. Well, she did manage to get hurt, but she still ignored me. And the 'rents didn't believe my lame excuse for why she fell.
The next day I grab a bottle of Coke from the fridge after school and chug it down. And suddenly, everything gets REAL slow and kinda fuzzy. Mom and the twerp's girlfriend Brandy are pulling me along to the guest room, and taking off my clothes, and I'm trying to push them off me but I can't seem to get focused. I fall down on the bed and things start to spin, and they're doing things to me, but I can't tell what. Before I can get them to stop they're pulling me up off the bed and making me sit, putting stuff on my face and in my hair, and dragging me out of the bedroom towards the front door.
The twerp is out there, all dressed in leather and looking like he's freakin' Catwoman, and as things start to steady down some in my head, I begin to notice stuff. Like the fluffy dress I'm wearin', and the shiny slippery shoes and the lacey socks. And as it hits me what they've done to me, I realize I'm wearing a diaper and plastic pants with little ruffles across the ass. And I'm out in the street and everybody in the neighborhood can see me!
Surprise!
I want to run but I can't seem to make myself move. Can't do much of anything but stand here wobbling. There's this ringing in my ears and a big blank spot in the middle of my brain. Drugged, part of me whispers. They drugged you, man. Shit.
But if that's not bad enough, my friends drive by in Richie's car, and THEY all see me like this, and start pointin' and laughin'. There's a flash of light, and suddenly everything's spinning again and I fall back on my padded ass. The rest of me keeps going and the back of my head hits the driveway, and I'm out.
A few hours later, I woke up in my room. I'm still in the dress, and my head hurts like ten hangovers rolled into one, but it's nothin' compared to what I feel like inside. It aches, and feels empty at the same time. Like somebody ripped a big chunk of my heart out and didn't bother filling in the space they left behind.
The rest of them, Mom, Dad, the twerp and the girlfriend -- I could hear 'em downstairs, laughing and talkin' together. Like they were celebrating a job well done. And I suddenly realized what the feeling was inside.
Betrayal. My family had set me up! They drugged me and dressed me up and threw me out in the street, so everybody could make fun of the big sissy baby. And my friends — I felt the tears fall, and didn’t try to stop 'em. Hell, I was dressed like a baby, I thought at the time. Might as well cry like one.
It hurt. A lot. I always thought family meant people who would stand by you, no matter what. Sure I was hard on the twerp. I thought I had to be. He just didn't listen. You got a problem, we talk it out, right? But he didn't talk. He just blew me off. Even after Mom and Dad sided with him, I still believed the people you could always count on was your family. Even the twerp, I thought, woulda stood by me in a crunch, if push came to shove.
Then they do something like this. And they were still laughin', hours later.
Listenin' to them downstairs, I knew I had nobody. Nobody. I was totally alone. Worse. I was surrounded by enemies now. At home and — oh, God, at school. They did this to me.
I was .... alone. Totally alone. And too mad to realize just how bad that could be.
I cut the dress off with my Swiss Army knife. I couldn't reach the damned zipper down the back, and it wasn't like I wanted to save the damned thing anyway. I ripped the shoes and stockings off. I pulled the diaper and plastic pants down and kicked 'em across the room. I got dressed — boxers, jeans, sweatshirt, sneaks. The same clothes they stripped off me ... before.
There were ribbons and bows all over my head. So I took the knife and cut 'em off, one by one, along with hunks of hair. Let 'em fall, like the pieces of my life. Left 'em on the dresser. I knew my face was still made up, so I opened my door, walked across to the bathroom and scrubbed my face until it was raw.
With my ragged hair and the haunted look in my eyes, a stranger stared back at me from the bathroom mirror. He looked like he'd just been through a war ... and lost.
I walked slowly down the stairs to the kitchen. They sat around the table, drinking coffee and laughing. All of 'em, even Dad. But they shut up quick when they saw me there, the smiles still frozen on their faces.
"Well, son," Dad started to say, and I pointed a finger at him and said "Shut it. Just shut it." He stopped, stunned.
"What the hell was that?" I said, in a voice that sounded scary, even to me. "What the hell did you just do to me?"
Then Mom tried to speak. "We —"
"What, Mom? Drugged me? Dressed me like a baby and TOOK ME FOR A WALK — IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD? Made me look like some kind of sissy IN FRONT OF MY FRIENDS? What? WHAT?"
They just sat there, stone quiet. "What the HELL was that supposed to accomplish?" I raved. "Was that supposed to show me I was WRONG? I already KNEW I shouldn't have tripped the twerp. And I KNEW nobody liked me calling him names — not that he really cared. He just BLEW me off. I just wanted him to LISTEN to me. I tripped him to get his FUCKING attention, okay?"
"Donny! Language!" Mom looked horrified. I wheeled around and focused all of my attention on her. She cringed.
"LANGUAGE? You really wanna try to take the moral high ground here, 'Mom?' You DRUGGED me! All those years of listening to that 'just say no' crap, and you fill me with enough shit to chill a bull elephant — just to put me on DISPLAY. I'm surprised I'm not fuckin' brain damaged, but after what you people did to me today, a coma would be a blessing!"
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Brandy stand up slowly. I turned to her.
"And just what are YOU gonna do to me, huh? Beat me up? Like you could hurt me any more than I've already been hurt." My hands became fists. "But go ahead, take your best shot. You're only going to be the first in a long line of people wanting to beat the shit out of the 'big baby.' Starting with my former friends. Hell, go ahead and KILL me now if you want. What's left of my life is gonna be hell anyway, so kill me -- right here, right now. I'd ask you not to bury me in that damned dress, but I don't trust any of you farther than I can spit." She just stood there, looking at me. "Come ON, damn you! You stole my family, ruined my life. So fuckin' KILL ME already! I'm halfway dead now."
She just shook her head. "No," she said softly. "I did what I wanted to do."
"And what was that, exactly?"
"Show you what it's like to be ridiculed and bullied," Brandy replied, raising her chin.
"Oh, give me a fuckin' break," I snapped. "That hasn't even STARTED yet. That comes at school tomorrow — or later today if I'm stupid enough to get caught out in the street. You think I don't have ENEMIES? You think I'm still gonna have FRIENDS after today?"
"If you explain —" The twerp began, but I cut him short.
"Don't tell me it'll be all right," I growled. "Don't you dare. I know 'em. You don't. I'll be lucky to get away with one beating a day. And NO ONE is going to forget 'baby Donna.' Not in MY lifetime. This town is WAY to small for that to happen." I turned to him. "For thirteen years, I was a damned good brother. I taught you how to play b-ball, kept the Randazzos off your back when you were ten, and everybody knew to keep their hands off you, because you were my brother and I'd take it personal. Well, now you've got her to watch your back, and I know just how much those thirteen years really meant to you. I'm on my own, from now on. I GET that, okay? Even here, I'm alone."
I stormed over to the back door, and turned, one hand on the knob. "I'm going out there now, even though it's only gonna mean the torture starts early. But you know why I'm leaving? Because I feel safer OUT THERE than I do here with you. I know what to expect out there. But here? I trusted you, and you betrayed me and ruined my life without a thought. Who knows WHAT fun little scheme you'll come up with next?"
I smiled, but it was empty, like my insides. "You wanted to teach me a lesson? Well, here it is. Don't trust anybody -- especially family."
I slammed the door hard when I left.
It was worse than I thought it was gonna be, Doug. Lots worse. Everywhere I went, they knew. My 'friends' copied the pictures they took and put them up all over the school, in case anyone missed the 'big event.' Overnight, I became the practice target for everybody. And the people I thought were my friends turned out to be the worst. I had always been good at fighting, but even I couldn't handle five-to-one odds -- every freakin' day.
The coach wouldn't let me be on any of the sports teams anymore, not after he saw those pictures. Without the 'rents, I didn't have anyone left on my side to help me make him. And gym class? The one time I tried to shower afterwards, I came back to find all my clothes had been stolen and big baby girl clothes had been left in their place. The whole damned class held me down and dressed me up. Then they threw me out into the halls and held the locker room door shut, laughing the whole time. Everyone in the hall got a free show, and I got another shot of humiliation.
So I waddled to the main office in my party dress and saggy diaper, and complained. When I got back, everyone else was gone and my clothes were back in my locker. And what did the principal do? Gave me detention for disobeying the dress code and lying to him, and all my old 'friends' walked.
"If you want to dress like that, do it on your own time, Dawny," he sniffed. "Don't bring your perversions to school."
I stopped going to gym class after that. Nobody seemed to care.
After the first month, I got used to most of it. The fights, the insults ... and being alone. I took my loneliness and wrapped it around me. Like armor. Like a blanket to dull the pain.
My life got very small. I went to school and back to the house where I lived, and in between I hid in my room. When anybody in the house tried to talk to me, I was like stone. Even if they wanted to say "I'm sorry," I didn't want to hear it. The damage had been done. Apologies wouldn't fix anything, except to make them feel better. And I didn't WANT that. If they felt bad about what they did to me, I wanted them to die from it.
Eventually, they all just left me alone, which suited me fine. Well, I hated it, but what the hell else was I gonna do, Doug? I couldn't bring myself to trust them again. What kind of an idiot would I be to do that, after what they did?
It went on this way for a while, and I thought I might be able to tough it out ... until a few days ago, anyway. I was walking home ... alone, as usual. Suddenly I heard an engine, and a big van pulled up. Somebody yanked me through the open door on the side and I was gone. Surprise!
Three days later, they finally got tired of me. So they threw me on the front lawn in a dirty diaper and an oversized tee shirt with 'Hello Kitty' on the front. "See you next week, baby!" I heard one of them say, and they all laughed as they drove off. I was bleeding pretty much anywhere you wanted to look -- and some places you didn’t. I couldn't call for help — my throat was too raw, and I'll just leave you to figure out why.
Every muscle ached, and I crawled to the door, looking just like a baby girl would if somebody had used her for a football. It made me smile through the pain. Imagine that — me, back out front dressed like a baby. Huh.
I dragged the key out from under the mat, and let myself in. Nobody home, I thought bitterly. Not like they would care anyway. I just lay there in my baby outfit, bleeding into the diaper, and let the cold of the tile in the entranceway seep into my muscles. Felt good, Doug.
I thought about calling the police, or maybe a hospital, but a little voice in the back of my head whispered, "why bother? What makes you think they'll care, either?"
"Amen, brother," I said out loud. It came out a harsh croak. Nobody's gonna care about the big baby. I know that now. They'd throw me out in the street for wastin' their time. I'd have to crawl home. Huh.
As I lay there, I remembered. The jerks in the van said "see you next week." That meant they'd be coming back. I'd have to do this weekend again. And again. No backup. No help.
I'd join the Army or the Marines, but I'm only sixteen. Besides, the local recruiters knows all about "Donna." They'd laugh me out of the office. I'd run away but where the hell would I go? Where would I live? And how would I get a job? And I'd still be alone. Time to face the fact. I HATED being alone.
I almost started crying, but I caught myself. "I need to take charge," I croaked, and laughed at the thought of it instead. "I need to get a handle on this. Get on top of it. I can do that. Just got to figure out what I got to work with."
So I lay there on the tile, and I thought about it and thought about it, and finally came up with a plan. You would've been proud of me, Doug. I was finally taking charge. I'd take away their punching bag for good and all, and when the jerks came back next week for round two, I just wouldn't be here.
Like I said, you would have been proud.
So, this is what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna put this in an envelope addressed to you, and stick it in the stack of stamped mail Dad still hasn't dropped at the post office. Hopefully, he won’t notice an extra letter, and you'll get this in a week or two. So somebody will know what I went through.
Then, I'm gonna go crawl into the bathtub with Mom's bottle of Valium, a fifth of Dad's Jack, and my good old Swiss Army knife. I'm gonna wash down the pills with the booze, and then slit my wrists deep -- just as soon as I get too doped up to care.
And when they get home from wherever they are, they'll find me there, in the tub, in the pink "Hello Kitty" tee-shirt and the soaked diaper and the pool of blood, with a sign on my chest that pretty much sums it all up.
"SURPRISE."
Peace out, Doug. And thanks for listening.
Your bud,
Don
Casual cruelty for entertainment's sake always makes me burn. And even though I tried not to respond to Jezzi's little tale with one of my own, keeping my anger in just made Don's story bubble up to the surface. I know it hurts, people. Or at least it should hurt -- it hurt me enough just writing it. But I've sort of been in Don's position before, both betrayed and ostracized. So it loses its entertainment value for me -- not that cruelty has much to begin with, for me.
Sorry for any pain I may have caused ... if you felt it. -- Randalynn
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The Hardest Battle
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In a fantasy world without true magic, an evil overlord manipulates others by conquest, cruelty and transformation.
The Hardest Battle, Part 1
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Lord Drax has a peculiar hobby. He collects kingdoms ... and turns their high-ranking nobles into pretty "pets" for his amusement. Reginald, prince of the realm and heir to the throne, is about to fight the hardest battle of his life ... as a woman. Can she do what she must to win, without losing the man she was?
The Hardest Battle, Part 1
by Randalynn
somebody else, is to fight the hardest battle you are ever going to fight.
Never stop fighting." — e. e. cummings
"The problem with war," Lord Drax declared from his stolen throne, "is that it always ends too soon."
The assembled nobles in the Great Hall nodded their agreement. Imported from Drax's other lands, they all understood the need to agree with their ruler in all things. Those who raised objections raised Drax's wrath, which was not a thing to be taken lightly. The body of this land's fallen king, hanging from the highest beam in the vaulted ceiling, gave mute testimony to the force of Drax's anger. And the fate of the king's son, held in an antechamber and surrounded by Drax's personal guard, was still to be decided.
"Even my conquest of this fair land ended too quickly for my taste," Drax lamented. He took a sip from the goblet of wine in his outstretched hand. "Although I do applaud the valiant efforts of King Stephen to repel my armies from his kingdom, even as I toast his new ... position." He raised his cup to the old king. The nobles laughed, knowing Drax's sense of humor and anticipating the need for a response.
"Still," Drax continued, "I feel the need to struggle against a willful adversary once more. A ... personal conflict. To prove my mettle against a worthy opponent, and claim the rewards of such a victory."
Drax reached out a hand and idly stroked the hair of a young woman curled up at his feet. A thin red-haired beauty with an abundant figure, she wore a simple blue dress with a plunging neckline, which was the style in Drax's court. Around her neck was a golden collar with the Drax coat of arms engraved upon it. She arched her back ever so slightly when Drax touched her, then resumed staring out into the crowd. Almost cat-like, in the manner of a domestic pet. Which, of course, she was.
"Perhaps another mistress for the royal chamber," Drax mused aloud. "To ... ease the burdens of leadership. Yes. " He raised his voice to a bellow. "Send for the court physicians at once! And bring me what is left of King Stephen's dynasty. I wish to decide his fate."
Minions scurried to obey, lest the slightest hint of laziness bring on instant and painful instruction in the fine art of service. In seconds, the door to the antechamber was thrown open. Then two of Drax's guards flew into the room head first to fall in a heap before the throne.
Drax frowned. "Where is the son? Where is Reginald?"
"I am here! " A voice shouted. It came from the dark shape framed in the doorway. "I have no need for an escort. I know the way to my father's throne room by heart. After all, it will be mine someday."
The shape stepped forward into the light, revealing a short, lithe but well-muscled young man with long blonde hair. His green eyes flashed with barely-contained anger.
"Well, if it isn't Drax the demi-god," he said with a grim smile. "I am honored. Who would have thought it would take a 'minor deity' six months to destroy everything it took centuries for my family to build."
"Careful, boy. " Drax leaned back in his captured throne and threw a leg over one of the arms. "You are dancing on thin ice if you think you can cross words with me."
"Come now," Reginald scoffed. "As if I truly have anything left to lose. You've killed my father. You will have to kill me to legitimize your claim to the throne. If I am to die, I would rather it be on my own terms, if you please."
"I DO NOT PLEASE," Drax thundered, throwing his goblet aside and leaping to his feet. "And that is my point. I rule this land now, boy! Your life is mine to do with as I choose. If I say die, you die."
"Yes." The captive royal nodded, arms folded across his chest. "If you say die, I die. But I will die as I have lived, and you cannot change that. I am Reginald, prince of the realm, son of King Stephen and heir to the throne. You cannot take that away from me. So kill me if you wish, but don't expect me to beg for my life. I will not give you the satisfaction."
The court physicians arrived, and Drax smiled when he saw them. He sank back into the throne, resting his hand on the head of the woman at his feet.
"You are Reginald, prince of the realm. That is true," Drax conceded thoughtfully. "However, you don't necessarily have to remain Reginald. Not if I choose to change that."
He turned to the lead healer, Morden. "What do you think, old friend?"
An older man, Morden approached Reginald slowly. The prince stood his ground with a bemused smile as the aging doctor walked around him at a safe distance, performing a detailed examination from afar. The healer turned to Drax.
"I need to see him with his arms away from his body."
Drax looked at the prince. Reginald shook his head. Drax looked at his guards, and they rushed the boy and held his arms out from his sides. Growing a little bolder, Morden came in a little closer. He nodded once or twice, muttering to himself, and reached out to touch the prince's side. Reginald twisted away, but the guards held him fast. Morden felt the boy's ribcage and smiled. He looked up at Drax.
"It can be done, lord," he said. "In fact, it will be easier than most, at least on the outside."
Drax clapped his hands together. "Excellent! See to the preparations at once."
Reginald looked at Morden and laughed. "What is this, Drax? A little game you play with your prisoners? Some exquisite form of torture that gives you pleasure?"
Drax smiled an even bigger smile. "Yes. Exactly. With other benefits you have yet to understand. But you will. You will. And when you do, you will no longer be Reginald, prince of the realm. That I guarantee."
And then he laughed. And kept laughing as the guards dragged Reginald out of the room with the court physicians close behind.
Melinde followed the group from a distance. When Drax's men were within minutes of taking the castle, Reginald had her take on the role of a chambermaid to avoid capture. In her simple dress and sandals, carrying a basket of linens, she blended in with the other servants so well that it was difficult to believe she had been born and raised a noblewoman.
"It was Reginald's wish to protect my life," she thought. "I must do the same for him."
Reginald and Melinde had been betrothed from an early age, but they would have found each other eventually, given time. They were kindred spirits, with a bond between them it seemed no time or distance could break. Love was too weak a word for what the two of them shared. It was as if they were two halves of a single soul -- man and woman as one.
If Reginald suffered, Melinde would be there to help if she could. Or suffer with him, pain for pain. She increased her pace and tried to keep up without calling attention to herself.
By the time Melinde had caught up wth the group, the healers were already busy. They had chosen a guest chamber in the tall tower as their workroom. The room had a bed with heavy iron bedposts, and it took four guards to place it in the center of the chamber. Strong manacles were attached to each post, and the guards held Reginald down while the physicians secured him to the bed. Melinde stood to one side of the doorway, trying to look inconspicuous. She noticed that the interior of each cuff seemed lined with a soft material, and that all of manacles appeared to be self-tightening, so that each of Reginald's limbs were firmly secured, but not scarred or injured in any way.
Two of the healers came in carrying a large case covered with what appeared to be long sewing needles. These men were smaller than Melinde's countrymen, with dark, slanted eyes and precise movements. Another one of the strange ones appeared carrying several jars of a nearly-clear liquid, and then some of Drax's guards came in with an entire trunk full of potions and ointments.
Finally, Morden arrived. Drax came with him, still smiling. His eyes held a strange combination of glee and anticipation, as if he knew what was to come and could hardly wait to begin.
"Has the treatment begun? " he asked impatiently. The slant-eyed ones shook their heads together. Drax fairly beamed. "Excellent! "
He walked over to the bed, where Reginald was still struggling with his chains, and looked down into the prince's angry eyes.
"Shhhh," Drax said softly. "It will do you no good to struggle."
"You'll forgive me if I try anyway," Reginald snarled, pulling with all of his strength. Drax reached out and touched his forehead.
"It's pointless, but you go right ahead," he cooed sweetly. Reginald stopped, and looked at him, confused by his reaction. Drax smiled.
"You don't think this is the first time we've played this little game, do you, my pet? I can't tell you how many men have found their way into those chains. How many brave warriors wound up where you are now, fighting a battle they could not possibly win. "
Melinde watched as one of the slant-eyed ones came up behind Reginald with a dripping needle in his hand. Before she could call out, he began to twirl the needle and slid it slowly into the prince's neck. Reginald seemed to go limp all over, except for his eyes. They began rolling around in his head like small animals seeking escape.
"And the prisoners we brought into Morden's chamber! " Drax went on. "Oh, how they fought against the medicines, and all that was to come. Without even knowing what it was they were afraid of."
Drax began to pet Reginald's hair, and the prince's eyes focused on the usurper with a hatred so potent that Melinde could feel it clear across the room. Drax saw it, too, and just laughed.
"But you know, don't you, my precious," he whispered. "You're a smart one, I can tell. You heard my words, and you saw my pet in the throne room, and you know. " His eyes grew distant as he remembered. "My Brina. My lovely Brina. She fought, too. For a long time. Even after Morden had finished his work, she would not submit. Until we tried something new. And then she was mine."
He looked down at Reginald, still stroking his hair. "She was Brian, lord of Duncaster. A knight. A warrior. Like you were, precious. But now she belongs to me, just as you will."
The prince's eyes began to move from side to side, as if he could avoid Drax's tender gaze and somehow escape his fate. But there was no escape. Reginald was trapped in his own body, and he knew it.
Melinde's heart went out to her love, but she could not stop what was to come. She watched the slant-eyed ones as they began preparing more needles, dipping them in the clear liquid. Other healers cut Reginald's clothes from his body until he lay naked on the bare mattress. They tied down his head and began inserting the needles one at a time into his face, his chest, his arms and legs. Melinde knew her love could feel each one enter, as surely as if she felt the pain herself. Drax stood behind the table, gazing into Reginald's eyes as if he could feed off of the pain he knew was there. Still, he caressed the prince's head as the healers moved from his face down his entire body to the bottom of his feet, murmuring words Melinde was too far away to hear.
As each needle left Reginald's skin, it took a hair with it. Soon the front of the prince's body was nearly hairless, save for the top of his head and the area around his privates. His eyebrows had been shaped into sharp arches. With a word from Morden, the healers removed the manacles and flipped Reginald around until he lay on his stomach. Then they refastened his chains and began anew with his back, buttocks, thighs, and calves, until all of Reginald's body hair was gone.
Drax ran his hands over the naked skin of his adversary.
"So bare," he purred. "Naked you have become. Like a child. And so you shall remain. The herbal mixtures of the Orient removed the hair, and killed the roots, one strand at a time. " His eyes seemed to gaze off into his memory. "It was Morden's idea to send emissaries to the lands far west," he said in a distant tone, "in search of physicians with the skills we lacked. To help me work my will. "
He walked over to the head of the table and looked again into Reginald's eyes. "We didn't stop playing while the emissaries were gone, oh no. You should have seen the many failures, their bodies ravaged by fire or acid, twisted by the mismatched medicines Morden did not truly understand. It took many attempts -- hundreds of 'volunteers' -- before we perfected the treatment. Oh, and the bungling of my surgeons as they 'practiced' ... you should have heard the screams." Drax laid his hand on the prince's cheek. A low growl came from the back of his throat, and the warlord clicked his tongue.
"Now, now, precious," he said. "Soon you shall long for my touch."
The healers covered the captive prince with ointments that smelled strongly of flowers and fruits, and other scents Melinde could not recognize.
"To keep your skin soft and sweet-smelling forever," Drax whispered in Reginald's ear. Another growl was his only answer.
The healers then gathered over Reginald's back, their hands searching for the juncture points between his lower ribs and his spine. They marked each spot with a single dot of red ink, and then stood back as another Oriental healer came forward holding a long needle with a wooden handle and a small hammer.
Inserting the needle at each red dot, he gave its handle a single controlled tap at each of the four places marked, and stepped away. Instantly, other healers stepped in with needles dipped in other mixtures and thrust them into the red areas, while Reginald trembled and moaned from the pain. Then they raised Reginald's body from the bed and wrapped his lower torso in what appeared to be a wide leather band with long laces. Under Drax's instruction, they pulled the belt tighter, and tighter still, until the prince's waist compressed by ten inches or more. During the tightening, Reginald's moans had merged into one long cry pushed deep in the back of his throat by his paralysis. Tears flowed down his cheeks and pooled beneath his head on the mattress.
Once the laces were tied off, Reginald was lowered to the bed. His manacles were removed and he was placed on his back once more. The chains were replaced, and the healer with the needle that caused the paralysis used it once again, so the prince became like a statue, frozen on the bed. Drax bent over Reginald and kissed him softly on the lips.
"I must leave you now, my sweet," he said. "I have an empire to rule. But I will come back soon, and often, to watch you become the woman I wish you to be. " He lowered his voice, and it took on a dark edge. "Reginald, prince of the realm, will die here. In this room. Because I command it. I shall strip you of your name, your sex, your pride, and your will. Because I own you! " Drax smiled, and ran his fingers through the prince's hair. His voice became soft again. "I have even chosen a new name for you. From now on, you shall be known as Regina. A sweet name for a sweet consort."
As Drax turned to leave, he finally caught sight of Melinde standing by the door. As quick as a lizard on a river bank, he shot across the room and grabbed her arm.
"Who are you? " he hissed. "What are you doing here?"
"I . . I am Molly, my lord," Melinde replied, wincing from the pain as his fingers dug into her flesh. "I am one of the chambermaids. I was to make up this room for any of your guests, should they choose to stay in the tower. I did not know that you had taken Prince Reginald here - - - "
Drax's other hand shot up to grab her by the throat, silencing her instantly. He pulled her face to his and spoke very clearly.
"That is my new consort, Regina. Tell the other servants that they will die instantly if they call her by any other name. " Melinde nodded her assent. Drax released her neck, but kept held of her arm. He searched her face for any sign of rebellion, but found none. On the bed, several healers were inserting needles in specific spots on the prince's throat. There appeared to be different kinds of fluids on the tips of different needles, and each insertion was done using color-coded slivers of steel.
"Have you ever served as a lady's maid, Molly? " Drax asked, the beginnings of an idea forming in his mind.
"Yes, sir," Melinde replied, looking down. "Back when the Queen still lived, I was one of those who tended her every day."
"Were you? How interesting. " The warlord looked pensive for a moment, then shook his head quickly and released her arm. "Get on with your work, girl."
"Yes, my lord. " Melinde curtseyed and picked up her basket of linens. "Thank you, my lord. "
As she left, Melinde stole a glance at her love, prone and helpless as more needles were placed around his chest and hips. The healers had inserted a long tube into his mouth, and began to trickle some kind of herbal mixture past his lips. His eyes still moved, and the tears still flowed, but she was powerless to comfort him.
The door closed behind her.
Melinde went back to the head of housekeeping and passed on Drax's message. There was general consternation at this turn of events, since everyone at the palace had loved the young master since he was a child.
"What does he mean, call the master 'Regina'?" Cook looked at Melinde in confusion. "Is he mad?"
Melinde nodded. "Yes, he is. Quite mad. And you should be careful what you say, even here in the kitchen. You could be killed if you are overheard."
"Begging your pardon, mistress," Cook apologized with a curtsey. "I was not thinking right."
"No, you were not," Melinde scolded. "And you aren't now, either. If they see the head cook bending knee to a chambermaid as if she were a lady, they will wonder why."
"Sorry . . . Molly. " Cook lifted a heavy pot from the table and brought it to the stove. "It's hard treating you like one of us."
"Not nearly as hard as it is being one of you. " Melinde stood up and grimaced. She pressed both hands against her lower back. "If I have to lift another basket of laundry for those no-account nobles, my back will snap like a twig."
Maude, the head of household, stepped up to Melinde and wacked the seat of her dress with a wet dishrag. The younger girl yelped, and spun about with one hand on her bottom.
"Careful, girl," Maude cautioned. "You'll serve your betters without sass, and say 'yes, sir' and 'no, ma'am with a smile, or I'll take you out and tan your hide myself behind the outhouse, see if I don't."
Melinde bobbed quickly in place. "Sorry, mistress," she said with a smile. All three laughed, glad of some light spirits in dark times.
"Maude," Melinde said thoughtfully. "If I am to be a chambermaid, can you make the tower part of those rooms for which I am responsible?"
"Aye," Maude replied. "In matters of cleaning and such, my rule is absolute. Even if it is only because his lordship thinks it beneath him."
"He might change his tune once he runs out of clean clothes," Cook threw over her shoulder as she stirred the stew. They all smiled.
"Then do this for me, that I can watch over 'Regina' and do what I can," Melinde asked. Maude took her hands.
"Of course, my lady. You did not even have to ask. We all care for you and the master, and would see the usurper thrown down so's he can rule in his father's name. "
The younger girl nodded, but tears filled her eyes. "Oh, to see what they are doing to him. It's dreadful, Maude. Horrific beyond belief. And he's done it before, to countless others. Stolen their bodies, broken them to his will. I'm so afraid! "
Maude drew her into her arms and hugged her close. "Do not worry, little one. He is strong. The young master will always be the young master. No matter what that demon may do to his body, his soul is truly noble. And you know it to be true. " She patted Melinde's back, and then broke their embrace. "No, no more tears, Molly. You've work to do. In the tall tower."
Melinde dried her eyes and bowed her head. "Yes, mistress."
For all of her diligence, Melinde did not get to enter the tower room again for nearly a month. They were three weeks of endless trips up and down those tower stairs with baskets of clean and dirty laundry; three weeks of sheet changing and chamber pot emptying; three weeks of bending knee to every petty tyrant in the usurper's empire, dodging repeated offers of gold coins for sin-filled nights without offending those who made the offers.
And the worst of it was, she was rebuffed time and again by the guards at Reginald's door. She saw Drax entering and leaving several times each day, and caught glimpses of her love's body still prone on the bed through the open door. But there was never an opportunity for Melinde to gain entrance.
During those three weeks, the people of King Stephen's kingdom were learning the price they had to pay for defeat. Although spread thin, Drax's army was everywhere. What they wanted, they took. And anyone who tried to stop them died. Instantly.
But people kept fighting. And dying. Because they were King Stephen's people. Even though the King's body had been cut down and burned, and his only son had vanished into the depths of the castle, they would not submit to Drax. The seed of rebellion remained buried deep in every subject -- a seed Drax hoped would die a'borning when he introduced his new consort, a willing slave to the new order.
Not that Drax had chosen to create Regina as some kind of political tool. That benefit was just a lucky coincidence. The warlord's hobby drove him to conquest as much as his need for more land, to feed the empire and his own ego. He needed new consorts as he needed new lands, to dominate totally and without mercy.
One morning, Melinde was walking past the room, and stopped short. The pair of guards that usually blocked her way were nowhere to be seen. In fact, the door was slightly ajar. For a brief instant, she thought that Drax had seen through her earlier excuse and set a trap to snare her. But then she shook her head at her own fear. Surely, Molly the chambermaid could be forgiven her share of curiosity, especially about the prince of the realm.
Or what might be left of him.
Melinde tiptoed to the door and pushed it open slowly, an inch at a time. She peered around the edge to find the tower room deserted, save for a lone figure chained to the bed. Quickly, she slipped into the room and closed the door behind her, and ran to the bed to be with her beloved.
Halfway to his side, she froze in horror.
The figure was a woman. Bare naked and unmistakably female.
Where was Reginald? What had Drax done with him? Her thoughts a whirl, Melinde approached the bed slowly, her eyes tracing the form chained to it. She followed the figure's long legs to where they joined her well-rounded hips. Between the legs, at the junction, were a woman's lips, partially obscured by blond hairs but recognizable just the same. Her waist was small, and her stomach was flat and smooth, but her breasts were almost too big for her fragile frame. They sat upon her chest and trembled with each ragged breath she took.
Other than her breasts and hips, the girl seemed pitifully thin, barely skin and bones. As Melinde reached her slender neck, her eye flew to the girl's face. And a chill ran through her entire body.
It was Reginald!
Thinner, smaller, and more fragile, but the face was clearly his . . . hers, now. Her blond hair seemed longer, and fell in gentle curls on either side of the pillow. Her lips were fuller and larger than she remembered, and much redder. Her eyelashes seemed longer somehow, but Melinde could find no trace of cosmetics. She bent down over her fallen prince's face, searching for some sign that her love still existed, somewhere in this pretty shell.
"Beautiful, isn't she? " The voice came from the doorway. Melinde whirled, pale as a ghost, to find Lord Drax leaning against the door. "My healers do excellent work. Aside from the fact that she'll never be able to bear children, Regina is no different from any other woman. Except for the fact that she used to be a man."
Melinde regained her composure and curtseyed, eyes down. "My lord, forgive me. The door was open and I was curious."
Drax waved his hand. "No need for forgiveness, Molly. I wanted you to see this." Melinde looked up, surprised. Drax smiled. "The expression on your face was priceless. Tell me, were you his lover?" She blushed and looked away. "I thought as much. You showed too much concern for your fallen prince. Although I am surprised the man he used to be would choose a chambermaid for a mistress. Even one as lovely as you."
The warlord walked past Melinde to the bed, and gazed lovingly at his captive.
"I have a gift for you, precious," he purred, as he fastened a gold collar around the thin neck of his prisoner. The Drax coat of arms engraved in the metal gleamed in the sunlight from the tower window. "Now you are truly mine."
"Changing his body will not change his mind, milord," Melinde said softly. "He ... she was a man for a long time. She will not yield easily to you, even as a woman."
Drax kept looking down at his Regina, and stroked her hair gently with his hand. "You knew him so well, Molly?"
"Well enough, milord," she replied, eyes still averted.
"I see," Drax murmured. "But you do not know her, do you?"
"Milord?"
"Reginald is dead," he stated flatly. "Morden and his healers eliminated him completely. Regina is what remains chained to this bed. And you do not know Regina at all."
"You have not changed his mind, milord," Melinde insisted, despite her fear.
"Not yet. " Drax bent down to examine the collar on his prize. "But I will. And you will help me."
"Milord? " Despite her earlier words, Melinde felt another chill.
"You will go to the head of household and inform her that you are to be relieved of all other duties. " Drax stood up and looked right at her. "You are to become Regina's maid and dresser. It will be your job to teach her how to be a lady in mind as well as body."
"But sir," Melinde protested, "I do not know how to be a lady. I am only a serving girl."
"You are a woman!" Drax shouted, stepping to her and grabbing her arm. "The one thing you know above all else is how to submit. " He twisted and she fell to her knees, gasping from the pain. "That is what you will teach her."
"Y. . . yes, milord," she whispered, tears flowing from her eyes. Drax released her and walked quickly to the window. While he ignored her, Melinde grabbed the bedpost with her good arm and pulled herself to her feet. Then she scuttled across the floor, retrieved her basket of bedclothes, and stole out the door without looking back.
In his forced sleep, the prince heard none of this. Instead, he dreamed he was chasing a beautiful princess from a foreign land. He finally caught her, only to discover his own face staring back from beneath her veil. Because of the healers' medicines, he could not awaken from this nightmare. Instead, he experienced it again and again in the weeks he had slept.
At times, he thought he could hear Melinde's voice through the haze, and struggled to free himself from his sleeping prison. But his body was not his own, and his fight against the darkness was doomed to failure before it could even begin.
Deep inside, he remembered the things that Drax had said. But it was difficult to think in the endless fog his life had become, and he found what he did remember hard to believe. Eventually, he sank back into dreaming, and found himself chasing that elusive beauty once more.
Later that day, Melinde began her duties as lady's maid to the woman who was once her prince. She moved her straw pallet to the tower room and watched as the slant-eyed healers continued their vigil over the figure in the bed. Periodically, they would consult with each other in some foreign tongue for many minutes. Then one of them would take another needle, dip it in some herbal mixture, and insert it slowly into Reginald's chest or buttock, while others felt various parts of her anatomy. It didn't seem to do anything as far as Melinde could tell, but several times a day the whole group of healers would stand over the bed and nod approvingly. Then the cycle would begin again.
When the healers were not working on her prince's sleeping form, Melinde would bathe the thin, soft body chained to the bed and try to reach her love's soul with her touch. Once an hour, Drax would come in and demand to know how much longer it would be before his consort could be awakened. Always, Morden would calm the warlord and send him on his way with a "soon, my lord Drax, soon."
Eventually, the consultations between healers grew further and further apart. One month after Drax's takeover of the kingdom, King Stephen's sole heir to the throne was about to receive a rude awakening, and begin a whole new life.
Melinde watched as one of the healers removed and packed away the chains that had held the new woman for so many weeks. Another inserted a final needle into the neck of the form on the bed, removed it, and packed the last of the instruments left in the chamber. Drax stood in a corner and watched as the girl began to stir. Her hand reached limply towards her face, but froze when it reached her breasts.
"Oh my God," she breathed in a thin contralto. "He did it!" The other hand came up, and both hands cupped the new flesh she found sitting on her chest. Melinde could see the tears begin to form in the corner of her lover's eyes, and rushed to the bed before they could fall.
"Don't cry, milady," she whispered, taking the girl's hand. "Lord Drax is here."
Regina looked into her face, and Melinde caught the flash of recognition in those impossible green eyes. As she began to speak, the would-be maid gave her hand a squeeze and spoke quickly.
"It's Molly," she said. "You remember? I was lady's maid to the Queen. And to you, now, I suppose." She winked and twitched a corner of her mouth
The new woman looked back at her lover, on the verge of crying again. Melinde mouthed the words "brave heart, my love," and smiled. Regina felt her spirits rise, and let a small smile reach her lips.
"Oh come now, Molly," she admonished playfully. "You know you mean more to me than your prior service to my mother. I would have thought our time together was far more memorable than that." Regina tried to prop herself up on her elbows, but could barely raise her head. After a struggle, she suceeded, and was rewarded with a good view of what her body had become.
"And though it may appear that I might need a lady's maid," she continued, keeping her new voice steady despite an overwhelming urge to scream, "that is not in fact the case, since I am not a lady."
Drax stepped out of the corner.
"I have made you a woman, Regina," he said softly. "It is only a matter of time before I make a lady out of you as well."
Melinde helped Regina to sit up on the edge of the bed. She felt the flesh on her chest bounce and shift with each movement, and balanced precariously on her now-too-wide hips. As her hairless legs came together, she felt the absence of her manhood and shuddered involuntarily. Melinde squeezed her arm, and Regina put her hand on Melinde's in response. Just knowing she was here was enough to keep the sense of loss under control.
For now.
"You will be hard pressed to make a lady of me, usurper. " Regina spoke with a confidence she did not feel. "Do what you like to this shell I wear. You cannot change the man within."
"Brave words," Drax sneered, "and I've heard words like them from more women in your position than I would care to remember. This isn't the first time I've done this."
"So you've said," she replied. "But this is the first time you've done this with me. And I will not make it easy for you."
"Still just words, my dear. " Drax watched with a smile as Regina put one arm around Melinde and tried to get her feet on the floor. Her buttocks slipped off the edge of the bed, and Melinde held her as the captive prince felt her thin legs tremble under her slight weight. "You speak as if you have a choice. You don't. You are weak. And you will be mine."
"No," she said bravely. "I won't."
Drax felt his patience slipping, and his anger began to rise.
"You are mine, bitch! " he snarled, "and I will prove it. " The warlord took two steps across the chamber and kicked Melinde's legs out from under her. She folded with a scream of pain, leaving Regina balancing unsteadily like a new filly taking its first steps. Drax reached down and grabbed Melinde by her hair. Pulling her to her knees, the usurper pulled a dagger from his belt and held it beneath her chin.
"You are weak and sentimental, Regina," Drax whispered, "just like the woman you've become. And you still have feelings for this trollop, even though you have no way to act upon them any longer. " He reached out with one arm and squeezed one of Regina's breasts. The pain brought tears to her eyes and forced her to her knees. Drax nodded approvingly.
"Now you see the limitations of the body I gave you," he said. "But the true path to your subjugation begins with your mind . . . your sense of honor."
Regina looked up at him, tears on her cheeks, and he put the knife up against Melinde's neck.
"You will pleasure me," he said simply, "or I will kill your wench and rape you anyway. Either way, you lose. But if you take me in your mouth and please me now, the woman you care about will live . . . until you anger me again."
Regina looked into Melinde's face, but found nothing there but fear. What should she do? Sacrifice the woman she loved, or submit to the warlord's will? She felt torn and confused. What had been a personal battle had become tainted by innocent blood. How could one win against a foe with no honor?
Drax smiled at her hesitation.
"You are quite right to be torn," he whispered. "For to agree is to admit defeat. And you must submit, or lose your only friend to my steel. " Drax pressed the edge of the knife into his hostage's throat. A thin line of blood trickled down beneath the blade. Drax saw the fear in Regina's eyes, and knew that he had won.
"Eyes down, bitch! " he roared. His prisoner looked down quickly. Drax's voice became softer, almost mocking in its tenderness. "That's a good girl. Just remember your place, and you will be rewarded. Now, what is your name?"
She looked down at her changed form, breasts heaving as she fought back tears. "Regina, my lord," she whispered.
"I cannot hear you, bitch! " Drax shouted, pulling Melinde to her feet with the knife still firmly in place. "What is your name?"
"Regina, my lord," the fallen prince replied, totally ashamed of her surrender.
"Guard! " The warlord bellowed. Instantly a soldier appeared at the door, his sword drawn. Drax threw Melinde across the room into his arms.
"This whore here is going to show me how grateful she is to be my slave," he said. "If she does not obey me fully or please me in every way I wish, you will kill her ... friend instantly. Is that understood?"
The guard nodded, and pulled the sobbing Melinde into a corner, his sword drawn. Drax sheathed his knife and walked over to Regina's kneeling form. Grabbing her by her golden collar, he walked her over to the bed where she had lain helpless for so long. Helpless still, she kept her eyes down, unable to face what lay ahead.
After Drax left, Regina curled up into a ball on the floor of her chamber, and burst into tears.. She was still naked, her face and breasts dripping with Drax's juices. She could smell him on her with every breath she took. She could even taste him when she closed her mouth. She felt unspeakably dirty, as if she could never get clean again.
She felt a touch upon her back and shied away from the hand, but it stayed with her as she moved.
"Sshhh," said Melinde, stroking her back gently. The guard had released her and followed Drax out, locking the door behind them both. "It is all right, my love. Drax is gone."
"All right? How can it ever be all right again?" Regina spoke through her tears, her body wracked by sobs she could not control. "Did you see what I did? Did you see? I can still feel his organ at the back of my throat, rubbing and spurting. And I can hear his laughter still, as I kneeled at his feet with his ... his ... in my mouth and his hands on the back of my head, pushing. And then he made me ... thank him! I ... I don't think I can ... " She curled tighter, trying to escape inside herself.
Melinde wrapped her arms around her love, trying to comfort her with her touch. But Regina could not feel anything but shame.
"You did it all to save me, my love," Melinde whispered softly. "He would have had me killed in an instant if you had not done as he commanded. There is no need to be ashamed. You were so brave. I will always love you for what you have done. Always."
Melinde continued to hold and caress her fallen lover. Slowly, Regina's tired muscles began to relax, and her tears began to dry. But it was no real improvement. Regina pushed her arms aside and turned to face her friend. Melinde searched her eyes and found them empty. And scared.
"What am I? " Regina asked. Her voice was cold and emotionless. "What have I become? I am not Reginald. Not anymore. This afternoon's . . . demonstration made that painfully clear." Her voice began to quiver slightly. "Reginald, prince of the realm, would have died before submitting to that. I gave in so quickly, you would think I'd been waiting all my life for the chance to pleasure that ... that butcher. No willpower. No spine."
She laughed. It was a pitifully small sound, and Melinde thought she could hear Regina's heart start breaking. "Now I'm just . . . Regina. Drax's pet. A plaything for my father's murderer. Weak. Frail. A pale, hairless, frightened shadow of what I once was." She reached down and cupped her breasts, holding them out to Melinde as if they were a gift. "Look at me, Mel. All breasts and hips and hair and legs. And nothing between my legs but a woman's promise. Drax's revenge. " Regina let go of her chest and covered her eyes. She started crying again. "I'm nothing, now. Just a . . . a mockery of a woman! And a weak one at that."
Melinde watched as her prince collapsed in a river of tears. She felt powerless. How could she reach past what her love had become to touch the man beneath the pretty mask?
Without thinking, she pulled Regina's hands from her face, pulled her close, and kissed her with every ounce of passion she could summon from her small frame. She felt her breasts brushing against her companion's, but sent her mind back to a summer day not long ago, when the two of them lay under a spreading oak in the forest near the castle, exploring each other's mouths and bodies between words of love ... and the times they shared when words were not needed.
At first, her prince resisted, but Mel's passion soon warmed the fire that still burned for her in Regina's heart. She began to return the love Mel gave her, and her hands roved to caress the body she remembered so well. Melinde held Regina's head in her hands, her mouth moving hungrily as her own need began to overcome the changes she felt in her lover's form. She embraced the woman her lover had become, running her hands and mouth over the soft nakedness. Mel's mouth found Regina's breasts, and she sucked and bit with a savagery born of unbridled lust, wanting only to pleasure the man trapped within.
Regina's new body responded with an intensity that shocked her out of her self-pity, ripping through her frame with waves of pleasure she had never known as a man. She shuddered and moaned from the force of it, feeling a warmth spread through her lower body that grew with each touch of Melinde's lips against her nipples. She clutched at her soulmate, pulling her closer.
Melinde realized that she had taken Regina farther than she had wanted, and backed away from her chest. Regina took several deep breaths, shuddering with each intake, and Mel took her hands and waited patiently. Finally, the prince gave Melinde a cock-eyed smile and squeezed her hands in return.
"Thank you," she said, looking down. "There was part of me that feared losing you. I thought ... this ... had changed what we have between us." Regina smiled. "I'd forgotten just how strong our love is."
"I hadn't forgotten," Mel replied with a smile, leaning forward to kiss her on the nose. "Everything you did to save my life was proof of it. You are still my soulmate and always will be. Always remember ... no matter what form you wear, we are still one ... inside."
