---

 
I sat on the wooding fence looking out over the reed beds and out across the river, the cool evening breeze rippling my skirt. I pulled my shawl tighter round my shoulders. The sun would soon set, and reluctantly I considered that it was time to leave. I like it here, alone, down by the river. I can be who I want to be and just detach myself from the day-to-day misery that life can be at times. I try to come here at least three times a week.

I started to walk back towards home. As I did so, my mobile phone beeped at me denoting a text message had been received. “Dad Home. Plan B. S”. I quickly texted back, “OK ETA 5”.

The message was from Susan, letting me know that my father had already arrived home, and that therefore she would meet me on the footpath at the end of the road with my spare set of cloths so that I could change before I go inside. You see, despite what I am wearing, I am not a girl, well not by the traditional definition at least. My name is David Palmer; I am a 14-year-old boy, most of the time. At the moment, I’m Jennifer Palmer, my own ‘twin’ sister.

It’s starting to get quite dark now as I come up the footpath towards the back of the housing estate. I see Susan waiting for me with a rucksack. She is slightly off the path, almost hidden in the undergrowth.

Susan Potter is my cousin, and is only a month older than I am. She is also my best friend and the only person who knows about my dual identities. The footpaths and alleys around our neighbourhood and down towards the river don’t get much foot traffic. There’s an occasional dog walker, but nobody I know. Our immediate neighbours are all older couples and don’t tend to use the alleys. I can therefore slip in and out without too much risk, especially once it starts to get dark.

“Here, put these on”, says Susan as she passes me a tracksuit. I quickly pull the leggings on. The legs are stretchy enough that I can put them on without taking my trainers off. I pull them up underneath my skirt. I then remove the skirt and shawl and hand them to Susan, swapping them for the zip up top. I put it on and zip it up to the top to hide the blouse I am wearing.

Turning to Susan I say. “Thanks Susan, Dad must have finished work early again. I swear he is deliberately coming home at odd times to try and catch me out.”

“Jenny, you’re paranoid.” she replied.

“It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you.” I state.

“Come on. I will walk you home.” Susan turns and starts up the footpath. “I have told my folks that I need to cross reference some home work with you, so that I am not expected back for half an hour.”

We walk together. The footpath emerges on the road behind ours. We cross the road and go down another alleyway opposite.

We live on the same street, a small cul-de-sac of twenty houses. Susan lives at number 1, where the cul-de-sac emerges onto the main street. I live down the other end of the short road at number 11. This particular alleyway runs past the side of my house before emerging onto our road. There is a gate giving access into my back garden, which we quickly slip through without being seen from the road. I lock the gate behind us and we cross the garden and go in the back door into the kitchen. My father is checking the casserole in our slow cooker. He greets us as we come in, and after exchanging short pleasantries, Susan and I retreat to my bedroom for some privacy.

I change cloths again, removing all my girl cloths and replacing them with appropriately male attire of jeans and shirt. While I change, Susan checks my answers to my algebra homework. After twenty minutes, Susan leaves and returns home, happy her homework is ready for submission. That’s her payment for keeping me out of trouble. She helps me be Jenny in return for help with homework, chores, or anything else she needs. We are effectively sisters, and would do anything for each other, but trying to keep the flow of favours balanced makes me less guilty for her help and support.

I joined my father, John, for dinner. It’s just the two of us. I never knew my mother, Alice; she died before I was born. I know that sounds silly, but unfortunately it’s true. My Parents were visiting a travelling fair. They were stood watching a temporarily constructed rollercoaster when one of the cars came loose and flew off the track. Several people were killed and many were injured. Both my mother was hit in the head by a piece of flying metalwork. Paramedics were on the scene within minutes and she was airlifted to hospital as quickly as possible. My mother was pronounced brain dead on arrival. I was delivered by emergency c-section one and a half months premature.

We moved to this present home when I was three, so that we would be close to my Aunt Janice and Uncle Richard. Janice is my father’s sister, and is the closest thing to a mother that I have. We are a close family, being a single parent wasn’t easy for my father, so my upbringing was shared with my Aunt and Uncle.