"But because we are one, I have put you in danger. Drax will hold your life at knifepoint to ensure my ... cooperation. And if I fight, I am powerless to protect you for long, as I am." Regina looked down at her thin arms. "I doubt I could even pick up a sword, much less wield one in single combat. The only weapon I have is surrender -- and if I surrender too often, the man you loved will disappear forever."
Melinde's smile grew, and she gave Regina a quick hug. "Oh, you silly thing! You haven't been a woman long enough to know it, but you have far more weapons at your command than you think. The ones every woman is born with, and the ones you learn about as you grow older. I will teach you, if you will have me as your teacher."
"I will have you in whatever way you wish, my love," Regina smiled back, and kissed her gently on the cheek. "But now I think I need a teacher more than anything."
"What you need first," Mel said decisively, "is a bath. To wash that bastard's insult from your skin, and from your heart. " She walked over to the door and opened it. The guard turned, surprised.
"Go and tell the kitchen we need hot water . . . lots of it. And a tub large enough for the lady Regina to bathe in. " The guard stood there for a moment in disbelief. Melinde put her hands on her hips and leaned forward until her face was inches from his. "Are you deaf? Or would you like to see what happens to someone who lets Lord Drax's pet go uncared for? " She watched as his face went pale, then white, and then he was gone. Regina laughed, and Mel turned, surprised.
"You are good," Regina declared. "It is nice to know my teacher is experienced at manipulating men."
"I'm not worried," Melinde said warmly. "I'm sure you'll pick it up as you go along."
"I have had more time to judge the warlord than you," Melinde commented as she soaped Regina's hair. "He thinks more of himself than any man I have ever met, including you."
"Thank you. " Regina smiled, her eyes closed against the stinging foam. "I think. Do all men think too much of themselves? "
"No," Melinde replied, and dumped a pail of water over Regina's head. "Your opinion of yourself was always justified. You really were as good as you thought you were. But Drax isn't. We can use that to our advantage."
Regina pushed wet hair from in front of her face. "How?"
"By making him think you are beaten when you really are not."
"Do you think he can be fooled so easily?"
"I did not say it would be easy," Melinde said, her tone brisk. "I just think it can be done. But to do it, you will have to learn the first lesson in how women get along in a world where men set the rules. " She handed Regina a wash cloth and let her sponge away the sweat and stickiness between her breasts. 'You have to learn to hide your true feelings."
"I have to learn to lie? " The wash cloth disappeared under the water and found its way between Regina's legs. She shivered involuntarily as it caressed the place her organ used to be, followed by a sharp spike of pleasure. "Oh! "
"What?"
"Mmmmm . . " Regina moaned, rubbing some more. Annoyed, Mel poured another bucket of water on Regina's head, and she let go of the cloth.
"Stop that," Mel spoke sternly. Regina looked up at her, ashamed.
"I'm sorry, love," she whispered. "I just didn't know it . . . I could feel anything like that. Not after . . . after what they did."
"Drax may be counting on that pleasure to enslave you," Melinde said, "as he did Lord Brian. You must pay attention to what I'm telling you. Who knows when Drax will return? "
Regina looked down, and Mel instantly softened. She took Regina's chin and tilted her head up to look in her eyes. "Do not feel too badly, my love. It is only that this may be the last private time we get before the next time you need to act. And acting is what it will be."
"I don't think I can -- "
"You must! Think of it as a feint on a field of battle. Would you let your enemy know your true strength, or intentions? " Regina shook her head. "If Drax truly believes you are broken and defeated, then in his mind, you will cease to become a threat. At that instant, you will be in control. For Drax will have underestimated his opponent, and in battle, that is defeat."
"You seem to know much about the art of war," Regina said tentatively. "For a woman, I mean. " Mel laughed.
"I am my father's only child," she replied. "He knew that if I was to command my father's guards one day as their lady, I needed to know how it is done. So I was taught. But my mother taught me as much about conquering men as my father taught me of the battlefield."
"So I remember. " Regina smiled. "As one of your conquests, allow me to compliment you … and your mother."
Melinde helped the still-weakened Regina from the tub and dried her with soft towels. She dressed her beloved in a heavy nightgown, then wrapped her in blankets against the night's approaching chill.
"You must pick the times to fight and the times to yield, just like any woman," Mel said simply. "In battle, if the enemy is not where you want him to be, you place your men where he must redeploy his forces to engage. You lure him into putting his forces where you have the advantage." Regina nodded. Melinde smiled. "The same strategy applies between men and women. Only the battlefield has changed. You must create the impression that you are losing ground to Drax's superior power, and make him believe that Reginald is Regina, his pet, lover, and mistress."
"That will be a simple matter," Regina said, looking down at her hands. "As long as he holds your life in his hands, I am powerless."
"No," Melinde snapped, taking Regina by the chin and raising her face to look into her eyes. "You are NOT powerless, because you see the field as it is, not as you wish it to be. He thinks you have no will to resist, because of your love for me. If you let him keep thinking that, you will surely lead him down the path to his own destruction -- but only if you hold fast to your own inner strength, and the love we share."
She turned and handed Regina a cup of broth. "First we must build up your strength. Drink. " Regina's hand shook from the effort of holding the cup.
"I'm as weak as a kitten," she said softly, amazed.
"You haven't eaten anything solid for over a month," Melinde replied, helping her take a sip. "God knows how they kept you alive, but you've easily lost half your weight since they brought you in here. It will take us a while to build you up again."
"You think I can someday be restored? " Regina's eyes lit up with hope. Melinde took the cup away from her, took her hand, and then took the hope away.
"No," she whispered, and watched her lover's despair grow again. "I'm sorry, my love, but you will never regain what you once were. You have changed . . . too much. " Melinde squeezed her hand. "But we can make you a strong woman, instead of the frail beauty Drax would chain to his throne. And your skills with arms and armies, with blade and bow, still remain, although trapped in your weakened form. With time, you will once again become a formidable foe for the usurper. If your will is strong."
"And afterward? " Regina's voice trembled slightly. "Once I defeat Drax, what is left? What will happen to me then?"
"One victory at a time, beloved," Melinde replied gently, moving the cup to Regina's lips once more. "This 'battle of the sexes' will be a long campaign, not to be won in a single skirmish. And the first battlefield is within you. You must learn that a lion's heart still beats inside that pale shell, and that courage, strength, and honor are not the sole province of men."
Regina looked over the rim of the cup into the eyes of the woman she loved. Melinde had slaved for weeks to watch over her, and even now played a dangerous game to restore her to her throne and bring Drax to his knees.
"Then the first lesson is already learned," Regina whispered, and took the cup of broth in her frail hand. "For one look at you and what you have done, and who could doubt your courage, your strength ... or your love? " Melinde blushed and look down modestly. Regina raised the cup slightly, her arm trembling.
"Confusion to our enemies, dearest," she said with a smile, and drank deep. Her betrothed took back the cup and raised it towards her love.
"And strength to our cause," Melinde replied, and took a sip herself. She smiled, then shook her head. "But how foolish! This broth belongs in you, and not in me. We need to restore your strength, my ... milady. " Regina's eyes widened, but the cup at her lips stifled her shocked reply even as she felt Melinde's warmth, and love. Her mouth relaxed into a smile, and after she had finished the broth, Regina felt herself drifting off into sleep, feeling vaguely hopeful.
The fight to retake her kingdom, and her life, had begun.
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The Hardest Battle, Part 2
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With Regina trapped in Drax's iron fist and her own life in danger, Melinde sends out a call for help to a most unlikely source. The entire kingdom learns of Regina's trials with surprising results, and unlikely alliances are formed.
The Hardest Battle, Part 2
by Randalynn
After watching over Regina until she fell asleep, Melinde carefully bundled up the towels and sheets into her basket and slipped out the door. The guard gave her a brief glance, then went back to the "back straight, eyes front" stance that Lord Drax demanded of any guard on duty in his service. The last of his guards to be discovered slouching on duty was a lazy womanizer named Bertram, who spent more time chasing his own pleasures than standing guard. He was last seen being dragged into Drax's dungeons, where his court physicians lived and worked. His cries for mercy were cut short by the closing of the heavy metal door.
He never came out again.
At first, most of Drax's men assumed he was dead.
But months later, one of the other soldiers returned from a tax collecting trip to a distant province with an odd tale to tell. He was there when a large wench wandered into a village, wearing a simple peasant dress. Its deep bodice clearly showed her huge well-shaped bosom as it bounced and swayed with every step, and her long black hair twisted and curled all the way down to her bountiful hips. She seemed dazed and confused, and kept touching parts of her in apparent disbelief, her bright green eyes wide with surprise
When she reached the village inn, she begged for help. Although shy at first, she finally began to speak, and insisted that she wasn't what she seemed. But every time she tried to tell everyone what had happened to her, some man's wandering hand would touch her, making her nearly swoon with pleasure. With each rough caress, she would forget what it was she had been about to say. Being the only woman in an inn full of men, she was touched quite often, and by the time the seventh man squeezed her bottom and buried his face between her breasts, she gladly agreed with the innkeeper's wish to call her "Betty." Finally, after the eighth man delivered a long kiss that pinned her to the bar while his fingers explored, she happily agreed to work there in exchange for a room, in a voice that was little more than a breathless, lisping squeak.
After a few days, it seemed pretty clear she would spend the rest of her days in that tiny inn, serving drinks on her feet -- and men on her back.
A tame story, some would say. And indeed, some did.
Until the guard telling the story swore on his honor that, as he rode away from the village, he realized that the girl had Bertram's eyes. And when she had looked at him in the bar, 'Bouncing Betty' had turned away in shame, although there was no call for it as far as he could see at the time. She was just a lusty wench, after all.
The other guards thought the story nothing more than a fanciful tale, until Lord Drax's latest "conquest" was unveiled to the court after his successful invasion of Northumberland. Once it was common knowledge that Lord Tristan had become a winsome lass named Trisha, every guard stood straight and tall and NEVER shirked his duty.
Because a ghost named Betty haunted their nights, and made their manhood shrivel at the thought of how close any of them had come to her fate.
Melinde rushed carefully down to the towers steps and ran to the kitchen. Maude and Cook were waiting for her, anxious for news of their lord and master.
"How is the prince?" Maude whispered, taking the trembling girl in her arms.
"He's a princess now, full and true," Mel replied, her voice shaking. "His manhood traded for a woman's charms, his ... her hips full and round, and her bosom ... nay, tis true. Tis bigger than mine." Both women gasped, but Mel held up a hand. "She is a rare beauty, as pretty as Reginald was handsome. But for all that, the heart of a lion remains within her. Although weakened, she still has battles left to fight."
"Battles?" Cook said, confused. "Goodness, child, what can you mean?"
"You have seen that girl, Brina, that kneels at Drax's feet?" Cook nodded. "She once was Lord Brian of Duncaster, and now serves as Drax's 'pet.' Now Regina is to meet the same fate, twisted into some pale shadow of womanhood as a plaything for the usurper."
Maude wrung her hands, desolate. "Oh, the poor boy!"
Mel sat at the worktable, and motioned both women to sit across from her.
"Tonight, she surrendered to the most foul demands of Lord Drax ..." Mel paused as a chill ran over her body, and she felt a tear fall. "She ... did what Drax asked, to save my life, since the evil lord discovered how much I meant to Regina, and she to me."
Melinde looked up into Maude's eyes, and found a fire to match her own. "But it is all supposed to be just a tactical feint in an odd game of war, to lull Drax into thinking he has tamed Regina ... without Regina losing herself to him."
"Can the master hold true to who he — she is?" Cook's fear was evident.
"At first, yes," Melinde spoke with a sureness both women felt. "Reginald's will has always been strong, and Regina's will is no less so. But this ... transformation has hurt him terribly. Drax has taken from him his kingdom, his life, his future, and his sex. Now the demon works to take Regina's pride and honor as well. This may be the hardest battle she has ever fought, and I fear if it goes on too long, she may be lost."
Maude clasped her hands together. "What can we do to help?"
As the daughter of King Stephen's most brilliant general and strategist, Melinde had more of an understanding of war and rebellion than most women of her time. As she thought for a moment, she began to smile. "Pass the word to all the servants in the castle," she said, "and any nobles we know we can trust for sure. Have Regina's tale spread across the land, but quietly. Let her people know what has happened to their prince, and tell of the sacrifices he makes to save the life of one of his subjects. We shall build support for the trials of the new princess, and let the people know we are not beaten."
She paused as a new idea slipped into her mind, and she latched onto it and spoke again. "Tell all of King Stephen's subjects to make the invaders believe we are defeated, just as Regina plans to do with Drax himself. Tell them we will win with stealth what we lost in arms, but to stay vigilant and prepare themselves. When the time is right, they will be called to act. Then we will have our lands again, and Drax will be destroyed."
Both women saw the determination in Melinde's eyes, and nodded solemnly. After a time, Maude spoke thoughtfully. "There is no love for Drax in our kingdom. None at all. If his guards were not everywhere, the people would have risen long before now. But to fight such a large, cruel force ... it is too hard to even think about."
"Indeed, wicked hard it is, when you feel you are alone," Mel agreed. "But together, and well-led, nothing is impossible."
"But how can we bring them together?" Cook said softly, clearly frustrated. "The kingdom is huge! And who will lead them to victory, if we do?"
Melinde's eyes narrowed, and without a word she rose and walked across the kitchen. From a cubby near the vegetable bins, she drew parchment, quill, and ink she had hidden weeks before.
"As I said, what we lost in arms, we will win with stealth." She sat at the table and began to write. "And I know just the man to lead us all ... if he is willing."
Regina woke the next morning to find Melinde standing by the fire, stoking it up to bring warmth into her tower room. Watching her there, bent over the metal brasier, the princess cherished her as a friend and a lover. Tracing the curve of her hip through the peasant dress, she remembered Mel's kiss from yesterday, and her mind drifted back to the happy times before this nightmare began. Many afternoons, the two of them would slip away from tutors and chaperones, meeting in fields and stables to join in blissful union. Regina thought about how they delighted in the true pleasure of lust and love combined, and shivered all over in remembered desire.
But where proud flesh once grew straight and tall, she felt only a small itch and an odd heat inside her, bringing forth a dampness that seemed to make her nether lips swell and part. Her nipples plumped and rose as well, becoming so sensitive that the fabric of the blanket against them sent small waves of pleasure rolling through her slight frame.
'Although she inflames my desires still,' Regina thought sadly, 'I have nothing with which to please her anymore. And my hopes for our future are dashed. For surely she would not choose another woman as her partner ... as her mate.'
The tears began to fall.
Mel turned and saw that Regina was awake. Then she noticed her tears, and rushed to her side.
"Are you in pain, Beloved?" She knelt beside the bed and took the princess's hand.
"Only in my heart, sweet," Regina replied, her new soft high voice trembling with sorrow. "You are so lovely, and still fill me with need. But I cannot hope to be your husband now ... not with my manhood so cruelly twisted and my body a mere shadow of your own." She turned her head away. "Even if this form still pleased you, I have no way to show you the depth of my love, or to bring you the pleasure you deserve -- the pleasure only the touch of a man can bring. And why would you ever choose to wed another woman?"
Mel touched her chin and turned Regina's face towards her. "I choose to wed the love of my life, dear one. Your body is but a shell that holds the one soul in all the world that matches mine." Mel gently traced Regina's curves beneath the blankets. "As for finding your new shape pleasing, I know I could love the ugliest oaf in the kingdom if your soul resided within his hulkish frame. Why should I not love you now, in a form as beautiful as this?"
"But ... but I am a woman now!" The princess was embarrassed to feel her lip trembling.
"As am I, dear one," Mel replied, gently brushing stray hairs from the young girl's forehead. "Why should you doubt my love?"
"I would never doubt you, dearest," Regina whispered. "But as I am ... as you are ... how can I bring you the pleasure you deserve, when my parts ... when I am ... when I seem as much a woman as my love?"
Melinde looked down at the girl her beloved had become. She looked past all that had been done, and saw the man she once loved, grieving for her lost manhood and hurting ... because she could not please the woman she loved more than life itself. She needed to show Regina that all was not hopeless. The princess needed to see that there could be a life with her beloved once Drax had been overthrown.
But Mel had never been attracted to another woman before.
'Can I do this?' Her face remained unchanged but her heart was in turmoil. 'I have never loved a woman before the way I love this man. But my man, my heart's true love ... he I was destined to wed ... is a woman now. Can I want him as much as he still wants me? Can I truly burn for a woman's body as I once did for Reginald?'
Mel remembered the day after her first time of blood had finally ceased, when she had discovered the pleasure she could bring forth in her own body with just a touch and a fantasy. Her mind went back to yesterday's kiss, and how her desires rose and overcame the feeling of soft lips on hers, and another bosom pressed tightly to her own. It didn't feel strange. It felt right. In a matter of seconds, everything became very clear to Melinde, and her resolve strengthened as she realized the truth. She smiled.
'My love is as strong as it ever was,' she thought proudly. 'Stronger, because I know how much it hurts her to surrender to Drax to preserve me. In that sacrifice is a proof of a fire that will burn forever, in both of our souls. Love is love and pleasure is pleasure, man or woman it matters not. Of that, I am certain. Regardless of the bodies we wear, we are one -- still and always.'
"Beloved," Melinde said softly. "One heart, one soul we share, and so it shall remain. We shall never part, for I know beneath that woman's shape is the man I love. No matter what may happen, no matter what our future holds, I am yours, and you are mine, and that will never change." She rose to her feet and pulled the kerchief from her head. She untied the bow that held the top of her dress closed. Slipping it from her shoulders, she let it fall down past her hips and rest on the hard floor. Finally, she slowly removed the soft undergarments she had worn beneath. When Mel stood naked beside the bed. Regina's eyes widened.
"And as for pleasing me ... for pleasing each other," she whispered, peeling back the covers and sliding in beside the astonished girl. "Let me show some things I learned when I first became a woman. Let me pleasure you ... so you can see how to please me, in turn."
Melinde wrapped herself around her mate and kissed her with every ounce of love her frame could hold. Breast to breast, skin to skin, Regina felt that love surround her, and her sorrow slipped away on the tides of passion that rose within her ... passion that echoed in her mate's heart as well. Mel moved her lips back, breathing heavily, and spoke only a hair's breadth distant from the lips of her beloved.
"Let me show you how to bring me pleasure," she whispered, "as only another woman can."
"It's a travesty, I tell you! How's a man supposed to steal an honest living?"
In the front rooms of the Thieving Magpie, Slocum's largest inn, breakfast was being served to what appeared to be a group of traveling men, peddlers, ladies of the night, and wayward workers -- all seeking their fortune, traveling from town to town. In reality, this was the first full meeting of the kingdom's Thieves Guild since Drax had invaded and conquered the land.
Out in the street, carefully hidden apprentices watched every approach, alert to the danger of discovery by Drax's soldiers. At the first sign of an official presence, the meeting would adjourn and dissolve back into a group of strangers, sharing an awkward morning repast.
But for now, it was still a meeting of the Thieves Guild. And the guild members were NOT happy.
"This Drax monster has no liking for the art, that's for sure," one of the women piped up. Polly was one of the best pickpockets and cutpurses in the kingdom. Her ample bosom provided all the distraction she needed. "Unless it's him that's doin' the stealin'. He's a bigger thief than any of us. He took the entire kingdom!"
Roger, a highwayman from the far reaches, shouted agreement. "Polly's right! Say what you want about King Stephen, but he was always fair and honest -- to a fault, God rest his soul. Made it a right pleasure to steal from his tax men. And them was all fair folk as well. There was that bunch out Sussex way. Robbed 'em regular as clockwork, I did, even although they tried their best to stop me. Always ended well. And not a hair harmed on either side, ever."
The whole group spoke in unison. "Take nothing but goods and coin. Let no blood be spilled or lives be lost."
"Exactly!" Sally, a grown woman the size and shape of a small child piped up. She sometimes worked an orphan con that put her in a noble's house and put his valuables in her sack before a night was done. "That's Guild law! That's what makes it an art, don't it? Any oaf can smash 'n grab. Takes a right artist to do 'em without a scratch, 'n leave 'em wondering what's what. Got to have talent to hurt nuffin but their pride while you pad your own purse."
Roger's anger rose, and he slammed his tankard on the table. "Tis a foul blow," he shouted, rising to his feet. "We're masters of the craft, we are, being baited by common ruffians in armor, working for that ... that madman in the castle. Taking everything before we get there, killin' anyone who says 'boo' to stop 'em."
The crowd roared, and Tobias let them. He was a tall, well-muscled man, with pale blue eyes and long brown hair that fell in a tumble of curls down over his broad shoulders. Many a victim had been beguiled by his easy smile into parting with their fortune before they knew they had been tricked. Well liked by everyone he met, Tobias was an easy choice to lead the Guild, and rose through the ranks with a speed others would have found frightening, had his charm not won them over before he even thought to rise.
As Guild Master, he could have quieted the room with just a word, but Tobias knew they needed to let their anger out before it consumed them all. With Drax's invasion, the kingdom -- their "patch" -- had been taken and defiled by heavy-handed thugs in his service. It left them nothing but rage, and no way to express it.
Still, it went against Guild tradition to meddle in politics, warfare, or diplomacy. Most guild members felt such pursuits to be beneath them, since above all, they served the craft -- and the craft could be served anywhere there were riches, regardless of who ruled.
Or so they had thought, until Lord Drax conquered ... and stayed.
Tobias sighed, and rubbed his temples. 'The people hated the new regime,' he thought savagely. 'If King Stephen had managed to escape, there might have been a chance to end this tyranny quickly, and the guild could have gone back to its business. Even now, if Prince Reginald were alive, there would be hope of an insurrection.'
But no word had come from the castle concerning his fate. Of course there were rumors, but nothing definite, and some almost impossible to believe. But imprisoned or dead, Reginald could not lead the people to victory. And his fair cousin Melinde, betrothed to Reginald, remained missing as well, which vexed him no end. To say he was worried was an understatement, since Drax's reputation regarding the treatment of the noblewomen he captured was both horrible and all too justified. He had almost made up his mind to use his skills to slip into the castle himself and search for her, but he worried that she might be working on some scheme of her own to unseat the usurper, and was loathe to do anything that could bring ruin to her plans.
Tobias was sure Mel knew she could count on him for help, but it had been six weeks since Drax's invasion, and no word had arrived requesting his aid. So when a sealed piece of parchment was delivered discreetly to his hand in the midst of the uproar, his heart rose when he recognized her handwriting, and he devoured the contents of the missive as if it were the key to finding a treasure he had lost -- which, indeed, it was. He loved his cousin dearly, as much for her lack of disapproval at his chosen profession as for her winsome smile and gentle ways.
'She would have made a fine thief,' he mused with a sense of pride as he worked his way through her letter eagerly. 'Hiding under Drax's nose for weeks as a maid. Brilliant! Should have figured the idiot would discount the servants as nothing more than cogs in some machine, meant to serve only him. It's almost as if the world exists for him and him alone -- that nothing has meaning except as it relates to him.'
As Melinde's words spilled forth from the pages, Tobias read that the rumors were true! Reginald was alive, held captive and transformed ... into a woman??? ... by Drax's foul hand. He could scarcely credit that last part, but Mel had always spoken true to him in the past, and there was no reason to doubt her now. Reginald was alive.
He froze. 'Reginald WAS alive,' he thought fiercely. 'Bent and twisted in both mind and body, but alive. With a live royal, there was more than a chance. There was hope.'
'There was a way.'
Tobias thought for a moment, then sighed. 'There is a way, but it won't be easy,' he thought. 'Best do it now, and strike while their anger still holds sway.'
The guild leader rose to his feet, throwing back his chair and startling everyone in the inn's great room. All eyes turned to him, and he looked upon his people, and his eyes were like stone.
"Drax is a thief," he declared. Everyone murmured agreement. "We're all agreed, then. He's one of us." This drew confused looks from some of the more ardent opponents of the despot. "Granted, stealing a kingdom is a grand caper. IF you play by the rules."
Tobias allowed his expression to darken, and his tone fairly growled his displeasure. "But he hasn't, has he? He hasn't played by the rules at all. In fact, Drax broke our most hallowed law ... and we stood by and let him do it!" There were cries of outrage from the crowd, and Tobias raised his voice in reply. "It's true! He crossed a line he should never have crossed, and we let him! Because he stole more than just a kingdom, didn't he? More than just peasants and nobles and lands and a crown."
The crowd fell silent. Tobias looked at them all, and let his anger roar out into the room.
"HE ... STOLE ... OUR ... PATCH!"
His words echoed in a room stunned into silence.
'Worse yet, we LET him steal it! We stood aside like a bunch of ... apprentices ..." The word dripped scorn ... "and we let him take what was ours, right out from under us!"
"If any other thief were to try to take what's ours, would we let him?"
The crowd looked at each other, then at Tobias, and shook their heads.
"Would we let him?" he shouted, and a few of the others said, "no!"
"Would we?" he bellowed, and the guild replied with a shout that shook the building.
"NO!"
"THAT's what I wanted to hear," Tobias laughed, slamming his fist down on the table. The he grew quiet, and leaned forward.
"So he's got our patch, and we want it back. But now that he's got it, like any good thief, he wants to keep it, right?" A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd. "So he's got walls and locks and guards and weapons and armies to keep him and what he stole safe and sound. Or so he thinks."
"Because what he doesn't have," Tobias said with a smile, "and what he can't protect against ... is us. We're artists, we are. Not heavy-handed thugs like Drax and his armored goons. We've got the skills he never had and never even dreamed he needed ... and by all that's holy, we're going to steal our patch back!"
A lone voice piped up form the back of the room. "Looking to be a king, now, Toby?"
Tobias smiled wider. He knew that question was coming.
"What need of I for a kingdom? I have our patch -- or at least I DID, until Drax took it! And here, with all of you, I am MORE than a king! I am a Guild Master ... the leader of equals, not one for crowns and thrones!! Why in the world would I want to be a king? Although to be fair to kings, it must be said that King Stephen did a magnificent job keeping our patch safe ... until Drax took his life." Everyone bowed their heads briefly in respect.
Tobias looked around the room. "You might wonder ... if Tobias is too smart to want to be a king ..." The members laughed again, and the Guild Master smiled. "... then who will protect our patch now that Stephen is gone? The answer is here, my friends. This letter ..." He waved it over his head. "... tells me that his son, Prince Reginald, is still alive, and even now being held prisoner in the castle!"
An explosion of noise erupted from the assembled thieves, and Tobias raised his voice once more. "He's alive! But he's not quite the man he once was." Silence. Tobias let some anger slip into his voice once again. "Drax once again broke our rules, in OUR patch. He stole what he should not ... could not ... DARE not! Through some vile surgery and terrible medicine from the far East, he has stolen Reginald's very sex." The room fell to a hush. Tobias leaned forward. "He's turned our prince ... into a woman!"
Stunned silence. Into the vacuum, Tobias spoke.
"Drax has taken everything from us. And now he's taken everything from Reginald ... his kingdom, his manhood ... his life." More silence. "You all know the law. OUR law. 'Take nothing but goods and coin. 'Let no blood be spilled or lives be lost.' This is our patch, and that is our law. But blood has been spilled, and lives have been lost -- or taken. By DRAX!"
Tobias slammed his fists into the table.
"Enough!" he roared at the others. "We are NOT farmers or merchants, to be frightened by armored soldiers, or cheated by an honorless noble who takes what he wants through force of arms! We are THIEVES! The best of the best! No walls can stop us! No doors can delay us! Stealth is our armor, silence is our sword -- and this ... this is OUR PATCH! Drax took what was ours ... and we let him. Now it's time we did a little taking of our own! It's time we took our patch ... back!"
Tobias took a deep breath, and spoke in a normal tone of voice. "I do so submit. What say you all?"
The low rumbling of conversation filled the room as the members debated among themselves. Tobias stood there and let them talk. He'd put a motion to the assembly, and he'd done the best he could to sell it. Now it was their turn to sort it out.
He just prayed he'd presented his case well enough.
A few moment later, the sounds of debate wound down. A single figure rose at the back of the room -- Willoughby, the Guild's oldest member. He looked up at Tobias, and his face broke into a smile.
"In a kingdom trapped under a tyrant's heel," he said, "it would be a fine caper to be one of them that steals the boots out from under him. We're with you, Guild Master. Let's rob him blind!"
Murmurs of agreement turned to cheers, and Tobias settled into his seat with a grin. 'Now,' he thought happily, 'now the fun begins.'
'Now we take back what's ours, and save my cousin, the prince ... and the kingdom.'
'If we can.'
As Melinde's message spread throughout the land, the people were shocked and angered at what they heard. After hearing the tale of King Stephen's ignoble death at Drax's hands, and the usurper's transformations of royals in far away kingdoms, everyone was quite ready to believe what had been done to their beloved prince. No one blamed Reginald for pretending to submit, to protect the woman he loved. But a fire still blazed beneath the outward calm displayed by King Stephen's subjects, fueled by rage over the humiliations heaped upon their captured prince, and Drax's name was cursed and cursed again from the northern mountains to the southern shores.
But it was cursed quietly. The silent war of surrender had begun.
Melinde's instructions to the people were clear, and easily obeyed. Over time, stubborn resistance slowly became grudging cooperation, although everyone in every town gave each other a wink and a nod every time an order was obeyed. It became a sort of game for the townsfolk and their rural kin, to pretend to aid the invaders at every turn, while undermining Drax's minions whenever they could do so without revealing their true intent.
As a result, the fear of open rebellion eased, and the death rate fell dramatically. Drax's men began feeling more at ease among King Stephen's people. The guards in the outlying regions grew almost lazy, and the people there did nothing to make them think they had any reason to be concerned.
Still, deep into the night across the kingdom, blacksmiths kept their forges lit, and made swords and spears from broken plows and worn horseshoes. Farmers learned the art of crafting bows and making arrows, holding target practice in the largest barns to avoid unwanted discovery. Everyone made ready for the battle they knew was yet to come.
But for some, it was hard to think of the kingdom's future, as they mourned their losses in their own way.
Melinde stood behind the captured princess, and looked at her beloved's reflection with a critical eye. Regina, on the other hand, did everything she could to avoid looking in the mirror at all. She shifted uneasily in her high-heeled sandals and tossed her head, but her chest shifted and bounced in reply, and that only made her more uncomfortable. Looking past her quivering bosom, she saw her hands with their thin fingers resting uncomfortably on curves she didn't possess six weeks ago. She sighed. 'Everything IS different,' she thought, 'and I would be a fool's fool not to admit it to myself.' Squaring her shoulders, she turned to face the glass. Anything else would be cowardly, and that was a mantle she was not ready to accept.
The dress was the same one they had both seen on Briana, formerly Lord Brian of Duncaster and Drax's current pet. There were four more identical dresses in a wardrobe in the corner. Apparently, it was the uniform worn by all of his lordship's "conquests," with a deep scoop neck that revealed too much of Regina's rounded flesh for her to ever feel comfortable wearing it. The skirts were thick and full, giving the illusion of coverage, but they were also slit up the side almost to the waist. There were no undergarments, making access to Regina's "charms" easier for her new owner. And with every movement, the reluctant princess clearly felt the emptiness between her legs.
To Regina, the dress felt like another badge signifying a status she didn't want, and a future she would have done anything to avoid.
Anything, that is, except hurt Melinde.
Her golden hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back, and her makeup was so skillfully applied that only she and her beloved could tell it was there. Regina licked at her lips with the tip of her tongue, tasting the unfamiliar paint that gave his mouth a plump, pouty shape. Melinde gave her lover's now shapely bottom a hard slap, startling her enough to make her turn with a frown.
"It's to look at, not to taste, dear one," Mel said sternly. "If you lick it off, I'll just have to put more on. And Drax loves his pets to be ... painted." Regina turned back to the mirror and sighed again. Mel put her hand on the other girl's shoulder.
"You are beautiful, you know," she whispered.
Regina nodded, and her lip trembled. "I know," she replied, her voice shaking. "It almost makes this worse."
"Oh? Would you rather he made you an ugly hag? With warts and a hump, all scaly and hideous? Or maybe a juicy wench with a bosom so large you would need both hands to hold it up, and never see your feet again! Would that have been better?" Mel's voice held the tiniest tease, and Regina smiled.
"It would not matter, beloved." She reached up and put her hand on Melinde's, then squeezed. "You would not have loved me less, in either case."
"True, milady." Mel's lip twitched. "But at least now I have something pretty to look at ... when we aren't 'playing.'"
Regina laughed aloud, and was startled to hear a high-pitched giggle in place of the laugh she remembered. Mel raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"More of those tricks Drax's 'healers' played on your mind while you slept," she said. "I would imagine your old laugh would hardly be 'appropriate' for a pet. Not that I can see anything to laugh about in this situation ... except maybe for Drax himself." Regina looked at her, curious, and Mel shrugged. "Why do you think he does what he did to you? Because no woman born would ever want him, so he has to make his own!"
They both laughed this time, and Regina turned to face her lady with a smile on her lips.
"You saved me, my Melinde." She looked into Mel's eyes. "Without you, I --"
"Without me, you would have done just fine, sweet," Mel said, blushing as she looked away. The princess touched her chin, and she turned back to face her beloved once more.
"Without you," Regina said firmly, "I would be dead. I would have awakened into this nightmare and done my level best to kill the tyrant. Maybe I would have succeeded, but more likely I would have failed, and died."
She looked off into the distance for a moment, then smiled wistfully. "Remember when we were first betrothed, so long ago? When we decided we couldn't wait and snuck off to Brother Maynard's chapel? We bid him marry us in secret when we were children, and he smiled and delivered a pretend ceremony that filled us both with sobering thoughts of duty and responsibility. Being so young, I could scarcely imagine what marriage truly meant, or what my duties as a husband would be ... beyond keeping you safe and slaying any dragons that should show an interest." Melinde smiled as well. "Now I know what marriage truly means. But since my manhood was taken, it seems the duty of a husband falls more on you than I, since you have worked so hard to protect me and keep me whole."
"As you protect me, my love. Every time you surrender to his will, I live another day."
Regina shook her head. "You could have run, my angel, any time since this began. But you choose to stay. Every day, you save me from the consequences of my own despair, and I will not forget. My love for you, and yours for me, has given me time, and a chance to hope."
"And hope you should, highness," Melinde replied. She leaned closer and whispered. "I have sent for aid, from an unlikely source, but a trustworthy one. I did not tell you sooner for fear of raising false hope. But I have received a response, and if you can but hold until help arrives, we may yet bring this nightmare to an end."
"Too late for me, I'm afraid." Regina's smile held a touch of sadness. "As strong as our love is, I will miss the family we can never have. Always, after we lay together ... once our passions had been spent, I used to lie there with you in my arms and imagine the beautiful children we would bring into the world one day. A daughter and a son for us to love and raise. Happy and strong, and clever. I could almost see them in my mind's eye. Now, that's all they will ever be. Just an idle dream." A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Melinde squeezed her hand. "Now, now, beloved. Brave heart, remember? Let us not mourn the passing of dreams while the battle still rages, yes? Now the training starts in earnest, and you must be ready to hold fast to who you truly are, while letting him think you are defeated."
Regina nodded and held her face forward so Melinde could fix the makeup on her cheek, damaged by her tear. As the mid-morning bells began to ring, Mel took her place beside her princess, and both knelt on the floor and waited for Drax to arrive.
"Hold fast," Melinde whispered. "Help is on the way."
Then the door swung open, and Regina's hell began anew.
Neville, Lord Nesbitt, Earl of Durham, Protector of the Crown, and chief military strategist to the court of King Stephen, sat in the darkest corner of the Jester's Head pub and did his very best to remain invisible.
It wasn't easy. He was a large man, dressed in hunter's greens and browns with a tall staff and a bow and quiver holding up the wall behind him. Neville was not easy to ignore, but the sword and dagger strapped to his belt clearly told others he was not to be disturbed lightly. Those who lived in this particular town learned long ago that the best fences are made with cold steel.
Especially when that steel hangs from the waist of a man who knows how to use it.
Lord Nesbitt felt reasonably safe, although he had been a soldier long enough to know that no one is ever safe behind enemy lines. 'And that's what this inn has become,' he told himself with a sigh. 'Just another outpost behind the lines of an enemy -- an enemy too powerful to fight, and too repulsive to ignore.'
Still, danger is a relative thing. The people who needed to find him -- the people he trusted -- knew exactly where he was, and the people he hoped to avoid (and eventually kill) thought he was hundreds of miles away in another kingdom. As long as he could keep things relatively quiet, he and the five other nobles who had managed to slip past Drax's impossible armies could plot to retake the kingdom, and toss Drax from the highest tower they could find.
Of course, his troops were outnumbered ten to one, hidden in the north forests awaiting his commands. And Neville still could not think of a way to get his armies across the entire kingdom without anyone noticing. Even in groups of two or three, armed and armored men would certainly be noticed by Drax's patrols, and how much of his armies would remain intact in time to storm King Stephen's castle remained to be seen.
Not that he held out much hope of getting past its walls unscathed. He had helped design those defenses at Stephen's request, and they were pretty much impregnable. Drax overcame them through sheer numbers, but Neville could not use the same tactics, since he had no men to spare.
To have his own defenses turned against him this way burned in his gut like a blacksmith's tongs. And his daughter's disappearance at the time of Drax's arrival only fed the fire more. Neville doted upon her as any father would, and had hoped she and Reginald would finally have wed as had been planned since their betrothal.
'Months have passed, and still no word of her,' he thought again. 'Is she safe? Where could she be?'
"Ooooo, aren't you a big one!" A soft and decidedly female voice purred in his ear, as arms wraped around him from behind.
He started and half turned, but stopped when he felt two large soft breasts pressing down between his shoulder blades. 'Damn, she's quiet,' he thought, cursing himself for his preoccupation. 'How in all that's holy did she get so close?'
"Jumpy, too," the voice continued, with a bit of a smile in its tone. "You'd think you'd never been chased by a woman before, and I just can't believe that's true. Not a handsome gentleman like yourself."
The woman moved around the table, hips making her long skirt dance, and took the seat in front of him with a quiet grace. 'She might be a wench,' Neville mused, 'but she carries herself well.' It seemed as if she was used to having men look at her, and Neville had to admit that there was much there to admire. She was big but shapely, with her full bosom and the curve of her hips promising a night of pleasure in a warm bed. Her long red hair framed a pretty face, and her eyes seemed filled with laughter, as if she found life itself to be a joyful experience. As she slid into her chair, she raised her strong chin with a defiant jerk, as if daring anyone to put out the fire in her heart.
"I'm sorry, miss," Neville murmured, taking his tankard in hand and raising it to his lips. "I'm a married man, not looking for a tumble. You should move on and find another. I'm hardly fit company this evening in any case."
"Oh, I think you'll be interested in what I'm selling," she whispered, putting her hand on his. "Like the whereabouts of your lovely daughter, and what's really going on in King Stephen's castle. And what you might be able to do with those armies of yours ... the ones freezing in the north woods?"
He froze, and the woman looked into his eyes. "The price is a few moments of your time, Lord Nesbitt. I'll even let you keep your dagger and sword, so you can keep your virtue safe from a wicked wench like me. Now smile and nod, and take my hand. There's a room upstairs where we can be alone."
Neville smiled, and nodded, and they both rose together. The locals were surprised that anyone could get through to the dark hunter who never seemed to leave his table, but they hoped the redheaded trollop would raise his spirits at least. Dangerous men wearing scowls and nursing quiet rages often just needed a woman's touch, or so the common wisdom went. Of course, just getting the fellow out of the common room was a step in the right direction, and everyone there breathed a little easier as the two climbed the stairs and disappeared.
There was already a fire lit in the woman's room, and once they were in, she asked Neville to lock the door behind him. As he slid the bolt home, he heard a familiar voice come from behind him.
"Good to see you again, Uncle." Lord Nesbitt spun around with his dagger drawn to see the woman remove her long hair and wipe the paint from his lips. Tobias smiled and dropped the wig upon a small table near the fire. "It's been a while."
"After you broke my brother's heart, I never thought you would have the nerve to speak to me again," Neville hissed, his eyes narrowing. "What's your business with me, thief?"
"Just what I told you," Tobias said, meeting his uncle's eyes without fear. "I've heard from Melinde, and she sends her love."
"And why should I believe you?" Neville snarled, his dagger still raised.
"Because I care for her as much as you do, oh 'protector of the crown,'" the Guild Master replied, ignoring the blade, "and I was worried sick about her safety, just as you have been, until I heard from her a few weeks back."
Neville's jaw dropped, but his astonishment quickly turned to rage. "You've known for weeks that my girl was safe, and you just let me hang? By God, Tobias, I should --"
"You," he said, pointing a finger at the red-faced noble, "should put down that knife and behave like a gentleman. You have been sitting here for a month in this godforsaken inn, trying to figure out how to move an army unseen through a hostile countryside -- and you haven't lifted a finger to find your 'girl.' So be very careful throwing angry words at the bearer of good tidings, Uncle. Or I won't tell you anything more ... and you really need to know."
Realizing the truth behind his words, Neville slowly brought his temper under control and lowered his dagger. Tobias nodded once, abandoning his perfectly feminine posture and slumping into a chair against the wall with his legs spread. Lord Nesbitt watched as Tobias's bosom bounced provocatively, and his confusion mounted as his nephew saw him watching and threw him a smile.
"I must admit it worked pretty well," he said, as Neville quickly averted his eyes. "Although I didn't have a clue what I'd do if you really wanted a tumble. This disguise only goes so far. And besides, I'm not that kind of wench."
"What ... how ...?"
"A thief's success is often a matter of stealth or misdirection, Lord Nesbitt. You would be surprised what a man can do with sheep's bladders, grain, horsehair, paints, dyes, and a little attitude." Tobias took a sip from a tankard he lifted from the floor next to his chair. "Or maybe you wouldn't ... now."
There was a long silence, and Tobias sighed.
"Melinde is still inside King Stephen's castle, pretending to be a maid to avoid discovery by Lord Drax. Since Drax never pays attention to the servants anyway, she could have hidden there for a thousand years as long as the food remained good, his clothes stayed clean, and his chamber pots stayed empty. Unfortunately, she caught Drax's eye for a different reason, and now her life is in danger every day."
"Why?" Nevile growled. "Why is she in danger?"
"Because she is held hostage for the prince's good behavior." Tobias too a deep breath. "The rumors you must have heard are true. Melinde confirmed them. Reginald has indeed been transformed into a woman by a band of healers Drax's emissaries brought back from the East. She is a rare beauty, too, if Melinde's opinion counts. Drax is trying to break 'Regina's' will and turn her into some kind of perverse pet, and he's threatening Mel's life every day to force the former prince to submit." Neville sat up straight and gasped. Tobias leaned forward. "I've never met the ... 'princess' myself, but I've always believed anyone's will can be broken if you push hard enough. And it seems to me that counting on Drax for restraint is never a safe bet. We need to rescue them both, and soon."
Neville snorted, and shook his head. "And how do you suggest we do that, thief?"
"It's funny you should ask." Tobias smiled. "Since none of us can practice our art while Drax remains on Stephen's throne, the Thieves Guild has decided to break with centuries of tradition and help you nobles take back the kingdom."
"Help?" Lord Nesbitt snorted, and shook his head. "How could the likes of you help us?"
"With information, for example. Thieves see all manner of things they shouldn't, and learn all sorts of things nobles wish they didn't know. Like the presence of an uncomfortable number of men-at-arms camping out in the north woods, living on cold meats and colder ale since they dare not light a fire."
"And then, of course, you already know what other services we can provide, milord," Tobias purred in his most feminine voice, before dropping back down into his normal tones. "You've seen it yourself, tonight. Stealth and misdirection, Uncle. Thieves are very good at making people not see them at all ... or making them see what we want them to see." He gestured with his tankard towards the wig. "You saw the hair, the curves, and the attitudes, and took me for a trollop. But I could easily have been a farmer's wife. A serving wench. A beggar woman."
Tobias leaned forward. "Or a maid in Drax's castle."
Neville's eyes widened,and his nephew nodded. "Women move from town to town throughout the kingdom, every day. Many with husbands and families, or as servants for merchants. We can help you put your army wherever you need them to be, 'protector.' All we need is your hand, and an agreement not to try and hold any of us once this is over."
"A tempting offer," Lord Nesbitt conceded. "But why should we trust you?"
"Because your choices are limited," the Guild Master shot back. "Because the enemy of your enemy is your friend. And because trusting us is certainly better than sitting here day after day waiting for inspiration to crawl out of a tankard of mead. Especially with Melinde and Regina still in danger." Tobias rose to his feet. "We lose time every moment we sit here, Uncle. Join forces with me, and we can take back what is ours ... before there's nothing left to take."
Lord Nesbitt thought for a moment, then stood and grasped Tobias's hand.
"Agreed, nephew. A truce, for now. But if you betray us, you will die by my hand. This I swear."
Tobias laughed. "Same old Uncle. Always threatening to kill me."
Regina swallowed with her mouth still full of Drax's pulsing manhood. It was a skill she had perfected in the weeks since she had awakened ... like this. His juices slid down her throat, and she shuddered with thinly veiled disgust. Her eyes were closed, but a single image was never far from her inner sight -- Melinde, her true love, with a dagger held a hair's breadth from her throat. As Drax's flesh grew soft at last, she let him slip from between her lips and bowed her head.
The taste of him permeated her mouth and clung to the back of her throat, but Regina remained submissively at his feet. Her knees were protected from the stone floor only by the many layers of fabric in the pale blue gown she wore, and her wide hips rested on her heels. Her hands were clasped in front of her. The golden collar Drax had forced upon her reflected the flickering torchlight, as well as the fire in her heart. She waited patiently, always, for Melinde's sake. But deep inside, she held tightly to an anger and hatred that strengthened her resolve. 'There will come a time,' it whispered. 'There will come a time.'
Every night, a new indignity. Every night, another visit from Drax. Every part of her body violated, over and over again. Made to beg for his touch, for his seed, to offer herself to him, to spread her legs and plead for him to fill her. And each time, Melinde's life held forfeit, to ensure that Regina's surrender would be complete, her humiliation made willingly.
But still, the voice remained.
'There will come a time.'
Justice would come, she knew. Vengeance would come. But until then, the wolf would pace in silence. To save Melinde, Regina would play the sheep. For now.
Until the prey forgot the teeth and claws that hid beneath the fleece. And that would be his first ... and last ... mistake.
"Did this girl please you, Master?" she said softly, eyes down, waiting for the affirmation that she had done her duty well, and that Melinde would be released.
There was a long pause -- much longer than it had ever been. Then he heard Drax's voice from above.
"No, pet. You did not."
Regina swallowed, and still did not look up. Melinde was still in danger, and Drax was too erratic for her to take his responses for granted.
"How did this girl fail you, that she might do better?" she asked, her voice trembling a little.
"You do not truly give yourself to me, little one," Drax said, sitting on the bed beside the kneeling woman and resting his hand upon her head. "You have not, since your training began. For all the many wonderful things you have done, for all of the humiliating and degrading pleasures you have provided with your new body, it is only her life that keeps you there, at my feet. You have tried to convince me that you are truly mine, but no matter what I have done to you, part of you still resists me. Without Vincent and his dagger, or your wench's life perched on a knife's edge, you would still fight. Do you think I cannot see it?"
Regina silently cursed her inability to fool the usurper. All of those awful days bending to Drax's will, for nothing. Still, she stayed silent, and continued to be passive.
The usurper begin stroking her head, his rough hands caressing her blonde curls. "She keeps you from becoming mine, little one. Maybe I should kill her. If you still obeyed with her body cold before you, I would know you had truly surrendered to me. As long as she lives, there is doubt."
Regina saw the threat, and tried to think of a way to counter it. 'Get her off the field of battle,' her mind whispered. 'Drax can't kill her if he forgets about her.'
"If you were to send her away, Master, this girl would still do whatever you commanded," she said as sweetly as she could.
"No, pet. Even with her gone, you would still know her life would be forfeit to your obedience, and that threat would keep you docile. You would still submit, but you would not surrender." Drax's hand paused for a moment. Regina could feel him thinking. "I could kill her right now. Then we would know for sure if you were truly mine." She shivered under his fingers, and he laughed. "Ah, but I see that would be a waste. You care about this one too much to ever give yourself to me after that. I would lose you, then, poppet, as well. All this effort wasted, and you would be dead. By my hand, or by your own." He stroked her hair once more, and Regina silently hated that she could not see his face. She heard him sigh.
"I have taken the wrong course with you from the start. I have never had a threat so potent to hold over a pet before, and I thought to use her to hasten your submission. Instead, I gave you a way to submit without surrender -- to play the noble lord sacrificing for his lady love. I do not make such mistakes often. But it would be foolish of me to deny when I have erred."
"Fortunately, I can still have you." Regina felt a chill race through her body, and she could hear the smile in Drax's voice, along with a touch of sadness. "There is another way to break you to my will. I had hoped to avoid using it, because it works too well. It ends the game so quickly. But fair is fair. I spoiled your training before it truly began, and I know now you will not surrender to me any other way. A pity."
Drax ran a finger down Regina's spine, and she shuddered with unwanted pleasure. "You are so sensitive, pet," he purred. "Good. But you were not always so. My healers changed you. Their medicines and needles made you ... feel more. And they can do it again."
He rose to his feet with a final caress for the kneeling princess, and waved a hand at the guard. Vincent tossed Melinde away from him, sheathed his dagger, and walked to the door. As the door swung open, Drax turned and gazed at Regina, head still bowed.
"If my every touch can bring you pleasure undreamed of, or cause you unbearable pain, you will soon be fighting more than my will, little one," he said with a smile. "You will be fighting your own. And that, sadly, is a battle no one can win." His voice became almost tender. "You will be mine, pet. And the game will be over before it had truly begun."
Regina felt a rush of fear run through her body as the door closed. Melinde ran to her side and fell to her knees, wrapping her beloved in her arms as tears fell down the fallen prince's cheeks.
'Another battle lost before it is fought,' Regina thought bitterly. 'He will turn me against myself, make me crave him as much as I hate him. And I can do nothing!'
'How can I defeat myself ... and Drax?'
'And how can I save Melinde?'
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The Hardest Battle, Part 3
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Finally, after a year and a half, Regina's story continues. The former prince awaits her fate, only to find her captor reluctant to end the game. An army uses the most unlikely camouflage to begin a most unusual deployment, and a reluctant general learns how to get in touch with his feminine side.
Sorry about the wait, everyone -- and if you've never seen the story before, go back and read parts one and two first! *grin*
The Hardest Battle, Part 3
by Randalynn
The guard on the road into Harrowshire had noticed more traffic of late, but he did not give it much thought, except to note that it made his job much more interesting. After all, he mused, having folks to question and bully was a far sight better than just staring at a dirt road twelve hours straight every day.
So when another wagon full of people and furniture came rolling up to his post, Ferris was more than happy for the diversion.
"Halt!" Ferris stood at the village gate, blocking the wagon's way with his body and his sword. The wagon's driver pulled back on the reins, bringing the horses and the wagon to a standstill. Ferris moved to the driver's side, his eyes settling on the older woman sitting beside the driver, and the young girl beside her.
"Who are you, and what is your business here in Harrowshire?" The guard's voice was stern and business-like, but his eyes roved across the girl's body in her simple dress as if he would memorize every curve.
"I am Bernard, formerly of Holyoak, in the Narrows," the man replied with an easy smile, not at all intimidated by Ferris's manner. "I am a furniture maker, and would like to see if this village has need of my services. I have brought my wife and child here in the hopes that we can find a place to settle, and call Harrowshire our home."
Ferris transferred his attention to the older woman. "Your name is ...?"
"Evelyn, sir," she said in a high trembling voice, "wife of Bernard, mother of Alyssa."
"And this would be Alyssa?" Ferris caught a glimpse of the girl's golden hair beneath her shawl, and watched her look down quickly to avoid his eye. "Look at me when I'm talking, girl!" He roared, and she raised her head quickly, fear stamped across her delicate features.
‘God,' he thought, desire draining his need to show how powerful he was. ‘Look at those eyes. Such a deep blue. A man could lose himself in those eyes and be glad of the chance to remain lost. And those cheeks, so rosy and soft. And they might settle here? If I could snare her, she would be a wife well worth catching . . . and holding.’
"My apologies," he said, more gently. "We guards are not used to dealing with such beauty and youth. And I will not keep you ... any of you. There is still time for you to get settled at the inn here before nightfall."
"Thankee, sir," Bernard said with a smile. "Thankee much."
"I hope to see you in town, Alyssa." Ferris smiled and gave the girl a wink. She blushed and ducked her head, and the guard almost laughed.
"Thank you, sir," she said, looking away. "I ... I hope so, too."
As the wagon left the guard behind, Bernard's smile grew, but he kept his laughter stifled until well out of earshot. "Looking forward to seeing him in town, Al?"
"Oh, aye," the boy said, the anger in his voice masking his embarrassment. "When the time is right, I'll see him, that's for sure. On his knees, at the other end of my sword."
"I think he'd like to see you on your knees at the other end of his 'sword,' missy. If you catch my meaning." Bernard grinned as he spoke. Corporal Alan Smithee turned away from the older thief and folded his arms under his ample bosom. He presented the perfect picture of a young girl in a huff over a slight.
"When the time is right, lad." Evan Marshall, sergeant of the King's Own, reached over and patted his 'daughter' on the shoulder. His voice slid down an octave or two. "When the time is right. Until then, we play the roles we've taken on to the best of our ability, and organize the townfolk for when the signal comes." He plucked at the simple dress that hung on his large but slightly drooping chest, and wished once again for another way to get past the patrols. "It's not my choice to play 'wife' to the master thief here, but the princess is counting on us, and I'm not about to let her down."
"Aye, the princess," Al said, his voice dropping down to a whisper. "Poor Prince Reginald, trapped and tortured and ... unmanned. At least we won't be this way forever."
Evan nodded. "Taking every village and town while the main force takes back the capital is an important part of seeing Drax torn from power. If I have to pretend undying love to 'Bernard' for the chance to rip that usurper from his stolen throne, I will."
"Good!" Bernard said with a smile as they passed the guard barracks on their way to the center of the town. He pulled the reluctant sergeant closer and threw an arm around him. "Give us a kiss then, 'missus.' Let's put on a show for Drax's goons."
Alan stifled a smile as 'Evelyn' stiffened, then melted into Bernard's embrace. "The things I do for my duty," he muttered, just as the thief's lips pressed against his. Alan ducked his head and hid his laughter with his shawl as the guards started whooping and applauding the 'lovebirds' when the wagon rolled past. Bernard played to the audience, his hand cupping one of his 'wife's' breasts and squeezing as the kiss went on and on. Finally, the two broke from their embrace as the wagon turned a corner and slipped out of sight.
"Damn you, thief," the sergeant growled, "between your tongue and your wandering hands, I've half a mind to gut you and leave you to rot in some poor farmer's field."
Bernard shook his head, with just a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Come now, Evelyn. Is that any way for a loving wife to speak to her husband?"
"Loving wife? Now half the guards in this town think I'm naught but a wanton slut!"
"And your reputation concerns you how, my dove?" Bernard grinned. "You're a married woman, which means you're entitled to want to be touched by your husband from time to time. How do you think we managed to create this wonderful daughter of ours? As for being thought of as a wanton slut, that makes it far less likely any of them will think of you as a sergeant of King Stephen's army, does it not?" His face became serious. "I'm just doing my job, as you're preparing to do yours."
"You're just lucky I have a job to do, and that keeping you alive is part of it." Evan shifted his weight and moved closer to the corporal, sitting up primly with his hands folded in his lap. "Just keep your lips and your hands to yourself, 'husband,' or you'll wake up one morning better able to play the woman than I will ever be."
The thief sighed. "Oh, that I should ever have chosen to defy my parents and wed you, my Beloved." He grinned again and gave her a nudge. "Still, you're a feisty wench, even after all these years, and I still love you no matter how you much fire you show."
"Hmmph."
The rest of the trip into town was made in silence, save for an occasional chuckle from the driver's seat.
A certain portion of King Stephen's army had not been pleased with the manner in which they were to make ready for action. But they were all highly trained or deeply committed to saving the kingdom (and Princess Regina) from the uncontrollable lusts of Drax. They understood the need for secrecy, given the enemy's overwhelming superiority in numbers. And most important of all, they were an army, trained and disciplined and ready to die for king and comrades. So they submitted to the inevitable with the same stoic reserve they would show facing an enemy army across a battlefield.
Still, that didn't mean they had to like it.
The representatives from The Thieves Guild walked among the assembled troops in the North Woods, assigning roles with all the quiet concentration you would expect from professionals. Those soldiers that could pass for women were taken aside and drilled in deportment and attitude for a week. They learned how to speak in higher, softer, measured tones, and how to hold themselves and move as women do. They also learned the quiet demeanor and humility most women were taught from girlhood, to show respect for their elders and obedience to their "husbands." Some could not master the training, despite their best efforts, and were sent back to the ranks of those who would be attacking the castle -- only a week could be spared if the princess was to be saved. Others took to it with an ease that brought whistles from some of their comrades, and several of the master thieves wished they could take the men on as apprentices.
Seamstresses and tailors from a dozen villages fitted the new "girls" with dresses and underthings, coats and shawls. Craftsmen from the Thieves Guild created faux bosoms and curves to fit each soldier, and each man's hair was lengthened or styled as the situation demanded, to foster the illusion that he was a she.
Once taught and transformed, these "maids and maidens" were assigned to accompany other soldiers -- the ones who could never be mistaken for anything but men, even if Drax's guards were to drink all the wine in Darkholme. Fathers and daughters, husbands and wives ... all took borrowed wagons and spread out across the land, passing through Drax's checkpoints with surprising ease. They settled in towns and villages, fitting themselves into the communities they now called home, and made ready for the time when a motivated and well-prepared militia could benefit from the guidance of a few good men.
Even if they looked like a few good women.
It was a brilliant stratagem, save for one flaw. All of this preparation and transport took time. And for Princess Regina, time was rapidly running out.
She sat on her bed, looking into her own eyes in the mirror across the room while Melinde kneeled behind her, brushing Regina's hair.
'I am in there somewhere,' she thought ruefully. 'Reginald still exists inside, despite what Drax has made of me. But for how long?'
"A penny for your thoughts, beloved," Mel asked softly, still wielding her brush.
Pulled from her reverie, the princess gave Melinde a small smile.
"Oh, I believe they are worth far more than that, dearest," she replied. "Considering how rare they will soon become, I am sure I could ask for all of the Royal Treasury and still wind up cheated in the end."
Mel looked at Regina's face in the mirror and caught the flash of pain that worked its way through the jest. She put down the brush and put her hands on her lover's shoulders.
"It hasn't happened yet, Regina. It has been a week since Drax told us he knew of our deception. One full week, and still no visit from his healers. No potions or needles to drain your will and make you his slave." She leaned forward, her lips an inch from his ear. "And every day that passes is one day closer to rescue," she whispered. "Hold fast to that, and to me, beloved."
Ashamed, Regina bowed her head. "That is true, sweet," she said, keeping her voice low. "The time Drax gives us is time we sorely need, although why he should wait this long remains a mystery. Perhaps he delights in tormenting me, by making me mark the passing of each day and jump at the sound every time I hear a key in the lock."
"Or perhaps he does not wish to 'concede' his game so quickly." Melinde straightened and went back to her brushing. In spite of herself, Regina closed her eyes and embraced the feeling of Melinde's brush as it slid through her golden hair. "After all, Drax considers this other method, the one he used on Sir Brian, as a cheat and a poor way to win. Perhaps he still searches for some other way to make you surrender and submit."
"But the waiting is taking its own toll, Mel." She shuddered, and her voice shook. "It eats at me, as surely as if I was standing by a barred window overlooking the courtyard, watching them build my gallows and contemplating just what it means to die." She turned suddenly, taking Melinde's hands in both of hers, and looked up into her eyes. "I would be lying if I told you I was not afraid, and I will not lie to you. Never to you."
Feeling Regina's hands trembling, Melinde put down the brush and led her over to the bed. They sat, side by side, and Mel's eyes never left her beloved.
"To come so far, only to have it snatched from our grasp," the princess said softly. "It is unthinkable. And waiting for rescue just makes me feel weaker inside. I know you chafe at the bit as well, beloved. Is there anything we can do here and now? Is it so impossible to reach Drax when we're so close?"
"You are considered a very grave threat to Drax, Regina." Melinde shifted on the bed and leaned closer to her lover. "Now that you know Drax has a way to bend you permanently to his will, it has been judged too dangerous for the usurper to even see you here in the tower, and you have not been allowed to leave this room since you met him last. Without you, I have no reason to see his Lordship, and have remained free to serve you and Cook and anyone else who would command me."
"And a good thing too," Regina whispered, "else we would not know how close the country is to exploding into open rebellion."
"Just a few more days, and Drax will fall." Melinde held tight to the princess's hand. "We must hold out until then." She grimaced and stood, one hand on her stomach. "By all that's holy, this is no time for me to become sick. My stomach twists and turns at the slightest whim, and my bosom seems ready to swell so large it would break free of my dress."
Regina looked up at her love, her concern overriding all other worries. "Has this ever happened to you before?"
Melinde shrugged. "Not that I can remember, but I am sure it is nothing unusual, beloved. Probably brought on by too much work and not enough to eat. Along with the stress of waiting for something -- anything -- to happen." She started for the door. "I shall seek out Cook and Maude in the kitchen. Perhaps they have some remedy that will keep me whole and ready to fight when the time comes."
The princess nodded. "Both wise, and staunch allies from the start. They will be rewarded when this is through -- if I am in any condition to reward anyone. If all I have left to give is myself, I'm not sure either of them would want me." She grinned, showing a rare glimpse of the warrior she used to be.
Her betrothed laughed. "You'd better not even think of giving yourself to anyone else, beloved. You belong to me, body and soul." Regina nodded, her grin becoming a small smile, her eyes filling with love.
Drax sat on his stolen throne, brooding. Regina was lost to him, and it was his own misstep that had cost him his victory. He could use the method he used on Brina, but it would only be a different form of defeat, and losing was losing no matter how well the "cheat" worked.
'There has to be a better way,' he growled inside. 'I have managed to create a situation in which it is nearly impossible for me to win. At the same time, I am never supposed to lose. Never! This is intolerable.'
Drax rose and began to pace. His servants and his highest lords and ladies stayed well clear of his path, noting the anger and frustration that drove him across the throne room in a barely controlled frenzy. People who encountered Lord Drax in a foul mood seldom survived the experience, yet leaving the throne room could call unwanted attention to yourself. So those in his presence engaged in an odd dance, moving around the perimeter and engaging others in meaningless conversation with one eye on the usurper.
As Drax turned around to head back towards the dais where the throne sat, he noticed a second, slightly smaller throne next to it. A thought slipped quietly into his head, accompanied by one or two others, but he focused on the first. As he did, his lip began to twitch and form a slight smile, and an almost silent sigh of relief escaped form the assembled nobles.
'Maybe,' he thought, as the smile became a grin, 'there is a way to be victorious after all.'
"I am not happy, thief," Lord Nesbit growled as the wagon clattered and groaned its way across the countryside.
"I was supposed to get you into the castle undetected, Uncle," Tobias replied sweetly, once again in his disguise as the redheaded trollop. "I believed your happiness was less important than your safety. Was I wrong?"
"Of course not." Neville plucked at his skirts, and then hefted his huge bosom in both hands. "But this . . . this is too much!"
"Actually, it's just right." Tobias slowed the horses slightly and turned to look at the general. Without his beard, his face was rounder and softer, and Toby had continued the roundness to include rolling hips and a chest that left no doubt as to the owner's gender. Lord Nesbit's hair had been colored, lengthened, and shaped into a mass of black curls that tumbled down his back, nearly to his hips.
"You are a large man, Uncle," Tobias continued, giving the reins a snap and pushing the horses back to their faster pace. "The only way to disguise you well enough to enter the castle undetected to lead the assault was to transform you into a large woman, with attributes that match your . . . stature. Unfortunately, it will all come to naught if you don't stop behaving like a horse's ass and start acting like the woman you appear to be."
Nesbit turned and eyed the thief irritably. "What the devil are you on about?"
"Well, I haven't heard you speak in the voice you learned since we left the camp," the guild master replied. "If you don't practice it, it won't come naturally to you when we meet the enemy. The same with your gestures and mannerisms."
"They were fine when we left," the general grumbled. "I must have passed muster, or you wouldn't have agreed to ride with me."
"I agreed to ride with you," the thief said, "because you need more work, and you need it alone. Your 'manly pride' isn't letting you let go of your manhood long enough to embrace the role, especially in front of your men, and that, dear Uncle, is going to get you killed."
Toby turned his attention to the road. "As you discovered in the tavern, most men see what they expect to see, and you saw a redheaded bar girl out for a quick tumble. Right now, a quick glance at you makes a man instinctively see a 'woman.' A large woman, I grant you, but most soldiers are large men, and you would make an attractive catch for a quick roll in the hay -- especially for a man who likes his woman well-padded, and able to handle someone as . . . well-endowed . . . as he is."
Tobias reined the horses and the wagon stopped abruptly. He turned and stared straight into Nesbit's eyes. "So you look like an ample wench, and that's fine . . . for what it is. But the very first time you forget who you are and swagger instead of sway, or fail to lower your eyes demurely when one of Drax's men questions you, or speak like a general instead of a wench, you will find yourself caught -- the proud 'protector of the crown' hiding in a woman's skirts."
The guild master faced forward and started the wagon once more.
"And if Drax gets his hands on you," he continued, "you just might discover firsthand what its like to BE a large attractive wench, instead of pretending to be one for a short time. More than that, you will put at risk everything we've worked so hard to put in place to topple the usurper."
There was a long silence, and they rode for several minutes before Lord Nesbit sighed and shook his head.
"It pains me to admit it," he said, looking down at his faux chest, "but it appears you are a better soldier than I am."
"Perish the thought!" Toby replied with a small smile. "You are a magnificent soldier, and without your guidance our whole plan might come to naught. What I am, milord, at least when I am dressed like this, is a better woman than you. And for me to bring you inside the castle walls . . . in order to make our rebellion a success . . . you must learn to be as good a woman as I."
"But this is madness!" The general said, his frustration evident. "I can't be a woman. All this is nothing but pretense! The hair, the chest, the hips. None of it can make me think like a woman. It's impossible."
"And that, Uncle, is why you fail." The guild master smiled and laid a hand on the general's sleeve. "Of course you can think like a woman. After all, you put yourself in the mind of an enemy commander every time you plan a battle, so you can determine what he might do next. In this way, you position your men in such a way to turn his advance to your advantage. Is that not true?"
Nesbit nodded. Tobias nodded back. "You can use that same skill here.”
The general shook his head roughly, his long curls whipping from side to side. “I have much more in common with an enemy general than I do with my wife, or my daughter.”
“No matter how different you think women might be, they are still human, driven by the same needs that drive men. They just want friendship, love, family, and the touch of a caring partner — someone who wants them as much as they want him.”
Toby fell silent, leaving Neville to think. After a time, the nobleman spoke again.
“Not so very different, after all.” His voice was slightly rough with feeling, as he thought of his wife and what she must be going through without him.
Toby nodded. “Emotions drive us all, Uncle. Many men deny them, and some foolishly think of them as a weakness, but a smart man can see how feelings are bringing the entire kingdom together in rebellion. Pride and anger, mixed with love for the prince and his father, are turning the entire population into an army. Add hatred for Drax the usurper, and you see the power emotions have.”
It was the general’s turn to nod. The guild master continued. “Unlike men, woman are taught from an early age to embrace their feelings and act on them, albeit indirectly. They understand their own motives more than men do, and use the weapons God gave them to achieve their goals.”
“Weapons?” Neville was confused. Tobias sighed.
“Nature’s arsenal, Uncle. The curve of hip, the narrow waist, the ample bosom. The hair, the lips, the eyes. A touch here, a whispered word there. And most important, the lust you feel every time you see a comely wench.” Lord Nesbit snorted and looked away. The guild master smiled.
“It should come as no surprise. After all, your muscles and your eye were trained to wield a sword or shoot a bow. Of course women are taught to use their weapons effectively as well, to best capture their objective. Part of what made you see me as a woman in that tavern was the way I behaved — how I moved, how I approached you, spoke to you, touched you. I acted the way a woman acts when she wants a man, and you saw me as I wished you to see me.”
They rode for a time in silence, and it stretched to a half hour or more before the general spoke. "So . . . how do I . . . create that illusion? What must I do . . . for this masquerade to succeed?"
"Cultivate the illusion, in your own mind, that you were never anything other than sweet and lusty Gwendolyn, traveling merchant and loving mother of the equally lusty Jenny. Feel the part. Live the part." Tobias put his hand on Neville's shoulder. "Let your mind match your appearance. Be the woman you once pretended to be."
He shifted uncomfortably in his dress, and almost couldn't bring himself to look at his nephew. "I am not sure I can."
"Oh, Uncle, have some faith! If I, a lowly thief, can do it, certainly a man of your most excellent accomplishments can do the same?" Toby threw his uncle a grin, but it slipped away when he saw the fear in Lord Nesbit's eyes. His tone grew serious. "To make her real to others, you must start by making her real to you. Give her a past, and a present. Where did she come from? What does she want? What brings her to the castle?"
"Once you build her history, move your mind and heart into it until it becomes yours, and you become her. The disguise will help -- you cannot move as a man would move with hips and a chest like that. Smaller steps, a different posture . . . "
The general still looked unsure, and Tobias sighed. "Embrace the illusion and let it embrace you. It is a hard battle, but you've fought hard battles before. You can win this one, and you will. Because if you become Gwen . . . truly become her . . . no one will look at you and see 'the protector of the crown.' This I guarantee."
With a thought, the guild master slipped into his role as Jenny. Neville watched the process with a sense of awe. 'She's so real,' he thought. 'Can I ever do that?'
"Come on, Mum," she whispered in her sweetest tones, love pouring from her eyes as she reached out to touch Neville's cheek. The general was so surprised, he let the fingertips stay. "Bring Gwen to life, so that Regina and Mel might live. And so we may get our kingdom back, in the end."
The silence descended again, but it was a thoughtful one. Jenny turned back to driving the wagon, and left Lord Nesbit to think about Gwendolyn's past . . . and her future.
When the guard opened the door to her father's bedchambers, Regina was surprised to find Drax standing beside a small table by the window. He was dressed in black and silver, and his face was carefully arranged to give no hint of what he was thinking, or why he had called Regina to this meeting — both things the former prince wanted very much to know.
“Ah, Princess,” the usurper said smoothly, a small smile twitching his lips. “Do come in. We have much to discuss.” Drax turned his attention to the guard. “You may go. Wait outside until I call you.”
The soldier opened his mouth to object, but the warning flash in Drax’s eyes made him reconsider. He nodded once, spun smartly on his heel and marched out, letting the door swing shut behind him. Drax considered the closed door for a moment and nodded.
“And now we are alone,” he said, and turned to Regina. She stood by the entrance, her back straight, her chest out, and her head high. The usurper was both surprised and dismayed by the combination of her beauty and her self-possession. In all of his previous battles, Drax had never failed quite so spectacularly as he had with this one stubborn prince. Despite all of the time and effort spent, all he had done was create an equally stubborn princess. She had serviced him as well or better than any pet he’d ever made, but it was all for duty, and a sacrifice any true noble would have given gladly to protect someone he — she cared about.
The fact that the person she protected was little more than a serving wench only served to frustrate Drax further. ‘That he would fight so hard for someone of such little importance! No wonder the people of this land loved King Stephen so much,’ he thought savagely, ‘if he produced a son like this.’
“Please,” Drax said with a smile. “Do sit. I have some refreshments on the table there. Food and drink that befits royalty, as we both know you still are.”
Regina nodded, her lips twitching into a small, brief smile. She moved gracefully across the room and sat primly in the chair next to the food. Drax moved to sit opposite her, and poured wine for each of them into cups of gold. “I must admit, I am impressed. Despite what Morden and my physicians from the orient have done to your body, you still remain undeniably . . . you. I seldom lose, but with Reginald’s heart still firmly beating in that woman’s frame you wear, I can almost taste defeat, rising like bile in the back of my throat. I would be lying if I said I didn’t care.”
“I would say I am sorry for the inconvenience, but that would be lying as well,” the princess replied, her tone curt but her words framed with the almost musical lilting of her new voice. “And I would prefer not to waste another lie on you after the weeks of deception I engaged in during our little . . . game.” She took a dainty sip of the wine and nodded. “I see you’ve chosen the best of my father’s cellar. I did not think you possessed such a discerning palette.”
“I don’t.” Regina raised an eyebrow, and Drax smiled again. “This bottle was with the ones locked carefully away in the darkest part of the wine rooms, with a key only your father held. I wanted to treat you to something precious, and familiar from your old life. To choose a man’s most valued possessions, always look for what is most highly protected.” Regina said nothing, lowering her eyes as she took another sip. Drax frowned. “As you wish, then. Truth between us, always, from this point on.”
The pretender rose and walked to the window, then turned and faced the princess. “Although it galls me to admit it, I cannot break you to my will. I cannot make you a pet without resorting to methods I find little more than a cheat.” His mouth moved as if tasting something foul. His tone was bitter. “Even the lowest slop boy on the poorest farm in the land could break a man . . . or a woman . . . with that wretched substance. I consider using it unworthy of me, and a clear admission of my own failure.”
Regina nodded. “I can see that,” she said, almost tentatively. And she could. It was an odd feeling -- as if seeing the world through the eyes of her father’s killer was something she never expected to do.
“For you, it is the thrill of the hunt," she continued. "The matching of wits and skills that makes the game appealing. It’s not enough just to win. You have to win through your own efforts, or the victory is hollow. To claim a conquest after using that substance would be like tying down a boar and killing it where it stands, instead of stalking it through the forest with nothing but your mind, your heart, and your steel between you and Death.”
Drax’s eyes flashed. “Exactly! You understand very well.”
Regina heard the "for a woman" Drax had left unsaid. She was surprised the warlord seemed to forget so easily what she had been before. She looked up at her captor, her voice flat with suppressed emotion.
"In spite of what you've done to me, you yourself admitted that I am still myself inside. I know what it means to be a warrior. Of course I understand. After all, what use is victory if there is no chance of defeat? If you kill an unarmed man with a sharpened broadsword while dressed in full armor, is the battle even worth fighting?"
The princess took another sip and placed her cup carefully upon the table. “So we are at an impasse, then. You cannot defeat me without defeating yourself. And keeping the heir to the throne alive wouldn’t suit your purposes either, since it would leave your claim to my kingdom still contested.”
Drax walked slowly back to his chair and sat, his eyes never leaving the young woman who sat across from him.
“That last part,” he said slowly, “isn’t necessarily true. There is one way that leaving you alive would actually ensure that my claim is recognized as right and proper.”
Regina looked at the usurper, curiosity filling her eyes. Drax stared back at her, and she felt a chill run up her spine.
"In recent days, your people seem to have become used to my rule." His voice betrayed a hint of confusion, as if their sudden submission left him baffled. Since Regina knew their supposed surrender was all a ruse, she wasn't surprised. But she feigned astonishment and a touch of disbelief.
Drax waved a hand. "It's true, and I am as surprised as you are . . . princess. But for all their bending of the knee to my lords and knights, I know they still regard my army as invaders, and myself as a mere pretender to your father's throne. I would expect nothing less, actually."
He rose again and paced to the window. Regina had never seen Drax behave this way before. It was as if he had suddenly been stripped of his unwavering certainty and left adrift in a sea of indecisiveness.
"What is more surprising still," he said, looking out over the land in front of the castle, "at least to me, is that somehow, your subjects know what has happened to you. And they still regard you as their rightful ruler."
There was a long pause, and Drax sighed. "Which brings me to my point . . . your highness. I can see only one course of action that will allow us to move forward while still maintaining the balance of power between us. I have come to respect you as a worthy adversary, and perhaps someday that might . . . become more. But the crisis is now, and it is vitally important to both of us and to the kingdom that you consider carefully what your answer will be to my next question."
Drax took a deep breath. "Would you do me the honor of becoming my bride and my queen, and ruling this kingdom by my side?"
The Hardest Battle, Part 4
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More than two years since the last chapter was posted, Regina's story continues after a killer cliffhanger. What's a former prince to do when the murdering madman who killed her father and changed her into a pretty pet asks her to be his bride? And what must the head of the Thieve's Guild do to make his uncle an "honest woman?"
Sorry it took so long, folks -- and if you've never seen the story before, go back and read parts one through three first! *grin*
The Hardest Battle, Part 4
by Randalynn
Opposition will come your way
But the harder the battle you see
It's the sweeter the victory."
- Jimmy Cliff
Regina could barely restrain herself. She flew up the stairs to her tower room, ignoring the bouncing of her ample bosom and lifting her full skirts to keep them from tripping her. Her speed and strength came as a complete surprise, considering that a few short weeks ago she could barely stand. In fact, she moved so quickly that even the guard Drax had assigned to watch her could barely keep up. Still, the princess scarcely gave him a thought as she raced towards her room -- a room that, only a few minutes ago, she thought she might never leave again.
'I must find Mel!' she thought, her mind racing. 'I have no idea what game the usurper is playing now, but his proposal changes nothing. The whole idea is absurd. I wouldn't marry that murdering madman for anything he might have to offer, even if he laid the world at my feet and promised me the moon as a wedding gift. But perhaps we can use this to buy us time. I only hope she's there.'
The princess reached her doorway and threw open the door. She hurled herself inside and slammed it behind her, leaving her guard standing inches away from the heavy oak that almost smashed his nose as it closed.
Breathing hard, Regina leaned against the door. At the sound of its slamming shut, Mel turned from her place at the window and locked eyes with her lover. She ran across the room, took her in her arms and hugged her tight. The princess hugged back. Then they both pulled back, stared into the other's eyes, and spoke simultaneously.
"Beloved, I have news!"
The pair stopped, looked at each other for an instant, and then burst into laughter. Melinde fell down onto the bed and looked up at Regina, a glint in her eye.
"You first, sweet," she said, the smile never leaving her face.
"No, you," the princess replied, her smile equally wide.
Mel shook her head. "You should go first."
"Why?" Regina came and sat down on the bed beside her. Mel smiled wider and put a hand on her lover's arm.
"Because what I have to tell you will make any news you have pale in comparison." The princess gave her beloved a curious look, but Melinde shook her head again. "Trust me, my love. Tell me what made you run up the tower stairs like a filly with a bee in her tail."
Regina took both of Melinde's hand, looked into her eyes, and said, "Drax has asked me to marry him."
Mel's eyes grew wide, and a smile grew on her face. It became a grin, and she started to giggle.
"Oh, my," she stuttered between bouts of laughter, "he must have quite the inflated opinion of his charms if he thinks you will agree to be his bride after all he's done to you."
The princess smiled and shook her head. "Honestly, Mel, I believe it's still all about the contest. If he kills me, it's as much admitting defeat as if he used that awful medicine to enslave me. If he lets me live as I am, I would become a symbol for rebels to rally around. He'd rather have a draw then lose completely, and the only way to justify keeping me alive is to use me as I am to make his claim to my kingdom unquestioned. I am worth more to him as his queen than I am as a pet."
"Are you sure it isn't some sort of trick?" Melinde searched deep in her beloved's eye. Regina gave a very unladylike snort, shook her head, and stood up.
"I can't say it isn't, at least with any certainty." She glided over to the mirror and looked into her reflection without actually seeing it.
"Still, I know him well enough to say it is just the sort of eccentric idea he would come up with to avoid losing," she continued, lost in thought. "After all, it's enough of a win to salve his ego, and in his own mind he can paint it as my surrender as I become the woman he intended me to be all along."
Melinde had calmed enough to give her beloved a more serious appraisal. "It could be something more, you know."
"More?" Regina turned and cocked her head, clearly puzzled. "I don't understand, beloved."
"You have managed to best him at a game he was sure he could not lose," she said softly. "And even though he forced you into a role you never wanted and fought him every step of the way, you have become a remarkably beautiful, poised and self-assured young lady. He knows you were raised to rule, he respects you as a warrior, and he lusts for you as a woman."
Melinde stood up, walked over to stand beside the princess, and turned her lover's face towards the mirror. Regina once again looked at her own reflection and beheld what Drax and Melinde had made of her. The enormity of what the other woman was saying began to sink it, and she gasped, and turned back to Mel. Her betrothed nodded.
"Maybe what he truly wants," the other woman said, "is what every king wants at his side. A queen in the throne room, a general in the war room ... and a tiger in the bedroom." Regina shook her head, unable to believe the thought. Mel put her arm around the princess and squeezed, and the two looked at themselves in the mirror, two beautiful women with a big problem.
"Maybe what he really wants," Regina whispered, "is a wife."
Alyssa, daughter of Bernard and Evelyn, carried another pail of water into the house from the well. Alan Smithee, one of King Stephen's finest, wouldn't have had a problem carrying pails of water all day long. But with the padding on Alyssa's hips and chest changing how his body moved, he found himself unable to use his strength as effectively as he once did. He couldn’t stand the way his body needed to stand to carry heavy loads, and he wound up using other muscles to make up for the difference. As a result, even the easiest tasks became monumental to the girl he was forced to play. He said as much to Bernard as he entered the kitchen and lowered the pail to the ground with a sigh.
"That's as it should be for a young girl doing her chores," the thief replied with a smile. "If sweet Alyssa were to start toting heavy weights like a dockworker in Hamlin Bay, even Drax's guards would take notice. And we can't have that, can we, daughter?"
"No, Father," Al replied softly, maintaining her girlish tones while cursing Drax's name in his head for the hundredth time that morning. "I suppose we can't."
Bernard gave the young soldier a critical look, then patted the chair next to his.
"Come, rest yourself a while, Al." The soldier cocked his head, and the thief smiled. "I think my good wife can wait for her cooking water for a few. After all, she's not cooking. She's not even here, is she? Still gossiping with the new neighbors, I'll wager. Women and their tongues." Bernard winked. "And she's not your sergeant now either, missy. She's just your mum. In this house, I outrank her. So no need for 'hop to, take that hill' just yet, eh? Not while you're 'Daddy's best girl.'" He patted the chair again. "Come sit for a bit."
Al sat slowly, his eyes still on Bernard, and the older man was quick to note how feminine his actions were. He smoothed his skirt under him and sat with his knees together, back straight and chest out.
"You do this very well." He said it quietly, and saw the slight flinch Al gave in response. The thief nodded. "Pretty hard duty for you, isn't it, Al?"
The soldier looked down at his hands and said nothing. Bernard sighed and looked back into his cup.
"Probably hard growing up looking like a lady instead of a knight." He spoke to the air, not looking at Alan at all. "All the other boys making sport of you, and the girls not giving you the time of day. I bet you got tired of that right quick."
"So you waited until you were old enough, and you joined King Stephen's army. And you work hard to make a name for yourself as a soldier. Brave, unafraid to take on the tough jobs. You're small, and you need a lighter sword than most, but you earn yourself some respect out in the field. You hide your pretty face behind that barely grown beard and rough uniform. And your mates don't much care what you look like, as long as you pull their asses out of the fire when the battle turns ugly." Al looked up at the thief, and Bernard looked back and nodded. "Yes, I talked to some of your comrades. I had to know the kind of man I was dealing with here."
"Then along comes this crazy plan, and suddenly what you look like picks you up and throw you right into the soup. It's the one thing you've been ducking your whole life, and now it's your duty. You’re one of the best soldiers they’ve got, and they need you here. So you have to put on the 'uniform' and be a good girl, come out here in skirts to help train and get the people ready for when the time is right."
There was a long silence. Al shifted uncomfortably.
“I have my orders,” he said, “and I follow them as best I can. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Bernard went back to staring into his cup. “You’re doing your duty, I understand that. But there’s a part of you that does like it, Al, isn’t there? And it’s scaring you more than you want to admit.”
“It’s wrong.” The soldier blurted out. He looked down at his hands, folded in his lap, and his voice filled with bitterness. “I’m a man. I’m not supposed to enjoy ... this.”
“You are supposed to be Alyssa, Alan. She likes being young and beautiful. Nothing wrong with that.”
“But I’m a MAN!”
“You know that and I know that, and so does everyone else here who doesn’t work for Drax,” the thief said softly. “But to everyone else, you’re my daughter. And there are benefits here for Alan, as well.”
The solider shook his head violently, but said nothing. Bernard continued. “You don’t know why you’re enjoying it? Damn, Alan, for the first time in your life, you don’t have to work against what other people see, when they look at you. In fact, as far as Drax’s guards are concerned, it’s your duty to be exactly what they expect. They see a pretty girl, and thanks to this crazy plan your general and my guild master came up with, you have to be a pretty girl.”
The kitchen was quiet for a minute. Bernard sighed. “Look, here, in this village, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. They know you’re a soldier. They’re taking orders from you and Evan, preparing battle plans at your direction. You don’t have to prove you’re tough. At the same time, they’re treating you as Alyssa in public — not to embarrass you, but because it’s their duty to the kingdom. Not to mention the fact that they LIKE you. Also, it’s your duty to be Alyssa — the best Alyssa you could possibly be. So why not walk that line between the man you are and the girl you appear to be, and see where it takes you?”
“But it’s wrong.” Alan shifted uneasily in his seat. “Isn’t it?”
The thief took a sip of his drink and smiled. “You’re asking a thief about right and wrong? Even I know there’s something wrong with that.” He thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“I don’t claim to be a general, but I’ve learned a bit in my time, just fighting to make my way. The way I understand it, the hardest battles reap the highest rewards. Even a sip of water becomes priceless if it’s earned with sweat and pride and honor, and you’re fighting for so much more — here in this town, for the kingdom and the princess, and inside you, where it counts.”
Bernard reached out and patted Alan on the arm. “Right now, there’s work to be done, so hop to, girl, and finish getting your mum’s water before she gets back from telling her friends what a terrible husband I am.”
Alyssa gave her father a tentative smile and rose quickly to her feet, then scooped up the pail with both hands and headed back towards the well.
The two women lay naked on the bed, their bodies intertwined as they both savored the feeling every woman knows when she has been well and truly ravished by someone who loves her.
Regina’s fingers traced small circles on her beloved’s stomach, occasionally laying her hand flat to feel its warmth. Melinde smiled, picked up the hand and kissed its palm.
“You were so right, my angel,” the former prince said softly. “Your news put mine to shame.” Regina snuggled into Mel’s side, and the other woman wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
“Our child,” she said with a smile, “will be a new start for the kingdom, once Drax is overthrown.”
Mel kissed Regina’s forehead. “And to think I couldn’t puzzle it out on my own. I had to ask Cook and Maude what it all meant. I felt like such a fool. You would think I would recognize the signs myself.”
“You’ve never been with child before, sweet,” her mate whispered. “How could you know?”
“A woman just knows,” Mel replied. “Or she should. Shouldn’t she?”
Regina stretched a little and rested her head on Melinde’s breast. “I am not the best person to ask, you know. I’ve only been a woman a few months at most. And I am almost certain that, as thorough as Drax’s healers might have been, adding those parts that would allow a prince to carry a baby would be too much for even their skills.”
“In all other ways, you’ve taken to your new sex very well, my love.” Mel stroked her hair, and Regina sighed. “In some ways, I am surprised, because you are still the man I love. But you are wrapped in this beautiful new body, and sometimes you’re so naturally female I forget, just for an instant, that you were ever my prince instead of my princess.”
“My father used to say that all life is change.” Regina reached out with her tongue and caressed Mel’s nipple, smiling when Mel shuddered in response. “This is who I am now ... what I am now. To deny it would be like trying and fight on a battleground that only exists in your imagination, instead of on the true field of battle — the one thrust upon you by time and circumstance.” She touched the nipple again, and Mel squealed. “For example, I do enjoy taking this particular hill ...” Soft lick, and Melinde moaned. “Over ...” Both lips surrounding the nipple and suckling gently as the other woman groaned again. “And over ...” Tiny bite, followed by a muted scream. “And over again.”
Melinde pushed Regina away and rolled on top of her, pinning her arms to the bed. The former prince grinned a wolfish grin that looked oddly seductive on her now feminine features, and her beloved kissed her so hard that her own hills became peaked with tips that begged to be taken — tips that Mel toyed with unmercifully until Regina felt her whole body wracked with waves of pleasure.
Regina looked up at her mate with love, and Mel kissed her gently before lowering herself onto her princess’s body and cuddling her skin to skin.
“We must decide what to do with Drax’s proposal,” she whispered.
“We must refuse him, of course,” Regina replied, her voice equally soft. “We cannot risk legitimizing his claim to the kingdom with a marriage to me, not with our child on the way. If he were ever to discover our baby’s existence, Drax would kill him or her, just to preserve his legitimate claim to the kingdom if we should wed — and he would most probably kill you as well, just to hurt me if for nothing else.”
There was a long silence, and when Mel spoke again, she took Regina totally by surprise.
“Now that is where you’re wrong, precious. You will, of course, accept.”
Tobias pulled the wagon to a stop in a copse of trees on the outskirts of Malvern. He sighed, and jumped lightly to the ground.
“Where are you going?” Neville asked, somewhat surprised that they had stopped at all.
“Into town, Mum,” the thief replied in Jenny’s lilting voice. “There may be a message here from Melinde, or other news of the rebellion.”
“Then why not just take the wagon in?”
“You know the answer as well as I, even though you are loathe to admit it.” Toby looked up at his uncle. Lord Nesbit’s’s face betrayed nothing. “There is a guard post on the road into the city, and you are still not ready to actually be Gwendolyn.”
Neville shifted uneasily on the wagon’s seat.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice rough.
“That’s what I mean!” The guildmaster kept his feminine voice, but his exasperation came through strong and clear. “Listen to yourself! You’re still using your male voice, not the female one you learned in camp.”
“Surely, when we are alone ...”
“No!” Tobias pulled back his temper, then sighed and slipped back into his normal register. “Honestly, Uncle, I know you’re not entirely dim. We’re supposed to be using this time on the road to become our roles, so our deception is not discovered once we reach the castle.”
“I have been trying!”
“Oh, yes, but that is all it is. Trying, as opposed to succeeding. It’s still all outside ... all an act. You aren’t becoming Gwendolyn at all!”
The general looked down on his nephew, into those angry eyes, and looked away.
“I ... I can’t.” He spoke so softly that Toby has trouble hearing him. “For all that we’ve done, for all the plans we’ve set in motion ... I just can’t do it. I can’t put myself inside a woman’s head. Not even to save the kingdom, the princess ... or my daughter.”
“I don’t ... I can’t believe that.” The master thief stepped towards the wagon. “With everything that is at stake ... with all that has come before ... are you going to allow something this simple get between you and victory?”
“It’s not a question of ‘allowing’ anything, thief!” The general growled. “Any more than being unable to climb a wall a hundred feet high without a rope or ladder is ‘allowing’ the wall to defeat me. I simply can’t BE a woman. It’s not in me.”
“Of course it’s in you,” Tobias insisted. “The problem is, you can’t reach it. You have so much of yourself invested in who you are that you can’t let go for long enough to embrace who you might be.”
He spun on his heel and walked away from the wagon, his arms folded under his faux breasts. The seconds became a minute, then two, and finally the thief turned and looked up at his uncle.
“There is a way to make this work,” he said. “But you need to trust me, completely and without reservation. Can you?”
Nesbit considered his position, and realized that he had little choice. If Tobias could make this plan a success, he had to trust him. How else could he possibly do his duty to his dead king and his oppressed country?
“I have to,” Neville replied evenly. “Otherwise all of this is for nothing.”
Tobias nodded. “Not quite the answer I had hoped for, but it will have to do.”
He glided over to the far side of the wagon and climbed back up to the wagon’s seat to sit beside the general. Turning sideways, he reached out to Neville’s shoulder and turned him so the two men faced each other.