Susan and I are regarded more as brother and sister, rather than cousins. That’s why my father didn’t have issue with me having a girl in my bedroom while I got changed earlier. It’s the same at Susan’s house. I have been in her room loads of times while she has changed. When we go on holiday, we often share a hotel room or a tent. The adults did talk to us a few years ago when we started to reach puberty about if it was appropriate. However we both have the same opinion and insisted that the was no way were we attracted to each other in that way, it would be gross, and that we both respected each other’s privacy and had no problems if we caught the odd glances at each other naked.

I spent the evening watching TV with my father, before retiring to bed.

I didn’t sleep very well, waking up several times during the night. I kept dreaming I was walking around the cold deserted streets of town dressed in pink silk pyjamas. It was nighttime, but due to there being a full moon, there was enough light to see. It all seemed realistic, too realistic. I had to really concentrate and tell myself that I wasn’t sleep walking, it wasn’t real, and that I don’t own a pair of pink silk pyjamas. My actual pyjamas are satin in texture but pale blue. They are as close to girly as I dare go, although if I thought I could get away with it, I would love the pink silk.

I woke up very tired. I felt like I really had been walking round the town all night.

I persuaded Dad to give me a lift to school this morning. I didn’t feel like riding my bike this morning. It would mean a long walk home, rather than a quick cycle ride. We live about two miles from the school, about a forty-minute walk. I don’t mind walking, and often go strolling for miles along the riverbank.

The main problem was going to be I wouldn’t be able to get away from school quickly, which would make me a potential target for bullies. Usually Susan and I leave as quickly a possibly on our bikes so that we don’t run into trouble.

I have always been small for my age, one of the side effects I think of being born premature. Also being girlish in behaviour and appearance does make me a target for harassment. I try not to act girly, but it just comes too naturally for me. Hence, I am regarded by most of the school to be a sissy. Most of the jibes and insults are like water off a ducks back. I just ignore them, or play along with the jokes and it doesn’t bother me. It does get me down sometimes, but usually a bit of Jenny time soon cures my blues.

Things started to deteriorate mid morning. It started with a headache. My concentration was low and I almost got in trouble during my history class for lack of attention. It was getting close to lunchtime and I was beginning to feel ill. I started to have double vision. Not just normal double vision where you get the same image twice, one slightly offset from the other. This was weird. The second image would drift off and I would be looking at things from a different angle. It was like one eye was in my head and the other eye was drifting around the room. At one point, it seemed like I was looking at the back of my own head.

I closed my eyes and took some long slow breaths. The double vision was making me dizzy. Having closed my eyes I suddenly found myself looking down at the room from the ceiling. I sit at the front of the class as I am short sighted and so it is easier to read the board. I could see myself from above and saw the teacher turn and look at me. She put her hands on her hips and then shouted at me to pay attention. Instantly my vision snapped back to normal and I opened my eyes, to see her standing looking at me, with her hands on her hips.

“Sorry Mrs Hargreaves, I came over dizzy.” She looked at me suspiciously, and then continued with the lesson.

The lesson ended ten minutes later. The double vision was gone, but I now had a pounding migraine and my body was beginning to ache. With some difficulty I managed to stand, still slightly dizzy. With the help of Tracy, a friend who happens to sit next to me in this class, I was able to stagger to the front office and lay down in the first aid room.

The school nurse took my temperature and talked to me about my symptoms. Satisfied that I wasn’t trying to put one over her she let me lay down in the darkened room while the school office phoned my aunt and asked her to come and pick me up. My aunt Janice only works on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday mornings. Today being a Friday meant that she would be at home.

Lying down in the darkened room with my eyes closed I began to hallucinate. I dreamt I was floating above my aunt’s house. I saw her come out and get in her car. She was wearing a blue dress and white cardigan. I don’t recognise the cardigan. It’s a white knitted material and has three silver buttons going down the front. The buttons start about half way down giving it a very long V-neck, however it wasn’t done up but instead hanging open. A series of beautiful blue flowers are embroidered onto the front. I assume they must be blue bells. I watch from above as the car drives to the school.

On arrival, my aunt gets out of the car and I see her come in the front door and speak to the receptionist. I don’t hear what they say but I see her point my aunt down the corridor towards me. At this point, I hear my name being called and I wake up. I sit up just as Aunt Janice comes into the room and switches the light on.

She is exactly how I just pictured her in the blue dress, and white cardigan with blue flowers.