“One of the guild traveled to the south and east, and returned with an interesting skill. As I told you, a thief’s success is often a matter of stealth and misdirection. With this skill, and the trust of the person on which you use it, a man can become invisible to guards, simply by convincing the guards that that cannot see him. In the same way, you could make someone believe you were someone else, like a sergeant or a valued household servant, free to come and go as you please. The only trouble is, you need time with the person you seek to affect. And you need to be trusted by them.”
Lord Nesbit shook his head. “I’m not sure how this will help us. You would make others see me as Gwendolyn? You would have to use whatever this is on hundreds of people between here and the castle ... and getting all of Drax’s guards to trust you? Ludicrous.”
The thief smiled. “I only need one person to trust me, and that person is you, Uncle. Let me show you how this will make things right, at last.”
Tobias took both of Neville’s hands. The general looked at Tobias, confused. “Look into my eyes, Uncle. Look deep. See the slight differences in color, the thin lines and patterns every eye holds? Hold them in your mind. Commit them to your memory. Go deeper and deeper into my eyes, like an ocean of blue, until you can swim in them, as if they were an endless sea of possibilities. You can breathe in the ocean of my eyes, Uncle. Deep breaths, full of clean fresh air. But the bottom calls to you, and you must answer. So dive deep ... still breathing, still warm, still safe. Deeper ... deeper ... dive to the deepest depths, until the only thing you see are my eyes, and the only thing you hear is my voice ...”
The guard opened the door to Regina’s tower rooms, and Drax stepped through to find the princess standing by the window. She wore a dress he’d never seen before — a white bodice that lifted and presented the tops of her full breasts, with light blue sleeeves that extended three-quarters of the way down her arms, and a matching skirt of yards of gathered fabric that flowed its way to the ground. Her hair was arranged in a tumble of gentle curls, and framed a face that owed its beauty more to the one who wore it than the artfully applied paints that barely graced her skin.
On her head was a simple crown that Drax recognized as the one worn by princesses in this realm at affairs of state — a simple silver tiara adored with sapphires and emeralds. She also wore matching bracelets and a simple silver chain. As he looked at her, he noted how out of place his golden collar appeared.
“You are beautiful,” he said, half amazed that the once-proud prince would embrace the woman he had become so completely.
“So nice of you to notice,” Regina replied sweetly. “Considering the nature of our last conversation, I wanted you to see the kind of queen you’d be getting, should I decide to say yes to your ... unexpected proposal.”
She turned to her servant. “Molly, dear ... please leave us?”
The other woman curtsied. “Yes, Your Highness.”
She turned quickly and left through the door behind Drax. It was still held open by the guard, who couldn’t stop looking at the princess. Regina flashed an angry eye at him, and Drax turned to see the man still there, and staring.
“Close that door, damn you,” he snarled, “or I swear the next time you look at a woman like that, you’ll be looking in a mirror!”
The door closed so quickly, the torches in the sconces rattled when it slammed into the frame. The princess hid her grin when Drax turned back around.
“Your turn to experience my hospitality, I believe,” she said, raising a delicately arched eyebrow. “Such as it is. Poor fare compared to what you offered me the other day, but it is the best I could provide under the circumstances. Please sit and eat. We have much to discuss.”
Drax approached, then moved behind her chair and held it for her. She smiled, nodded her head in thanks, and sat gracefully, arranging her dress around her. The usurper then moved to his own chair and sat, and poured them both some tea.
“So,” he said carefully, “have you been considering my offer?”
“I have.” She reached for a small pastry and nibbled at the edge of it, careful not to spoil the color on her lips. “When last we spoke, we agreed to speak plainly and honestly, and so I shall. The thousands you’ve hurt, the hundreds you’ve killed, make you worthy of both my anger and my hatred. And yet you ask me to marry you, to become your wife and your queen. By marrying you, I would legitimize your claim to the throne. I would willingly give you what you stole, turn over what was and should have been my entire kingdom to you, as well as my body on the marriage bed. Some of those I rule would see my agreeing to this union as rewarding you for the murder of my father ... and for turning me into this.”
Drax nodded, understanding the political realities of Regina’s situation.
“These are all good reasons to refuse your hand,” she continued, “but on the other side of the argument are possibly some good reasons to accept. So, I am willing to discuss your proposal, and perhaps agree to it — but only if you are willing to discuss some important changes to our relationship, both personal and political, that would make the benefits of agreeing to be your wife outweigh the flaws inherent in sharing a throne — and a bedroom — with you.”
Drax looked at her across the table, as if seeing her for the first time.
‘She is magnificent,’ he thought. ‘Have I finally found a woman worthy of being my wife? She has no bargaining position at all, and yet she sits there in her pretty dress and negotiates with me as if she were worth a kingdom all by herself. And yet, just the act of doing so makes me think she might be the one for me. Where else would I find a woman with the heart of a lion, and the will to fight for her place in my life ... to be more than a slave to my desires?’
“I am intrigued, Highness,” the usurper responded. “Pray, tell me ... what would make marrying me a ... palatable alternative?”
“First, I am a princess, not a pet,” Regina said, reaching up a delicately shaped fingernail and tapping lightly on her golden collar. “This will have to go, immediately.”
“Agreed.” Drax smiled. “You never really were my pet, as we both know.”
“True.” The princess smiled back.
“Second, you already rule an empire.” Drax nodded, and Regina continued. “You have many kingdoms under your control. You had no real need to add another, and yet you chose to steal my birthright.” She took a deep breath. “As my dowry for marrying you, I want this kingdom back.”
His eyes flared slightly, and a frown slipped onto his lips. “You ask too much.”
The princess shrugged. “This land has belonged to my family for generations, and I would have it be so again. Is that so wrong? If I do marry you, I would be your queen and rule all your domain at your side. But here, I would rule this kingdom as its queen. Here, my authority would exceed yours. My word would be law, and my people would be safe from both the predations of your guards ... and your occasional fits of temper. To my subjects and my nobles, this would make my marriage to you acceptable, because they would understand my motives would be to protect them ... from you.”
“You would have me give up what I have taken by arms ... to have you?”
“To have me as a willing wife and helpmate, yes,” Regina countered sharply. “You already have me as a prisoner, but you want more. By giving me back my birthright as legitimate ruler of this land, you would lose nothing. My kingdom would still be yours, since you would be my husband. But it would also be mine, for I would be your wife. And you would choose to give it to me to rule because you want your wife to be happy, and it would make her happy to keep her people safe and prosperous.”
Drax stared at the determined princess before him, wondering if she might be more than a handful as a wife. At the same time, he was never one to turn down a challenge ... and if, after all he had done to her and her world, he could still make her agree to marry him, it would be a victory unlike all others.
With a very winsome prize.
“I shall ... consider it.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and before he could let her see his surprise at his betrayal by his own mind, Drax cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “Will there be ... anything else?”
“Yes.” She rose from her seat and glided to the window, staring out over her lands instead of at the usurper. Her voice became softer. “You have made a woman of me, which is something I never would have wanted only a few short months ago. Still, I have learned to accept what I have become, because my father taught me to always see the world as it is, not as I wish it to be.”
“So yes, I am a woman now — apparently one attractive enough for you to wish to wed, even if I’m not quite woman enough to give birth to an heir. However, since we first met, you have always treated me as something less — an obstacle, a toy, a slave ... or a pet.”
Regina turned back to Drax, and he saw the fire in her eyes. “You see me as a woman now, which lifts me above slave or pet — although evidence suggests it doesn’t raise me much in your eyes. That needs to change. I used to be a man, and the man I was hasn’t changed inside. I’m still a warrior. I am also a princess, which means I can make you a king. And if I become your wife, I will also be your queen, deserving of respect — not just from my subjects, but from my husband as well.”
Fascinated, Drax leaned forward. “What is it that you want from me, exactly, Highness?”
Regina took a step towards her captor and let some frustration slip into her voice. “I want to know that you see all of that and understand it. If you can’t give me that respect, I might as well throw myself out of this window and die now, because I refuse to live as nothing more than a pretty puppet, sitting at the right hand of an inhuman monster who fancies himself a king.”
Drax sat still, looking up at her, still slightly confused. The princess took a deep breath.
“I want you to treat me as a peer, worthy of respect. I want you to show me that you see me as more than a toy ... as someone worth the effort to chase, and win. I want you to treat me as a woman you care about, and prove to me that you care enough for me to get past everything you’ve done to ruin my life and my world.” She took a deep breath. “In short, Lord Drax ... I want you to court me, and prove that you see me as a woman, and not just a stepping stone to power.”
Regina watched the usurper’s jaw drop, and thought back to the remainder of her conversation with Melinde, barely keeping her smile in check.
“Accept?” Confused, Regina looked up into her beloved’s eyes. “You want me ... to say yes?”
“Of course!” She smiled impishly. “What girl wouldn’t want to marry a bloodthirsty tyrant like Lord Drax? But first, dearest, you will insist on being courted. After all, your husband-to-be has to prove his love for you, doesn’t he? Drax must learn to treat you as a partner, not a pet. He must see you as the woman you’ve become, as the princess you are and the queen you will be, and he must win you as best he can. You will, of course, not make it easy, for he killed your father and stole your birthright, and your sex. But eventually, his efforts will soften your heart and finally make you agree to be his, for the sake of your people. And Drax will think he has won. All this will give us time ... and then, of course, will come the wedding day.”
“For your wedding, you will insist that there be a huge festival, the likes of which has never been seen before — to show your subjects that you accept him as your husband and their king. As for myself, I will send out ‘personal’ invitations this very night for a ‘celebration’ three weeks hence.” Mel paused and thought for a bit, then nodded. “Yes, three weeks should do nicely. After all, so many are already on their way here for ... other reasons — cooks and bakers and craftsman and entertainers from dozens of villages across the kingdom.”
Regina saw where her love was headed and grinned. “And this veritable ‘army’ of my subjects will descend upon the castle and its surroundings to celebrate my wedding day ... with sharpened steel.”
The princess pulled Melinde to her and kissed her deeply, then let her go to gaze into her eyes. “I do love how you think, my wife, my life.”
“Your wife?”
“Remember? Brother Maynard married us long ago, when we were only children. And although I am sure he did not mean them to be binding, I choose to accept and honor those vows, even if they were made when I was barely old enough to stand and promise myself to you. Even then, we both knew we were meant for each other, and nothing that has happened since then has changed that.” She looked up at Mel. “Has it?”
“No, beloved ... my husband.” She kissed the princess softly. Regina kissed her back, then shook her head and grinned.
“It shall be wife and wife, I think, my angel,” she replied with a wink. “Woman I am now and woman I shall remain. We shall deal with how the world treats our marriage once the battle is done, but our child will be the rightful heir to the throne, boy or girl, come what may. This I swear.”
As the wagon rolled out of Malvern, those it left behind could hear the mother and daughter singing, and it brought a smile to their lips. Who would have thought, in times such as these, that two women traveling alone could be so cheerful, and in such good spirits as to sing as they went back on the road.
“In all the land are none so sweet,
as the two girls Jenny and Gwen.
Though one is the mother
and the other her child
They are always welcome friends!”
“For as they go from town to town,
they bring sweet joy along.
For the goods they sell
are the finest sold,
And they leave with a happy song.”
“With a row, dow, diddle dow day,
With a row, dow, diddle dow day!”
As the village dwindled behind them, Gwendolyn took one hand from the reins long enough to put it around her daughter’s shoulders and give her a happy hug.
“You see, poppet?” She smiled. “Such a nice town, full of good people. Even with Drax in King Stephen’s bed, good folk are still good folk, and we did make a pretty penny on those cookpots and spices we sold.”
Her voice took on a wistful tone. “Still, I do wish we could have stayed a while. I didn’t half fancy that big guard ... you know, the one leaning against the wall of the inn? And truth be told, it’s been a while since I’ve had a proper turn under a man who knows how.” Gwen sighed, remembering a few “proper turns” from long ago. “Still, we have places to be, and no time to tarry, I suppose.”
Jenny rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. “You’d best be careful about tarrying with one of Drax’s guards, Mum. A bunch of mean ones, they are.”
Gwen reached up and tousled her daughter’s hair. “Oh, go on now, my girl. I’m sure they ain’t as bad as some folks think. A man’s a man, after all, and they’re all the same in the end ... hungry as a stallion for a mare’s charms and hard as nails when the time is right. And a'course it always helps if the 'stallion' is hung like a horse!”
She laughed, a rich throaty sound that made Tobias think of some of the women he’d known and pleasured in his day. The Gwendolyn he’d pulled from deep in Neville’s mind was every bit as lusty as the lustiest wench he’d ever met. And he didn’t dare pull his uncle from the ‘liar’s sleep,’ because if he ever found out how he’d been behaving, Lord Nesbit would never trust Tobias to put him under again.
Unfortunately, this meant three weeks of being Jenny, loving daughter to Gwendolyn, cheerful traveling merchant.
‘To be fair, she is better company than Neville ever was on his best day,’ Tobias thought, as Gwen gave her ‘daughter’ another warm hug and a kiss on the top of her head. ‘But I never imagined the Earl of Durham, Protector of the Crown, and chief military strategist to the court of King Stephen would turn out to be such a wanton woman on the inside. She will get us both killed unless I can keep her from luring a willing partner into the back of the wagon for a quick tour of her "charms."'
The guildmaster sighed. It was going to be a long three weeks.
The Long Road Home
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by Randalynn
As I struggled through the fog toward consciousness, the first thing I noticed was the overwhelming smell of perfume, accompanied by the no-less-permeating odor of cleaning fluid. My head was resting against some vinyl upholstery, and I could feel the persistent rumbling of an engine all around me. I wanted to open my eyes, but it seemed to take forever to make my body do anything at all. Instead, I just lay there and tried to figure out what the hell was going on.
I felt the world swing around, just for a second, then settle down and resume its steady rumbling. 'Wherever I am, I'm moving,' I thought. 'Feels like a bus. What am I doing on a bus?' I vaguely remembered leaving the gym, and walking toward my car, and then ... nothing.
So here I was, on a bus, lying sideways on a seat, curled into a ball. In addition to not wanting to do what I told it to do, my body felt wrong somehow, as if it didn't quite fit. I felt a cool breeze on my legs and buttocks, with some kind of wispy fabric fluttering against my hip.
So here I was, on a bus, lying sideways on a seat, curled into a ball ... without any pants.
Terrific.
'It's got to be a dream,' I thought hopefully. 'A really bad dream. A really WEIRD bad dream.'
I could feel something warm and soft trapped between my knees and my chest, but I still didn’t feel awake enough to figure out exactly what it was. My mouth felt dry, so I ran my tongue over my lips. They felt puffy and numb at the same time. I did it again, tasting . . . lipstick? My lips seemed to stick out more than they used to. They felt bigger than I remembered.
A lot bigger.
I felt the first stirrings of panic. I tried moving my legs, just a little, and my knees shifted about a quarter-inch away from the rest of me. The warm softness on my chest slid down slightly and came to rest on the seat. The movement felt strangely familiar, as if I had felt it before but in a different context.
I decided to investigate further. Forcing myself to retreat from the fog, I finally convinced my hand to reach for my chest. It wandered across the landscape of my body, drifting across soft fabric and smooth skin in its travels. When the hand reached my chest, it followed a curve until it was wrapped around something I never thought I’d feel on my body in a million years.
I was holding a breast. 'Hmmm,' my brain volunteered. 'It seems slightly bigger than a softball, but not quite large enough to be a volleyball. D-cup maybe? DD?' I was trying to be analytical about something that was clearly impossible. Naturally, I was failing miserably. I didn't know whether to cry, or thank God someone hadn't pasted a pair of beach balls on my chest.
'Someone?' I thought through the panic. 'Somebody did this to me? It can't be. It's not real. It's NOT.'
Fighting down a scream, I reached across with my other hand to cup another breast, just as large as the first. I squeezed gently with both hands, and felt the warm softness contract as the nipples hardened. I looked down to see their silhouettes showing through the top of the lavender dress (dress??) I wore, growing bigger and harder. But then I noticed how low the neckline was, and how big my new acquisitions really were.
I let go of both breasts and pushed myself up to a sitting position, noting as I did the swing of too much hair against my exposed back. My arms felt weak, as if they had no muscle at all. As my chest swayed, I realized I wasn’t wearing a bra, although I did seem to be wearing stockings and a garter belt. The feel of the seat against my much-wider rump made it pretty plain I wasn’t wearing panties either, and I snapped my legs together in a reflex I didn’t quite understand. The feel of thigh against thigh confirmed what I had already suspected.
My penis and testicles were gone.
I sat there, frozen as I tried to take in the whole situation. The bus was dark, but the few overhead lights left on by other passengers made ghostly mirrors of the windows. I took a deep breath, and turned my head to look at what I had become.
Staring back at me was a young black girl with long, straight hair that fell in gentle waves down to the center of her back. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen to my forty-something, but I didn’t see how that could be possible. If I looked hard, I thought I could see something of the man I used to be. But if that was still me, someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make my face look as different as the rest of me had become.
My blue eyes were now caramel brown. My cheekbones were more pronounced, and my nose was wider. My mouth was wider as well, with larger lips framing two rows of bright white teeth that gleamed in the darkness when I tried a hesitant smile. Two large hoop earrings dragged down my earlobes, and brushed against my neck with every move of my head.
The face I saw was wearing too much makeup, but through the gunk I could see the fear I felt instantly displayed. There was no doubt in my mind the face reflected in the window was mine, but not the one I was born with.
What the hell had happened to me?
'It's got to be a dream,' I thought again. 'But I've never had a dream like this before.'
I looked down at my hands. My nails were long, and had been painted a lavender color that didn't quite match the dress. But as I looked closer, I realized they hadn't been re-done in a few days, perhaps as long as a week.
I had been this way for a week ... or longer? I didn't even know what day it was.
I tried to remember the person I should have seen reflected in that window, but thinking my own thoughts was like wading through molasses. I was vaguely aware of another presence in my mind that watched my progress with interest. I pushed harder. 'Who was I?' After a while, a range of images and emotions rose to the surface, and I grabbed for them.
His ... my name was Rob, I knew that much. Robert ... Edmonds, that's it. White guy, middle-aged, single. Few real friends, no social life to speak of, although he'd spent a lot of lonely nights wishing he'd made the time for a wife and family. All those years chasing what he thought was happiness, only to find out it was just money ... or things. Awkward with men and women, he realized he was too old to change -- too late to stop being alone. So he spent a lot of time in the gym when he wasn't working, fighting off the years as they chased him towards his fifties. It wasn't that he wanted to be fit. He just wanted to keep himself from heading home to an empty apartment any earlier than he had to.
'I kept myself in shape,' I thought with a grimace, 'but certainly not in the shape I'm in now.'
I looked down at my arms and the upper curves of my breasts. My skin was dark, just on the darker side of coffee with cream, set off by the lavender mini-dress that did little to hide what I had become. My hips looked and felt substantial, like my whole body seemed balanced around them. I saw the tops of my stockings peeking out below the too-short skirt, and my eyes followed my thin, hairless legs clear down to the purple boots on my feet.
'How could someone do something like this?' I wondered. But as the answer seemed to bubble up from the swamp my brain had become, a deep voice intruded and sent the memory back to the depths.
“Don’t worry, girl,” it purred, clearly amused. “All your parts are still there, as far as I can tell.”
I froze, and looked up to find a huge black man looking at me, reflected in the window from the seat in back of mine. He chuckled, then got up and sat beside me. The bus was nearly empty, and everybody else on it seemed intent on sleeping their way to their destination.
Everyone, that is, except for my new friend.
“And all the parts I can see look mighty fine,” he whispered. His hand reached out, and my skin crawled at the thought of him touching me -- anywhere.
“Leave me alone,” I squeaked, moving away from him until my back pressed against the side of the bus.
“Awww,” he said, his smile faltering a bit. “That’s no way to talk to a potential customer, baby.”
“Customer?” I felt something in my mind snap. The vague presence lurking there seized the moment, and suddenly a hot flash burned through my body. The space between my legs itched, and my nipples hardened against the smooth fabric that held them. I felt my new lips widen into a smile I could not control, and found I did not want to control it at all.
My large seatmate had suddenly become much more interesting.
“Yeah, baby,” he whispered. “I know you’re a whore. You don’t need to hide it from me.”
My head was swimming, and my lips were dry again. My tongue darted out, then slowly circled my mouth as I watched him enjoy the sight. I found him fascinating. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and slowly slid across the seat until my leg touched his. He rested his hand on my leg. I put my hand on top of his and urged him to squeeze, then leaned over and licked his ear with the tip of my tongue.
“Mmmmm. Tasty," I said softly, in a husky, seductive voice I didn’t even know I had. “So what zactly you want, sugah? What can Bobbi do for you tonight?”
He reared back a little and looked at me strangely. “That was a quick change-up, girl,” he said. I brought my face close to his and gently nibbled on his lip.
“I juss don’t wake up so good,” I whispered. What the hell had happened to my voice? I sounded like a reject from the road company of Porgy and Bess, the XXX version. “That’s all. Bobbi’s here for you now, if you still interested. I know I am.” My tongue snaked out to slip between his lips and touch his. He answered my question by opening his mouth and grabbing the back of my head with his hand. His tongue probed deeply, and I responded as best I could, feeling my nipples get harder still, and the itch between my legs grew stronger.
When we broke for air, I pulled back a little bit.
“That’s all you get for free, honey,” I whispered softly, putting a hand on his crotch. The feeling of his hardness seemed to set my insides on fire, but I tried not to let it show on my face. After all, he was a customer. 'Never let a customer see how much you want it.' The voice in my head sounded spiteful and cold. 'He try to pay less if he think you want it.'
What the hell had gotten into me?
I ran my fingers across the front of his pants, and watched him shudder with desire.
“How much?” he breathed. I smiled.
“Depend on what you want.” I unzipped his fly and reached inside. His eyes got real wide. I took his penis in my hand ... as much of it that would fit, anyway. “Feels like somethin’s ready to explode. Want me to turn up the heat?” I bent over, pressing my breasts into his thigh, and blew gently on the tip of his organ. I could feel it throb in my hand. I looked up into his face. “Twenty, and I light the fuse for ya. Make ya blow up real good.”
His hand snaked into his pocket and pulled out a handful of bills. He plucked a twenty from the roll and pushed it into my outstretched hand. I felt dizzy for an instant as I slipped the bill into the top of my stocking, as if the heat inside me was boiling my blood. Then, without a second thought, I took his penis in my mouth and ran my tongue around it with a practiced move that made me think I’d done this before, even though I knew I never had. He moaned, and I shot a look up the aisle with my peripheral vision. Everybody was still asleep.
He put one hand on the back of my head, and the other slipped underneath my skirt to squeeze my ass. I arched my back in response, sticking my hips up in the air like a cat that had just been stroked while my head moved up and down. The fire in me seemed to move through my body. The harder I made him, the hotter I got. His hand on the back of my neck pushed me to go deeper, and I responded by sucking and licking his penis each time I went down. I felt a few drops of semen slip down my throat, and suddenly he began to shake and moan, and a flood of cum shot deep into my mouth. Both of his hands held my head firmly in his lap, and I swallowed as quickly as I could. Each swallow pushed me into the fire that had grown to consume me with flames of pleasure that licked my whole body and made me nearly faint.
His passion spent, I felt his organ begin to go limp. I licked it gently as it slipped from my mouth, and felt the fire below my waist start to subside. I had never felt anything like that before, I was sure of it.
It was awesome.
And it scared the hell out of me.
Still the professional, I tucked his penis back into his pants and zipped them up. I gave his lap a little pat and snuck a quick look around. The other passengers were still sleeping. They hadn’t seen a thing.
I looked up at the customer, and found him looking at me with a satisfied smile on his face. It made me feel good to think I'd done that to him -- that I'd made another person happy so easily. The Rob in me felt a strange kinship to this man, as if he was an odd echo of the man I used to be. And in his eyes, I saw something deeper ... and smiled back.
'Don't you go getting' all misty-eyed, girl,' that awful voice hissed at me inside. ''He ain't a person, he a paycheck, and that's all. In my world, a man ain't nothin' but meat with money, so shut up and let me work. This is business!'
I recoiled in horror at her bleak view of humankind, but then I realized I had actually felt something for this man, and that scared me even more. The thought of being with this man as a woman made me shake inside with fear and desire, and confusion battled with the need to control ... and lost.
Bobbi was back in charge.
“Business doing pleasure with ya, hon,” she said, smiling back as I watched, helplessly. As she sat back up, the twenty dollar bill pressed against her inner thigh, its sharp edges cutting into her soft skin. It felt great.
“Likewise,” he said, and slipped an arm around her for a quick hug. She snuggled into him briefly, and then broke free. He gave her a surprised look, and she shrugged.
“It’s just business, sweet stick,” she purred. “You is nice and all, but a girl’s gotta eat. Something besides you, that is.”
I felt her move a little away from the customer. She folded her arms under her breasts. “Give you too much lovin’ for free, wind up never makin’ another cent as long as I live. Then where I be? Buck naked and out in the cold, that’s where.” The line blurred between us, and Bobbi and I were suddenly one. I put my hand on his arm. “Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t ya, sugah? That way you’d get to see everythin’ you missed this trip.” And then I giggled. I GIGGLED!
It wasn’t an act. I WANTED to giggle. It just seemed like the thing to do. I felt warm and happy and content, even though I had just finished taking twenty dollars from a complete stranger for less than five minutes of work, and enjoyed it beyond my now limited capacity to say. Still, Bobbi's pleasure at taking the man's money was dulled for me when I snuck a look at the customer. He seemed uncomfortable, embarrassed, and sad, all at once. It touched me somehow, although I didn't know why.
Suddenly, I saw everything clearly, and my heart went out to him. He wasn’t really the cool customer he had pretended to be. He was just ... lonely. I knew how he felt, or rather, Rob did. Too many days spent without someone to hold, to care for you, or care about. Sometimes, just being wasn't enough. Sometimes, you just need to be with someone.
I sensed a sweetness in him, a shyness that the man I used to be knew all too well. He had reached out to Bobbi ... made himself vulnerable, to have some kind of contact, just to not be alone. And Bobbi had pushed it back to business, and made what had been a connection ... a transaction. She'd hurt him, and she didn't even know how badly. Worse yet, she didn't even care.
I could feel Bobbi grin inside me, anxious to use this information to make a little more cash off of a desperate man. When I realized what she planned to do, it angered me, and I ripped myself free of her control with a blast of anger. How dare she use his loneliness -- and mine -- to make a profit? I cast her aside with my muted rage and reduced her again to the shadow she was when I first woke up. It was her turn to be scared. Suddenly, I was back in control, a pretty, sexy woman sitting next to a sad, sweet man. And as we sat there, even though it scared me, I discovered that I had only one true goal in mind.
I didn't want him to hurt anymore -- to get off of this bus even more alone than he was when he got on. I just wanted to make him feel better. I wanted him to feel wanted, needed ... even loved.
And I would do whatever it took to make him smile again -- for him, and for the man I used to be.
The Bobbi in me seemed shocked, almost cowed by the strength of my emotion. I took from her what I knew I needed, and brought it into myself. Then I took what was left of her and pushed it into a dark corner of my mind. I walled her in with my disgust and anger.
This time, I knew she would stay where I put her. I was stronger than she was. She was a ghost, nothing more. I knew, in time, she would fade and be forgotten.
But for me, she was already a thing of the past. Right now, I had to make things right with him. Gently, and with truth and caring.
I snuggled back into him, pressing my ample breasts against his arm, and looked up into his dark face. He sat stiffly, staring straight ahead. It was as if I had been the first prostitute he'd ever approached. I knew he wasn't sure what to feel -- ashamed of paying for sex, awkward now that the deed was done. Maybe he was even afraid of what I might do next -- afraid I might hurt him somehow, humiliate or embarrass him.
I felt awful for him.
“What your name, honey?” I whispered, my voice as gentle as I could make it.
“M ... M...Marshall,” he stuttered, looking away.
I stole another glance toward the front of the bus to find nothing had changed.
“Marshall,” I said softly, "do you remember what I said about givin' away too much lovin' for free?" He nodded just a little. "Well, I was wrong, and I apologize. I hurt you, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. I was juss ... scared. I was feeling somethin' between us, and it scared me. So I tried to make it juss business, but I think we both know it ain't. It's way more than cash and carry, sweetness. I can feel it."
He looked down at me, surprised. I felt myself blushing, and looked away. The words seemed to spill out of me, flowing from the Rob I was through the new Bobbi I'd become. Bringing them both together into something neither male nor mercenary.
Just female, and alone.
"I juss ... I just see somethin' in you, you know?" I looked back at him and let Rob's years of longing pour into his soul through my eyes. "You feel like a nice man, a little lost, and a little lonely ... a little like me. And I don't think either of us wants to be lost ... or alone. Not tonight, and maybe not evah." I looked away, and then looked back. "I wanna see where this takes us."
The bus turned sharply, throwing me against him. His arm reached around me and held me, and his lips met mine as I melted into him. One of his hands cupped a breast, and I took his other hand and slid it under my skirt, between my legs. He gasped when he felt the hot wetness I already knew was there. It was my turn to tremble as his fingers stroked me gently. I shuddered and let loose a little high-pitched moan right into his ear. He moved his fingers away, and let his hand slip from my breast and rest on the curve of my hip. I sighed.
There was a minute of silence, and then Marshall spoke.
"You're right, Bobbi. I'm tired of bein' alone ... and lonely," he said, his voice strained. I could hear years of pain lurking there, held back only by his fear of being taken in and tricked. "And you ... you ... you feel right, too. I can hear it in your voice, see it in your eyes. Like you know how I'm feelin' ... and you feel it too." He swallowed, and I felt him shake. "But I'm afraid. I want it so much to be real ... I ... I don't know ..."
I did know, though. I knew exactly what he needed -- just what I had to do to make him see this was more than either of us thought when he first sat down next to me.
I reached down, pulled the twenty out of the top of my stocking, and slipped it into his fingers, still wet from my juices. "Here, Marshall. Take it back. This ain't 'bout money anymore, if it evah was. I don't want anything from you but you. We juss a boy and a girl on a bus now, 'kay? Maybe we can be more than that, but right now, it's just us."
We were both quiet, as Marshall thought about what I'd said. I let him think. When I thought he'd overcome some of his fear, I took his hand.
“I ain’t got nowhere special to be,” I said softly, “Except here, with you. When we get where we goin', why don’t we grab some dinner?” There was a pause, and then I surprised myself again as Bobbi wailed inside me, totally ignored. “My treat, honey. Not looking for handouts tonight ... just wanting to hold your hand, if you let me."
He just nodded. I smiled, tilted my face up and kissed him gently on the cheek. "Then maybe, if you want, you could ... take me home wit you." His eyes flared, and I smiled up at him in a way that left no doubt I wanted him. "No charge, sweetness. Not between us. Not never again. Just for fun ... and maybe more.”
He looked down at me, and I looked up and waited patiently. Finally, he shook his head and smiled.
"You the stranges’ whore I ever met,” he whispered, and surprised me with a squeeze and a gentle kiss on my forehead. I sighed.
“I'm probably the only whore you evah met, sugah,” I whispered back with a smile. “But that's okay. I don't want you meeting any more. Besides, I ain't a whore no more. I juss quit. Now we juss a boy and girl on a bus, 'member? And if you want me, I'm your girl. For as long as you want me."
"Just like that?" Marshall sounded surprised. I giggled, turn my head and gently kissed his cheek again. It felt hot and stubbly and just right.
"Yeah, juss like that." I snuggled in closer, and felt him hold me tighter. "I know a good man when I see one. Course, if you don't want a girl of your own, you could juss think of me as the biggest puppy you ever seen, with a tongue that juss don’t quit. Don’t you juss wanna take me like a big dog?” I wiggled gently against him and laughed, and he laughed too. As I put my hand on his chest, all thoughts of the man I used to be were pushed aside by the thought of the man I had.
“Okay, Bobbi,” he said as the bus hissed to a halt, the lights from the depot outside. “But don't you go being a bitch now, and if you ain’t housebroken, you’re sleepin’ in the yard.”
I laughed again, and licked his neck.
“Woof,” I said, and he smiled.
As I settled in against him with his arm around me, warm and strangely contented, thoughts about the man I used to be resurfaced. Somehow I knew the few scattered memories I'd managed to retrieve were only the beginning ... and I was pretty sure I was going to be pretty damned mad when it all came back.
Because I knew I didn't do this to myself.
I had my arms full of groceries as I struggled up to the front door. I was still wearing my work clothes, a navy blue suit coat and short skirt that hugged every curve, over a lavender blouse with enough buttons undone to show off a hint of cleavage. The three-inch heels on my conservative pumps made me teeter a bit on the stairs. But I had never had a problem with high heels in the eight months since I had woken up on the bus, and I wasn't about to start now. I had left my job at the car rental place early today for an appointment, and managed to hit the supermarket for supplies on the way home. But I knew without looking at the petite gold watch on my left wrist that Marshall was going to be home for dinner long before it was going to be ready, and if it wasn't already cooking when he walked through the door, neither one of us would be eating anything but each other until pretty late tonight.
Not that I minded, but Marshall couldn't live on sex alone ... no matter how hard he tried.
I smiled to myself, thinking about how hard he tried ... and how hard he was when he tried ... when I heard a familiar voice from behind me.
"Rob?"
I turned, keys in my hand and groceries precariously balanced in the crook of my arm, to find my former partner standing on the driveway fifteen feet away. Same old gray suit, same old pinched expression.
"It's Bobbi now, Fred," I said calmly. "Thanks to you, you stupid shit. It's hard to believe this is the same body I grew up in, but I designed the tech, so I guess I have to."
Fred seemed shocked. "You ... you remember?"
"Of course I remember, moron." I bent at the knees and carefully put the groceries down on the front stoop, then turned to face him. "How could I not remember something as vile as what you did to me? Hijacking my body, using my own tech against me, changing me into a young black woman ... then programming me to be a prostitute? I'd have to be stupider than you to forget that. And I am NOT stupid."
He was stunned into near speechlessness. "How --- how could you --?"
"How? Easy. That teaching technology I created? The system you tried to use to program me? It was flawed." I glided over to the edge of the driveway and put my hands on my hips. "I TOLD you when I showed you the alpha version, remember? I said it had problems, and it did. They were manageable when all you wanted to do was teach someone algebra, because the assumption was that the person actually wanted to LEARN algebra. But when you tried to use the same technology to reprogram someone's mind?" I shook my head. "Ain't gonna happen."
I noticed my tone had started to move from conversational to confrontational, and I decided to let it. What the hell, I was pissed. Might as well hit him with it all at once. "You didn't want to hear me because the DoD freaks were drooling over the possibilities of honest-to-God mind control-- which I hated, by the way. Turning POWs and ambassadors into happy spies and assassins? PUH-LEEZ! Trying to push another personality template on already established brain patterns won't last if the person being 'reprogrammed' pushes back. Which I did, dumbass. Hell, I would have expected even you to realize you couldn't turn a middle-aged white guy into a young black whore --not without forty years of experience as a man turning your quaint little attempt at brainwashing into mush."
I started trembling all over. All of the anger I had put aside in the months since my awakening was coming back with a vengeance. Fred began to look a little queasy, and backed up a step. "It took a few weeks, but things started coming back to me a little. And once my old memories started coming to the surface, a lot of the new stuff disappeared. Including most of that horrid 'ghetto speak' you cursed me with. I felt like a walking stereotype! Have you ever even TALKED to a black person? What the hell was THAT all about?"
Fred opened his mouth to speak, and I put up one hand. "Don't! I don't want to hear about your bizaare little sex fantasies, you troll. You made me younger, prettier -- and a prostitute! I'm afraid to think about what happened when Bobbi first 'woke up.' When I think you might have actually fucked me before you let me loose, trapped in a body built for sin with an over-eager libido, I almost want to puke. Did you?" He opened his mouth to speak and I pointed a finger at him again. "Don't! I don't want to know. I REALLY don't."
"Thank God the DNA recompiler worked right ... on a human. You're damned lucky it did, too. Come to think of it, so am I. I could've wound up permanently damaged. Especially with you at the keyboard, you pathetic excuse for a friend." The anger stopped suddenly, replaced by tears I didn't realize were lurking. "Damn you, Fred. How could you DO that to me? I TRUSTED you! You were the only friend I had, and you ... you ..."
There was a long empty pause, as I tried to pull in my sadness and get the tears back under control. I'd spent a lot of nights lying in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering how I could have misjudged him so badly. I watched Fred fidget as he tried to figure out what the heck he was supposed to do. If he had reached out a hand to comfort me, I probably would have broken it off at the wrist and handed it back, but he wisely kept his distance.
Finally, my anger reasserted itself and pushed his betrayal into the past, where it belonged. I gave him a stare that could've melted his aviator-framed glasses (had I been blessed or cursed with heat vision), then broke the silence.
"So you're here now," I snapped. "Another stupid decision on your part. After all, why go to all the trouble of hunting me down, after doing everything you could to lose me?" Fred said nothing. I tried to wait him out, then threw my hands up in disgust. "Fine. You're here. So what the hell do you want, anyway?"
"I want to apologize," he said sincerely, "and bring you back ... to get on with your old life."
"Hah!" I shouted, and stormed back to the stoop. I turned and saw Fred checking out my bottom as I walked away. When he realized I had caught him, he looked both flustered and embarrassed, and I smiled.
Men.
"I'm touched, really, Fred," I said tenderly. "That you would come all this way to make amends -- as if a simple 'sorry' could make up for what you did to me. But that's not why you're really here, is it?" I caught his eyes and held them with mine. "What you really want is for me to come back and save the damned company."
I saw his shoulders slump, and I pressed on. "You didn't know about the 'dead man's switch' I set up, did you? There was a reason the company is called Edmonds Biotechnique, Fred. Me being the Edmonds the company was named after, I had a vested interest in making sure my biotechnique didn't get used for reasons I didn't approve of -- like spooky intelligence contracts, or funding your retirement, or TURNING ME INTO A HOOKER!"
"It's all gone." Fred's eyes glazed over and he spoke in a half-whisper, as if still amazed everything he had stolen could have been taken from him so easily. "Every line of code, every piece of equipment. A few weeks after ... you'd gone, the nano-tech manufacturing unit turned itself on and programmed about a billion nano-bots to take itself apart. There's nothing left but a pile of dust. At the same time, every computer wiped its disks, wrote over what was left seven times, and then fried itself as well. And the same thing happened to the off-site back-up facility."
I placed my hand upon my chest and nodded. "Me again, I'm afraid. When I didn't check in over the Internet at the right time, everything disappeared in a puff of programming. Nothing left but memories." I smiled. "I remember convincing you that it was too revolutionary to let any of it out when it could be discovered, even in the vaguest terms needed for the patent office."
Fred nodded glumly.
"So now you've got no product? Nothing to show the shareholders?" Fred nodded again.
"Well, aren’t you in a jam!" I squealed happily, fluttering my hands. "All those millions spent, and nothing left for the annual report but pictures of fried hardware and empty promises. I can't wait to see what the auditors do to you -- not to mention the IRS. The feeding frenzy alone will keep CNBC and the Wall Street Journal happy for months! Oh, and when the DoD doesn't get the mind-control they wanted? I wouldn't want to be in your shoes for ANYTHING."
I parked my bottom on the top step of the stoop, next to the grocery bags, and put my knees together. I put my hand on my chin and pretended to think. Then I threw him another smile. "Say! I bet you've got a Rob Edmonds back home, don't you? Living in my apartment, working out of my office. Why not let HIM put the pieces back together?"
"Because he's not you." Fred looked down at his feet. "Before all the tech went south, I picked him up outside a homeless shelter and offered him a whole new life."
"Mine."
"Yes, yours. He looks like you and acts like you, but he's not you."
"You don't say! Well, as I'm sure you noticed a minute ago while you were staring at my ass, I'm not me anymore either."
"I can change that," Fred said, raising his eyes to mine with a hopeful expression. "You can rebuild the tech, and I can give you back your old life. We can go back to the way things were."
I tried to hold it back as long as I could, but nothing could stop the peals of laughter that rose up from deep inside and echoed across the neighborhood. A window opened in the house next door, and a young black woman stuck her head and shoulders out with a curious look on her face.
"Damn, Bobbi! What's so funny?"
"Hey, Keesha! This guy is. He wants me to trust him again, after he damned near destroyed my life the last time we did business together. He betrayed me, stole everything I had, and threw me out into the street. What do you think I should do?"
She grinned at me and shook her head. "I'd say you're doing just fine, girl. Laughin' is about the best he can expect from you." Keesha looked at Fred. "But you? You'd best get your ass outta here before Marshall gets home, mister. Cause if he find out you hurt his wife, and you're standin' right in front of him, he's gonna twist you into a pretzel before you even realize you're in a fight." She threw me a wink. "Call me before Marshall hurts him, hon! I really want to watch."
I smiled at her. "I'll try!" The window slid down, and I turned back to Fred. He was half-stunned, his mouth open, looking at me like he was seeing an alien.
"W...wife?"
I nodded and held out my left hand, where a tiny diamond ring sat atop my gold wedding band. "You are speaking to Mrs. Marshall Wheeler, who has about as much interest in going back to being your business partner as she has in joining the Swedish bikini team."
"But Rob ... you weren't ... you'd never ... you said the programming didn't hold!"
"I said most of it didn't. But the best parts stuck, and I'm glad. Maybe it was part of the programming. Or maybe it was always a part of me. But it turns out I like being a woman, and a wife, and a lover. I like having a home and a husband -- making him happy, keeping him fed, and telling him how much I love him, because I DO. Oh, and I love what he does to me when it's just the two of us, in bed, alone. In fact, I like it a hell of a lot more than I ever liked being rich and alone, with friends like you."
I stood up and dusted off the back of my skirt. "I found a good man, we fell in love, and I married him. That's my life now. So you can take your offer and what's left of my company and go back where you came from. Bobbi Wheeler is home, and she's staying there."
I walked back over to him and looked him straight in the eye.
"It’s over for you, Fred. And the company. Sell what you can from the wreckage and run like a thief in the night, because my tech is mine, and you won't ever see it again." I leaned forward. "By the way, I had my own off-site back-up facility, somewhere you'll never look. And as soon as I can figure out how to put it out there without some jerk like you trying to make a buck on it, my technology is going to be helping a lot of people -- instead of giving the intelligence community a hard-on, along with one more cruel toy to play with."
His face went dark, and I saw the anger and hatred flared in his eyes. I took a step back, suddenly frightened, and he raised his fist --
-- only to have another hand swallow it whole from above. Fred found himself yanked skyward, twisted in mid-air, and thrown across the driveway into the side of my car. Marshall stood over him, a solid wall of a man, and I ran over to his side. He wrapped an arm around me.
"You okay, baby?"
"Yes, honey," I replied, giving him a squeeze. I could feel the anger in him, his whole body trembling. "It’s okay, now. He was just leaving."
Fred scrambled to his feet, his face still red with rage. "You don't know!" he shouted. "You have no idea who she really is! She --"
Marshall let go of me, took the front of Fred's suit in both hands, and hoisted my ex-partner into the air over his head.
"Don’t you tell me what I don't know," he said calmly, all the more impressive for holding two hundred pounds of executive up in the air. "You think my wife is gonna keep secrets from me? I know damn well who she used to be, just like I know who she is now. You think it matters? I LOVE her, and I'm damned lucky she loves me."
His eyes narrowed, and his voice went so low he actually growled. "And if you're the guy who took her old life away and tried to make her into a whore, you're about two seconds away from being turned into a pile of dog food." His hands became fists so tight, I could hear his knuckles crack.
Fred turned pale, and a big wet spot showed up on the front of his pants. Marshall lowered him gently to the grass, and he sat there, his legs spread, breathing hard.
My husband wrapped his arm around me again and held me close. It felt wonderful. He looked down at the man in the dripping suit.
"The only reason you ain't in a can with the word 'ALPO' stenciled across your ass," he said, "is that what you did brought me the woman I love, and she's happy bein' mine. So just because of that, you get one chance. Get the hell off of my property and never come near me or my Bobbi again. 'Cause if you do, as God is my witness, you'll be feeding a Doberman the next day."
Fred looked up at us both. I blew him a kiss, and Marshall snarled, and suddenly he was running as fast as he could across the lawn and out into the street. Soon, there was nothing left but the smell. I heard Keesha applauding from her upstairs window, and gave her a wave.
I was home.
Marshall kissed me, hard, and I returned the kiss with interest. When we broke, he looked me in the eye. "Everything okay?"
"Better than okay," I whispered with a smile. "You're here." I kissed him this time, and he picked me up in his arms and kept kissing me while we headed for the stoop. He put me down long enough to grab both bags of groceries with one arm, and kept the other around me as I opened the door.
"You can be pretty scary when you want to be, husband," I said as he walked in ahead of me. "If I didn't know you wouldn't hurt a fly ..."
"Well, I wouldn't," Marshall replied, setting the bags on the kitchen table. "But he ain't no fly. He knows I meant every word I said, and he won't be back. Got no reason, now that he knows where we stand."
"Side by side, baby." I gave him a squeeze from behind. "Always."
My husband scanned the kitchen and turned to me, a small frown on his face. "I see dinner's not started yet."
"No, honey." I pouted, putting my hands behind my back and looking at the floor in mock embarassment. He gave me a long-suffering look and sighed. Then he picked me up with both hands, took me in his arms and kissed me until my toes curled. I squealed, wrapped my legs around him, and let myself feel every inch of him pressing into me. Marshall broke from the kiss and looked into my eyes.
"Lucky for you you're so damned tasty." He brushed my lips with his. "I've been skipping a lot of dinners lately." He turned and started walking to the bedroom with me still wrapped around his middle.
I kissed his throat and bit him, just a little. He made a little noise and held me tighter. I put my lips up to his ear and whispered, "Tell me, husband. Are you still gonna want me this much after the baby comes?"
He took three more steps before he stopped dead, and pulled me far enough off of him to look into my face. "Baby?"