“You look awfully pale; it looks like you have just seen a ghost.” My aunt jokes with me as I slowly swing my legs off the bed onto the floor.

“I feel like one.” I reply.

Susan met us at the office and handed me my bag. While I have been lying down, she has retrieved the rest of my books from my locker. Tracy had taken my key, found her, and let her know I was ill.

After speaking with the office staff and signing me out as sick for the afternoon, we left and drove home. As soon as we were in the car, I took some headache tablets. On the way, I asked Aunt Janice if that was a new cardigan.

“Yes, I bought it this morning at Fashion Wheel on Kirby Street. They have a sale on at the moment and it was half price.” She replied.

What was happening to me? How could I possibly know what my aunt would be wearing when she came through that door? She wasn’t even dressed when we left for school this morning. I saw her wave from the window as we picked Susan up and she was still in her dressing gown. I seriously need some rest. I have read about experiments done by the CIA about people claiming to be able to view things remotely. I couldn’t possibly have seen her drive here; I had to be imagining this?

We arrive at my home and my aunt escorts me to my bedroom. I lay on the bed in the darkened room. She asks me if I am feeling better. I assure her that my dizziness has gone and the headache is starting to disappear. With some reluctance, my aunt agrees to return to her ironing and leave me to sleep it off. She is only a few doors down and will come back and check on me later.

A short while after she has gone I get up and go to the toilet.

I walk back through to my bedroom and collapse onto my bed. Well my body collapses onto the bed, but somehow I am also still standing next to the bed looking at my body falling down in front of me.

---

 
First, I am somehow seeing things that are out of sight, now I am having a full on out of body experience.

This is ridiculous. I decide that I must be hallucinating. Perhaps I never woke up this morning. I give up trying to reason this out. Let’s just go with the flow.

I look down at myself lying on the bed. The position I have fallen in does not look comfortable. My body is laying face down with my left leg and arm hanging off the side. I pick them up and turn myself over so I am lying on my back. However, I remember from my first aid training that isn’t the best position and put myself into the recovery position so that I am led on my side. That way my tongue can’t block my airways and I can’t easily roll over.

I turn round and pick up the chair that is in the corner of my room. I move it next to the bed and sit down, smoothing my skirt underneath me as I do so. Up until this point I haven’t really been analysing what is going on, however two questions have suddenly come into my head. Firstly, if this is an out of body experience, how can I have physically moved an object? Secondly, and more importantly, the body on the bed is definitely David. My black hair is pulled back in a low ponytail. I am wearing my black school pants, white shirt and navy blue sweater.

I look down at myself. Not the body on the bed, but the body I currently seem to inhabit sitting on a chair next to the bed. I am wearing a red dress with short sleeves that come half way down to my elbows. It has a V-neck showing off my cleavage. I can see the edge of my red bra. I also appear to have breasts. I know Susan is a B cup and these look to be about the same size. Looking past my chest, I have a wide white plastic belt around my slim waist. I am not normally that thin, in fact I could be described as a bit chubby. The dress comes down to my knees. Below are my legs sticking out with small white socks and red Mary-Jane type shoes. My legs are hairless and thinner than normal and the shoes look to be smaller than I would normally wear.

I stand and walk to the mirror I have on my wall. I am mesmerised by my reflection. I have long red hair coming down past my shoulders. My face is rounder and my nose is a smaller, button like even. My cheeks are slightly red from very light freckles. I might not be the prettiest kid in town but there is no denying I’m cute.

I smile at the face in the mirror, it's Jenny smiling back at me, just how I always pictured her to be.

As I gaze at my reflection, I see the reflection of the body on the bed behind me start to shake. I spin round and suddenly my whole body feels like it is on fire. I am instantly sucked back into my body. I can feel myself shaking uncontrollably as pain shoots through every inch of me. I can’t move. I am led on my right side with my left hand on the bed in front of my face. I watch as my hand starts to change shape. My skin ripples across the back of my hand as my fingers get longer and my hand thinner. My nails grow out by about half an inch in less than a second. I start to hyperventilate, as the pain gets even more intense. Then everything goes black.

I wake up, breathing deeply. The pain has gone. My headache and dizziness from earlier are also absent. I can feel sweat dripping from my forehead onto the pillow. I roll over onto my back and look across at my alarm clock. It’s reading 2:07 and there is a dot in the corner denoting its afternoon. Aunt Janice left me at around a quarter to one. I must have been blacked out for at least an hour, if not more.

I feel strange. My trousers feel extra tight around my hips, but loose around my waist. I can feel a weight on my chest. I sit up and look down at myself. There are two lumps protruding from my chest that look suspiciously like breasts. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice my long red hair fall from round the side of my head and I can feel it on my shoulders. I take a handful and examine it. It’s definitely attached to my head, as I can feel it when I pull on it. It’s also longer and redder than it was before.

I lie back down and close my eyes. I must be dreaming. I pinch my left leg to make sure. Ouch, that hurt! I reach up and feel my chest. I pinch my right breast. Yes, it’s real. I put my hand down my underwear. I am definitely female. I spend several pleasurable minutes tracing the new shapes down there with my finger.

I open my eyes and sit up. My chair is stood next to the bed, not in the corner. I get up and cautiously move to my mirror, slightly unsteady on my feet. My balance seems to be slightly off. I also seem to be taller and thinner than before. I look in the mirror and see Jennifer staring back. It’s the same face as before, only this time my hair is a mess and I am wearing the white shirt and blue sweater from school.

I look round and see the chair next to the bed. I pull it over and sit down, while looking in the mirror. I try to reason out what has just happened to me. I grab a large chocolate bar from my bedside cabinet; I keep some there for emergencies, and start to eat. I am suddenly very hungry. It would appear I temporarily left my body. Then my body spontaneously changed itself from male to female. That must have taken some energy; I guess that’s why I’m now so hungry.

Several things spring to mind. Cogito ergo sum/I think therefore I am. The only thing that I can be certain of is that I exist; my senses could be lying to me. However somehow I don’t think that is the case. Sherlock Holmes springs to mind. “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth”. As stupid and impossible as it sounds it would appear that I am indeed awake, that I am now physically female, and this chocolate is tasting even nicer than usual. I grab another bar and continue munching.

So, if I accept that I have changed sex, do I also accept that I have the ability to leave my body? I have heard of many stories reporting out of body experiences, and there are numerous ghost stories. However most reports do not include the ghost being able to move things, unless you count poltergeists, but don’t they usually just throw things?

The only words that I can think of that describes what I experienced would be ‘astral projection’. Leaving my body and projecting it elsewhere. I suppose that makes sense with the remote viewing thing that was happening earlier. I mean while projected you must be able to see and hear the surroundings round your projection, right? Perhaps it’s possible to semi-project, so that you can see and hear what is going on elsewhere without having a physical form present.

I finish off a third bar of chocolate. My hunger has now receded. I then realise just how much chocolate I have eaten, three half-inch thick bars, each measuring a good ten by four inches. Not good, I have a wonderful waistline now, I best not do that too often or it won’t last very long.

I lie back down on the bed and take a nap, as I am still feeling tired from my sudden change.

As I am dozing, I hear the back door open. Aunt Janice must be back. My double vision returns and I see Aunt Janice coming through the back door carrying a number of shirts. They look freshly ironed and are already on hangers. We tend to do our own washing, however auntie helps with some of the ironing. I do a lot of my own washing. Well I don’t want anybody to stumble upon my alternative wardrobe.

I quickly decide I don’t want her so see me like this, at least not yet. Too much explaining to do and I haven’t gotten used to the idea yet myself. I quickly roll off my bed so that I am lying on the floor between the bed and the wall.

My bed is against the wall underneath my bedroom window. Below the window, there is a radiator, so I don’t have the bed pushed up tight against the wall. Instead, there is about a foot between the wall and bed. The bed is quite tall, almost as tall as my computer desk. It has a solid base with drawers in it. This means that laying between the bed and wall I am hidden from anybody coming into the room.

I hear my aunt climb the stairs and go into my father’s room to hang up his shirts in his wardrobe. She will likely be in here in a minute. Crap! Once she sees I am not in my room she is going to wonder where I am. I should have made a dash for the bathroom, but there is now no way of getting there without risking being seen. Unless?

I shut my eyes and concentrate on visualising being in the bathroom. I can hear my aunt coming out of the other bedroom. I suddenly find myself standing in the bathroom. I glance down at myself. I am back to being in the red dress. I reach out and try to flush the toilet. My hand goes straight through the handle. I try again and the same thing happens. I was solid earlier! I moved the chair across bedroom! Why can’t I be solid now?