"Oh, did I forget to mention? I went to the doctor today, and ..." The look on his face stopped me cold. It was the biggest smile I'd ever seen, and it lasted until I nodded. Then he kissed me again and nearly squeezed the life out of me with a bear hug, before taking me to bed and making slow gentle love to me all night long.
When I woke up the next morning in his arms, listening to him snore, I thought about when I first woke up on that bus, and how I thought I was trapped in a nightmare.
But who said bad dreams can't have happy endings, once in a while?
The Three Wise Guys
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Yes, Virginia, there IS a Santa Claus ... but he's not quite what you might expect. Meet Nick D'Angelo, a very different Father Christmas, and his two elves, Gino and Paulie.
The Nick of Time
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Christmas Special!
Yes, McKinnon, there IS a Santa Claus ... he's just not quite what you might have expected.
Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf on Wednesday 12-27-2006 at 7:47 pm, this retro classic Christmas Special was pulled out of the closet, and re-presented for our newer readers. ~Sephrena
Choices. Everyone says they want the freedom to choose -- that more choices make for better choices, and help make it easier for a person to pursue happiness.
Unfortunately, Ian McKinnon was discovering that, in some cases, freedom of choice was terribly overrated.
A methodical man, he sat in his cold, empty flat contemplating his future. The means to his end was artfully arranged on the scarred coffee table in the center of what he used to call his living room. But with the addition of the pistol, the rope, and the pills, Ian had begun referring to it as his "dying" room. Unfortunately, since his best (and only) friends were out of town, there was no one to laugh at his macabre joke. Or try to talk him out of what he planned to do.
It had been a few days since he first set up the display. An ancient television and a poor excuse for a Christmas tree were the only other distractions he had in the flat, and since the television was broken (and the Christmas lights dark due to his inability to pay his lighting bill), the objects d'art wound up the focal point every time he walked into the room.
The trouble was, there were just too many ways to kill yourself. And poor Ian just wanted to get it over with, and move on. That is, if there was someplace to move on to. In Ian's head, the jury was still out on that one. But before he could even find out for sure what was on the other side, he had to finalize his travel arrangements. Hence, the visual display.
'I could always step out into traffic,' he thought sourly. 'One good-sized lorry would leave me well and truly dead. Maybe.'
It was the maybes that did Ian in. Time and again, he went over his options. But it seems that death, like life, is just as much a gamble as any human endeavor. Like any modern consumer, Ian wanted a sure thing, and as he kept weighing the options, he seemed to come back to the pistol, over and over again. It was a big thing, ungainly and difficult to manage in his small hands, but the fact that it was so large weighed heavily in its favor as the weapon of choice. To paraphrase Clint Eastwood in that American film, it could conceivably "blow his head clean off."
The pills and the rope could be circumvented by timely intervention. But one pull of that trigger, and the farce was over. Finally. No more being a burden on John and Emily. No more having to be the shy awkward guy who stood in the corner at parties, never fitting in with the guys and always stumbling over his words when he tried to chat up a woman. And even when he found a girl who liked him, she never stayed. Eventually, she just drifted away into "let's be friends" land and found herself someone hairier, with more muscles and less empathy. He was lost, and alone, and tired of being both.
The truth was something he didn't want to face, and spent a lot of private time denying. It had hounded him for his entire life, even though he knew he couldn't change it, or even face it head-on. And finally, Ian realized he didn't want to run anymore. He didn't want to try and get past it.
He just wanted it to end.
He'd read somewhere that Christmas had the highest body count of the year when it came to suicide. At least he'd make a mark in the world, even if it was just to add to the body count. Resolved, Ian lifted the pistol to his temple, closed his eyes, and started marshalling the will he needed to pull the trigger ...
... when a voice came from behind him.
"You really don't want to do that."
He turned around, gun still to his head, and found three men standing in the middle of the room directly behind him. His eyes strayed to the door, and found it still triple-locked with deadbolts, with the chain still engaged. The men were all dressed well in suits and ties, although the cut of their clothes seemed dated. They all wore hats -- wide brim fedoras, if Ian was not mistaken -- but under the hats he could see that all three wore their hair short and slicked back. Their suit coats and overcoats were open.
The man up front and in the center was older than the other two, with a little grey at the temples and a few more laugh lines etched into his face. He carried himself with an air of authority, as if command was something that came as naturally to him as breathing. The fact that he was looking right at Ian made the younger man realize that this was the owner of the voice he had heard. And the expression on the older man's face was one of mild concern, which surprised Ian, since he couldn't imagine why the man would care about his fate in the first place.
The leader was wearing a sharp black fedora that went well with his black pinstripe suit. Keeping with etiquette, he removed the hat with a pinch to the crown, then held it in his hands as he looked around for a place to hang it. Not finding one, Ian watched him close his eyes, just for a second.
A tall antique hat rack appeared by the door. Ian saw it just ... fade into place out of thin air. He felt dizzy for a second, and shook his head, but the hat rack remained.
Without looking, the older man tossed his hat behind him. It flew to the top-most hook and settled there. Ian could almost hear a sigh as it gently came to rest, and the center gentleman turned back to face his unwilling host.
"I said, you really don't want to do that." His voice was genial, but marked with some kind of unidentifiable American accent. It seemed strangely familiar to him, but he still couldn't quite place it. It seemed out of context somehow.
Ian swallowed. "Oh?" he said, attempting (and failing) to make his tone completely normal. "And why is that, exactly?"
"Because a guy could hurt himself tryin' a stunt like that," the man replied. His two associates smiled.
"Maybe that's what I want to do." Ian stood up straighter, the gun still raised. The older man shook his head.
"No, kid. I know what you're after, and hurtin' yourself ain't it." He took two steps forward and took the gun out of Ian's hand before he even knew it was gone. "Look," he continued, raising the pistol to his own temple, "putting the gun to your head here looks like it'll work just fine, but if you lose your nerve, even for a second, you jerk the piece up when you pull the trigger and ..."
The muzzle of the gun aimed towards the top of his head, and the man said, "Bang." Ian realized what the older man was trying to say, and the newcomer sighed. "Well, you get my drift. What happens ain't pretty, and sometimes you get to hang around for a long time after -- when all you really wanted to do was check out, am I right?" Ian nodded wordlessly. The man with the gun gave him a smile. He opened the pistol, emptied all the bullets into his hand, and then made both the gun and the bullets disappear.
"Hey!" Ian's surprise over the vanishing pistol was overcome by his indignation. "That was mine!"
"The key word in that sentence is 'was,' kid." The older man glanced over his shoulder. "Either of you guys see a gun around here?" The two men behind him grinned at each other and shook their heads. He turned back to Ian, who was getting more confused by the minute. "See? And don't get so worried. After tonight, you ain't going to need it anymore. Right, boys?"
They both nodded, and Ian started feeling a little like the one actor in the cast of this little Christmas pageant who didn't get the script. "And why, exactly, won't I need it?"
"Because it's Christmas, you mook!" The guy on the right piped up, looking a little impatient. "And he's the Claus!"
"Shut up, Paulie," the other man said, reaching over and slapping him in the back of his head. "Don't you know we got to break it to the mark gentle-like? That's the boss's job, so shut your piehole."
"Thank you, Gino." Still smiling, the leader held out his hand. "I guess I should introduce myself. I'm Santa Claus."
Ian looked at the hand but made no move to take it. "You're ... Saint Nick?"
The older man's smile faltered slightly, but he gave Ian a nod. "Sorta. I'm no saint, but I am a Nick. Nick D'Angelo." He stuck out his hand a little further. Not knowing what else to do, Ian took it and gave him a firm handshake. "That's better. See? I don't bite."
"I still don't understand," Ian said, letting go of Nick's hand and taking a step back. "Am I supposed to believe you're ... Father Christmas?"
Paulie snickered. "More like Godfather Christmas!" Gino reached over and smacked him again, harder this time. Paulie turned toward him, his temper flaring. "Hey! Knock it off!"
"You knock it off, stupid," Gino snapped. "You're cramping the boss's style."
Ian looked at Nick and repressed an urge to smile. "I suppose these two are your ... elves?"
Nick had the grace to look embarrassed. "I know they don't look the part, but they have ... skills other elves don't. Trust me on this."
"Forgive me for doubting you, Mister D'Angelo ..." Ian began.
"Please, call me Nick," the older man said. "And it's okay. I woulda had trouble believin' it myself, if I wasn't livin' it."
"Nick it is, then," Ian continued. "But you don't look anything like the Santa the media is so fond of flashing around this time of year. You're ... a lot younger, for a start. And ... you do seem more ... cosmopolitan."
"Neopolitan, maybe." Paulie snickered again, but batted away Gino's hand as it went for the back of his head.
D'Angelo sighed. "It's Ian, right?" Ian nodded. "Well, Ian, you caught me. I'm not the original guy. That was Saint Nicholas, and that was a hell of a long time ago. Now the Creator ... well, he needed the original Nick for something else, somethin' big. Nobody knows what, but it's sort of a 'need to know' thing. Anyway, the big guy needed the Saint, but he wanted to keep the spirit of the holiday alive. So he chooses somebody new every once in a while to fill in as Santa Claus for a few years, but in honor of the first guy, he always has to be named Nick. Me, now, I've been the Claus since ... how long, Gino?"
"Sixty two, boss," Gino replied.
"Yeah, nineteen sixty two. A lot of years, bringing the cheer and 'ho, ho, ho-ing' and the rest. The presents, the carols ... the whole thing." D'Angelo smiled. "Sure beats the old days. Back when I was alive, the things I used to do ..." He shook his head. "I was not a nice man, Ian. Oh, I looked out for my own, but if you crossed me and mine, look out!" Both Paulie and Gino nodded. "Now I get to look out for a lot more people than I used to, that's all. This job ... well, it's the best job I ever had, and I'm damned lucky to have it. Still don't know why the big guy chose me, but I got no complaints."
"Nick," Ian began, tentatively, "it's Christmas Eve, isn't it? If you're ... the Claus, shouldn't you be out riding the sleigh with the reindeer and the presents and all?"
"Whaddayou, crazy?" Nick gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder, and Ian had to force himself not to rub away the pain, although he didn’t know why he didn't give into the impulse. "It's COLD out there, especially that high up in the sky. Those reindeer STINK! I can't drive for shit. And you think I'm gonna mess up this SUIT climbing up and down chimneys? Sheesh, kid, think a little. I got guys who do that stuff for me, capische? No sense being the boss if you can't delegate, know what I'm sayin'?" Ian nodded again, not sure what else to do. Nick smiled. "No, kid, for me, the spirit of the season comes from ... special jobs. Like you."
"Me?"
"Yeah, you!" Nick put his arm around Ian's shoulders and started walking with him toward the worn leather couch. "This is your lucky night. I'm here to bring you some Christmas cheer. Whatever you want, you got, courtesy of the Claus."
"Well, I had wanted to shoot myself, but you made my pistol go away." Ian sounded petulant, even to himself.
"Oh, come on, kid!" Nick sounded exasperated. "If I'da let you kill yourself, you'da been happy for, what ... a quarter of a second? Just a little slice of heaven between pulling the trigger and when death came around to collect, am I right?" Ian nodded, his brain trying to calculate how long he would have lived had he succeeded in firing the gun ... until he realized how stupid that little exercise was.
Nick was animated, waving his arms around and talking to the air. "Well, a quarter of a second of happiness ain't good enough, not for Nick D'Angelo. You're gonna get the whole nine yards if I gotta shove it down your throat." He turned to Ian with a big grin. "So, what's it gonna be? Money? Cars? Girls? All of the above? You name it, and it's yours."
Ian looked at Nick, ready to work his magic, and sighed. If he was going to die tonight, he might as well admit what he felt ... what he knew was the truth. "There's nothing you can give me that will make me happy, Nick. It's not about things. It's about me ... who I am."
Nick looked at him critically. "What? You're a skinny drink of water, and kinda small, but you ain't ugly. In fact, I bet you clean up pretty good. What's the matter, can't get a girl?"
"No," Ian replied in a small voice. "I can't be a girl."
There was a long silence. Nick looked at him, amazed. "Get outta town! You want to be a broad?" The two elves looked at each other, not sure what to think.
Ian looked at them all, and nodded. "I ... I always wanted to be a woman. Ever since I was small, I knew I was different. I tried to deny it for years, but it's who I am. And since I can't be who I am, I'd rather be no one at all. Do you understand?"
"Huh." Nick seemed truly at a loss for words. "Well, no, I guess I don't. No offense, kid, but why would anyone want to be a broad? Besides a broad, I mean. I like girls plenty, but I like lookin' at them from the outside, ya know?"
"And not just lookin', right boss?" Paulie snickered, and Nick looked at Gino. Gino sighed and shrugged.
Ian shook his head. "I didn't think you'd understand. I spent my life running away from the fact that I'm not what I should have been, and just when I was finally ready to stop running, you come in and take away my pistol." His lip pushed out in a pout that would have done a fifteen-year-old cheerleader proud.
Nick looked back at Ian. "I can't say I get it, kid, but I can tell it really bugs you. You were gonna off yourself tonight because of this. I can't let you do that. Dead is dead, Ian, and you can't fix anything if you're a corpse. Take it from somebody who knows." He looked back at the elves. They shrugged. "I'm supposed to makes things right for you, but I just don't know what the hell I can do to help somethin' like this. I mean, I can't make you what you aren't, ya know?"
"I already am what I'm not, Nick," Ian said, frustrated. "This isn't a choice. This is what is. I've always been ... wrong, somehow."
"Always, huh?" Nick looked at the younger man, and he felt his heart going out to the poor kid. He really believes he shoulda been a skirt, Nick thought. Maybe he's crazy, but he seems like a good kid. Still ... a broad? What's up with that? And how the hell can I fix what ain't broke? He looks okay to me.
A sudden suspicion flaring in the back of his mind. "Hang on a second. I need to check something out." His eyes narrowed, and Ian felt like the older man was looking straight through him. It went on for what felt like forever, but suddenly Nick's expression changed. Ian knew what it was, quick enough, but he didn't know why.
Nick was angry.
"SonofaBITCH!" he shouted. "What the hell do they think they're playin' at?"
Paulie and Gino took a step forward. "What's wrong, boss?"
"Wrong?" Nick thundered, looking up at the ceiling. "I'll tell ya what's wrong. This guy's got a broad's soul, that's what's wrong! He really is a dame, inside. Somebody upstairs screwed up big time, and this guy's ... this girl's been paying the price her whole life. Take a look!"
Both of the elves gave Ian the same deep look Nick had, and both turned white with shock.
"Jeez, lady, that's tough!" Gino said, taking off his hat. "Getting stuck in a spot like that ... well, it's gotta hurt. I really feel for ya."
"I'll say," Paulie chimed in. "Sorry about all the jokes before, miss. I ... I didn't know, you know? I was just being stupid. I just want to tell you ... I don't blame you for trying to ... well, you know. You got a lot of guts stickin' it out as long as you did. I mean, if I was stuck a broad when I was really a guy ... I don't know if I coulda been as stand-up about it as you were, all dis time."
"Well, it ends tonight," Nick said, his anger turning quickly into a smile. "I got the power, I got the time, and you, missy, get yourself one whopper of a Christmas wish. That is, if you really want to be the girl you always was?"
The room filled with a light so bright, it lit the smallest cobwebs in the corners of Ian's living room and made him ashamed of his spotty housekeeping. When it faded, a tall man dressed all in white stood before Nick.
"You can't do that." His voice was level and almost devoid of emotion, but it still made Ian's skin crawl. "I forbid it."
"The hell I can't," Nick practically growled. "This guy here has a broad's soul. She spent her whole life in the wrong body. That kid there went through hell, Michael -- every day of her life. Does that seem right to you?"
"It doesn't matter what I think," Michael replied with a tight smile of his own. "There are many out there with the same problem. It's part of the Creator's plan. God put that soul there for a reason. It's not your place to question why. Or try to change it, for any reason."
"Not my place? It's my job." Nick took a step towards the man in white. "I'm supposed to make Ian happy. How the hell am I supposed to do that when you put her soul in his body?"
"Well now," Mikey smiled, "that's your problem, not mine. I'm your boss, but the Creator appointed you over my specific objections. I wasn't happy with your ... appointment in the first place, D'Angelo. I'm still not convinced you were the right choice for the job. And I really don't like you. It will ... please me to see you fail. You cannot change Ian McKinnon into a woman. And you can be as angry as you want, but you can't touch me ... or the Creator. Go find somebody else to help, 'Santa.' I've got real work to do." He sneered, and vanished.
Nick stared at the place the archangel had stood, his mind a million miles away. That jerk! He doesn't care about the people. He's gonna hurt HER to get at me. How the hell did he get to be an angel, anyway? Nick turned around and sat on the arm of the sofa. There's got to be a way around this. If anyone knows about breaking rules, it's me.
Ian felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. To come so close, and then have it taken away. Well, that's that, he thought. Maybe Nick will give me back that pistol after all. If I ask nicely.
Everything went very quiet for a moment. Ian could almost see the wheels turning in Nick's head, but couldn't see what Nick could do to fix things. Gino and Paulie, on the other hand, watched the boss carefully, half smiling. They'd seen him like this before, and they knew he was coming up with a plan. Nobody beat the boss when he didn't want to be beat. He was smart, the boss was. That's part of why he was the boss.
As for Nick, he turned the whole thing around in his head for some time, replaying the conversation over and over in his head.
Then he smiled.
"Jackpot, gentlemen," he said, grinning. "That Mikey is a real testa di cazzo, but sometimes he's as stupid as a doorstop. He can't stop Nick D'Angelo from doing what's right. Let's make some magic, kid."
The image on the screen above Michael's desk would have made his blood boil ... if angels had blood. There was Ian McKinnon, now fully female and beautiful beyond words, happily opening presents under a brilliantly lit tree, wrapped herself in the arms of a loving boyfriend. Her apartment tastefully decorated, her bank account filled to bursting, her career a success. Her life was everything she had ever hoped it could be.
And all because of that 'Claus!'
"D'Angelo!" He bellowed at the sky. "Get your ass in here!"
There was a flash of light, and Nick and the boys stood before him.
"Whoa! Such language! You got a problem, Mikey?" Nick said with an easy smile. The two elves snickered.
"No," Michael replied. "You do. You disobeyed a direct order from a superior."
Nick shook his head. "Now that ain't true. I disobeyed a direct order from you ... and that ain't the same." Michael's eyes bulged with barely contained anger. "And for the record, I didn't 'disobey' anybody. I just did my job."
"I forbid you from changing Ian McKinnon into a woman. I told you to help somebody else."
"Yes, you did." Nick walked over and sat on the edge of Michael's desk. "That was your first mistake. And your second. And your third."
"What are you talking about?" Michael looked up at the man looming over him.
"Your 'order,' stupid. First, I couldn't change Ian McKinnon into a woman. Fair enough." Nick shrugged, picking up a harp-shaped paperweight on the angel's desk. "So I changed her name to Anne. And when she became Anne McKinnon ... well, I could do whatever I wanted for her, couldn't I? So I did."
Michael was speechless.
"Second, you told me I couldn't turn Ian into a woman, and you was right." He put down the paperweight. "I couldn't, because her soul was already a broad's. Can't change a broad into a broad, right? So I just made the rest of her match the most important part of her. 'Cause we all agree the soul is the most important part of a person, ain't that right, boys?"
Paulie and Gino nodded, still smiling.
"And finally, you told me to find somebody else to help. Well, when Ian McKinnon became Anne McKinnon, that made her 'somebody else.' So I was able to give her all the things she never had before ... because that's MY JOB!" He leaned forward until his face was inches from Michael's. "Ho. Ho. Ho."
Nick smiled, slid off the edge of the desk, and walked back to the center of the room. The two elves smiled back at him, and the "Claus" turned around and faced the angel. "Game over, Citrullo. Don't you ever try to stop me from doin' my job again."
Michael rose slowly to his feet. "I'm going to bring this to the Creator, and when he gets through with you --"
"Stuff it, Mikey," Nick said, the command in his voice bringing Michael's tirade to a standstill. "Geez, listen to you. You been here longer than me, archangel. You KNOW the big guy sees everything. If he didn't want me to help Annie, he would have warned me off ahead of time -- or slapped me down hard himself, long before you tried to call me on the carpet. So in the end, the best reason I had for doing what i did was because I could -- because the big guy let me." Nick watched Michael take it all in, look at all the angles, and realize he'd lost.
When he saw the defeat in the angel's eyes, Nick smiled again. "Do you wanna know why I beat you, Mikey?" The angel nodded, slowly. Nick pulled a cigar out of his coat pocket and paused to light it, then inhaled with a smile.
"Because my entire life, I always looked out for my own," he said. "Always. Since I became the 'Claus,' that means I gotta look out for everybody. I care about people, Mikey. You don't. That's why I won. So if you ever cross me and mine again, ever, you won't know what hit you." He blew a stream of smoke into the room and grinned. "For the record, though, if you get in my way again ... it'll be me."
The trio disappeared, leaving Michael with nothing but the fine aroma from a hand-wrapped Cuban cigar.
Anne McKinnon squealed with delight when she saw the diamond pendant her love had given her as a gift, and kissed him with every ounce of passion her tiny form could hold. It still felt so much like a dream ... as if any second she would wake into the nightmare her life used to be. She almost asked Danny to pinch her, but before she could say a word, he slid his fingertips across her nipples through the fabric of her sweater, making it clearer than any pinch that she wasn't quite the man she used to be. She shivered all over with pleasure, and kissed him again, pressing her whole body against him.
Suddenly, Anne couldn't wait to open her last present. She ripped the shirt from his body like Christmas wrapping -- and judging from the present's reaction to her excitement, Danny was looking forward to it, too.
Over Danny's shoulder, she saw something in the window, and realized that Nick and the boys were standing on the thin air just outside. She hugged Danny tight, and mouthed, "thank you" to the man who had saved her. He read her lips, and she heard his voice in her head.
"Merry Christmas, baby," Nick said with a smile. "Go take your boyfriend to bed and make you both happy. You got a lot of catching up to do."
She nodded happily, and eagerly turned her attention back to her man.
Outside the window, Nick grinned, and turned his back on the scene inside. Gino did the same, but turned around and dope-slapped Paulie, who had been watching the lovers with interest. Paulie turned and shrugged, a little embarassed. All three stood a moment, just breathing in the night air. Then Gino spoke. "Boss? Whadda we gonna do now?"
Nick turned and started walking out into the air over the street. Paulie and Gino followed. "Well, I been thinkin' about that. There's probably a lot of girls like Annie out there, stuck as guys. Maybe a lot of guys out there stuck as dames, too. We got all of Christmas Day to play with, and nothing else to do besides rub Mikey's nose in how badly he lost." He grinned. "So I figure there's a lot of folks overdue for a Christmas miracle, and I aim to give it to 'em.. Come on, boys ... let's go make some magic."
Then the three wise guys disappeared ... into the silent night.
Italian glossary:
Testa di casso - dickhead
Citrullo - someone large, lumpy, and rather flavorless or dense.
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A Dope Slap for Christmas
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Christmas Special!
Yes, Conrad, there IS a Santa Claus -- and boy, is he pissed!
Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf on Saturday 12-31-2011 at 07:02:45 -0500 pm, this retro classic was pulled out of the closet, and re-presented for our newer readers. ~Sephrena
Conrad Hamilton stepped out of Albertino’s Family Restaurant and Pub into the early evening chill and smiled into the darkness. His usual Christmas Eve routine always brought him that special glow that only comes from crushing the hopes and dreams of others, attacking whatever they choose to believe in, and making their lives miserable.
Of course, because of the time of year, he also took great delight in destroying whatever remnants of the Christmas spirit they might be able to resurrect after spending a year trapped in a world made by Conrad and his ilk. And a small, mean, miserable world it was – without hope, without faith, without meaning … and all too depressingly real.
“I gotta say I’m very disappointed in you, Conrad.”
He looked to his right and saw a young man wearing a black wide-brimmed fedora and a charcoal grey overcoat. The coat was open, revealing a gray pinstripe suit, a black shirt and a bright red tie.
“Do I know you?” Conrad made sure to add just the right amount of sarcasm to his tone. The other man shook his head.
“No, but I know you. I just wish I didn’t.” He looked at Conrad like he was something he had stepped in and then scraped off his shoe. “Going off on Sister Mary Ignatius for five minutes about how stupid her religion is? She wishes you a Merry Christmas and you take the opportunity to crack wise for five fuckin’ minutes about how everything she believes in is a lie and a myth and a fairy tale. I gotta admit, that takes serious cogliones, even for a cacasenno like you. You’re lucky Vito didn’t take the baseball bat out from under the bar and start swinging — olpisca la vostra testa dentro, you know what I’m sayin’?”
Wordlessly, Conrad shook his head. The younger man smiled. “You’re lucky he didn’t bash your head, doin’ that in his place.” The smile dropped off his face, replaced with an emptiness that held a touch of malice. “Course, maybe if he let himself treat your face like a baseball, he mighta knocked some sense into you. But I guess that’s our job.”
Conrad took a step back, and decided to make an early night of it.
“Excuse me,” he said, and turned to go, only to find himself face to chest with another man, dressed the same way as the first (except his tie was green).
“Excuse you?” The second man said with a grin. He looked over Conrad’s shoulder. “Look how polite he is, Paulie. All of the sudden, he’s got manners. Five minutes ago he’s sneering at a nun and pissing all over her faith just for wishing him well, and now he wants us to excuse him.”
“There ain’t no excuse for him, Gino,” Paulie replied. “None at all.”
“You got that right.” Gino’s big hands wrapped around the lapels of Conrad’s expensive camel’s hair topcoat, and he lifted the older man into the air and held him there for a few second before turning and slamming up against the wall. Conrad had never felt more helpless in his life.
“Wha … what are you going to do to me?” His voice was high, and shook with fear.
“What, me?” Gino pulled him away from the wall and shoved him into it again. “Me, I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to you. I want to, believe me, after the way you went after that nun. But she smiled and let you have your say, ‘cause she knows a cafone like you don’t know how the world really works. If she’s gonna let you walk, well, who am I to do any different? I’m not a … what’s that word Lepke and Bugsy used to use all the time, Paulie? You know the one.”
“Putz?”
“Yeah, that’s it. I’m not a putz like you, I know better than to argue with a nun. No, I ain’t gonna hurt you ... much.”
Conrad turned his head toward Paulie, and Paulie looked up at him and grinned.
“Me either, as much as I’d like to. Oh, not that it ain’t temptin’, but you went and did two things tonight that pissed off my boss, and what he wants to do to you makes whatever I wanna do to you come in so far from first that the race was over and the horses had left the track long before I could reach the finish line.”
“Your … your boss?” Conrad felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “Wha … what did I do?”
Gino let him go, and he slid down the rough wooden wall and landed on the ground, the snow soaking the bottom of his coat. Paulie and Gino looked down at him, then at each other, and then took a step back.
“You lied to a little girl and you took her joy away.”
The voice came from another man who stepped up and stared down at Conrad. He was dressed like the other two but older, with a little grey hair at the temples and a few laugh lines etched into his face. But he wasn’t laughing now. Instead, he was looking at Conrad like he was a bug, and weighing the pros and cons of just squishing him under his heel.
“I lied?”
“Yes, Conrad, you lied.” The man lifted a gloved finger, and suddenly Conrad slid back up the wall until his face was level with the newcomer. “On Christmas Eve, you went and told a little girl that Santa wasn’t real. On Christmas FUCKING EVE, Conrad! Do you know what that means?”
Terrified, he shook his head, and the man’s finger twitched. Conrad was slammed back into the wall hard, and the finger pressed into his chest hard and held him there.
“Don’t you try lying to ME! You knew damned well what it meant. Carly Hart was looking forward to a night of anticipation, watching and waiting for the guy with the reindeer and the presents to slide down the chimney and bring her something special, as a thank-you for believing in something bigger than what she can see around her every freaking day. You KNEW that. You could see it all in her eyes, and you HAD to stop at the family’s table during their traditional Christmas Eve dinner on your way out and LIE to her, like it was your civic duty!”
“What did I say?”
“What, are you deaf? You told her Santa wasn’t real! You told her it was all a scam, and then you tore away all of the things that made the season special to her, one at a time. You took away her faith and left her crying and broken, and then you walked outta there whistling, like you done something good!”
The man leaned forward and put his nose and roared in his face.
“What’s the matter, Conrad? Couldn’t find a puppy to kick, so you had to take it out on a nun … and a little girl?”
“But … but it’s not a lie,” Conrad sputtered, not able to look away. The man’s eyes narrowed. “There is no Santa Claus! It’s all a hoax to make people believe in things that aren’t real.”
“Not real?” The man took a step back and his eyes flared. “You think you know real? You think you know what real is? I’M Santa Claus, you jerk … and you just made my naughty list! Made it? Hell, you ARE it!”
The man let Conrad fall back to the ground, and turned away.
“Stupid, goddamned … scassacazzo! Think you know everything, but you know nothing!”
“You’re … Saint Nick?”
“Do I look like a saint to you? No, I’m Nick D’Angelo. I’m filling in for the Saint because the Creator needs him for something else right now. When i died, God picked me to take his place, and that’s what I’m doing. I like my work, a lot. But when you come out and say the Claus isn’t real, that means right now you’re sayin’ I ain’t real either, and nobody tells Nick D’Angelo that he’s nothing. Nobody! You got that?”
“I’m sorry,” Conrad squeaked. “I … didn’t know!”
“Oh, really?” Nick turned around and roared at the man on the ground. “You sounded pretty damned sure when you ripped that little girl’s Christmas to shreds! And not just that Christmas, but every Christmas from now on. No more happy memories for her at Christmastime … all because you had to be a big shot.”
Nick waved at Gino and Paulie, and they hauled Conrad up from the ground and held him between them.
“You people ... you think that faith is a bad thing, that believing in something that's not right there in front of you is wrong. But what you don’t get is that sometimes we gotta believe in what we don’t see.” He looked the man in the eyes and saw only confusion and fear. “Look, people gotta have faith. We need to believe that things are gonna get better, that one person can make a difference, that tomorrow’s gonna be better than today. We GOT to. Because if we don't ... if we can’t believe that things are gonna be better — if everybody is so damned sure they can’t make a difference — they won’t lift a finger to fix things. Because after all, what’s the point of doing anything if it means NOTHING?”
“Part of being Santa means keeping that part of people alive until they need it most. That’s my job. And people like you make everybody’s lives a little less … magical. You try to take everybody's faith away, like you did with that nun." Nick's eyes narrowed. "And the worst of you like to go out of your way to hurt people who believe. Just like you hurt that little girl — and enjoyed it.”
Conrad looked down, and he realized that Nick was right. He had enjoyed hurting that little girl. Was he really that small inside? Was his truth so important that he had to seek out people and attack what they believed, at any cost? And the worst part of it all was that, in the end, he was WRONG -- about Santa Claus, and maybe about everything else, too. And if this D’Angelo guy really was Santa, then Conrad HAD lied to her — and enjoyed it when she cried.
‘Oh God,’ he thought, forgetting for an instant that he didn't believe in one. ‘To do that to a child? To enjoy doing that to an innocent little girl? What am I? What have I become?’
Nick saw the tears falling from Conrad’s eyes. So he looked into the man’s soul and saw something he hadn’t expected to see. A spark of shame, a feeling of remorse … and a need to make things right.
But there was something else there … a ghost of Christmas past he hadn't noticed before. His anger fading, Nick saw something he should have seen long ago, and he saw the chance to put things right.
Still, before he could fix the past, he had to fix the present. He waved at Gino and Paulie, and they released Conrad’s arms.
“You know what I’m thinking?” Nick asked. Conrad shook his head again, and Nick’s voice softened a little. “I’m thinking your ego wrote you a big check, and you went and cashed it with that girl’s happiness. I’m thinking she deserves an apology ... and a refund. What do you think?”
Conrad nodded, and Nick nodded back.
“Okay, then,” he said. “But as much as I hate to admit it, this job calls for a more … traditional approach.”
Taking a step back, he pointed at both wise guys.
“Badda — bing …”
They shrunk to half of their former height, and their clothing blurred and changed to something medieval and quasi-Germanic. There were tights and vests and brightly colored lederhosen, and caps and shoes with long curly toes. Both men reached up to find their ears had become pointed, and the two looked at each other and shrugged. It was the boss’s play, just like it always was. They had faith in Nick to set things right, so they’d follow his lead the way they always did.
Nick smiled, then made two fists and pointed his thumbs at himself.
“Badda-BOOM!”
His whole body shimmered and reformed itself into the very image of a traditional Santa Claus, beard and suit and belt and boots and all. He had a huge bag slung over his shoulder, and he winked at Conrad before turning and heading for the restaurant door. Conrad and the two elves followed.
Inside, everyone was frozen in mid-motion, as if time had stopped. And it had … for everyone except the little girl Conrad had hurt.
“Santa!!” she shouted, and ran over to where Nick was standing. She wrapped her arms around his leg and hugged him tight, and Nick dropped down to her level and gathered her in his arms.
“I knew you were real! I knew it! That man said you weren’t, but I knew!”
Nick gave her a big hug and a smile. “I had to come by to make sure you still believed. And to tell this one he was wrong.”
Conrad stepped forward.
“I’m sorry, Carly,” he said softly. “I honestly thought Santa wasn’t real. I wanted something a long time ago, and I kept asking for it year after year, and it never happened. So I thought he didn’t exist. But I see now he does, and I’m very sorry I hurt you.”
She let go of Nick and walked slowly over to Conrad. She looked up into his eyes.
“Are you really sorry?” He nodded, and Carly could see that it was true. So she gave him a hug.
“That’s okay, Mister. Everybody’s wrong sometimes.” Conrad felt tears start to rise, and he gave her a hug back. Nick looked at the two of them for a few seconds, thinking about what he’d seen in Conrad’s head, and then spoke.
“Carly,” he rumbled in his oh-so-jolly voice. “As long as I’m here now, is there a Christmas present you want more than anything else? Something you’ve wished for but never gotten, like Conrad here?”
Reluctantly, Carly nodded.
“I just thought you couldn’t give it to me for some reason,” she replied, “and that was okay. Sometimes you can’t get what you want, and you need to learn to be happy with what you’ve got. Mommy and Daddy taught me that.”
Nick turned to Conrad.
“And you, Conrad? Do you still want what you wished for, all those years ago?”
“Yes,” he said, hanging his head. “More than anything. But I know it’s impossible, now.”
“You know that, do you?” Nick looked down at Carly and smiled. “Here he goes again, ‘knowing’ things that just aren’t so. Have a little faith! Believe that something good is right around the corner!”
Conrad looked up, surprised, just as Nick took the bag off of his shoulder and slung it over Conrad’s head. It swallowed him completely, from head to toe. Carly watched, fascinated, as Santa pulled the bag off of Conrad to reveal a little girl … one that looked exactly like her!
“OMG!!” Carly shrieked and launched herself forward to hug her new sister. “How did you know?”
“I know what every little boy and girl puts on their Christmas list,” he replied, “and you’ve been asking for a twin sister for so long. Unfortunately, I can’t make a life, so I could never bring you what you asked for. But when Conrad’s Christmas wish from long ago turned out to be wanting to be a little girl, it just seemed right to give you both what you needed.”
Nick bent down and looked into Conrad’s eyes. “Was I wrong?”
Conrad — now Connie — smiled and shook her head.
“Thank you, Santa,” she said. “I’ll never stop believing, I promise.”
“And I’ll make sure she keeps her promise,” Carly said, still hugging Connie. “That’s what sisters are for.”
“Good.” He stood up and waved at the table. Another place setting appeared with a child-sized meal and a bright red coat hanging from the back of the chair.
“Santa, why is everybody frozen?” Carly said. “It’s not that cold.”
Nick had to laugh. Unfortunately, it came out “Ho, ho, ho!” and he found himself flinching inside.
“Faith means believing without proof, Carly,” he replied, “and I needed to keep everyone from seeing me give you your present early, because if they saw me, they wouldn’t need to have faith that I was real because they'd KNOW. See? So I stopped time until after you got your sister … and she got her wish, too.”
He stood up and looked down at the two. They turned and faced him.
“By the time you get home tonight, there will be two beds in Carly’s room, and two dressers … but you’ll have to share a closet. And a bathroom!”
“That’s part of being a twin, Santa.” Carly smiled. “And a sister. Sharing everything! Right, sis?”
Connie took her hand and squeezed. “Right … sis.”
“So take your places, hurry now!” They scrambled to sit down, Connie forgetting to smooth her skirt under her and having to get up and do it again when Carly pointed it out.
Nick stood up straight, and put his finger next to his nose.
“Merry Christmas!!” he said with a smile, and disappeared as everything started moving forward again. It was as if Carly had never been hurt, because in the end she hadn’t, really. She knew that the man her sister used to be wasn’t even a memory to anyone but her, and now she would have someone to play with and grow up with and share her life with forever.
“Thank you, Santa,” she whispered, at the same time Connie did. And they looked at each other and giggled.
“Twins,” their Mom said with a smile. “Always with their secrets.”
“Always,” Connie said, smiling back.
Outside, the two elves and their Santa rematerialized. Nick looked up at the night sky and sighed.
“You know what this reminds me of? The night I ‘borrowed’ old man Jackson’s Studebaker and went for a drive with Maria Spinetti. We just hit the road and drove for miles into the night with the windows wide open, even though it was Christmas and the cold air whipped through the car like nobody’s business.”
The two elves nodded, half wondering when the boss was going to turn them back. But the sound of sleigh bells and a stomp of a hoof made them realize they weren’t getting their Italian suits back any time soon. They turned to see the big red sleigh with the eight reindeer all lined up in the parking lot, and watched Nick climb into the driver’s seat, still in his traditional Santa form. He picked up the reins and looked over at them.
“What?” he asked, cocking his head. “It’s Joy to the World time, right? Can you think of a better time to go joyriding? Besides, the mall is still open, and I can’t wait to see the looks on the faces of those last-minute shoppers when we give ‘em a fly-by.” The two hesitated, and Nick gave ‘em both a smile that was pure D’Angelo, so they could see the boss they knew.
“Come on, boys — let’s grab a little sky and give everybody a Christmas to remember. Whaddaya say?”
Paulie looked at Gino for a split second, then grinned and shouted “SHOTGUN!” before running to the other side of the sled and jumping into the front seat. Gino slipped in behind him with a frown and gave him a half-hearted dope slap on the back of the head before sighing and letting his smile grow.
“Okay boss, we’re in. Open her up and let’s see what this baby can do!”
Nick looked at his elves, and snapped the reins.
And the three wise guys disappeared into the silent night.
To see Nick's first appearance in a Christmas story, see The Nick of Time. Click here. -- Randalynn
2011-12-31 19:02:45 -0500
The Walking Wounded
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In a shadow war waged by a top secret agency, an infiltration op succeeds — only to go horribly wrong once the mission is done. How can an agent keep his partner alive when the only future his friend can see is no future at all?
the walking wounded among the great many of us.”
- Studs Terkel
I knew she’d be up on the Overlook.
It was where she always went, when she needed to be alone. When she first came here, after the mission went south, nobody else involved with this royal clusterfuck knew where she would go to hide from her handlers. But the first time she ditched the protection detail and went AWOL when I was at the safe house, I knew exactly where she went. Maybe it was because I knew her before. Or maybe it was because, even then, months after it happened, I still knew her better than everyone else involved.
I stood for a while, watching her from behind. It was cold enough to wear a coat, being the end of October and up in the mountains. Her coat looked warm enough, even if it was something she never would have chosen for herself. It was a burgundy thing, with faux fur around the hood and at the bottom of each sleeve. It looked heavy enough, but she had her arms wrapped around her middle as if she was trying to keep warm.
Maybe she just needed a hug, and there was no one else around to give her one.
The jacket was almost form fitting, so it made her chest look bigger than it really was. I knew the fit wasn’t her choice, either. It was just another bad call by a handler trying to push her where she didn’t want to go. Usually, nobody pushed her hard enough to make her budge an inch, but at the same time, it was almost November, and nobody ever said she was stupid. So she wore the coat, even though she didn’t like it.
Below the jacket I could see her blue jeans and hiking boots, which was pretty much what she always wore. That part of her personal dress code was a minor victory on her part. But even something as “standard issue” as jeans couldn’t hide those hips, or the legs that went on longer than a pair of legs should, if all they were made for was walking.
They told me she always made a point of not giving a damn what she looked like. I knew there were whole closets full of skirts and dresses back at the country house, with the store tags still attached. Makeup was stacked on top of the vanity in department store bags, still sealed in its containers. I think she knew she couldn’t hide her body, no matter what she wore. But she still did whatever she could to avoid calling attention to her assets.
Of course, they did a good enough job calling attention to themselves.
She stood looking out over a cliff, with the whole valley spread out in front of her and below. The town was surrounded by dense forest, and as night fell, it became a glowing island in a sea of darkness. Lights were just starting to come on in some of the homes, and the main street glowed brighter with each passing minute. The air was so clear, you could almost see the bulb in every streetlight on Main Street, even from as high as we were.
I thought she was a little too close to the edge, especially after what the psych guys had told me when I’d gotten back to town. Even though I was pretty sure she wouldn’t jump, I knew her well enough to know that, as always, it was completely her decision. And after what she’d been through, I’m not sure I would have blamed her.
Maybe if she thought she was alone, she would have jumped. But I’d never been able to catch her off-guard in all the years I’d known her, and that night was no exception.
“Welcome back,” she said softly, without turning around. I could hear the small smile in her voice. “You were gone long enough.”
“A few weeks. Some things needed doing.”
“Chesbro wouldn’t tell me where you were. Controlling bastard. You’re still my partner. I’ve got a right to know.” She stopped hugging herself and stuck her hands in her pockets. “Are you just going to stand there and watch my back?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, smiling in spite of myself. “Isn’t that what I’ve always done?”
“Damn straight. In too many hot spots to count.” She looked down for a second, and I thought I heard her voice catch. “I wish you had other reasons for watching my back tonight ... besides looking at my ass.”
“Well, you know me. Never been one to turn down the tough jobs.” She shook her head, and I took a step towards her. “And like the saying goes, when the going gets tough ...”
“... the tough think about how easy it would be to bungee jump without a cord.” She heard what she said, then looked over her shoulder and smiled. “I wouldn’t, you know.”
“I know,” I said, even though I didn’t. “Giving up isn’t your style. Never has been.”
She turned to look back over the town. “Of course, this is something new, isn’t it? I’m not quite myself these days.” She froze for a second, then shrugged. “There’s a interesting thought. Maybe that’s a way out. After all, I’m not really me anymore. And if I’m not me, I could decide to jump without worrying about my style, or the lack of it. All bets would be off.”
“You haven’t changed as much as you think, Jack.” I took a few steps forward to stand beside her, and looked down on the town. “There’s still enough old soldier in you to head for higher ground when you feel like you’re under attack.”
“Three decades of military and intelligence work, boy and man,” she said, still looking away, not meeting my eye. “All packed into a body a little more than half that age ... with not an inch of boy or man left.”
“You’re still in there, you know.” I kept my voice light.
“You wouldn’t know it from looking at me.” She shivered and shook her head. “I mean ... Jesus, Dan, I look like a centerfold waiting to happen.”
I shrugged. “That’s what happens when you let a bunch of twenty-something tech geeks design a high school girl.”
We both went silent for a while. Then she spoke.
“They told me it would only be three months.” There was a touch of apology in her tone, and I wondered why. It was almost as if she was sorry for making a choice that made my life more difficult. “I wouldn’t have taken the mission if you hadn’t still been laid up from the knife fight with the Bosnian in Tel Aviv. You were in the hospital, and I was loose, and ... and it was only supposed to be three months.”
“I know,” I said softly, but she went on as if she didn’t hear.
“‘We need you,’ the Assistant Director said. ‘The country’s in danger,’ he said. ‘The Firm’s found a terrorist cell, run from a boarding school. They’re way too careful ... they’d suspect a new teacher coming on mid-year before you even unpacked, Jack. But we can get you in. In a way they’d never suspect!’”
Her voice took on a mocking tone. “‘New process, tested last year. The perfect disguise. Rewrite your DNA from the ground up. Think about it! Your skills in a teenaged body. Nobody would ever know. Completely reversible, of course.’”
“Of course, the kicker was that it was a girl’s school. So I had to be a girl.” Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “For three months, at most.”
This time I didn’t say a word. I’d heard it all before, and she’d said it more than once, in more different ways than I could count. But she still needed someone to listen, and that’s what partners do.
Especially when there’s nothing else they can do.
“‘Not a problem,’ the psych boys said. ‘We tested you, you can handle it.’” She snorted. “Like they could really know ahead of time how a man could deal with losing a few decades — not to mention the body he lived them in. But hey, I was stupid. They needed me, and I thought I could handle it. ‘Besides,’ I told myself. ‘It’s only three months. How bad could it be?’”
She went quiet then, for a while. I’d heard her debrief for the mission, and I’d hacked the mainframe to watch the videos of her psych sessions. She was my partner, after all. She said it all before, a hundred times at least. But even months later, she still kept trying to explain ... to make the words come out in such a way that she could make sure everyone got it.
The fact that Jack kept trying to make people see what she was going through made it clear that she knew nobody understood ... and was starting to suspect that no one wanted to try.
“It wasn’t hell on Earth, I’ll give ‘em that. They said the process turned me into a girl, right down to bleeding every month.” Jack shook his head. “That was a treat. Still is. They said it gave me a ‘female brain,’ too, whatever the hell that is, so it was easy for me to blend in. And to be fair, three months of short skirts, girl talk, and slumber parties wasn’t exactly a tour of duty in the Afghan mountains.”
“There were some right bitches in the school, though. Made the mistake of trying to show me who was in charge.” She grinned, and a bit of the old Jack peered out from the young girl’s face. “But I’ve been worked over by drill sergeants that make those girls look like fluffy bunnies. They might as well have thrown marshmallows at me for all the good it did ‘em.”
The grin faded. “But after a while, seeing this face every time I looked in a mirror ... it started to eat at me, Dan. Being a girl in a school full of girls, feeling the things they felt? It started whittling away at who I was inside, a little at a time ... and it scared me.”