I take a deep breath and try again. This time it works. I turn the handle and flush the toilet. I have successfully notified auntie where I am without needing to speak. This is only a temporary solution, but it will buy me a minute or two. I walk to the sink and turn on the tap. I can at least pretend to wash my hands for a while.

I look in the mirror above the sink. I am back to how I was earlier. My hair is neat and tidy and I am again wearing the red dress. It would be really cool to own a dress like this one, but I have never been able to buy one. My opportunities for shopping are limited and I am, correction was, only just passable. I am OK from a distance, but don’t like risking it up close. Most of the clothes I have Susan bought for me, while I watched and pretended to be just along for the ride.

I wonder if the small number of girls’ clothes I have will fit me. I try hard to visualise myself in the skirt and blouse I wore to the river yesterday. The reflection in the mirror changes, the red dress being replaced by the cream blouse and green skirt. I look down. My projected self is now wearing the same clothes; it’s not just the reflection in the mirror. I can change my appearance; I’m not stuck with the default manifestation.

If I can change how I look, does that mean I can pretend to be my old self? Is there a limit to what I can achieve?

I look in the mirror again and concentrate hard on visualising my old appearance. I close my eyes and I can feel myself change shape. I look again in the mirror and my old self looks back at me. I look down and see the school uniform on my body.

I turn off the tap and face the door. I have to go present myself to my aunt. I hope that I sound like the old me. In fact, I have no idea what the new me will sound like, as I haven’t said anything aloud yet. I will just have to assume that the voice will match the visual appearance. Hell I don’t know if I can even be seen. Just because I can see myself in the mirror doesn’t necessarily mean I’m not invisible to everybody else.

I will just have to improvise and hope for the best. I step out of the bathroom just as my aunt comes out from hanging some shirts in my wardrobe. The wardrobes are near the door at the other end of the room from the bed, behind which my new body is hidden.

“How are you feeling?” my aunt asks.

Well she can see me at least. “A lot better, the dizziness has left and the migraine has almost vanished. I’m mainly just a bit tired. I have been asleep since you left.”

“OK, I will leave you to rest. I have left some clean shirts in your cupboard. I will send Susan over later with some pizza. I am going out in a little while. I am meeting up with Janet, Helen and Lucy from the gym. It's Helen’s birthday and we have arranged to meet up for a meal down town.”

So far so good, it would appear Aunt Janice hasn’t noticed anything wrong. Which must mean I look and sound like my old self?

I see my aunt out and watch her walk down the road. I relax and find myself back in my body. I manage to un-wedge myself from my hiding position and climb over the bed.

---

 
The clothes I am wearing are damp from my sweating, and no longer fit me very well, so I decide to strip off. I want to get a good look at my new body anyway.

I begin to explore my body with my hands. I feel my smooth skin and shapely body enjoying the touch of my new hands. It also helps that my eyes aren’t limited to being in my head. Instead, I find myself examining every inch of my body from only a few inches way. I get views that would normally be impossible and it isn’t long before I have familiarised myself with my new form.

All this touching and caressing of my new body has gotten me rather excited and I wonder how far I can take this out of body exploring. I lie on my bed and close my eyes. Moments later, I am stood next to the bed looking at my body lying next to me. I lie down beside myself and start exploring my nipples with my tongue. The sensations are electrifying. I am now highly aroused and I find it difficult to keep my concentration. As I stimulate my body, the sensation distracts me and my projected self begins to fade. I can feel myself falling back into my body and I have to concentrate hard on being outside of myself.

It seems projecting out of my body is similar to going to sleep. While I am projecting elsewhere, I lose control of my body and it falls asleep. Too much outside stimulus and my body wakes up, and the projection disappears. The remote viewing thing is like daydreaming. I don’t lose control of my body but only have limited perception. I can see and hear, but can’t touch feel or smell. In order to do them as well I have to project out of my body, in which case it falls asleep.

After a number of tries, I realised that I am not going to be able to give myself a blowjob and resort to more traditional forms of stimulation in order to bring myself to climax, multiple times.