Another long silence. She sighed. “Before I agreed to do this, I did some asking around about the guy they transformed last year. He was in high school, and Doc Phillips said he tested well on being able to handle the change, too. And yes, Chesbro didn’t lie. The kid did make it back.”
“But one of the tech guys let it slip that he didn’t quite come back all the way. Playing both sides of the fence left him confused inside, and he’s still seeing a shrink to try and sort it all out. I think the word the guy used was haunted. He said it was like the ghost of the girl the kid became for a summer hunkered down in his memory and took up permanent residence.”
“But me? I wasn’t worried. I wasn’t a teenager. Hell, I had forty-three years of manhood to hang on to. Test or no test, I was who I was. I knew I could hang on until the mission was over, and I did. And after they pulled me out, I wanted to get back in my own skin so bad ...”
“Of course, the skin I was in had other ideas.”
She stopped, took a deep breath and went on. “It’s been six months since we caught the bastards. Six months since they found that they couldn’t change me back. And six fucking months of them trying to figure out why.”
Jack turned to me, her face a sad mixture of anger and despair. “And you know what pisses me off the most? Even though they say they’re working on finding a way to bring me back, they keep trying to get me to accept what I am now. It’s like a perpetual chorus of ‘I enjoy being a girl,’ sung by every shrink and therapist they could con into making the attempt. I think ... I think they know they can’t bring me back, and they’re only going through the motions until I decide to just be the girl they made me AND SHUT THE HELL UP!”
She screamed the last part out over the town, her eyes closed and her hands wrapped tight into fists. We waited until the echo died down, and I watched her pull herself back together and shove her hands into her coat pockets before I spoke.
“Would that really be so bad?”
She looked at me, anger twisting her features into a mask. “You, too? You, of all people —”
“Not ‘me, too,” I replied, trying to keep my voice even. “This has nothing to do with them. I’ve got my own reasons for asking, and I’ll tell ‘em to you — after you’ve answered a few questions of mine.” She turned to walk away, and I reached out and touched her shoulder.
“Hey!” Jack turned back, fist raised — and stopped cold when she saw the look on my face.
“Is it really so much to ask, Jack? I’m your partner. You owe me something for that. After all the years we spent fighting side by side ... after all the places we’ve been, the things we’ve seen, and all the shitholes we had to dig ourselves out of with only each other to count on ... is it too much to ask you to answer a few fucking questions ... from me?”
She looked into my eyes, surprised at the bitterness in my voice. It surprised me, too. I didn’t really know it was there. She lowered her fist, and her shoulders slumped. “You’re right, Dan. I’m sorry. Ask.”
I let things settle for a minute before speaking again.
“Would it really be so bad to just accept it?” Jack nodded. “Why?”
“Because I look in the mirror every morning, and it’s not me looking back. It’s some girl — and she’s young enough to be the daughter I never had. All of the sudden, I’m a fucking cheerleader. The combat-ready ex-Marine, turned into a teenaged Barbie doll.”
“They needed a combat-ready ex-Marine that looked like a teenaged Barbie doll.” I spoke softly and clearly, my eyes not leaving hers. “That’s why they made you stronger and faster when they changed you, Jack. They needed James Bond in a Supergirl suit, and that’s what you signed up for.”
“That’s not the point! It never was.”
I just looked at her, and she sighed. “Look, I did my duty, like I’ve done all my life, and I wind up losing everything I was. I’m not Supergirl, but even if I was, it wouldn’t be enough to pay me back for what they did. I wouldn’t give a damn if I could leap tall buildings in a single bound and eat uranium for breakfast now. This is NOT me. No matter what I look like, no matter what they made me, I’m not a girl, and I never will be. If I do what they want, if I break down and actually accept this, then ...”
“Then what? You’re gonna lose YOU? You’re still my partner, Jack. I’m not having this conversation with Cindy Lou Who, you stubborn son of a bitch! I’m talking to the guy who’s kept me alive since long before we joined the Firm. The body you’re in now ... it changes nothing.”
“It changes everything!”
“How, man?” She cocked her head, and I sighed. “Look, it’s not a hard question. We’ve seen guys come off battlefields with arms and legs blown off, with so many holes in their bodies they were hanging to life by a thread. A few months later, and they’re in rehab, figuring out how to get along without the parts they left behind. I’m not saying it’s easy for them, because it’s not. It takes guts and commitment to move forward, but they don’t just give up. You ... I know you’re not a coward. You never give up.” I lowered my voice. “They find a way, Jack. Why can’t you?”
“Look, it’s different for them,” she said, “They’re trying to find a way to get on with their lives, to move forward, and I ...”
“You what?”
She paused to think, and then continued. “I’m trying to hang onto mine. Or what’s left of it.”
Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. The fact that the voice behind it trembled just a little made me see that she knew it wasn’t.
“No, Jack,” I shook my head. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You can’t hang onto your old life, because other than me, the Firm, and agency business, there’s nothing left to hang on to. Even if there were friends or relatives out there after a few decades of black ops, none of them would believe you’re Jack Murphy — even if you could tell them the truth, which you can’t. Chesbro says the whole process is top secret, need to know.”
“So this is you, Jack. Like it or not, you are a girl. You’ve been bitching and moaning about it since you found out you couldn’t change back, but the fact is, you volunteered. You’ve been a soldier long enough to know what a stupid idea that is, but you did it anyway. Now you’re stuck looking like a prom queen, and you hate it. You put your manhood on the line, and you lost. But think about it for a second. It’s not the worst battlefield injury either of us have seen, is it?”
Her bottom lip quivered, and she turned away.
“I know you’re wounded, Jack,” I said softly. “I know you’re hurting. We both know this wasn’t what you wanted. But fighting the way things are now isn’t going to help anything. You need to accept your Purple Heart, throw your shoulders back, and move forward. But you won’t. So where does that leave you?”
She stayed silent. I turned to look out over the town and took a step closer to the edge.
“I said I had my own reasons for asking these questions,” I said softly. “I need to know if you can get past this. I need to know if you can move forward — if it’s possible for a guy like you to let go of the past and go on living.”
“Why?”
“Because I have cancer.” The words hung in the air between us for a minute, and I sighed. “Chesbro wouldn’t tell you, but I’ve been in the hospital, getting tested. It’s advanced, and it’s terminal. I’ve got a few weeks, maybe less. In fact, they’re amazed I’m walking around.”
“Oh, God ... Dan.” She moved closer to me, and I felt her hand touch mine. It was an oddly feminine gesture for someone who fought what she’d become as hard as Jack did. “I’m sorry.”
“The Firm says they can cure me,” I went on, my tone as conversational as I could make it. “But the only way to be sure it won’t come back is with a total genetic rewrite, top to bottom, with the clock turned back and safeguards in place.”
“I’d have to be a girl ... just like you are now.” I took a deep breath. “That’s why I had to ask — why I needed to know.”
“Know what?”
“If you can get past it. If you can move on.” I turned my head and looked down at her. “I mean, look at you, Jack. You’re almost thirty years younger, and they made you stronger and faster than you ever were, with all your skills and knowledge intact. But the girl part has got you beat. You aren’t less than you were. Far from it. You’re just different. But it’s eating you alive anyway, to the point where you’re thinking eating your own gun is actually the best choice you’ve got.”
“What’re you talking about?”
I turned to face her and looked into her eyes. “When I came back from the hospital, Chesbro told me you come up here every night, and you stay a little longer each time. The psych guys and the handlers think you’re working your way up to jumping, but they don’t know how to get you to stop. I don’t know, either, but I’m hoping I can.”
She froze, and so did I. Then she turned away and folded her arms. I waited, watching her carefully to see what she’d do next. When she spoke it was almost too soft to hear.
“Why, Dan?” Her voice trembled. “Why can’t you just walk away and let me ... make the call?”
“Because I’m a selfish bastard, damn it,” I replied. “Because you’re my friend, and my partner, and the closest thing I have to a family.” I took a deep breath. “And because if you die ... I die, too.”
“Why?” It came out a whisper.
“I need to know if you can do this — if you can live ... like this. If you can’t ... if the strongest man I’ve ever known isn’t strong enough to be a woman ... than neither am I. If you jump, I’m jumping, too.”
She turned and started at me, too shocked to speak. I stared back, and she could see the determination burning in my eyes. “I’m not going to spend my last weeks in a bed feeling my body eat itself alive. And I’m not going to have the Firm fix me the only way they can, just so I can spend the next few months fighting a fight I know I can’t win — because if you jump off this cliff, you’re admitting you’re beaten. And after everything we’ve been through, Jack ... I know you’re a better man than I am. If you could move on with life as a woman, you would. And if you can’t ... that means I couldn’t, either.”
The quiet between us made the whole forest feel like a freeze-frame in a foreign film. Jack looked up at me, half frightened and half confused. I took a step toward her, a little closer to the edge.
“So what’s it gonna be, Jack? You know I’ll back your play, whatever it is. We’re partners, and that’s how it’s gonna stay. But it’s go time, now. They want to start the process on me tonight. We’re cutting it kinda close as it is. But I won’t do it unless you’re watching my back, because that’s how it’s always been with us.”
I reached out my hand and took hers. It was small, with thin, delicate fingers, and softer than I’d expected. “I’ll follow your lead, just like always, but you need to make the call. We either move forward together, over the edge ... or we move forward into the future, and take whatever comes ... together.”
“So? What’ll it be?”
Douglas Chesbro looked at the video window on his monitor, at the two girls in the hospital room. Jackie had actually put on a dress to welcome Danielle to her new life, and had been mercilessly teased about it from the minute Dani had opened her eyes after the procedure — especially since Jack still wore those stupid hiking boots. Dani had all of the enhancements Jackie had, and both of them seemed to be doing just fine.
It was dark enough outside to turn the window behind his desk into a pale mirror. His eyes rose from the monitor and caught his reflection, starting a flood of regrets that stopped seconds later when he saw the door swing open behind him.
“Happy, Doug?” Declan Phillips stood in the doorway. Chesbro knew how to read people, a skill acquired from years of field work before he wound up behind a desk. But he didn’t need that expertise to know the doctor was angry.
He turned from the monitor and leaned back in his chair.
“Tell me something, Doctor,” he said, his tone conversational. “In all the years we’ve worked together, have you ever known me to be happy?”
“Not especially, no. But after the stunt you just pulled, I thought you might be just a little pleased with yourself.”
“Stunt?”
Phillips walked over and tossed a heavy file onto Chesbro’s desk. “This file is a joke, and a bad one. We both know Dan Pendleton didn’t have cancer. He was as healthy as he could be, considering how many years he’s put himself in harm’s way.”
“So?”
“So you violated all manner of protocols, falsified test results, and told a healthy man he was dying ... just to get him to agree to a totally unnecessary sex change.”
Chesbro pursed his lips and looked up into the doctor’s eyes.
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
Phillips leaned over the desk, deliberately invading the Director’s space. “Why?”
“To save Jack Murphy. And Dan Pendleton, too, come to think of it.”
The doctor pulled back, surprised. “What the hell are you talking about?”
The Director eyed him for a moment, then waved a hand to the chair near his desk. Phillips sat slowly, and Chesbro sighed.
“Before we sent Murphy on his mission, you tested the hell out of him,” he replied. “Every test you gave him said he could handle being a woman for three months, and even adapt and grow into it if something happened to keep him one. You told the Assistant Director he was a good candidate, and the AD gave the go-ahead ... without bothering to consult me. By the time I knew what the hell you were doing, it was too late to stop you. Murphy was already a girl.”
“Why stop us? Murphy did his job. He got the bad guys.”
“That was never in doubt,” Chesbro said. “But the AD never worked with Jack Murphy before. He was new. He didn’t know just how stubborn a man like Jack is. Your tests didn’t take into account the one personality trait that made him our best agent for twenty years, and a damn good soldier in the years before that. He doesn’t know the meaning of a ‘no win’ scenario. When faced with a challenge, he doesn’t surrender. He finds a way to beat the odds.”
“So when the return process failed, Jack didn’t give in. He ... she doesn’t know how to. She hung on tight to who she used to be, and was determined to tough it out until you could fix the problem and bring the old Jack back.”
“But we can’t fix it,” Phillips said, a touch of frustration in his voice. “We don’t even know why it’s not working. It should have worked perfectly.”
Chesbro nodded. “And Jack’s no fool. She began to realize that you were lying to her about two months back. She started seeing just how impossible escape was going to be. She was, after all, trapped in her own skin, with no way out she could see. She couldn’t give up the fight, but she also knew she couldn’t win. That’s why suicide started looking attractive — less like surrender and more like escape.”
“That’s where Pendleton came in. He’s been partners with Murphy for so long, they’re practically married. He watched Jack getting more and more withdrawn, and started getting worried.”
“Six weeks back, we gave Pendleton the same set of personality tests we gave to Murphy,” the director said, swiveling his monitor and hitting a few keys. “We told him it was to provide a control ... a baseline. The results were surprising, to say the least.”
“I never heard about this.”
“That’s because I never told you. It is my agency, you know. We’re supposed to be good at keeping secrets.” Chesbro leaned forward, turning the monitor to face Phillips. “The tests showed that, deep inside his mind, Pendleton was more female than male, and way more female than Jack ever was. He’d never admit it, not even to himself, but when Pendleton was questioned under hypnosis, it was clear that he’d realized this about himself when he was very young.”
He sat back in his chair and let the doctor look at the test results on the monitor. In a second window on the screen was a subtitled video of Dan, obviously in a trance.
“When he first told his parents,” Chesbro continued, “his father refused to accept it, and kept abusing him physically and emotionally for years until Dan buried that part of himself so deeply, he couldn’t even remember why his father hated him so much. That’s part of what made him such a great soldier and a good agent. He kept trying to prove to his long-dead Dad that he was the man his father had always wanted him to be.”
“So, I had Jack, who was so mission-focused that he started thinking death before dishonor was a decent bargain. And I had Dan, who was really a woman deep inside, but was so far in denial that he could practically see the pyramids. He wouldn’t even think about going there unless he had a damned good reason — thanks to the stupidity of a dead man’s anger.”
“So I lied. I told Pendleton he had cancer, showed him the fake test results, and told him what he had to do to fix it.” The Director looked up at Phillips, and smiled. “It took him less than thirty seconds to say ‘bullshit.’”
“He knew he didn’t have cancer?”
“With no physical symptoms and a terminal prognosis of only a few weeks? I knew he’d see through it before I opened my mouth. My agents aren’t stupid, Doctor. They can’t afford to be when lives are on the line.” He waved at the desk. “That file is just in case Jack ever comes looking.”
“Then why ...?”
“Because I told him what I’d already figured out — that in Jack’s head, the mission was always going to be ‘hold the line,’ even though the battle was already lost. We both knew Jack well enough to know she’d keep holding the line until it killed her, but we needed a way to get Jack to change that mission. We needed her to accept what she’d become before suicide became her idea of an honorable retreat.”
Chesbro turned his chair around and looked into the eyes of his reflection. “The only way to make Jack abandon the first mission was to give her another mission — one with a much higher priority.” He looked at the Doctor’s reflection, his voice level and emotionless. “We had to put the only person in the world Jack cared about in danger, and make Jack’s acceptance of her new body the key to keeping Dan alive.”
“Pendleton agreed, of course. He had to. He couldn’t let his best friend die because he consciously couldn’t bear the thought of becoming a woman ... especially since a part of him he wouldn’t even admit to having wanted to be the girl Jack was with all her heart.”
He hit the key that brought the video feed from the hospital room up on the monitor again. Phillips watched the two girls talking, Dani on the bed and Jackie sitting on the edge of it. They both looked a little embarrassed and a touch awkward, but there was a happiness there, too, because neither of them would be dying any time soon. Jack’s mission had been changed, Dan had what he didn’t even know he wanted, and the road ahead would be made easier for both of them, because they had each other. He sighed.
“You’re still a manipulative son of a bitch, Doug.”
Chesbro turned his chair around and looked up at the physician.
“It’s what I do, Doctor. In fact, it’s the reason I’m sitting behind this desk. I look at situations and I send people out there to fix ‘em, however they can. A lot of times, I send them off to die, because I know that’s the only way to make things right. I know they’re going to die, but I send ‘em anyway. Because if I don’t, alot of other people will die instead — innocents who didn’t volunteer to be in harm’s way. The people we’re sworn to protect.”
He jerked a thumb at the monitor. “Those two have saved a lot of lives over the years. I wasn’t about to let either of them die ... and Pendleton would have died inside and eventually eaten his own gun if Jack had managed to kill herself on that mountain. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“You really care.” Phillips looked at Chesbro, and smiled. “Damn, you really do care about your people.”
“Don’t be stupid, Doctor.” The Director looked down at his desk. “It’s not about caring. They were my best agents, and they will be again. It’s not going to take long before they settle into being the women they’ve become, and having two skilled agents that look like high school girls, think like Jack Bauer, and fight like Rambo is going to make my job a whole lot easier in the years to come. That’s my motivation.”
Phillips stood and picked up the file from the Director’s desk.
“Whatever makes you feel better, Doug. Lie to yourself if you want. It doesn’t change the truth.”
The doctor turned and walked to the door, hesitated for a second, then let himself out.
Chesbro turned the monitor back to face him. Jackie was helping her partner to the bathroom, and he sighed.
‘He’s wrong. In this job, I can’t afford to care,’ he thought. ‘There’s too much blood on my hands already, and if I start to care, I’ll have to carry grief around, too. Then I’d never be able to sit behind this desk and send another man out to die.’
But even as he thought it, Doug knew he was lying. For the first time in a long time, he was happy. He’d managed to save two agents after so many others had died under his command, and they’d both have years to live, even if they decided to get out of the business and retire.
Retirement. Doug watched the empty room, waiting for the two girls to come back. He thought about how much longer he could do this job, and what he planned to do when the time came for him to leave it.
There had always been another reason why he’d fought tooth and nail to have this technology in his agency’s hands. To keep it secret from the rest of the government, and to put it to good use protecting the country? Yes, that was certainly important, definitely primary. And it worked well. Aside from Jack, no one had ever been trapped on the wrong side of the gender divide before. So fulfilling the mission? Yes, the technology helped him do his job. That was a given.
But the other reason he wanted the process was locked in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet, in a folder labeled Deborah Anne Cheswick. She was a pretty blonde teenager who lived only in Doug’s heart, for now. But someday, when the time came to give this chair to somebody else and step down, she’d be waiting. And Doug’s last order as Director would be the beginning of his last day on Earth, and the start of a new life — the one he’d wanted since he was four years old, and never thought he could have.
He saw the partners come back into the room, then reached out and touched Dan’s image on the screen.
“Someday ...” he whispered, smiling just a little. “Someday ...”
Douglas Chesbro watched for a few more minutes and thought about tomorrows, both theirs and his. Then he shook his head, shut down the video feed, and went back to keeping his country safe.
The Wheel Keeps Turning (an epilogue to Baby Machine)
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When SuzyQ opened the “Only a Baby Machine” universe (click here), it gave me a chance to create an epilogue to a story that was a long rough ride, with way too much pain and not enough justice along the way. I happily present ...
The Wheel Keeps Turning
or
The Curious Resurrection of the Ghost in the “Machine”
by Randalynn
In the heart of a small city somewhere south of the border, a conversation between a newly widowed mother and a mysterious Norte Americano proves that a capricious and chaotic universe can sometimes twist itself to provide an unlikely savior — and for someone caught in the gears of someone else’s machine, sometimes serendipity is enough.
MAL: The wheel keeps turning, Badger.
Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all.”
— Retribution, by Friedrich Von Logau
BADGER: That only matters to the people on the rim.
— Serenity (the pilot), Joss Whedon’s Firefly
As she sat on the bench, waiting for her ride back to the ranch, there was one thing she could always count on in the endless grind her life had become.
Her feet hurt.
‘No surprise there,’ Pansy thought bitterly. After all, between her job as one of Señora Arias’s maids and caring for her own house and children as well as Susana’s, her feet carried her from well before dawn to late in the night, every single day. And since the accident took her husband from her, she had lost the pleasure and the love she used to find in his arms, and in the bed they both shared. Now life was nothing but duty and obligation, and responsibility.
Of course, she remembered a time when life was more. When she had options. When she was him. But she knows it was running from responsibility that put her here, in this place, in this body, in this life. It had been wrong for him to run. George had learned that long ago. But it had also been wrong, monstrously wrong, for those intelligent, evil men to do what they did to him.
To turn him into ... her. To trap him in this impossible prison called Pansy. To take all she knew away, all she was, and replace it with nothing but lust and servitude and childbirth. And without her husband in her life, all the lust did was hurt. It burned inside her, a frustrating hunger that made every hour she could call her own an opportunity to feel empty and alone. Hour after hour, day after day, week after week. After trying to keep her hunger at bay, it was almost a relief to be at the mercy of someone else’s desire. At least it kept her mind off of what she couldn’t have, or do... or be.
She sighed. She remembered being able to escape from life, back when she was still a he. Not that his life was so awful back then, but he would escape into the pages of a book, a mystery or a thriller, just for a small vacation from what was. Since they stole her ability to read and write to keep her trapped in this life, escape is not an option. Even after months of weekly classes and home studying, she could barely untangle something written for a first grader. It had something to do with her head mixing up letter shapes. It just made everything so much harder.
Memories from his past had started coming back the day Susana and Celia spoke his name in front of her for the first time. George Deon. The doctors had erased it from his head, and then refused to reveal it to her no matter how many times she asked. In all the time they had tortured her and cut her down to size, the name of the man she used to be remained a mystery. But when the name given back to her, set free by the two women, she started to remember.
At first, Pansy did her best to ignore the bits of his life that seemed to rise from somewhere inside her. But as pieces of who he was became more and more clear with each passing day, she began to realize just how much they had stolen from George to trap him as Pansy with no possibility of escape.
Other things rose from inside her as well. Memories of things Pansy knew had never happened to her, but had happened to George in the two years before Susana tried to erase his memory of the torture and the ... the things they did to make her become a girl against her will. Oh, yes, Susana was a witch. But since those memories came back, she knew that sorcery had nothing to do with her transformation. Becoming Pansy took years, not seconds, and it was science, not magic, that caused it.
The worst part was a truth she could barely accept, but she knew it was true just the same.
Her new memories revealed to her that the real Pansy had died long ago, and the Pansy she was now had been just another piece of the trap they had created to make George just another campesina. Every time she thought about it, she had to fight back tears.
Because she wasn’t even real. She was just someone else’s life wrapped around poor George to keep him tied in her skin.
Even though it ripped her apart, she kept what she knew to herself and moved forward. She had a husband and a family, and that was something to keep her and George alive, and even happy sometimes. She would survive. But when Hector died, living had become both a chore and a curse. Without him to love her, and with more of George’s memories rising every day, it was easy to see that she had been well and truly trapped by all of them, including Señor Arias.
She hid her newfound knowledge well, which was easy to do when you are nothing in the eyes of others. Once Susana was sure she was going to be Pansy forever, the young campesina faded into the Señora’s background to become just another servant in her home. Pansy liked it that way. It was easier to hide her hate for the cruel bitch who had rejoiced in her pain and humiliation.
No matter how awful George Deon had been, Susana and her father and all of them were a thousand times worse.
Not that she could do anything about it. She truly was trapped in the prison they made.
Even though her new life was hard, Pansy was still young and pretty, but all that bought her was endless propositions from men — propositions she could never accept. As much as she had enjoyed sex, she could never act to reduce her burning need. For the sake of the children, Pansy could not risk being labeled a slut, or worse, becoming pregnant. If that happened, she could lose her position, and all of her niños would starve.
As often as the Señora forgot who Pansy used to be, she remembered Susana’s joy in her suffering, and knew she would enjoy watching her suffer again if given the chance. The best Pansy could hope for would be for her to take pity on the maid’s children. After all, why would anyone with the money or power to stop it let her innocent babies starve for their mother’s disgrace?
She didn’t know for sure how Susana would react, but the Señora was Don Pablo’s daughter. Since his treatment of George meant he had no real humanity, compassion or conscience, Pansy could not be sure how much of his heartlessness would carry forward in his daughter’s ... in her ... from father to daughter. She bit her lip. So much lost, even the simplest of science gone.
Some letters rose up ... DNA, with some odd, twisting shapes ... but what they meant? She didn’t have a clue. She did feel smarter these days, as if she could make more sense of things. Her classes seemed a little easier, but that could just be wishful thinking.
Even though they had taken so much knowledge from her, there was one thing Pansy knew for sure. She would never remarry. She came to love her husband in the short time she had with him, and he had given her some true happiness in her new life. But he had also given her freedom she knew other men in his place would not.
In this country, she had no say, only what her husband would allow. And the freedom Hector had allowed was the barest she needed to survive with some part of her soul still there. She could not afford to lose the freedom his death gave her just to satisfy the lust those monsters left her with. Another man would push her down harder, take away her lessons, and lock her away with only him, house, children and work.
Even though she loved Hector, she also knew now that he was another unknowing part of the campesina trap Don Pablo and his monsters had created for the man she once was. And the thought of stepping back into that trap with another man? She smiled and shook her head. They may have taken her reading and writing from her, and even her native language, but at least they left her smart enough to see where she stood.
So this was all she had left — the endless grind. As she waited for her ride back to the ranch after this week’s class, all Pansy could see, stretching out for years, was working all day and night until she wore out, or until the children were grown and gone.
Oh, she loved them, it was true. Even the part of her that was George had come to love the children. He suffered through each pregnancy and birth with her, and actually found some joy in caring for the little ones. At first, he didn’t want to admit it, but eventually he realized that it wasn’t their fault he was trapped like this. They were a part of the trap, just like Hector, but there was no malice. Only need. And love. So they both needed to see both children safely on their own before she could try to take some control over her life again.
Or if she could not have control, she could leave this life on her own terms, knowing the only person she would be inconveniencing would be the woman she worked for — one of those who had put her here and enjoyed every minute of her pain.
‘But there might be grandchildren by then,’ she thought, and tears came to her eyes. To kill herself would be a sin, true, but after what happened to him, the part of her that was George doubted that there really was a God — and after Hector’s death, Pansy found herself wondering, too. No, for her, the real sin would be hurting those little ones and their parents by taking herself from them in such a horrible way. She knew they would blame themselves somehow.
‘Well, then, I will just have to find a way to keep going.’ She sighed. ‘That seems to be the one thing I am good at, after all. Surviving. Fighting to keep myself whole. For a while, being a wife and mother was almost enough. Without Hector to hold me ...’
“Hola, Señora.” A male voice intruded on her thoughts, and she looked up to find a norteamericano ... a tourista. He was a big, burly, blonde man with twinkling eyes and a ready smile, in a blue tropical shirt and khaki pants. He looked like an actor she used to know ... Brian Dennehy? Yes. Friendly, almost like a big cartoon bear. But a little dangerous, too, if she remembered some of the roles he played.
And this one has that look about him, too. Not obvious, but there, just the same. He hid behind the big friendly American tourist like a giant mask. It fit well, until you saw his eyes. She shivered despite the heat.
“Hola, Señor,” she replied quietly, looking down. She flinched inside at what she must look like, seeing herself as a frightened mouse, and worse, an idiot — as if not seeing him would protect her from whatever he wanted.
‘What next,’ she thought furiously, her face red with embarrassment, ‘close my eyes, stick my fingers in my ears and hum until he goes away?’
It might embarrass her, but she knew she was too small and weak to be more than a mouse in the face of this giant. She had been raped more than once, and knew how easily she could be taken by anyone who wanted her. In this country, many men see women as nothing more than easy prey. Why should this man be any different?
So even though a part of her still wanted to be pretty when she went to town, Pansy always reminded herself to do her best to be invisible when she was out alone. She wore drab colors and no makeup, and wished with the frightened part of her soul that every male eye would pass her by.
‘Not that it helps me now,’ she thought, slightly angry as she feels the big man settle down on the bench next to her. ‘Just another part of the trap.’
“I am sorry for your loss,” he said in flawless Spanish. Pansy looks up in spite of herself, clearly surprised. She wondered how this stranger knew about Hector, but remembered her manners just the same.
“My husband’s death was months ago.” She replied in kind, in the only language she knew. “But I thank you for the thought.”
He smiled. “I am not referring to your husband, Señora. I am referring to everything else that was taken from you, by Don Pablo and his people.” She gasps and moves back on the bench, frightened without quite knowing why. He holds up a hand.
“Hey, relax! I’m not here to hurt you.” She relaxed a little, but still seemed ready to run. He sighed. “Look, I know all about your past, and what they did to you. You might have been an asshole before all this happened, but that’s never been a capital crime. They killed you off a chunk at a time, and made the pain last. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve been hurt enough already.”
The man looked around, then turned sideways to face her on the bench. “Actually, I’m here to tell you something. Something I think you’ll want to hear. Something I think you’ve been hoping to hear for a long, long time.”
She looked up into his eyes and waited. He sighed and spoke again. “I know about you because I read their files on you. Right after I killed them.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. He waited a few seconds, then continued, his tone as casual as if he was commenting on the weather.
“Everyone responsible for what happened to you is dead. All of their research was destroyed, including any back-ups, and their bodies went where bodies go when no one wants them found. They probably died quicker than you would have liked. For that, I apologize. After I read what I read, I wished I could go back and make them suffer a while longer myself before the end came. But the long and short of it is, the ones who did this to you are gone, and no one will ever have to go through what you went through again.”
The world spun around her, just for an instant, and she put her hand on her chest, trying to steady her breathing. He watched her, his blue eyes squinted against the last rays of daylight as they cut across the plaza before the sun disappeared behind the town hall.
“That ... this is very hard for me to believe, Señor,” she finally said. “Even harder to believe because I have wanted it so much for so long. I think about all the times I wished they all were dead, and to have it happen like this, so suddenly ... It is like a dream.”
The American smiled, which was both reassuring and frightening, considering that they were talking about death. “After everything you’ve been through,” he replied, “is it so hard to imagine that maybe, once in a while, the universe might owe you one?”
She laughed and lowered her head, looking at him through her lashes. “Señor, after all I have been through, I have come to know that the universe owes no one anything ... except pain. I do not know why you have done this thing, but I thank you very much on behalf of all the victims that will never be.” She paused a moment, thinking. “Still I am curious. Why ... did you come all this way to kill them? Not for the man I was, I think.”
He shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Finding you was a lucky accident. No, the truth is, my boss sent me.”
“Boss?” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Who ... who are you? Who do you work for?”
He pursed his lips for a moment, swiveling his head to look around the plaza before continuing.
“My name is Weber. I’m what you might call a ... well, a troubleshooter. Some would say I’m a mechanic. My job is to fix things. I work for an organization called First, Do No Harm. The director is a guy with way too much money on his hands and a real hate on for a guy named Josef Mengele.” Weber raised an eyebrow. “Do you know him?”
“A ... a doctor? I ... I think he was ... a very bad man?” She struggled a few seconds longer, then sighed and shook her head. “Lo siento, Señor Weber. They took so much ...”
Weber nodded. “Mengele was a Nazi doctor during World War II. Used humans as guinea pigs for all manner of unnatural experiments. Treated Jews like test animals.”
“Like me?” Pansy rested her fingertips on her chest, and the American nodded.
“Just so. My boss heard about what Don Pablo and his guys were up to, and decided to stop his little business venture before it got too far.” Weber looked around the plaza once more before continuing. “My job was to make Don Pablo and his friends disappeared in a puff of mystery. Once everyone out there who knows about what Don Pablo was doing notices his sudden dramatic disappearance, we’re hoping they’ll start thinking that human experimentation is a really bad idea — especially if playing in that particular playground causes you to wind up dead ... or worse, just plain gone.”
In spite of her hatred of them all, she shuddered inside.
‘He’s so cold about it,’ she thought. ‘So matter-of-fact about killing so many.’
What she said out loud was, “How did you find me here?”
Weber shrugged. “Like I said, I read your files. Your wanting to learn to read and write again was a big deal to them. They were really curious as to whether or not you could learn again. The files said you had classes every Thursday night. And here you are ... and here I am.”
There was a short, companionable silence.
“Thank you for finding me, and telling me,” Pansy said softly. “It will make my nights a little easier in the months and years to come.” Weber inclined his head, his small smile warming his eyes a little.
The girl looks off towards where the car should come from Susana’s home, then turns back to the American. “And where do you go from here, Señor?”
“Back to the states, I suppose,” he replied. “As good a fixer as I am, there aren’t as many truly evil people in the world for me to ... well, fix. So I wait until time and circumstance bring somebody to the boss’s attention, and then I get to work.”
She looked at him sideways, and the hint of a smile twitched the corners of her lips. “You were not always ... a ‘good guy,’ were you, Señor Weber?”
He thought for a moment, then shrugged.
“I don’t know if I’m a ‘good guy’ now, Señora,” he replied, a little tentatively. “I’m good at what I do, and right now I’m doing my best to do good. It hasn’t always been that way, but the truth is, I like being on the side of the angels.” Weber grinned. “That, and it pays well.”
“You were good enough to come tell me what happened.” Pansy smiled. “You didn’t have to.”
“Well, that was only part of why I came looking for you.”
“ ¿Que?”
Weber shifted uncomfortably on the bench.
“I spoke to my boss, and he’s instructed me to make you an offer. He’ll pull you out of here, bring you back to the States and give you an American identity again — a chance at a new life. I told them about what they took from you, and he wants to try to bring at least some of your erased knowledge back.”
“What ... how?”
“It’s not my department, but he said there might be a way. I told him the files said the doctors wouldn’t let you know your real name, and they even put false memories in your head to confuse you. But he said that memories are stored holographically ...” She shook her head, and he sighed. “When something happens to you, your brain puts copies of your memories in a lot of different places, just in case it gets hurt somehow. So copies of your real memories might still be somewhere in your head. He thought if we told you as much as we could about your past life, we might be able to bring them to the surface so you could put the pieces back together. If it doesn’t work, we’ll just teach you full-time until you’ve got at least a high school education, and higher if you want it.”
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted, and he saw her hopes rise. Freedom, and her knowledge back? In that moment, George and Pansy came together as they had never done before, as their shared need for escape overwhelmed the few barriers between them.
Then the fixer sighed.
“But there’s a catch.” Weber looked right at her. “My escape route isn’t set up for children. If you want out, you’re gonna have to leave your kids behind.”
He watched as the light in her eyes slowly died. She aged years in an instant, and it was almost too painful to watch.
“I’m sorry, Señor.” Her voice trembled, and it seemed to hurt her just to speak. “Thank your ‘boss’ for his kind offer, but I cannot leave my children. They are still so young, and they need their mama. I love them.” She looked down at her hands. “And I could never look in a mirror again, if I hurt them just to save myself.”
“Is that Pansy talking ... or George?”
She raised her chin and looked at him again, anger filling her eyes.
“If you read my file, then you know Pansy is not real,” she said bitterly. “I didn’t know myself until a few months ago, but some of George’s memories are coming back. Pansy was nothing but the shadow of Petunia’s dead sister. They pushed her onto George when he was weak and in shock, and after a while she was strong enough to take over what was left of his life and lock him away. But it couldn’t last. The reality of who ... I used to be started coming back.”
She turned away from Weber, and her voice grew hoarse. “And when Hector died, being Pansy hurt so much. George grew even stronger as I ran from my pain. I am as much George as I am Pansy now ... maybe more George, since at least he was real.”
Weber shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. If the old George really was in control, he would jump at the chance to get out of here and get at least part of his life back.”
Pansy turned and looked at the Anglo, half a sneer on her lips.
“The old George? Look at me, Señor. It should be easy to see that George is not the man he used to be, and he knows he will never be that man again. He also knows why it happened to him. He may have been selfish and cruel, but Señor Deon was never stupid. George lost everything he had ... everything he was ... because he was a bad man. And he began to wonder whether being the kind of man he was ever really made him happy.”
“He’s changed, Señor Weber. Between everything he has gone through, and the love we felt for my husband, he learned two things he never knew, back when he was ... the ‘old’ George.”
She looks away, out over the plaza. Her voice grows wistful, and through the peasant Spanish she speaks, Weber hears her speech pattern change to something almost ... American.
“From Don Pablo and his friends, he knows now that power and knowledge without compassion cause nothing but pain and suffering,” she whispered, “and from our brief time with Hector, he knows that sex without love is nothing but a pale shadow of what it could be. Because of what he has learned — what we have learned together — he has reached out to me as much as I have to him, and the two of us have come to know the truth.”
“The truth?”
Pansy nodded. “We really are one person, Señor. We always have been, separated only by the lies and cruelties of others. George sees the good in Pansy, and Pansy has come to see how George has changed and grown. We grow closer to becoming whole once more, every day. One day soon, there will be no George or Pansy. Just me, whoever that me will be. The best of both of us, we hope.”
He lets her think, just for a moment, before speaking again.
“And the children? Does he ... love them?”
She turns to him and smiles, and it is full of sadness and joy, and regret and emptiness.
“That’s the third thing he learned. Of course he loves them, Señor. How could he not? They are as much a part of him ... as I am. And they always will be. That is why we will not be leaving them, not now or ever.”
She rose to her feet, and Weber found himself rising as well.
“I thank you again for punishing the wicked,” she said, “and giving me some peace at last.” Pansy put out her hand, and he took it, surprised as she shook it firmly. “I wish you well on your journey home. Thank your employer as well for me, please.”
The woman turned away from the American and looked down the road once more, trying to see the car from the ranch, and not the years in the trap stretching out before her.
“You can thank him yourself, when you see him.” She heard from behind her. “You ... and your family.”
She spun around and stared at him, almost unable to speak. “You said —”
“I lied.” Weber stared back, a hint of a smile on his lips. “One of those wicked skills I was telling you about. I have a private jet waiting. You’re free. All of you.”
“Why ... why did you do that to me?” she hissed, anger mixing with her tears slipping down her cheeks as she stared down the fixer. “Give me hope and then take it away! You knew how important that was to me ... to us. Why did you lie?”
He put his hands in his pockets and looked at Pansy for a moment, then looked away.
“I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to hurt you so much. I didn’t think. I just needed ... to be sure.” He looked down and sighed. “The truth is, I used to be a real bastard, just like George. Then something happened. It doesn’t matter what. It ... it just made me stop and rethink who I was and what I was doing, back in the day. More important to me, it made me ask why. So now I do this, and I think, maybe I am a good guy ... or I could be.”
Weber raised his head and looked into her eyes. “But sometimes, late at night, I wonder. Can an asshole like me really change? Or if I’m just pretending because I can’t stand to think of myself as the shit I used to be?”
“So I gave you the choice to save yourself, but only if you left your kids behind, just like George kept doing in the past. You said no.”
Her shoulders dropped, and he could see she was sobbing silently
“I’m ... I’m sorry I did what I did, but it was a good thing in the end.” She looked up at him, eyes red, surprise warring with hate. In spite of that, Weber took a step towards her. “Don’t you see? You beat them!”
The hate and hurt faded some under the weight of rising confusion. The fixer went on. “Look at what just happened! All the things they did to you, all the years of torture, everything ... and you beat them. They wanted to make you less, and instead they made you more. They wanted to destroy you, and instead they made you better ... stronger in the end. They wanted to punish you forever. Instead, you learned. You grew and changed, and redeemed yourself.” He held out his hand. “Congratulations, George. You won.”
She looked at the hand for a while, as she began to realize the truth of what he said. Then she looked into his eyes, saw his regret mixed with his need to make her see. Finally, she took a deep breath and shook his hand.
“Thank you, I think,” she said softly. “It still hurts, what you did, but you’re right. I did win. This is the first time I’ve felt like I’ve won anything since this all began. And if you can get me and mi familia to America, I am more than willing to be forgiving.”
“Still, I’m not exactly George. Not Pansy either. Not anymore.” She thought for a moment, looking into his eyes. Then she smiled.
“Call me Georgia. Georgia Trujillo. A new name for a new life. I know Pansy doesn’t mind, and I’m sure Hector won’t, either. If there is a Heaven, he would want us all safe, and happier than we ever could be, here.”
Weber gave her hand a squeeze, then let it go. “Georgia, then. Let’s go get your kids.”
They started walking away from the plaza, and she stopped suddenly. “Oh! What about ... my ride back to the ranch? He will be here soon.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. By now, everyone there already knows Don Pablo is missing. I’m sure picking up one of the maids from her class in town dropped clear off of everybody’s radar.”
“ ¿Que?”
Weber sighed. “They’ve probably forgotten all about you.”
She nodded, and they began walking again. “I have to take Josecito, too. I do love him, very much, and I worry about what she might do to him when she finds out I am gone. Even though he is Susana’s as much as he is mine, I cannot be sure she will not torture him as she tortured me, out of her loss and anger. Unless ... unless she was one of the ones you —?”
The fixer shook his head. “She didn’t know enough about the process to be worth killing. Unless you want her dead, too, considering what she did to you.”
Georgia shrugged. “What I did to her before this all started was terrible. To inspire such hatred ... I can’t say part of her reaction wasn’t my fault. She got her satisfaction from what she did to me, and losing Josecito will be punishment enough, if she truly loved him as a mother should. But if she loved him, why did she never play with him, or care for him?”
“Not my department,” Weber said. “What is my department is being sneaky, so there won’t be a problem taking him along with your two. By now, everyone is over at Don Pablo’s, wondering where the old man could have got to. That means it’s only the servants left looking after the little ones at Susana’s ranch. I’ll have to put them to sleep for a while when we get your family. After all, we want your disappearance to appear to be part of the mystery, too, so no one will come looking for you.”
They walked for a while in silence. “Tell me, Señor, do you think they could find work for me with your ... your ... whatever it is?”
He considered a moment before replying. “I’ll talk to the boss, but I don’t see a problem. We’re a big operation, after all. Once we get your memory back (or as much of it as we can manage), I can’t think of a better place for you to be than helping to stop what happened to you from happening to somebody else. Can you?”
Georgia shook her head and smiled slightly. Weber grinned, then snorted, and she gave him a look.
“You’ll like working with us, ‘Mom,’” he said. “We’ve got a day care center at the headquarters like you wouldn’t believe.”
She put her arm in his and smiled up at him. “It will be nice to have ... back-up?” He nods. “It will be nice to have back-up again. Hector helped some with the children, at least enough for me to take a few moments to cook or clean or bathe ... you know. But recently, I stole what time I could when the children slept. It made things ... harder.”
Georgia sighed, almost happy. “I’m looking forward to being able to look forward again. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt ... hope.”
“I think you’d better get used to it, then, Señora,” Weber replied. She gave his arm a squeeze and he looked down and grinned. “I’m thinking you and hope are going to be together for a long, long time.”
Till Human Voices Wake Us
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As a parent, you're responsible for the lives of your children. You make a thousand judgment calls before sending them out to meet the world, and sometimes what you think is right ... isn't. By the time you see how wrong you've been, it's usually too late, and there's no going back.
Inspired by The Softening of Jessie by AshleyTS, this is a story about another mother, her son, the daughter he became ... and what happened when they both woke up.
by Randalynn
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
-- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Elliot
She comes down in her bathrobe two hours late to a dark and empty kitchen. Usually Jenny lets herself in and wakes her, but today, she wakes up on her own. The change in routine worries her so much that she runs down the stairs, her heart beating wildly.
Instead of Jenny at the stove making breakfast for the two of them, she finds an envelope sitting in the center of the table, leaning against the sugar bowl. Whoever had left it couldn't decide how to address it, and there were multiple attempts at writing something on the front, each one crossed out so completely that whatever had been written was totally gone. Finally, under all this, she reads a single word.
"Mom."
For some reason this fills her with a strange fear. There's no reason for it. She's been Mom to Jenny since ... well, since forever.
And yet she's here, and the envelope is here. And Jenny ... isn't.
She rips open the envelope with trembling hands, and unfolds the several sheets inside. Instead of her daughter's pretty penmanship, the words inside are written with thin, hurried strokes, deep black lines clearly etched into the paper by strong emotion. She feels the dread grow stronger and drops into a kitchen chair, letting the envelope fall to the floor as she begins to read the tear-stained pages:
Last night, right before bed, I woke up.
I came home late from working at the diner. I kicked off my heels, took off my uniform, and slipped into a nice long bath. Then I dressed in a soft nightgown and settled in under my quilt on the sofa with a yogurt and an apple to see what was on TV.
The only thing on was a PBS science special, followed by a showing of this old black and white movie, something called The Manchurian Candidate. The special was all about brainwashing and mind control, and you know I don't usually watch that kind of stuff. I'm mostly into mindless sitcoms. But when the show started, something inside me jumped just a little, and I wound up glued to the screen the whole time. It all seemed very familiar somehow, and it made me feel weird inside.
When the movie came on, the feelings only got stronger. I watched as they made the poor brainwashed soldiers do anything they wanted, and the Chinese scientists were all so smug and superior and treated them like they were nothing. I started feeling worse and worse, all sad and angry about this stupid movie, and I couldn't figure out why.
Then suddenly, I woke up ... and I remembered.
Everything.
The pills. The CDs. The clothes, the make-up, the hormones ... the lies. All the things you and Aunt Carol did to turn me into THIS.
Before I could even think about it, I found myself with my head hanging over the toilet, retching up my dinner and trying to hold my hair out of the way. I felt wave after wave of anger, hatred, and disgust pushing the crap you fed into my brain away. By the time my stomach was empty, I was curled up in a ball on my bathroom floor, bawling my eyes out. It wasn't because I was six years older and a woman. It was because my own mom hated me enough to want to do this to her only son.
It wasn't like turning off a switch, the remembering. In a way, I was still Jenny. I remembered everything about her, and I knew everything she knew. But I also remembered Jimmy again, and all the things you did. Every step you took me through to turn me into a girl was right there, as if it was happened again. I spent the whole night reliving the experience with my eyes open this time, watching you and Carol laughing at me while you turned my mind inside out, and erased all the things that made me ... me.
It made me want to throw up all over again.
I was only sixteen when you did this. I remembered the conversations you had in front of me once the mind control had taken hold, when you'd ordered Jenny not to listen. You'd both decided I was a lost cause. Since when did you learn how to see the future? I was SIXTEEN! I still had growing up to do! You didn't KNOW anything! But because you THOUGHT I was going to turn out badly, you changed me into the "perfect" daughter, and killed me yourself, instead. Nice going, Mom.
You know, before last night ... before I woke up ... I loved you. You were my Mom, my best friend, my world, my light. You loved me so much, cared for me as no other ever did, kept me safe, and always knew just what to say to make every decision feel right."
Now I know how it is, and how it really was. I know you went into my head and changed me. Suddenly, everything you told me sounded so reasonable, so right. You kicked my mind wide open so I believed everything you said, and every time you opened your mouth, another piece of Jimmy died.
Last night, I remembered it all, and watched it happen again. I watched you slice away my past a sentence at a time, day after day, week after week.
"Wear this, drink this, take this, be this. Oh, you're so pretty in that dress, Jenny. You wear those heels so well, it's like you were born in them. Oh, of course boys don't wear dresses and heels, but you wear them because you're a girl, after all."
"How are you going to play soccer with your friends? Why, don't be silly! You're not going to play soccer anymore. Why? Because you don't like soccer, remember? You've NEVER liked soccer. Exercise, yes, but just to stay fit, just to stay trim, just to stay pretty so when you wear your bikini to the beach, all the boys want to be with you."
"And aren't sports kind of icky, anyway? All that running around outside, pushing yourself to make goals, as if goals are so important. Plus, you need to be aggressive to play sports, and you don't want to be like that, do you, Jenny? Girls aren't pushy, like boys. They're soft and submissive and helpful and kind. Besides, you don't really want to win anything, do you? You don't really need to excel. Competing is for boys, after all, and it only gets them into trouble. Be a cheerleader, instead. They never play. They just look pretty and cheer for the ones who do."
"Be a good girl, be a pretty girl, be the girl I want you to be. Be a pretty pink powder puff who knows and keeps her place -- a warm friendly girl who wouldn't dream of talking back or winning a soccer championship or running a company ... or running for President. Someone who would never dream of wanting more, because wanting and needing anything more than a pretty outfit or someone to love is too aggressive for a beautiful girl like you."
So I became what you made me -- a pretty puppet with no goals, no aspirations, no real desires at all. Did you realize what you were doing when you stripped that part of me away? I became a waitress in a beachfront diner -- not because that's what I wanted, but because the job was there, and you told me to take it, that it would be fun! I just couldn't understand why you wanted me to go to college. That surprised you, didn't it? I was a straight A student because you told me to study, but I had no interest in being better than I was -- being better than what YOU made me. Just pretty, shallow, and empty, that was the Jenny you wanted. And that was the Jenny you got.
Jenny didn't want to move out and grow up, but you needed to feel like she was moving forward, getting out on her own. For some reason, you wanted to feel like she was something more than a puppet. So you found her a tiny studio apartment near the beach -- a box your life-sized Barbie could put herself away in every night, when she was finished pretending to have the life you pushed her into in the first place.
Remember when you thought it would be a good idea for me to start dating in high school? After the surgery at the clinic to fix the "little problem" between my legs? You didn't think the programming would matter after that, did you? Because you thought I was "done," somehow. You thought what you did was finished.
Until I started sleeping with any boy bright enough to ask for it.
They would cuddle me close and whisper suggestions, and I would just happily go along with anything they said, because everything sounded great to Jenny. Thanks to you, there's a picture of me in the dictionary right next to the phrase "can't say no." For a while, there I was, Jenny the easy happy bimbo slut, open to any lewd fantasy a man could have. Years after you finished making me what you wanted, I was still having my reality rewritten by anyone with a voice.
But when you realized what was happening, you fixed Jenny the party girl, didn't you? You sat me down and lovingly convinced me that casual sex was terribly, horribly wrong -- unless, of course, you happen to find just the right guy. Then you can be the biggest slut alive, as long as he makes you his wife, so it's respectable.
And Jenny listened, of course. All you ever needed to do was deliver a few well-chosen words, and she became exactly what you wanted. It was never about what Jenny wanted, because Jenny never really wanted ANYTHING. She was like the world's biggest pile of pleasantly-shaped modeling clay. She cared about what you cared about. She wanted whatever you wanted her to want. Because that's how puppets work.
Of course, by that point I already had a reputation as the high school slut, so forget about having any real friends, male or female. Not that I could keep them anyway. Since Jenny had no real interests, she couldn't hold a conversation to save her life unless it revolved around fashion or boys. I was so shallow, a goldfish would've drowned if it tried to swim in my personality. On the other hand, with no social life to speak of, I studied hard and learned quite a bit -- mostly because you told me I should.
I guess I have you to thank for being able to write so well about the "thing" I've become. The "thing" you made me.
Thanks, Mom. You're the best.
Before I woke up, Jenny loved you. But now, I don't know if Jenny ever really loved you, or if it was just some suggestion you put in my head. After all, the daughter you turned your son into would HAVE to love you, after all you did for her. Just a few words in her ear, and you'd be best friends forever.
Now I'm not even sure I ever LIKED you. I don't even know if Jenny was capable of real emotions. If I weren't numb right now, I'd probably hate you for what you've done. I'm pretty sure I do. I know Jimmy loved and trusted you once. But thanks to the past six years, I don't KNOW anything now. I can't FEEL anything. Except betrayal. I feel that right enough. And I feel Jimmy's pain -- the pain you never let him feel when you killed him slowly six years ago.
He feels it all. I feel it all.
Because I came back to life, last night.
So what am I going to do? What can I do? It's over now. I'm not anyone's puppet. I cut my strings last night. But unlike Pinocchio, I'm not a real boy, either. I'm a thing -- half ghost and half woman, with no idea who she really is ... or who she's truly supposed to be.
Or even if she's supposed to be.
Can Jimmy live like this? Can I? I don't know.
I sat on the beach the morning after I woke up, looking out on the ocean, and I could almost hear the mermaids calling me to join them. I'm one of them, sort of, after all -- a halfling, a half-thing, trapped in this body ... in this half-life ... with no way back and no way out.
I don't know how to be a mermaid, Mom. I'm not even sure I want to learn. So here's what I'm going to do.
I'm going to get dressed in my prettiest swimsuit and jump into the waves. I'm going to swim out to sea until I can't swim anymore. Then I'm going to stop, and float, and listen. And see if they sing to me.
I'd sign this letter, but I can't. Because I don't know who I am anymore, and I'm not sure I ever will.
And if that doesn't bother you at all, then to hell with you. You're even less human than I am.
Goodbye.
She sits there at the kitchen table, the letter in her hand, until the day turns to night, and she can't see the paper anymore.
Three days later, she comes home from walking on the beach, looking for her daughter's body, and sees the light blinking on her answering machine. Torn between hope and despair, she reaches out a trembling hand for the Play button, afraid of what she thinks the message might be ... and not sure she wants to hear.
Beep.
"I'm home. And I'm alive." Her baby's voice is tired and sad and full of bitterness.
"It turned out that I heard the mermaids singing after all, and I sang along. Instead of drowning, I swam back to shore." She takes a deep breath.
"You better hope my college fund is still in one piece, because you're going to be hearing from a lawyer. I want every cent in a cashier's check, plus half of whatever you have in the bank. I think a self-imposed fine is the best you can hope for, after betraying and murdering a boy you were supposed to protect."
"If you don't pay, I'll go to the police with my Jimmy birth certificate and my Jenny birth certificate, and the old photo albums and the new photo albums I took from the house when I got back from the sea. I'll tell them everything, and then we'll see what they can charge you with. If nothing else, they can get you for falsifying records. After all, Jenny's paperwork is as fake as I am. But I'll be pushing for child abuse, too. And in the end, I'll take what I can get."
"You made me a woman. I can't change that. But if I'm going to have to be a woman, I'm going to be a strong one. No more sweet submissive dress-up doll. Aggressive? Hell, yeah! I won't be a bitch or a bully, but I won't shy away from a fight. I won't let anyone stop me from being who I want to be -- just as soon as I figure out what the hell that is."
"I'm going to school to figure out where I go from here. Maybe I'll be a psychologist. Maybe I'll go into law enforcement. Maybe I'll be a lawyer. I want to be someone who uses who she is and what she knows to make a difference -- to save people like me from people like you, who sacrifice the rights of others to do what they think is right. I don't know exactly how I'm going to live this life you forced onto me, but it's my life, and I'm going to make it count for something."
"I'm not Jimmy anymore, but I'm not Jenny either. So I'm changing my name to Gem. It's partly because of the Jim I almost was, but mostly because ... well, now that the light has hit me, I'm gonna shine. Yeah, it's corny, I know, but what the hell. I guess I'm just that kind of girl...now."
"So in a way, you won. You 'saved' me, and I'm going to be a 'good girl' and do something important with my life. Boo-yah for you, mommy dearest. But you killed Jimmy to do it, and took the rest of HIS life away, and I won't forget. Or forgive. He'll never learn how to be a "good" man. No children for him. No wife, no family. No being a husband and a father. Not even a memory for anyone except me."
"I don't know how I am going to feel about men, and dating, and sex, because I'm still trying to figure out how to feel at all. Maybe I'll be a lesbian, or spend the rest of this life alone with a dozen cats. But I'll deal with all that when I know myself better. I've got time, now that I'm awake. And alive, again."
"As for you? Don't call me. Don't contact me at all. I don't want to hear you. I don't want to see you. I don't want to know you. If you have something to say, talk to my lawyer. If I feel like replying, her voice is the only one you'll ever hear. Because I'm done with you."
"You killed me dead, and let the corpse walk around for six years because she was pretty and nice and never made a fuss. You don't even deserve this phone call, but I wanted to deliver a message, and this is it."
"Stay the hell away from me. You killed me once because I trusted you, and I'm not about to make that same mistake again. The only reason I'm alive now is because I turned on the TV that night and saw pieces of my first death rerun on PBS. I came back to life inside a girl, and we both swam out into the ocean to die together."
"Instead, we both heard the mermaids sing, and it turned out to be a song about life. It's full of pain and betrayal and hatred and rage, but also the chance to have a future, which is the one thing death can never bring. The mermaid's song never ends, because in a way, the song IS life, and being alive means hope, and dreams, and maybe love, if I can grow enough to take that chance and learn to trust again."
"But the chance to be something more is enough to keep me living. I don't want to die anymore. I died once, and that's enough."
"That's enough. I'm done. And like I said, I'm done with you." Long silence. "So fuck you. And goodbye ... Mom."
The machine beeps once and shuts itself down. She feels the tears start, but they are tears of joy.
When she and Carol first decided to do this to Jimmy, it felt so right. Jimmy kept getting into trouble and nothing she could do seemed to help. She had been at the end of her rope when Carol suggested the program. So she agreed to turn her son into her daughter.
It went so well for a while. Jimmy took to it all so well, following every suggestion until he was a she in nearly every way. They took her all the way to becoming Jenny, and then they realized something was wrong. She was ... empty. Her son, once so full of life, had become nothing more than the sum of their lessons, and nothing they could do would bring back the vitality and energy that used to belong to Jimmy. Instead of saving him, they had killed him.
Carol was happy, though. She had never liked Jimmy, and took every opportunity to play with her new girl-toy. She would humiliate her and push her to become even more of a caricature. She remembered angry words between the sisters, loud bitter fights that raged into the night. Eventually she sent her sister away, and told her she never wanted to see her again.
She never had.
Then the long wait began. The years of watching over Jenny, keeping her safe from errant suggestions and hoping that one day, somehow, she would wake up and be more than a shell once more.
And she did! Her daughter is finally alive, and her son is living again ... in her.
When she had thought that Jimmy would never wake up, she cried for weeks. Now she cries again, because the worst has been undone. Her baby lives again.
"She hates me," the woman thinks. "But she's right to. I know that now. What I did was so wrong ... still, it's time for me to let her go, and let her live the life she almost lost, because of me. She might come back, someday. Maybe. But until then, I'll be alone. I gave up everyone else to be with my child, to keep her safe. Now I have no one. But it's part of my punishment for what I did ... for almost killing my boy. It'll be okay. It will."
Still, the mother listens to the silence and feels numb. And waits in fear for the numbness to go away, and for the loneliness to start.
She won't have to wait long.
Thanks to Frank and Kaho for pre-reading and letting me know their thoughts. I've edited it a bit since then, so any mistakes are purely mine -- Randalynn
Tommy Browder Tales
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Tommy Browder Tales
by Randalynn
Tommy Browder is a sixteen-year-old boy with a good heart, a quick mind, and a way
of looking at the world that seems to make things better for the people around him.
These are his stories.
Beyond Fashion
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with the aunt he never knew he had -- and learn the reason why.
For Frank, a truly good man, because the best gifts are the ones we make ourselves
for the people we care about. Happy Birthday, hon. Hope it’s everything you thought it might be
when you threw the idea my way and let me run with it.
by Randalynn
“Know, first, who you are; and then adorn yourself accordingly.” ~ Epictetus
“Fashion is what you adopt when you don't know who you are.” ~ Quentin Crisp”¨
“Those who make their dress a principal part of themselves, will,
in general, become of no more value than their dress.” ~ William Hazlitt
“It’s the perfect opportunity, actually.” Phyllis Rackman sat at the kitchen table with her closest friend, and grinned an evil grin. “With my sister and her husband leaving Tommy with me for the summer while they’re on that dig in Peru, I’ll have my chance to take the boy down a few pegs.”
“I really don’t understand your problem,” Diana said, holding her teacup with the tips of her fingers and looking into it to avoid looking up at Phyllis. “I’ve seen Tommy around town, and there really is nothing to complain about. His parents raised him well. He’s a good boy, thoughtful, respectful, well-behaved —”
“The problem is that he’s a boy, soon to be a man, and he needs to understand that the world doesn’t belong to him. He’s too proud, and you know what they say. Pride goeth before a fall. I plan to make him fall hard.”
The edge in her friend’s voice made Diana look up, but the expression on Phyllis’s face made her wish she was anywhere but there. It wasn’t pleasant, and she suddenly worried about what Tommy’s aunt might have in store for him when he came to stay.
Her first impulse was to distance herself from whatever hate-inspired scheme Phyllis had in mind. Her friend had always hated men, although Diana didn’t know why and was afraid to ask. Instead, she ignored her friend’s irrationality as much as she could. Every time it came up, it brought out the worst in Phyllis ... like now. Diana couldn’t stand what she became when it took over. If Tommy’s parents hadn’t already gone that morning, she would have warned them. But they would be incommunicado from the moment their plane took off this morning, and there was nothing to be done.
She almost told the other woman that she didn’t want anything to do with what she had planned for the boy, but realized that Tommy might need an adult on his side before this was through ... or a shoulder to cry on if Phyllis had her way.
There was the sound of a car door closing, and Diana looked out the front door to see a man in a black uniform pulling several suitcases out of the trunk of a limo. She recognized Tommy standing there next to him, helping him with each piece.
“Hey!” Tony DeFranco said with a smile. “Jeez, kid, stop helping and let me do my job!”
“Sorry, Tony, but it makes me feel like a slug if I just stand here.” Tommy grinned back, took the next piece from him, and put it on the ground. “So shut up and let me help already, or I’ll need a shrink or something for the rest of my life.”
“Didn’t I pick you and your parents up someplace else this morning?” Tony said, letting the boy take the next piece of luggage out of his hands. “This is the same town. What’s the deal?”
“Yeah,” Tommy replied. “That was our house, but it’s being renovated over the summer while my folks are away, so I’m staying here with my aunt Phyllis."
Tony gave him a look. "Aren't you old enough to stay by yourself? You're what, fifteen, sixteen?"
The boy shrugged. "Got to stay somewhere until they get back, and Aunt Phyllis offered. It’s sorta weird, though.”
“How so?”
“Even though she lives in the same town we do, I don’t really know her at all. It’s almost like she doesn’t want to know us.” He shook his head. “But she heard about the trip and asked Mom to let me stay with her over the summer, so that can’t be right. Maybe there’s something else goin’ on I don’t know about.”
“Shame you didn’t get to go on the dig with your Mom and Dad.” He handed the boy his laptop case, then closed the trunk with a slam.
Tommy shrugged. “I’d be with them right now if they could have swung a visa for me, but the Peruvian government said no. It’s okay. I’ll spend the summer hanging here with Aunt Phyllis and my friends, and see them when they get back in the fall. I just hope I can get along with her.”
“Kid, I’ve only know you since I picked you up this morning, but I can tell you’re good people.” Tony stuck out his hand, and Tommy shook it. “If she can’t get along with you, that’s her problem, not yours.”
“You take care of yourself, Tony.”
“That’s my line, kid.” The limo driver paused for a second, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He pushed the card into Tommy’s pocket. “If you need me, call me, okay?”
Tommy looked at him, clearly curious. Tony stuck his hands in his pockets and shook his head.
“Listen, somethin’ about this doesn’t feel right to me. I don’t know what, but I’ve got the same feeling I get when I tell the dealer to hit me and I just know the next card’s the wrong one. So just hang onto my number — in case you need a ride, or somethin’. All right?”
“Okay. But I think you worry too much.” The boy grinned. “I mean, how bad can she be? She’s Mom’s sister!”
“Tommy, I’ve got four sisters, and I love ‘em all. But every one knows how to bust my chops seven ways from Sunday, and none of ‘em are saints. Just watch your back, ‘kay?”
“I will.” Tommy watched as Tony walked around to the driver’s side, climbed in, and drove slowly up the street. The boy threw the strap of his laptop case over his shoulder, picked up both suitcases, and walked up to the front porch.
“Aunt Phyllis?” he said through the screen door. “I’m here.”
She came to the door and threw it open. “Good! It took you long enough.”
“The airport’s pretty far out of town,” Tommy replied, a little confused. “There wasn’t any traffic. I thought we made pretty good time.”
“And I think you shouldn’t start your visit by arguing with your aunt, especially since you’re going to be staying with me for a few months.” Phyllis stood just inside the door. “Come in and I’ll show you your room.”
“Hello, Tommy,” Diana said, standing in the kitchen doorway. “My name’s Diana. I’m a friend of your aunt’s.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said with a smile, and put down one suitcase to shake her hand.
“Don’t dawdle, Tommy.” Phyllis’s voice echoed down the stairway. The boy looked at Diana and shrugged, then picked up the suitcase and trudged up the stairs. Diana sighed.
The room at the end of the hall was big, brightly lit ... and glowed with an unmistakable girlishness. Pink was everywhere, and enough frills and fluffery to make Diana wonder how much Phyllis had spent on her little scheme to make her nephew suffer.
For his part, Tommy looked around and put his suitcases down.
“What do you think of your room?” Phyllis stood there, barely concealing her smirk.
“I like how big it is, and how much light it gets.” He walked over and pushed aside one of the lace curtains. “I like the sun.”
Her smile faltered a bit. “What about the color? And how it’s decorated?”
Tommy turned to look at her. “Hey, it’s your guest room. You can make it up any way you like.” He grinned. “I’m just happy I’ll get the chance to stay with you. I’d like to get to know you this summer.”
“Well ... all right, then.” Her smile disappeared completely, and she fidgeted for a second before regaining her emotionless mask. “Get settled in, and I’ll see you down in the kitchen for lunch in ten minutes.”
She spun on her heel and left quickly. Diana stood there and looked at the boy, who stared after his aunt with his head slightly cocked.
“She has ... issues,” the woman said softly. Tommy nodded, and gave her a little smile.
“Seems like. I’m not too worried. I’m pretty good with people.” He sat on the bed and bounced a bit. “It’s a soft mattress. Sweet.”
“Doesn’t all this pink bother you?”
He shrugged. “It’s pink. It’s just a color. I can deal. Some of the stuff in here looks a bit ... breakable, though. I think I’m gonna need to be a bit careful moving around.”
Diana smiled at him. “I think you’re going to be just fine.”
“I hope so.” He fidgeted a little. “It is all summer. Do you know why she’s being so weird?”
“Like I said, she has issues.” The woman looked at him. “I get the feeling you might be able to help her work through them.”
“If I can.” He grinned. “After all, she’s family, right?”
Tommy wandered out into the hall, looking for a bathroom. Diana couldn’t help but wonder what the next few weeks would bring.
She didn’t have long to wait.
A few days later, Tommy stood at the top of the stairs, wearing nothing but a towel. “Aunt Phyllis? Have you seen my suitcases? All my clothes are gone.”
“No, they’re not.” He heard her voice behind him, and turned to find her standing by his doorway. “I have a ... surprise for you.”
She turned and walked into the pink room, and Tommy followed, still clutching his towel.
“I’ve decided that, for the summer, you will wear what I choose for you to wear.” Phyllis walked over to the closet. “So I’ve purchased an entire new wardrobe for you.” She threw open the door, and the boy was shocked to see it full of girl’s clothes. Blouses, skirts, and dresses hung neatly on their hangers, with rows of shoes on the floor.
His aunt walked over to the dresser and pulled the top drawer open.
“The gift includes lingerie, of course,” she said smoothly, barely stifling her grin, “and more casual wear, although nothing that could ever be mistaken for a pair of pants.” Phyllis opened the second drawer to reveal pink and lavender tee shirts, imprinted with words like Princess and Too Hot to Handle, along with some lightweight skirts in summer fabrics.
“Don’t you worry, everything will fit. I was very careful with the sizes.”
“Is this some kind of a joke?” The boy’s head was spinning as he tried to get a handle on what exactly was happening.
“Not at all,” his aunt replied. “You are under my roof, and I am acting as your legal guardian, and so I set the rules in my house. As far as I’m concerned, it’s skirts and dresses all summer long for you, Tammy.” The unfamiliar twisting of his name made me cock his head, and he found himself wondering what part of the Twilight Zone he’d managed to fall into when he stepped out of the shower.
He stepped forward into the closet and fingered one of the denim skirts.
‘Yeah,’ he thought sourly. ‘My aunt really does have issues. Question is, what’ll I do about them?’
“Aren’t you going to say ‘thank you?’”
Tommy turned slowly and looked at her.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “If you were in my shoes, would you say thank you to someone who took all your clothes and replaced them with jockey shorts and jockstraps?”
Phyllis took a step back and smiled.
“Our positions are what they are,” she replied smugly. “And your new shoes look a lot like mine. So either wear these clothes or spend the summer in this room, totally nude. It’s up to you.”
She spun on her heel and left, closing the door behind her. Tommy looked into the closet again and shook his head.
“Issues,” he said aloud. Then he stopped and thought about it some more. “But why do this? It’s stupid. What can she have to gain by stealing my stuff and making me wear these?”
Tommy wandered over to the dresser and picked up a handful of nylon panties, then let the slippery fabric slide through his fingers. As he thought, he picked them up absent-mindedly and let them fall back into the drawer a second time.
‘I didn’t do anything to her,’ he thought, ‘but she’s been pushing me since I got here. Nothing I’ve done has been right as far as she’s concerned. But I know I didn’t do anything wrong.’
“She wants something out of me,” the boy whispered. “Something I haven’t given her. The pink room ... the clothes ... She wants what? To make me angry? Embarassed? Humiliated? To ... hurt me? That’s just crazy! She doesn’t even know me!”
After a few more seconds, Tommy looked down into the drawer, then towards the closet, and a grin grew on his face.
“That’s right. She doesn’t know me.” He shook his head and started picking through the lingerie, still smiling. “Oh yeah, she doesn’t know me at all.”
Phyllis waited for quite some time in the kitchen, grinning over her coffee cup and waiting for “Tammy’s” uncomfortable unveiling. After about forty-five minutes, she wondered what was keeping him, and wandered upstairs to find a handwritten note taped to the door of his bedroom.
“Thanks for the clothes,” it said. “Gone out. Back later!”
She stared at it for a while, confused.
“Out?” She spoke into the silence. “He went ... out? Like that?”
This she had to see.
Phyllis drove around town for a while, wondering where her nephew could have gone wearing girl’s clothes, and how he could possibly have made himself passable without her help.
“He must have known he’d stand out in any of the outfits I picked for him,” she said, “and the only choice he would have would be to let me make him look like a pretty girl, or be humiliated in public. What else could he do?”
She cruised past the high school, where a bunch of teenagers were playing a pick-up game of soccer. As she turned a corner, she saw a flash of bright pink in the middle of the group surrounding the ball, and jammed on the brakes.
It was Tommy.
He wore the Pampered Princess crop top with the short denim skirt, along with the pink and white Nike’s and white ankle socks with lace trim. He also wore a huge grin as he snatched the ball away from an opponent and spun around to drive towards the goal, leaving the others behind. The whole pack chased him, and as he ran, his skirt rode up enough to give flashes of pink panty to anyone who might be looking.
He delivered a kick that made the ball skitter into the corner of the net with a stuttering dance that left the goalie half-stumbling to reach it, and the rest of the pack caught up with him and pounded him on the back.
Phyllis got out of the car and walked slowly onto the soccer field.
“Thomas! You da MAN!” A tall redheaded kid shook his head in amazement. “You’re first string next year for sure.”
“That’s the coach’s call, not mine,” Tommy replied, then threw him a grin, “but he’d have to be crazy not to put me on the team.”
“Tommy.” Phyllis stopped a good distance away. She found the happy group of boys strangely frightening, and crossed her arms defensively. “What’re you doing?”
“Oh, hi, Aunt Phyllis,” he said, the grin relaxing into a smile. “Playing soccer with my friends, burning off a little energy. And I’ve got to keep in practice for tryouts in the fall.” Reaching down, he flapped the bottom of the crop top a few times to fan some air up underneath. “Kinda sweaty, though. Gonna have to take another shower when I get home.”
“You came out to play? Dressed like that?”
Tommy looked down at himself. “Closest thing I had to something easy to move in. Good air flow up top, and easy leg movement down below. I woulda worn the tennis dress, but it was white, and ... well, grass stains. You know.” He frowned. “But I had to wear two pair of the underwear to get enough support to play. I guess they don’t fit as well as you thought they would.”
Her mouth was dry. “I wasn’t thinking about soccer when I bought them.”
“Maybe if you’d gotten to know me a little better, you would have known I like to play.” He cocked his head. “Or did you think I was going to let this ruin my summer? Not do the things I want to do because of your ... gift?”
“But aren’t you ... embarrassed ... to be seen like that?”
Tommy shrugged. “Clothes are clothes. And it wasn’t exactly my idea. But as long as I can do what I want, who cares what I wear when I do it?”
She shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “What about your friends?”
He turned to his friends. “Hey, guys! Do you care what I’m wearing?”
They all looked at each other, and back at him.
“Hell yeah, dog,” a short kid called back. “You’re so hot, you’re making the rest of us look BAD. ‘Pampered Princess’ my ass. I’m hitting the mall for a total makeover tonight.”
The whole group burst out laughing, Tommy included. Phyllis felt the world spin a little, and everything went black a second before she hit the ground.
She opened her eyes slowly, and the world came back into focus. She was lying on her own bed, and Tommy sat on a chair nearby. His hair was wet — apparently he had showered again — and he wore a pale green scoop neck tee tucked into a black skirt with several layers of lacy ruffles. He sat like a guy, with his ankle resting on his knee, and one black pump dangled from the foot in the air while the other rested on the floor.
She squealed and scooted back on the bed. Tommy looked up from the copy of Cosmo he’d been paging through.
“You’re awake,” he said, tossing the magazine aside. “You gave us a scare.”
“Us?”
“When you fainted. I carried you back to the car and used your cell phone to call Diane. She came by and drove us both here, and got you settled in bed. Since you seemed to be sleeping, I took another shower and got dressed. Again.”
“And Diane?”
“She left. She said to tell you she was disgusted, and if you don’t get your sh — act together, she’s never going to speak with you again.”
They sat in silence for a while.
“I can see right up your skirt, you know.”
Tommy shrugged. “What can you see? Black skirt, black panties ... two pair, of course. No worse than wearing a Speedo. Not like that’s my thing. I like trunks.” He sighed. “The way you think, I guess there’s a bikini waiting in one of those drawers. Probably pink. Don’t need the top, but there’d better be some room in those bottoms, or I might get arrested when I hit the public pool.”
Phyllis stared at him. “What is WRONG with you?”
“Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”
“Those clothes don’t bother you?”
“Why should they? I know who I am,” he replied, looking back at her. “You don’t. That was your problem from the start.”
They looked at each other, and Tommy sighed.
“Look, since I got here, you’ve been on my case. But you don’t know me. You NEVER knew me. I finally figured out what the deal was. You’ve been busting me night and day, not because of who I am, but because of what I am. Just because I’m a guy.”
He leaned forward. “You’ve got this idea in your head of what a man is, and it’s ugly. I get that. But I’m not HIM. I’m not some generic dickweed you want to punish — some caveman jerkoff with a bad attitude and a constant hard-on who treats women like crap and thinks he’s the Second Coming. I’m just Tommy Browder, a kid who found out he had an aunt in town he never knew, and decided to spend the summer with her, just to get to know her, as a person.”
“But you never got to know the real Tommy. Why should you? He’s just a boy, after all. And you know what they’re like. So when you tried to force me into pretty clothes to punish me for the sins of the dumbass you hang onto so tight in your head, you thought I’d be so stupidly macho that just forcing me into a skirt would send me into shock.”
“You thought wrong.”
Phyllis looked at him as if he was something she’d never seen before. And maybe he was. Tommy looked back, seeing her confusion but not sure what to say. Finally, he sighed.
“Look. Like I said, I know who I am, so it doesn’t matter what you make me wear. Clothes don’t make the man. They never have. What makes the man is what’s inside, good or bad, jerk or saint. Or maybe none of the above. Maybe he’s just Tommy Browder, the guy who fell into your warped idea of who he was, instead of who he is.”
There was a long silence, and Phyllis spoke, almost too softly to hear.
“You said ... you were scared. When I fainted.”
Tommy shrugged again. “I meant what I said about wanting to get to know you better. I was afraid I’d lose you before I got the chance. The way you fell out there, it was like all your strings were cut. I freaked, a little. Can you blame me? The way you’ve been acting, you might have had a brain tumor or something.”
“You ... cared?”
He shook his head. “God, Aunt Phyllis. I’m not the creep in your head, remember? Give it a rest.”
The boy stood up and looked into her eyes.
“Diane told me she has my stuff. She offered to bring it all back, but I said no. I told her she can keep it all summer for me — unless you call and ask her for it first. If you still think I’m some kind of monster, fine. I’ll wear the clothes you gave me until Mom and Dad come back. I really don’t care. But if you want to let go of who you think I am and meet ME instead, there’s the phone. It’s your call.” He grinned. “Literally.”
The boy turned and headed for the door, and Phyllis watched the ruffles on the skirt twitching back and forth as he walked out. After a second, she realized she was crying.
And before she knew she was doing it, she reached for the handset.
Standing Up
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A Tommy Browder Tale
by Randalynn
and declare his own freedom? — Jim Morrison
“Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what
it takes to sit down and listen.” — Winston Churchill
“If you fell down yesterday, stand up today.” — H. G. Wells
###
Tommy Browder gave Jennifer one last goodbye kiss before helping her into the cab. She threw him a smile that made his heart do a small flip, and he slipped the driver a ten-dollar bill.
“I know it’s only a five-dollar fare,” he said, “but I’d appreciate it if you’d walk her to her door once you get there, ‘kay?”
“No problem, bud,” the driver replied. “I woulda done that anyway, a pretty girl like that. But thanks for the tip.”
“Hey, it’s only money.” Tommy glanced back at Jennifer. “She’s ... something special.”
The blush that slipped across her face warmed the boy. He tapped once on the top of the cab and took a step back to watch it pull away.
Normally, he would have taken the cab with her, and said goodbye at her door. But he was staying the summer at Aunt Phyllis’s house, and that was way across town from where his home and Jennifer’s were, and a heck of a lot closer to where he stood downtown.
Anyway, the date had pretty much killed his pocket money, so taking his own cab back was pretty much out. He’d just have to walk a few miles, and he could practically do that in his sleep. Hell, he could run it if he wasn’t in street shoes. Besides, these were the only date clothes he had while his house was being renovated.
‘Better to take it slow and not break a sweat,’ he thought, starting out with an easy stride. ‘Not looking to buy more clothes before Mom and Dad get back.’
Tommy got his bearings and turned down a street he hadn’t been down before, trying to cut the distance some. He was sure he’d get back in plenty of time to say goodnight to Aunt Phyllis, but he didn’t have any kind of curfew at this point, and he knew if he started staying out too late, she might start thinking that way. Their relationship had gotten off to a rocky start, but things had gotten better in the past few weeks, and he didn’t want to risk losing whatever ground they’d managed to gain because he screwed it up.
There were a few clubs on this block he hadn’t even known were there, and the music leaked onto the street along with the glow of neon and the sound of crowds. As he walked past the last club on the line, he passed an alley, and heard harsh laughter, followed by a soft voice saying, “no, please ...”
“Please what, bitch?” A cruel voice taunted, one Tommy knew all too well. “Or can I call you that when you ain’t one?”
Other voices joined the first in laughter, and Tommy realized that getting home without breaking a sweat wasn’t going to be an option. He sighed, unzipped his jacket, and stepped into the alley.
“Aww, hell, Keller,” he said sadly. “I got the whole summer away from school, and an entire town to avoid you in, but you still manage to ruin my night.”
“Get lost, Browder.” The other boy spoke without turning around. He and two friends stood over a slight figure. “This ain’t your problem.”
“Wrong, dipshit,” Tommy replied. “It’s you, and that makes it my problem. Ever since fourth grade, you’ve been pounding on people and I’ve been stopping you. Are you ever gonna give it a rest?”
Keller turned around and looked at Tommy. The other two shifted until all three faced him. Tommy stretched the muscles in his back. This wasn’t going to be fun.
“And now you had to go picking on a girl. I mean, this is a whole new level of stupid, even for you. This isn’t school, Keller. Cops will have your ass ... once I get through beating on you for a while.”
All three looked at each other and laughed.
“That ain’t no girl,” Keller sneered. “It’s a fag, and we’re gonna have some fun with him before we let him go. If we let him go.”
They moved aside enough to let Tommy see the small figure curled up in a ball, dressed in a pretty black dress that had been torn and dirtied, a long blonde wig twisted slightly askew and tears pouring down, streaking mascara across carefully done makeup.
Tommy shook his head. “Looks like a girl to me, Keller. And even if she wasn’t, doesn’t matter. You don’t get to hurt anyone you want. That’s not how things work with us, you know that.”
“Things change, Browder.” Keller smiled. “Go away now. Or we’ll make you.”
The other boy laughed and shook his head. “You? Make me doing anything? What have you been smoking?”
Keller’s flunkies looked at their leader and back at Tommy.
“There’s three of us, dude” one of them said.
“Well, yeah, but you’re all wusses.” Tommy grinned. “How hard can it be to take you down if it takes three of you to handle her?”
“She’s — it’s NOT a girl!” Keller’s face turned red.
“Excuse me, miss,” Tommy said softly, catching her eye. “You’re a girl, right?”
She nodded.
“What’s your name?”
“Josie,” she whispered. He smiled and turned back to Keller.
“Works for me.” With a sigh, he took off his coat and threw it to her in the gap between the thugs. “Hold this for me, will ya, Josie?”
She snatched it out of the air and cuddled it close.
“If you don’t touch her again and just walk away,” Tommy said, his tone even and his eyes locked on Keller’s. “I’ll let you go. But if you really want me to, I’ll hurt you. And you know I can.”
Keller took a step back and pushed his two goons forward.
“Take him!”
They looked at each other for an instant, then both lurched forward at once, hands reaching as if to grab him. Tommy sighed, settled into a stance, and centered his mass. The first one found Tommy’s foot buried in his stomach, knocking all of his air out with a whoosh and slamming him back into the closest wall. Continuing the spin from the kick, Tommy slammed his fist into the second one’s chin, snapping his head back and dropping him into a pile of full garbage bags by the dumpster, unconscious.
He smiled at Keller.
“Hell, Keller, looks like you need better people to fight your battles for you.” He took a step forward. “I’m not even breathing hard. And now it’s only you and me.”
“And me.”
The voice came from behind him, but he recognized it immediately.
“Tony!” He said with a grin. “Been a few weeks, man.”
“Hey, kid.” Tony DeFranco stepped forward, a big black metal flashlight in his hands. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Was walking home and got sidetracked. Keller here wanted to hurt this girl. Let me have him, ‘kay? We’ve been through this crap before.”
“Can’t do that, Tommy. I got a dog in this fight.” He motioned with his flashlight. “That’s my boy Joey.”
“See?” Keller sneered. “He knows the truth.”
“Shut up, dumbass.” Tony took a step forward. “In case you can’t figure it out, I am NOT your friend. That’s my son, asshole. And the only truth you need to know is that, if you don’t get the hell out of here right now and take your pals with you, I’m gonna beat on alla you with this flashlight until the batteries fall out. Then I’m gonna drive you all so far outta town it’ll take you weeks to crawl back — if you’re still able to crawl. Capische?”
“You can’t do that,” Keller said, a little fear creeping into his voice. “I’m just a kid.”
“So’s my son,” Tony growled, taking another step, “and you’d be surprised what a man will do to protect his own. How about it, Tommy? Will anybody miss him?”
“Are you kidding? They’d hold a parade in your honor, if anybody found out.” Tommy grinned at Keller. “Not that I’d tell.”
Tony nodded. “I thought as much. Good thing the limo’s got a nice big trunk.” He took another step and looked down at Keller. “Last chance, stupid. Go. Now. Or I’ll give you all a twenty-mile hike on broken legs.”
He grabbed the bully by the front of his shirt, lifted him up and threw him towards the street. The other two boys got up and ran after him, and Tommy could hear them running as fast as they could until the music from the club swallowed the sound.
Tommy moved to the mouth of the alley to make sure they were gone, and saw the tail end of Tony’s limo parked in front of the club. He turned back quickly to see Tony grab Josie by her arm and jerk her roughly to her feet.
“What were you thinking?” He roared at her. She whimpered and clutched Tommy’s jacket to her. “Were you thinking at all? Why did you leave the club before I got here? You coulda been — you coulda been — damn it, Joey, what the hell is your problem?”
Tommy saw her tears begin to fall again. He stepped forward.
“Tony, you’re scaring her.”
“He should be scared,” Tony replied, his anger making his voice tremble. “If it wasn’t for Tommy, who knows what woulda happened. And all because you think you’re a girl. Jesus H. Christ, Joey, take a look in the mirror when we get home. I changed your diapers, for Chrissake! You think I don’t know what you got?”
Josie trembled all over. “I can’t help what I feel, Daddy. I know who I am. Why can’t you see?”
Tommy moved past Tony and took his jacket back from Josie’s shaking hands. He shook it out and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“I think I need a cup of coffee,” he said, “and Josie needs to clean up before she heads home. I bet her mom is going to be freaked. I know her Dad is.”
Tony looked at Tommy, surprise pushing his anger aside almost instantly.
“Coffee?”
“Yeah, coffee. There’s a diner not too far from here. How about it?”
Tony turned away from Josie, his shoulders slumping. One hand reached up to massage his neck, and Tommy could see it shaking.
Finally, he got his voice back.
“Sure, coffee’s good. And you’re right, Estelle isn’t gonna be happy.”
Tommy put his arm around Josie and started leading her out to the street, He stopped and turned.
“Tony, can you cover me? I’m almost tapped. That’s why I was walking home.”
“Cover you? For coffee? Jesus, kid, I’ll buy out the diner if you’re hungry. And no more walking home for you. You ride for free from now on. Just say where and when.”
Tommy shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but you need to make a living.”
Tony put out his hand. “You stood up for mine, and that makes you family. Family rides free, okay? No arguments.”
The boy sighed. “Let’s just start with the coffee, okay?”
He walked Josie out to the limo. Tony took a deep, ragged breath, shook his head again, and followed.
By the time they reached the diner, Josie had straightened herself up in the limo and repaired her make-up. Still, she practically ran to the restroom while Tony and Tommy slipped into a booth. When the waitress came, they ordered three coffees and sat across from each other, suddenly silent. When Tony picked up his cup, Tommy could see his hand was still shaking.
“It’s hard,” Tommy said. “Isn’t it?”
Tony took a sip, then nodded.
“Came outta nowhere,” he replied. “Seemed like it to me, anyway. Joey’s never been much for sports or hangin’ with the guys, but I just figured that was him and let it go. Never thought for a second he’d come out and tell us he thinks he’s a girl. He said he felt like this for years.”
“It’s hard for both of you.” Tony looked up. The boy shrugged. “What, you think that was easy for her? To tell her old man somethin’ like that? Must have taken a lot of guts, to step up and tell you something she knew you didn’t want to hear. Something she knew would hurt you.” He grinned. “I think you’d call that being stand up, doing what you got to do, right?”
“You keep talking about him like he’s a she.” The driver rubbed his face with his free hand.
“That’s how she sees herself.” Tommy took a sip of his own coffee. “Who am I to disagree?”
“But it’s crazy, Tommy,” Tony said, his voice rising. “He’s not a girl!”
Tommy put his hand out and touched Tony’s sleeve. “Keep it down, huh? You really want to share that with everybody? Besides, you don’t know that. All you see is what’s on the outside.”
Tony looked down and moved his shoulders around. “That’s enough to know what’s what.”
“Is it?” The driver looked up into Tommy’s eyes. Tommy looked back. “You’ve been around, Tony. You’ve seen a lot of things. Are people always what they look like?”
The driver’s eyes flashed and his lips became a thin line. Tommy pressed on. “I mean, come on! You drive a limo! How many times you seen someone try to pass themselves off as something they aren’t? Guys in expensive suits, waving money around, acting like they’re something special. But you know different. You put their luggage in the trunk, and you know it’s nothing but cheap goods and attitude.”
“This is different,” Tony said, his eyes back on his cup.
“Yeah, it is. This time, it’s not about what’s outside. Josie isn’t trying to sell you a lie. She’s trying to get you to see the truth.”
Things went quiet for a while, and Tommy let the man think. Finally, the driver sighed. “If it’s not about what’s outside, why is she wearing those clothes?”
Tommy shrugged. “I don’t know, Tony. To me, clothes are clothes. But maybe it makes her feel more like the girl she is on the inside. Maybe it makes her feel better. Besides, how else is she gonna let the girl come out? How else are you gonna see her if she doesn’t wear the things she’s wearing?”
More silence. Tony looked back at the rest rooms.
“Taking a while back there.”
The boy grinned. “Girls usually do. We both know it’s worth the wait when they get back.”
Tony looked at the boy in front of him and smiled, shaking his head again.
“You’re too much, kid, I’ll give you that.” He reached out and out his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Thanks for being there tonight. I meant what I said before. Free rides, and no argument.”
“Thanks, Tony. I’ll try not to take advantage.”
He nodded. “I know you won’t. You’re a good kid.”
More silence. Tony looked out onto the street and sighed.
“Shit, Tommy,” he said softly. “That’s my kid in the ladies room right now, and he almost got himself killed tonight, just trying to be the girl he thinks he is. What the hell am I gonna do?”
“What you did tonight,” Tommy replied. Tony looked back at him. “Stand up, man. Be there for her. We both know you love her. And she’s being stand-up about who and what she is. So don’t run her down. Back her up. She was stupid tonight, because it’s different for girls and she’s still learning that. But she needs to know where you stand, and that should be with her.”
He grinned. “Hey! She’s your daughter, right? Why don’t you show her what it means to be a girl — and have an Italian Dad?”
Tony stopped, thought for a moment, then grinned back. He reached out and ruffled Tommy’s hair. “Get out. Jeez, kid, when did you get so smart?”
“I just know who I am, Tony. I figured Josie knows that, too.”
The clack of heels on the linoleum floor alerted them both that Josie was coming back. She was much more collected, makeup fresh and every hair in place. Still, her eyes were down and she slid in next to Tommy, tucking her skirt under her when she sat. The boy put her cup in front of her.
“Feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you. And thank you for saving me tonight. I was stupid not to wait inside.”
Tony spoke. “Yes you were.”
She kept her eyes on her cup. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“You should be.” His voice broke. “I almost lost you tonight. I’m not gonna let it happen again.”
Josie looked up, a little fear in her voice. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you are grounded, mist — missy. Starting right now.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Street’s ain’t safe for a girl alone unless she’s smart, and you ain’t, yet.” He sighed. “You don’t go out alone, and you let Mom or me know where the hell you are at all times. You got a cell phone, I expect you to use it. Understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.” A tentative smile grew on her lips. “You ... you called me a girl.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Yeah, well, a smart guy I know told me that you should know who you are better than I do, and I should shut up and let you be. Who am I to argue?” He looked back at her. “I’m just your Dad, that’s all. And until you know better what being a girl means out here, you stay home.”
He stood up and threw a few bills on the table.
“Until when?”
“Until I say so.” He looked down at her. “Until your mom and me are sure you’re gonna be safe. You got a problem with that?”
He could see the joy explode across her face, and she popped up out of the booth and threw her arms around him.
“No, Daddy!” Tony stiffened for an instant, then relaxed and put his arms around his new daughter.
“And don’t think hugs are gonna get you ungrounded before we think you’re ready. I’ve got four sisters, and I love ‘em all, but I know every trick in the book girls use to get what they want, prob’ly better than you.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“So let’s get Tommy home before he gets into more trouble. I figure he’s gonna have a story to tell when he gets back, just like we do.”
“Thanks, Tony.” Tommy slipped out of the booth and put this hand on Josie’s shoulder as they walked to the front door. “Appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it, kid. After all, I gotta keep an eye on you. Wise guys can be a lot of trouble, you know.”
“So I’ve heard.” The boy grinned. “Good thing I’m on your side.”
Tony threw a glance over his shoulder, and Tommy swore he saw a tear in the man’s eye.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I guess it is.”
Passing It On
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and wondering whether he truly is different from the men she learned to hate.
But a chance encounter on a playground makes her think ... and maybe hope.
A Tommy Browder Tale
by Randalynn
“Let the first impulse pass, wait for the second.” -- Baltasar Gracian
"Never act on impulse. Plan first. Think it through. Then act." -- Luc Saint-Cyr
###
As Phyllis Rackman drove through town, she wasn’t thinking about the news on the radio or how light the traffic was that Saturday. She was thinking about the same thing she had been thinking about for quite some time.
Her nephew Tommy.
He was a puzzle, and that scared her in ways she didn’t really want to think about. She had tried to hurt him, viciously and truly without cause, and he had turned it around and made her see that her own hatred of all things male had almost caused her to be as evil as she had always known men to be.
Phyllis had assumed Tommy was “just another man,” and tried to punish him for ... for the sins of others. But the boy turned the whole plan to humiliate him on its head, and showed her a love and compassion she still had trouble believing could come from anything with a Y chromosome.
Could she have been wrong all these years? She had started to think that everything she thought she knew might not be true, and it shook her to the core and left her wondering if she really knew anything at all.
Still, she did have good reason to hate, once, and pieces of the cause still haunted her. Tommy’s presence brought back shadows of things that were, and it was hard for her, having a man in the house. She still shivered a bit when he walked into the kitchen, even if all he did was smile and say good morning, or sit down in the living room and ask about her day. It wasn’t hatred, not with Tommy, not anymore. But there was fear, yes, just as irrational as the hatred she once felt for the boy, and Phyllis would curse herself that she still stiffened up whenever he came close enough to touch her.
Still, that story he told her about that boy Keller and his friends, and how he fought them in an alley to protect that girl? Why fight so well unless he liked it? Did he have a violent streak, like ... like the ones who hurt her, long ago?
She was supposed to meet Tommy in the park near the playground, to pick him up so they could grab some dinner and maybe see a movie.
‘Although what could the two of us possibly watch together that both of us would like?’ She shook her head at the thought, then she wondered why. After all, she still barely knew him, even after several weeks. Of course, after meeting him, Phyllis wondered if she even knew herself anymore.
As she pulled the car over to the curb, she saw Tommy sitting on a bench facing the playground full of kids. He was leaning forward, almost like a lifeguard at a beach, and she watched his head move back and forth.
‘What is he up to?’ she wondered as she got out of the car, locked it, and started moving towards him across the park. ‘This is an odd way for a sixteen-year-old boy to spend a summer afternoon. Isn’t it?’
As Phyllis grew closer to the playground, she saw a small blond boy watching a younger dark-haired girl playing with her doll by the sandbox. She was pretending to take care of it, rocking it and singing to it, and as she looked up at the boy with a smile, he suddenly lurched forward and pushed her back into the sand. She fell hard, her skirt flipping up and her doll flying off into the air. The tears started almost at once, and the boy laughed, turned, and started to run.
Tommy’s aunt felt a rush of anger.
‘Stupid boy! So cruel, even so young!’ Phyllis felt her hatred swell, and she started moving forward to teach the boy a lesson in what it really meant to hurt someone.
Then Tommy spoke, raising his voice just a little.
“Hey. Kid. Hold up.”
The boy stopped running and looked back. Phyllis stopped, too, just outside of Tommy’s line of sight.
“Who, me?” The boy said.
Tommy nodded. “Yeah, you. Come here a minute.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I asked you to.”
The boy squinted and frowned. “No, you told me to.”
Tommy grinned. “Yeah, I guess I did. Okay. Would you please come here a minute?”
“Why?”
The older boy looked at him. “What’s your name?”
“Kevin.”
“Because I want to ask you something, Kevin, and it’s easier to talk if you’re over here instead of over there.” The boy hesitated, and Tommy shook his head. “What, you think I’m gonna beat you up or something?”
He nodded.
Tommy laughed. “Dude, you’re like six years old! I’m ten years older than you. And yeah, if I was a jerk, I could squash you like a bug. But I’m not a jerk. I’m just me.” He held out a hand. “Tommy Browder.” The boy looked at the hand, but stayed where he was. Tommy let it fall.
“Besides, I don’t even know you, Kev. So why would I want to hurt you?”
Kevin took a few steps closer. “If you don’t want to beat me up ... what do you want?”
“I just want to talk, that’s all.”
“About what?”
“What you did to that girl just now.”
The boy squinted at him. “She your sister?”
“No, I don’t know her. Neither did you. But you pushed her anyway.” The boy considered this for a moment, and turned to go. Tommy sighed. “Come on, man. I just want to know why you did it, that’s all.”
He turned and walked back towards Tommy, stopping a short distance away.
“I pushed her ‘cause she’s a girl.”
“So?”
Kevin fidgeted for a moment. “What?”
“So why is that a problem?”
“’Cause she’s a GIRL.”
“So’re half the people on the planet, Kev. You gonna go around pushing them all?”
That stumped him for a while, but then he gave Tommy a puzzled look and shook his head.
“Good to know.” The older boy smiled, gave Kevin another second or two, then spoke again. “So why did you push her?”
Kevin scrunched up his face and said, very slowly, “Because ... she’s ... a ... girl.”
“And how does that make it okay to push her and make her cry?”
“Huh?”
“Not a hard question, Kevin. Why is it okay to push a girl and make her cry?”
“’Cause she’s different.”
“How?”
He tilted his head and thought for a minute. “She likes different stuff than me. Girl stuff, clothes and babies and ponies and junk.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because ... she’s ... a ... girl.”
Tommy sighed. “So? Maybe she likes boy stuff, too. You don’t know. You never asked.” They looked at each other. “Anyway, why should that make you push her?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, why should you care what she likes or doesn’t like?”
Kevin stood there staring at him, confused. Tommy sighed again.
“Okay, turn around. Is that your brother over there?”
“Yeah.”
“He looks like you. Does he like the same things you do?”
“Sometimes. I hate broccoli, and he likes it. And he likes shows about animals, and I don’t.”
“So. You gonna go push him?”
Kevin shook his head. Tommy nodded. “But he likes different things than you, right?”
The boy thought a bit. “Yeah,” he said, a little slowly.
“So why not go push him? Make him cry?”
“Are you telling me to?” Kevin pushed his jaw out and narrowed his eyes. “’Cause I won’t.”
“Nope. Not telling you to do anything. I’m just asking you to think about it. Look, you pushed a girl you didn’t know because you thought she liked different things than you. But you know your brother likes different things than you, and you still won’t push him and make him cry. Does that make sense to you?”
After a minute, Kevin shook his head again.
“So maybe why you pushed her wasn’t because she likes different things.” Tommy scrunched up his face the way Kevin had a minute before and said, “Maybe it’s ... ‘cause ... ‘she’s ... a ...girl.”
Kevin shook his head. “That’s stupid. Why would I do that?”
“I dunno, man. You’re the one who did it. But girls are different, aren’t they?”
The other boy looked down. After a few seconds, he nodded.
“They scare you a little, too, don’t they? Because they’re not like you.”
Kevin looked up and his face turned angry. “I'm not scared of girls!”
Tommy shrugged. “Well, I am, sometimes.”
“You are?” Kevin looked stunned. “Why?”
“Because they're different. Sometimes I don't know what they're thinking, or how they feel, and I don't want to say or do something stupid that’ll make 'em mad at me.”
“Why?”
“Because I like 'em.”
Kevin scrunched up his face. “WHY?”
Tommy grinned. “Because they're different.”
The six-year-old froze. “You like 'em because they're different?”
“Yeah, I do.” Tommy thought for a moment. “Okay, you saw Star Wars, right?”
“Duh.” Kevin rolled his eyes. “Everybody saw Star Wars.”
“Did you like it?” The younger boy nodded.
“There were a lot of aliens in those movies, right?” Kevin nodded again and smiled. Tommy smiled back. “Tell me something. Do you think it would have been as good if everybody in it was human? No jawas or sandpeople? And Chewbacca was just some bald guy who looked like your uncle, instead of being a Wookie?”
Kevin shook his head. “No! That would really suck.”
Tommy looked left and right, then looked back at Kevin. “I’m gonna let you in on a secret, Kev. Girls are people, but there also sorta like aliens ‘cause we don’t always think the same. It makes things interesting, like in the movie. But the thing is, they're friendly aliens. They're different, but they're nice.”
“Nice? Girls?”
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “That’s why I like ‘em.”
The younger boy looked skeptical, and Tommy thought for a minute. “Kev, do you like your Mom?”
Kevin smiled. “Yeah. She bakes cookies and makes pizza for dinner sometimes, and lets us stay up past bedtime if we're really good. She tucks us in and takes care of us when we're sick. She … she loves us. A lot.”
Tommy leaned forward. “Kev, your Mom's a girl, too. Only she's grown-up, so she's a woman.”
Kevin rolled his eyes again. “I knew that, Tommy. I'm not dumb.”
“Never said you were.” The six-year-old nodded. “But you know your Mom is a girl, and she's not scary. She's nice, and she loves you, right?”
Another nod.
“But you still pushed that little girl down and made her cry? Just because she was a girl?”
The younger boy froze, stunned.
Tommy let him think hard for a minute, then said gently, “How would you feel if someone did that to your Mom, man?”
Kevin looked down, and his voice became very small. “I'd be sad,” he replied. “And mad. I'd be real mad.”
“Who are you mad at now, Kevin?”
“Me. I'm stupid.”
Tommy shook his head. “No, you're not. You just didn't think first. You pushed that girl because you were scared of her, 'cause you thought girls were different and scary. But if you stopped and thought about it for a minute, like you did just now, you woulda figured out that you like girls, too, just like you like your mom, because they're different. Not scary, just different. And sometimes nice, like your mom. And you never woulda done what you did. See?”
Kevin wouldn't look up. “No, I'm dumb.”
“You're not dumb, Kev.” The boy shook his head, and Tommy sighed. “Look, you figured it out yourself just now, because you took a few minutes to think. All you have to do now is remember to think first the next time you want to do something stupid, 'kay? Then you'll know if what you want to do is the right thing to do, and you'll do what's right. Right?”
After a minute, the six-year-old looked up and nodded, his face red. Tommy smiled.
“So, you pushed her down and made her cry. Think about it. What's the right thing to do now?”
“Say I'm sorry?”
Tommy shrugged and stood up. “Sounds good to me. She's over there with her Mom. Go make her feel better, man. Might make you feel better, too.”
Kevin gave him a look. “You think?”
The older boy grinned. “All the time, Kev. All the time.”
The boy turned around and ran across the playground, and Tommy watched him go. He ran over to the sandbox and picked up the doll, then walked over to her and held it out. Tommy saw his lips move, and a few seconds later, the little girl took the doll and then wrapped Kevin in a big hug that the boy endured with a sheepish smile. Finally, the girl ran back to the sandbox, her hurt all but forgotten.
Kevin turned back to Tommy, smiled and waved, and ran over to where his brother was climbing on the jungle gym.
The little girl’s mother was too shocked to speak, but she looked over at Tommy and wondered what the teenager had said to make the boy apologize. Tommy smiled and waved, and she raised her fingers in a small, tentative wave of her own.
Phyllis took a step forward, still working on what she’d seen.
“That was ... interesting,” she said, and Tommy’s head turned at the sound of her voice.
“Hey, Aunt Phyllis!” The teen threw her a smile before looking back at Kevin. “No, I was just ... payin’ it forward, I guess.”
“Paying it forward?”
“Yeah, sort of,” he replied, a little embarrassed. “When I was little, around Kevin’s age, my Dad taught me to think first before I did something, He wanted me to learn to figure out what the right thing to do was and then do it, not just go with the first thing that made me feel good.”
Almost to himself, he added, “I think that’s why Keller is such a jerk. He never learned to think about what he does. When he was just a kid, he hurt someone for fun and liked it. So that’s what he does. That’s who he is, now. And probably who he’ll always be.”
Tommy went quiet for a bit. When he spoke again, he sounded sad. “Every time I mix it up with Keller -- every time I stop him from hurtin’ somebody -- I think back to what Dad taught me. And I wonder, if someone taught Keller to think when he was Kevin’s age, maybe he wouldn’t be the way he is. And maybe I wouldn’t have to spend so much of my time gettin’ in his way, or thinking about who he’s hurtin’ when I’m not there to stop him.”
His eyes drifted back to the playground. “So I come to places like this looking for kids like Kevin, so I can pass on what my Dad taught me, and teach ‘em to think first. That way, they can choose the kind of people they want to be, before it’s too late. Maybe someday, somebody else down the line won’t have to keep worrying about who Kevin is hurtin’ today, once Keller’s just a bad memory.”
They stood and watched the playground for a time.
“You don’t have to protect the world from the Kellers, you know,” Phyllis said, thinking back to her own ghosts. “There are so many like him out there, after all. It’s a big job.”
“If I don’t, who will?” Tommy thought for a moment and shook his head. “No, I stepped up way back in the fourth grade and kicked his butt when he needed it, ‘cause that’s what I knew was right. Now I guess I’m stuck with him.”
After a few seconds, he turned to his aunt. “Of course, on the bright side, he’s also stuck with me. So like the Jamaicans say, ‘it’s all good.’”
He grinned and she found herself smiling back. They turned together and started walking back to the car.
“I’m thinking you’ve met your share of Kellers, too.” Tommy spoke softly, keeping his tone conversational. Phyllis froze for a second, and the teenager did his best to ignore it as they both continued on. “And I’m thinking they can do a lot worse than beat on you, when you’re a woman. That’s why you did what you did when I came to stay, I guess. That’s why you’re still a little afraid of me. I can see it in your eyes sometimes.”
They reached the street, and he stopped on the passenger side.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything,” Tommy said, turning around, his head lowered. “And you don’t have to tell me what happened, not if you don’t want to. Not my business. And it’s history, away, even if you can’t let it go yet. So maybe I shouldn’t even bring it up.”
He looked up, and she could see the determination in his eyes. “But I just want you to know ... no matter what ... that the past really is history. You’re safe now. You got me. I’m here, and I got your back. And nobody’s gonna hurt you again, not if I can help it. Okay?”
For a moment, it was quiet. Phyllis looked at him for a long time, but Tommy couldn’t read the expression on her face. It almost looked like she was torn, trying to decide ... something. He saw the beginnings of tears, and wondered if he’d gone too far.
Then she reached up and touched his face, gently and without hesitation. It was his turn to freeze, and when Phyllis saw that, she smiled and let her hand drop.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and his eyes widened. “That means a lot.”
Tommy looked away, suddenly embarrassed.
“Yeah, well, the way I see it, I’m already worrying about everybody in town younger than Keller,” he said to her reflection in the car window, then turned back to her with that grin she’d come to know so well since he came to visit. “Might as well add my aunt to the list, especially since she’s buying me dinner. Pizza at the Fountains?”
She laughed and shook her head, and the moment was broken. “That’s the third time this week.”
“But it’s the first at the Fountains, and they got the best pizza in town,” he said, popping the car door and climbing inside. “That’s what Tony DeFranco says. One of his sisters owns the place.”
Phyllis looked down at the boy and smiled. “Okay, The Fountains it is.”
“Great!” he replied, the grin becoming a smile. She shut his door and walked around to the driver’s side. When she had gotten in and buckled, Tommy spoke again.
“Just don’t let her know who I am, okay? She finds out I’m the one who saved Josie, she’ll go bankrupt trying to feed me for free ... forever.”
“I may go bankrupt trying to feed you for the summer.” Phyllis turned the key and started the car. “But it’s okay, your secret’s safe with me.”
“Thanks!”
She signaled and pulled away from the curb.
“No problem,” she replied with a small smile, looking away so Tommy couldn’t see. “I guess, in a way ... I've got your back, too.”
She felt him turn to look at her, and then look away.
“Good to know,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
Keeping It Real
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But a chance encounter with Tommy Browder and his girlfriend Jennifer helps put things in perspective.
A Tommy Browder Tale
All Rights Reserved.
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.”
- Hamlet, act I, scene iii.
“We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it,
than any other person can be.” - Jane Austen
Tommy Browder stood at the entrance to the food court and sighed, his hands full of shopping bags.
‘Thank God that’s over,’ he thought. ‘Now all I need to do is chill and wait for Jen, and that shouldn’t be hard.’
He moved forward, looking for an empty table where he could put down the bags and set up camp, maybe pick up a snack or something while he waited. The place was pretty crowded this close to lunch, and empty tables were hard to find.
Then he heard several people laughing, and turned to see a dark-haired girl sitting alone at a corner table surrounded by three older boys. She was hunched over, trying to protect herself as they hung over her, tugging at her hair and trying to poke her chest. When she tossed her head to shake a lock of hair free from one of the boys, Tommy realized that the girl was Josie, Tony DeFranco’s “new” daughter.
He sighed. ‘Why are there so many idiots in the world? And why do I seem to run into more than my share?’
“Josie!” he called, and all three of the boys looked up. “Hey, girl, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Thanks for finding us a table.”
The tallest of the boys looked at him as if he was some kind of alien.
“Can I help you with something?” Tommy said, dumping the bags on a chair.
“Yeah.” The leader of the group grinned. “Why don’t you take a walk?”
Tommy looked back, narrowed his eyes and cocked his head.
“Just took one,” he replied evenly. “Now it’s your turn.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I said. I’m gonna have lunch with my friend, and you’re gonna walk away.”
One of the other boys stepped forward, his lip curled in a sneer. “Who’s gonna make us? You?”
Tommy smiled, and shook his head. “Hell, no. It’s my day off. And it’s not my job anyway. That’s what they pay the guy in the uniform over there for, isn’t it — dealing with jerks like you?”
The leader put his hand on the second boy’s shoulder and glared at Tommy. “What’s your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem.” Tommy’s voice cut through the background noise of the food court. “You do. Or you will, if you don’t stop messing with my friend and leave.”
The third boy stepped forward.
“Listen, man, you’ve got it wrong. This isn’t even a girl,” he said, apparently trying to be helpful. “He’s Jo —“
Tommy stepped forward and put his finger on the boy’s chest. His mouth snapped shut.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I know who she is, and so does she. You don’t. But that’s okay. All you need to know is that if you don’t leave now, I’ll call the mall security guy over and tell him you’re hassling Josie here. Then if you don’t leave, he’ll use his radio to call some of his mall security friends, and none of you will be able to come back here and bother anybody again. Ever.”
Josie looked up at Tommy, and saw him smile, very slowly. The third boy took a step back.
“They don’t care who she is, and neither should you. All they care about is who’s causing trouble, and who isn’t. And they can ban your asses if they want to. So why not save everybody a lot of trouble, and get the hell out of here?” Tommy looked over the boy’s shoulder. "Unless you want to be banned? Hey, he's looking this way!"
He started to raise his hand to get the security guy's attention. All three boys glanced quickly over their shoulders, saw him looking back, and walked quickly towards the escalators. Tommy watched them go until they sank out of sight, then fell into a chair with a sigh.
“Thank you,” Josie said with a smile. The boy shook his head.
“Damn, I hate malls,” he replied. She looked at him, and he shrugged. “It’s not personal or anything. I just don’t like shopping. I mean, I don’t mind getting the things I need, but places like this are full of people who either want things just for the sake of having them — or jerks who don’t seem to have anywhere better to go, and nothing else to do here but cause trouble.”
She looked at him. “So if you hate malls so much, why are you here?”
He shrugged. “Aunt Phyllis heard that Jen and I were gonna meet here and decided that I needed more clothes to last out the summer. She gave me a chunk of cash to make it happen, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He picked up a few bags and shook them. “So ... more clothes. Most of it is the same as the stuff I have at home, only now I have more of it. Mission accomplished.”
Tommy dropped the bags back on the chair, and Josie tilted her head. “I still don’t get it. You hate malls. Why meet here?”
“I don’t like shopping, but Jennifer does, and what makes her happy makes me happy. Since I get to make Aunt Phyllis happy, too, it’s a win-win.”
“But you’re not happy.”
“Sure I am. I just get my happiness where I can find it. Today, I’m finding it by giving Jen and Aunt Phyllis what they want. I might even get some from you, once you forget about those dumbasses.” Tommy grinned, then gave Josie a closer look. “I like the hair. It’s nice. Much better than the blonde wig.”
She reached up and touched it gently. “Thanks. I got hair extensions, and they’re the same color as my real hair. Really expensive, too. Once Mom and Daddy decided to let me be who I really am, Mom put her foot down and made Daddy agree to pay for ‘em. He didn’t fuss too much — said my being blonde just didn’t seem right. It made his teeth ache, whatever that means.” She smiled. “And since it brings me closer to passing in public, he didn’t put up too much of a fuss. He’s still worried about something happening to me again.” She sighed. “Like it almost did today.”
Tommy shifted in his seat. “I hate to say it, but that’s ‘cause you didn’t think like a girl.”
Josie looked up. “What do you mean?”
“You were so busy trying not to call attention to yourself that you didn’t even think about calling the security guy. It’s his job to protect girls from being hassled. Most girls know that in a place like this, help is only a shout away.”
She went very quiet. Tommy reached out and touched her hand. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re still new at this.”
“No, I knew he was there, and I knew I should have called him.” Josie looked down at her hands. “I was just ... afraid.”
“Of him?” She nodded. “Why?”
“What if he turned out just like them? What if they told him who I ... who I used to be, and he took their side?”
For once, Tommy had nothing to say. Josie sighed.
“So many people seem to have a problem with this,” she said. “Most of Daddy’s sibs are okay about it, but a few of his brothers haven’t said a word to me since this all came out, and Papa Joe doesn’t even want to admit I exist. Daddy has had more than a few fights with him, and now he’s not speaking to Papa Joe either. Half the family is mad at the other half, and I’m the one responsible.”
“No you’re not.” Tommy said. “You’re just doing what you have to do to be who you are. If somebody else has a problem with it, it’s their problem, not yours.”
“But they make it my problem when who I am is the thing that makes the family fight.” Josie shook her head, and her new hair moved gently over her shoulders. She threw back her head and shook it, then reached up and tugged a few loose strands out of the corner of her mouth. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
Tommy nodded. “And not just the hair. You need to keep holding tight to who you are, no matter how many people freak on you.”
Josie looked down. “You’re right, It’s just ... hard.”
“Harder than pretending to be a boy all the time?” She looked up at him and Tommy smiled. “Look, you already figured out that you can’t live your life trying to be something you’re not. You tried that for years, remember? You only made yourself sad. Then you stood up and told your folks the truth. They’re standing by you, and so am I. And so is everyone else in your family that sees the girl you really are.”
“And the others? What do I do about them?”
Tommy shrugged. “Nothing. You gotta do what’s right for you, just like other people have to do what’s right for them. If Papa Joe and the others can’t see who you really are, it’s because they can’t see past what they think you are. Most folks don’t want to look at the world twice — they like thinking they already see things the way they are. But someday, maybe, with your Dad’s help, Papa Joe will learn to see past what he wants to see and see what’s real instead.” He smiled. “And I know Tony. He’s stubborn — he won’t give up until your granddad gives you a hug and makes you feel welcome.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Like I said, I know your Dad. And Papa Joe raised him, so the old man’s gotta be smart enough to listen to Tony ... eventually.” She grinned at that, and he grinned back.
He stood up. “Hey, I need a Coke. Would you watch my stuff for me?”
Josie smiled up at him. “Sure!”
“Do you need anything?” She shook her head and waved at her own half-empty drink. Tommy smiled. “Okay, back in a sec.”
Josie picked up her soda and took a sip, watching the people walking by. Her new life was a swirl of new sensations that made her feel so right so much of the time. She loved the way the soft breeze from the air conditioning caressed her smooth legs, and the strappy heels on her feet. She loved how her new hair caressed her back with every move of her head, and even loved the way her bra straps tugged at her shoulders with the weight of her breast forms.
But best of all, she loved not living a lie. She loved not having to pretend to be Joey anymore. She loved that Mom and Daddy finally saw that she needed to be herself, and that Tommy came along when he did that night to save her.
‘I guess he wound up saving me twice that night,’ she thought, ‘once from Keller, and once when he made Daddy see me for who I truly am.’
Josie went to put her cup back on the table and noticed the trace of lipstick around the straw. It made her smile.
“Excuse me, Miss?”
She looked up at the mall security guard that Tommy had been pointing out to those boys to make them leave. Her heart jumped, just a little. He was tall, with brown hair that had subtle red highlights, and his uniform fit well, showing off a body that seemed to reach out and grab Josie right behind her navel and make her tummy all warm.
‘Oh my God!’ Her whole body turned to jello. ‘He’s gorgeous!’
“Y... yes?” Her voice quavered. “Is something wrong?”
“No, not at all.” He smiled at her, and she melted a bit more. “I just wanted to apologize for not stepping in before. I wasn’t sure whether I should, and I probably let it go on for too long. When your friend arrived, he seemed to handle it okay, but I wanted to let you know that I was watching, and I would have gotten involved if it had gone on for too much longer.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“The thing is, you didn’t say anything, so I couldn’t tell if it was just teasing or harassment. If it happens again, don’t wait. Just call for help, and we’ll take care of it. No need to be embarrassed. That’s what we’re here for, after all. Okay?”
“I will.” Josie smiled up at him. “I promise.”
“All right, then. Have a great day!” He turned and walked back to his vantage point, giving Josie a long lingering view of his tight bottom that made her squirm in her seat.
“God, when did they start making mall security guys that look that good?”
Josie turned to see Jennifer Shea, Tommy’s girlfriend. She smiled, and Jennifer smiled back.
“I don’t know,” she replied, “but I sure hope they don’t change their minds before I’m old enough to snag one.”
“You’re Josie, right? Tommy’s friend?” Josie nodded, and Jennifer put her purse down on the table and sat in the chair next to her.
“And you must be Jennifer. Tommy’s here, somewhere. He went to get a Coke, but he’ll be right back.” She smiled. “He talks about you all the time, you know.”
“He’d better,” she said with a small laugh. “I’d like to think he can’t stop thinking about me when we’re apart, since that’s how I feel.”
“He was telling me how much he hates malls, but he knows you love shopping, so here he is. Just to make you happy.” Josie looked at her and smiled. “You have got to be the luckiest girl on the planet to have him in love with you.”
“I am,” Jennifer replied, her eyes narrowing. “So hands off, okay?”
Josie sat up. “What? I wouldn’t ... I couldn’t ...”
Jennifer threw her a grin and put her hand on the other girl’s arm. “Chill, girl. I’m just teasing. I know where his heart is, and I know you guys are friends. So no worries, ‘kay?”
Josie nodded, and smiled tentatively. There was a moment of silence, and Jennifer sighed.
“I really am sorry I freaked you out,” she said. “I should have guessed you wouldn’t know I was just fooling around. I know you haven’t been at this girl thing very long.”
“You do?” The other girl looked up, surprised. Jennifer gave Josie’s arm a squeeze.
“Of course,” she replied, “Tommy told me all about what happened the other night. No secret between us. In fact, I’d been hoping to meet you.”
“Oh?”
Jennifer nodded. “I’ve been thinking a lot about how hard this must be for you,” she said softly. “Finally telling everyone who you are inside, then trying to make up for all the time you pretended to be a boy. Tommy said you don’t have any sisters?”
“That’s right.” Josie picked up her drink and took a sip. “Just me, Mom and Daddy.”
“That means the only person you’ve got to teach you how to be a girl is your Mom. That’s got to be awkward.”
“Pretty much.” She sighed. “It’s been a long time since she was my age, so as much as I love her, her advice might be a little out of date.”
Jennifer went quiet for a moment, then said, “Wouldn’t you like some help from someone a little closer to your age?”
“That would be great,” Josie replied, a little sadly, “but finding someone who understands and wants to help? That’s going to be hard.”
“Not so hard,” Jennifer replied, and smiled. “You’re looking at her.”
Josie turned and looked at her, her eyes wide. “Really? You’d help me?”
“Well, I don’t have any sisters either,” she said, “and I’ve always wanted one. If you’re interested, that is?”
With a ear-piercing squeal, Josie jumped up and hugged the surprised Jennifer.
“Yes, yes, yes!” She hugged her again, and Jennifer hugged her back, as every eye in the food court focused on the pair. “Thank you, thank you thank you!”
“I see you’ve gotten past that whole ‘not calling attention to yourself’ thing,” Tommy said, standing a short distance away and watching it all with a grin. “Nice going, Jen! Did you teach her that?”
“It’s her first lesson in girlhood.” Jennifer took the Coke out of Tommy’s hand, put it on the table, and gave him a kiss. “We LIKE being noticed.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Tommy said, and kissed her back. “So you’re giving lessons now?”
“Only to my new sister,” Jen replied. “But judging by her reaction, I’m not sure how much I can teach her. I’ve never heard a more heartfelt ‘squeeeeee’ in my life.”
Josie blushed all over, and Tommy smiled.
“Love the hair,” Jennifer said, tilting her head to scope out Josie’s look. “A little, ummm ... straight, though.”
“That’s because I just got extensions.” Josie turned her head slightly to give the other girl a better look. “And since they’re new, I can’t wash them until tomorrow night.”
“They look really good. I wouldn’t have guessed. How long have you had them?”
“Just a day.”
“Well, we’ll go back to the salon for the first washing, so they can show you how to do it right.”
Jennifer gave a little finger twirl to Josie, and the other girl responded with a model’s spin and a small giggle. “Maybe we can get ‘em to give you a bit of curl after the shampoo, too. You need a little bounce and body, if they can manage it. Using a curling iron or hot rollers can be tricky, too.”
“Have you ever had extensions?”
“No, but I had a friend who did, and she had to be very careful ...”
Both girls sat back down at the table, and Tommy sat, too. He drank his soda quietly, watching the female bonding ritual with a silly grin on his face.
‘It’s almost worth going to the mall,’ he thought, ‘just to see these two together.’
Josie looked over and caught him grinning.
“What’s that smile for?” she said, and Jennifer looked over at him, too.
“Hey!” Tommy put down the Coke and raised both hands. “I told you before. I get my happiness where I can find it. Right now, I’ve got a large Coke, a comfy chair, and two pretty girls to look at. I’m good.”
“Well, don’t get too comfy, Mister Browder,” Jennifer said with a grin of her own. “Josie needs to learn the fine art of shopping, and we’re not leaving here until she’s mastered it. Okay?”
His smile dimmed a little, but only until he took another look at the expression on Josie’s face. Then it grew to a grin again.
“Sounds okay to me.” Tommy rose to his feet. “Just don’t expect me to learn anything. I’m just along to keep you two company. I didn’t sign up for girl lessons.”
“And I don’t plan on giving you any,” Jennifer replied, standing up and putting her arms around him. “I love you just the way you are.”
“Good to know,” Tommy whispered, just before she kissed him.
Weber: Just Because You Can ...
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Is it right to betray the trust of a man, just because you’re smart and ruthless and will do anything to get what you want? Is it right to take everything from someone, just because you can? And how far can you push it before you cross the line between human and inhuman … and somebody notices?
Inspired by Bailey Taylor’s Give A Little, Get A Little, this tale brings back Weber, the troubleshooter and unlikely savior first seen in The Wheel Keeps Turning, a previous story of mine. Those who hate when the bad guys win, consider this a sequel to Bailey’s tale. Those who love watching evil triumph and hate when I mess with othe people's endings … well, this is a totally different story, honest! The names have been carefully left out to protect the innocent AND the guilty. *grin*
She came back from her weekend away, a satisfied smile on her face. It was a celebration of another successful deal, and her company … her company was doing so well, she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Her chauffeur left her luggage in the foyer by the door, and closed the door behind him when he left. She took a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of being home.
‘Home,’ she thought, looking around at all she had stolen from the man she used to call her boss. ‘My home. All mine, now. And so is he … she … it.’
She never called her ‘it,’ at least not to her face. After all, she had made sure the process had changed him into what looked like a very pretty woman … everywhere but between the legs, of course. She had set out to emasculate him, but she did herself one better. Between her legs was nothing but a smooth naked emptiness, broken only by a small hole to pee through. The way it looked reminded her of the buxom yet strangely sexless fashion doll she used to play with as a child. Eventually the former secretary had decided to rename her ex-employer in honor of her new status as a plaything.
“Barbie!” She listened to the echoes from every corner of her new home as they bounced back at her, remembering how tiny her old apartment used to be. She wondered where her “intellectual property” had gone to, since ‘Barbie’ was contractually obligated to be here cleaning and cooking when she wasn’t being the perfect secretary at what used to be her company.
“Where are you, girl?” She added a nasty edge to the term, rubbing in what she had done to him. She didn’t do it every time she spoke to … her. That would lessen the impact, and she really wanted Barbie to suffer.
She walked back to the kitchen, only to find it spotlessly clean and totally empty.
‘Nothing cooking?’ She ran a finger across the stovetop, and noting it was cold. ‘Barbie knew I was coming back today. There is a meal on the schedule, too. What is she playing at?’
A touch of irritation began to rise inside her. ‘Where is she? She has no friends, no family. She has no LIFE. I made sure of that. The only thing she has left is serving me, and the only reason she’s still here is the contract she signed, and the thin hope she might get away from me next year, and get his old life back. Like I’d ever let that happen. Even if I did let her leave at the end of the contract, she’d still be dead broke and alone. And I never guaranteed I’d turn her back into the man she was. Maybe I’ll tell her that when I find her, stupid bitch.’
“Barbie! Come here this instant!” She could hear the anger making her voice tremble, and she marched towards the dining room. “You come here right now or I swear I’ll —“
She turned the corner into the dining room and stopped, surprised. There was a large man sitting at the head of the table, drinking a glass of white wine.
“You’ll what?” he said, the question in his voice oddly melodic. There was a small smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and she felt a shudder inside as if she’d just stepped into a cage with a very hungry lion.
There was another predator in the room, and he was bigger and scarier than she’d ever be.
She could see he was a big man, wide and solidly built. Dressed in a black Hong Kong suit, tailor-made, with a black turtleneck shirt underneath, he looked professional, but oddly comfortable as well. He had blonde hair and bright blue eyes, with a nose that had seen a punch or two in its day. There was something vaguely Irish about his face, and she realized suddenly that he looked someone she knew. Part of her brain spun wildly for a moment as she reached into long term memory.
‘Yes,’ she thought, confused. ‘He looks a little like that actor … who was he?’ It was years ago, someone she’d seen in a movie. Brian somebody. ‘Dennehy, that’s it.’
She shook her head and returned her attention to the room. But it was hard to focus on him, despite the smile. Something about him made her want to run, even as she held onto her outrage as tightly as she could to keep from being frightened to death in her own dining room.
“Who … who are you?” She raised her voice to him, trying to drown her own fear with her anger. She was mad at Barbie, and now this bear of a man sitting in her chair as if he had every right to be there. Intolerable! ‘What are you doing in my house?”
“We’ll get to that,” he replied, the smile growing just a little bit. “But at the moment, I’m curious. What exactly could you do to that poor man that you haven’t already done?”
Her heart raced. “What are you talking about?”
“The sexless hopeless thing you call Barbie,” he said, his smile fading slightly. His eyes seemed to shine just a little, as if he found her indignation amusing. “The poor twisted tortured man who used to be your boss. What were you going to do to him if he didn’t come rushing to your call like a bitch in heat? What could you do to him now that you’ve stripped him bare of everything he owned and turned him into a pretty toy?”
She took a step back. “How do you know any of that?”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “That would be telling. I’ll get to that later. Trust me, though. This is one story you don’t want to jump to the end of. Especially you.”
She waited a few seconds, then her anger got the better of her.
“What I did or didn't do, or what I might do in the future … that’s all none of your business, whoever you are. But you are in my house, and I want you to leave.” She moved to the wall and touched a disguised button. “I’ve just alerted the guards at the gatehouse. They’ll call the police unless you leave now.”
“Have you now?” The big man took a sip of the wine and grinned. “Actually, you only think you alerted them. And I suppose if that button still worked, that might be a small problem. But it doesn’t. None of the internal security systems are working at the moment. So the guards at the gatehouse might as well be on the Moon, for all the good it does you.”
Her blood ran cold. She was alone with him. Totally alone. Having a completely absurd conversation about something he should know nothing about. What is going on?
“You still haven’t answered my question. I really am curious.” The smile shrank again, and she could feel the danger grow. “You stripped him of his company, his possessions, his sex, his body. What’s left to do beside kill him? Not that you would, since you seem to enjoy tormenting him so much.”
Not sure what else to do, she managed to smile back at him and delivered a passable shrug.
“I’m sure I would think of something,” she replied, trying to keep her voice light, as if she were flirting. A voice in the back of her head warned her not to play with this man, but what else could she do?
“I bet you could, too,” he said. “If I let you. But that’s not going to happen.”
The way he said it, it sounded so matter-of-fact, as if he already knew how this bizarre encounter was going to end.
‘Maybe he does,’ she thought. ‘I should be running. Why am I not running?’
“As to who I am, well, that’s the thing.” He put down his glass and looked up at her, standing by the archway to the kitchen. “My name is Weber. I work for an organization called First, Do No Harm. My boss is a guy who has way too much money on his hands and a real hate on for Josef Mengele and people like him. People like you.” Weber raised an eyebrow. “Do you know him?”
“Of course I do,” she snapped. “He was a monster! He experimented on Jews during World War II, used them as guinea pigs for all manner of unnatural experiments. Treated them like lab rats. I’m nothing like him.”
“Really? I think … Barbie would have a different view. I know my boss does.” He stood up slowly, and she took a small step back. “That’s why he sent me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We go after people who experiment on humans … treat them as less than human, like lab animals. Take away their rights and turn ‘em into toys … or pets. You know the type.”
He caught her eyes and held them. “I’m what you might call a ... well, a troubleshooter. Some folks used to call me a mechanic, but now … well, I’m on a different path. My job is to fix things. And today, I get to fix you.”
He walked around the corner of the table towards her, and she took another step back.
‘I should run,’ she thought again. ‘I should fly. I’m a bird and he’s a very big cat, and I really shouldn’t stand here. I should fly away as fast as I can.’
But she didn’t. The whole scene felt unreal, like a bad dream she was having while she was still awake.
“My boss had been watching that medical company … the one you did the deal with,” Weber said softly. “They were the reason you started the chain of events that led to us having this conversation, remember? It’s why you tricked and betrayed your boss into eventually giving you everything. First his company, then his life. You sold them his tech, and they used it to make the body-shaping machine that turned your ex-boss into your pet-toy-slave.”
“See, that’s why I’m here, princess. We didn't know what was going on inside your ex-employer’s company, but that wasn’t really part of our charter. We just knew that suddenly his tech was in someone else’s hands. Even the development of the body-shaping technology didn’t mean it was going to be abused. Until you did it. You went and turned a human being … into a sexless thing, a slave with nothing to live for but waiting to see what new Hell you could trick him into accepting. You think you’re nothing like Mengele? Lady, you could give him lessons.”
Her mouth went dry.
“And that’s why I’m here. Because you crossed the line that defines what it is to be human. And if that machine makes it easier for you to do it, others will follow. That’s why I broke into your offices and read everything there was to read. The copies of the different contracts, all of your correspondence, even your ex-boss’s journal.” Her eyes widened, and he grinned. “Didn't know about that, did you? He wrote about the whole thing, from beginning to end. You are, as my old man used to put it, a real piece of work.”
“He asked for it,” she whispered. “He wanted to do unspeakable things to me if I lost that first bet.”
Weber shook his head. “No, princess. Don’t go there. Whatever he wanted to do doesn’t matter. You had the deck stacked against him before the first card was even dealt. And you couldn’t lose. You already had the deal lined up with the company that built the body-shaping machine, so you manipulated him into the bet that started all this, knowing there was no way for him to win.”
She took a deep breath and shuddered all over. He knew too much for her to lie. Nothing left but to brazen it out and hope for a miracle.
“I knew he wanted me,” she said. “He was weak. Easy prey. And he had what I wanted – what I needed to succeed. His company. His technology. So I played him, every step of the way. He was so trusting … so easily manipulated. And I cut him down, a slice at a time, until all that was left was a shadow of a person. A thing. A toy. A nothing.”
Weber looked at her like she was some kind of insect. Not with hatred, exactly, but if she was some kind of alien bug he’d never seen before, and he wanted to classify it before sticking a pin in it and mounting it on the wall.
“He may have been a fool, and easy prey,” he said, as if explaining something to a small child. “He might even have been a bad man on some level. I’ve seen his fantasies, after all. But let’s be honest, he couldn’t hold you to them if you really wanted to leave. And none of it makes any of what you did right. He wasn’t evil. You were. And believe me, princess. I know evil, all too well.”
She opened her mouth, and he raised a finger. She froze, and he continued.
“Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should. Like you said, he trusted you. You were the closest thing he had to a friend in the world, and you systematically betrayed him over and over again until you had everything you wanted, and he had nothing at all. You could have chosen another way to get what you wanted. A better way. You could have stayed … human.”
He took a step closer, but even as he moved, he felt unnaturally still to her.
“As much as I like my job, the worst thing about it is having to deal with people like you. You’re the worst humanity has to offer. And you gave up being human a long time ago. So like I said, I get to … fix things.”
“What can you do? He’s trapped, and everything he had is mine. And it’s all legal, every bit of it. Contracts duly signed and notarized. I’m sure you saw the copies.”
Weber sighed and shook his head. “Look into my eyes, princess, and ask yourself. Do you think any of that matters … to me?”
She locked eyes with him, and saw the truth. Then she heard the front door open.
“Help!” she screamed, turning towards the door. “There’s a man in here! Help me! Somebody!”
She heard the clicking of high heels on the hardwood floors … and saw herself walk in from the foyer. The world spun for a second, and then righted itself slowly. Her other self smiled, but it was thin and cold. Any joy the smile held seemed to come from seeing her suffer, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away.
‘God,' she thought almost absently. 'Was that how I looked to … her? All this time’
Weber spoke from behind her. “When your boss disappeared and his tech wound up in the body-shaping machine, my boss sent me to look into it. After I reported back about everything I found here, in your office and here at home, my boss decided to take action. He bought the company you sold your ex-employer’s technology to, so now the tech you stole and the genetic engineering machine belong to him. He’s going to make damned sure its use is tightly controlled from now on. Of course there’s going to be fallout from restricting its use, but it will still be used to heal people. He’ll just make sure no one can ever pull what you pulled here again.”
She looked over at her doppelganger, standing there in a severely tailored business suit, the skirt a few inches above her knees, hose and heels and a pearl blouse that was one of her favorites.
‘It does look good on her,’ she thought, then stifled a laugh. ‘On me.’
Suddenly the pieces came together.
“Barbie,” she said, and even as the name left her lips she cursed herself inside for using it.
“Yes, it’s me,” her other self said. “When you did what you did to me … when you tricked me for the last time, you went and had yourself scanned and modified. I heard them talking about it when I woke up. You went through the process yourself and tried to make yourself prettier. I thought you were beautiful, just the way you were. But you already knew that, and used it against me.”
Weber’s voice came from behind her again, a little closer. “Since we own the company now, we found the password needed to reverse his modifications. And since you won’t be needing your body anymore, we loaned it to him for a while. We didn't know you’d erased his old body’s pattern. He still thought you were going to let him go when the year was out. But it’s okay. They’re already working on rebuilding his original genetic pattern from some DNA samples, hair and skin. By the time it’s ready, she will have sold her old company to my boss, transferred the proceeds of the sale to an account in the Caymans with her old name on it, and be ready to retire … and be a man again.”
Her ex-employer and ex-toy looked at her briefly, and she could see so much staring back at her in her own eyes — the betrayal, the hurt, the disgust … and just for an instant, a sadness. Then the other her turned and walked away, toward her new old bedroom and out of her life forever.
She turned back to Weber just as it hit her.
They didn’t need her anymore.
“So …” Her words caught in her throat, and she cleared it before starting again. “So what happens now?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“What are you going to do to me?”
He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “Do to you? What do you think I’m going to do?”
“I don’t know! You could do anything! You could … could …”
She started shaking all over, thinking about the things they could do to her now that they had control of the technology she helped create. Nightmares made real poured through her mind, and tears began to fall. He let her imagination run riot for a moment, then reached out and touched her shoulder, gently.
She froze, and stared at his hand as if it was going to bite her. Weber let his arm fall to his side, and sighed.
“Poor princess,” he said, looking at her with something resembling kindness. “You still don’t understand. I’m working through some issues of my own, but I’m sure as hell not going to hurt you. A few years ago, it would have been different. I would have hurt you. A lot. And I would have enjoyed it. Back then I was a talented thug for hire, with a knack for problem solving. But even as a thug, what you did to your boss would have disgusted me, and I would have taken my time making you realize how wrong you were to do it. Days, maybe even weeks. Knives. Acid. Pain is a good teacher.”
She watched him move his shoulders, trying to release some built-up tension.
“Now I’m working on being one of the good guys, and I have to admit it’s hard. Because I really do want to hurt you for what you did, and God knows you deserve it. I’d enjoy it, too, I really would. But if I take pleasure in hurting you, then I’d be just like you were with ‘Barbie,’ yes? I’d still be less than I could be, and less than I want to be. Less than … human. That’s why I stopped being who I was and went to work for my boss. Because doing what I do now, I have the chance to be more.”
“So I’m not going to torture you. I’m not in the cruelty business anymore. I’m in the ‘ending cruelty’ business. When you turned a person into an object, just because you could, you lost the right to be human. No matter what he was like before, he will always be more human than you could ever be. Because he never would have done what you did.”
“Now he’s you, at least for a while. Not the best solution, but it solves some problems while creating new ones. Problems like you.”
“Think about it. You aren’t you anymore. You’re not even a person now. You’re just an obstacle, don’t you see? An extra body where one shouldn't be. You’re keeping everyone else from having a happy ending, and we can’t have that, now can we?”
Almost without thinking, she shook her head. He nodded.
“Good girl. I’m glad you understand. Like I said, I’m not going to hurt you, princess. I’m just going to kill you.”
She didn’t move. His eyes … she couldn’t stop looking at his eyes.
“I’m trying so hard not to make this personal. Just one predator to another, right? I’m going to make you go away, and then everyone gets to move on." He smiled. “That's one thing I’ve always been very good at. Making problems disappear."
Weber took a step forward and raised her chin, then looked into her eyes. His other hand came up and cradled her head. She felt his fingers moving, looking for the right spot, where the spine meets the skull.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, and her blood ran cold. “You won’t feel a thing, I promise. I’ll be … gentle.”
And he was.