After a good three quarters of an hour of self-exploration, including a very pleasurable shower in the bathroom, I decide I should get dressed again as Susan will no doubt come round to see me after school. Most of my clothes aren’t going to fit me very well any more.

I grab a pair of panties. The only time I wear male underwear is when I have gym class twice a week. The rest of the time I wear panties, however they are always plain white with no decoration, and could almost be classed as unisex.

I do own a bra. It’s a training one and no way is it going to fit. That’s going to have to be the first thing I buy. I will have to sort that out tomorrow. I forgo the bra and opt for a t-shirt. With my expanded chest, what is usually slightly baggy is now a lot tighter. I also grab the skirt I was wearing yesterday and slip it on. It’s a mid length green skirt with pleats at the rear. The waist is elasticised so although I am a different size it still fits.

I look at the clock and see that there is only five minutes of lessons left before the school day finishes.

I wonder how far this remote viewing works. I saw my Aunt leaving home from school, so I should be able to see into the school. I close my eyes and look into the distance. A vision of my classroom, where I should have been this afternoon, appears and I can see the students watching the teacher. I’m only seeing the room; I can’t hear what is going on.

I try to focus on listening to what is being said. The sounds are distant and I can’t quite make them out. As I focus on the sound, my vision becomes blurred. It is also very tiring.

I must be near the limit of range. I visualise a spot half way between school and home. I can now see and hear more clearly but it still requires effort. I pick a point three quarters of the way to school and try again. This time the vision is burred and the sound muffled, but not as much as at school.

I then try projection. I pick a number of spots where I can’t be seen between here and the school. I then try appearing at each of them. The further I try to go the more difficult it becomes. Past a certain point, I can no longer maintain a solid form, and effectively become a ghost again. Further still and I start to become transparent in appearance.

By plotting the points on a map, I am able to determine the range of my abilities. It seems I can see up to two miles away. To be able to clearly see and hear I need to be within a mile of the target. I can project an image up to half a mile, but for effective interaction with the environment, I need to be within a quarter mile.

The greater the distance the more the effort needed, therefore I can assume that the length of time I can maintain my projection is going to be inversely proportional to the distance.

If I want to attend school on Monday, and actually be recognised as a student, the only method is to project myself there. However, I am going to have to be somewhere nearby in order to be functional and maintain the projection.

I have no idea how long I can maintain a projection. The school day is six and a half hours. We start school at five to nine in the morning and last lesson ends at half past three in the afternoon. Our school day starts with a fifteen-minute period of homeroom, followed immediately with two, one-hour lessons. We have a twenty minute break, another hour lesson, an hour for dinner, then another two one-hour lessons in the afternoon. That means I will have to project myself for at least five and a quarter hours, at an absolute minimum. It’s debatable whether all that time would need to be as a solid form or if some time could be spent ghosting, which seems to take less energy.

I would need to be solid moving between classes in order to carry my books. During lessons, I would need to be solid in order to write, but the rest of the time, I could potentially be less than solid.

I wondered if perhaps just my hand could be solid and not the rest of my body. A short experiment later and it appears that I can vary my density between different parts of my body.

My experimentation has also yielded another useful discovery. It takes a lot of effort to change form and little effort to maintain it. This means I actively have to concentrate to change form. A stray thought isn’t going to mean I suddenly end up naked in the middle of the room, which is at least somewhat reassuring.

I spend the next half an hour practicing my projection skills. The more I try, the more control I have over my abilities, and the less the likelihood of accidentally changing form.

Halfway through my session, I have to recharge by drinking some lemonade and eating a bacon sandwich.

It appears that constantly using my powers requires many extra calories. At least I won’t have to worry about getting fat. In fact, I am likely to have the opposite problem. If I push myself too far I could collapse into a diabetic coma. I suppose if I really wanted to project for a long time I could hook myself up to a glucose drip for constant provision of fuel. Unfortunately, I don’t have the equipment or skill to do that.

I decide to do one more test before Susan turns up. I go to the fridge, take out a small carrot and peel it. I get a glass of water and head out into the back garden. We have a metal table and chair set out on a patio there. I set the glass down and balance the carrot on top. I sit at the table and lean forward. Once I am happy that I am not going to fall, I activate my astral projection, letting my body go to sleep slumped over the table.

I am now standing next to the table. I check that my body is OK, and not going to fall. It definitely seems like my body is asleep. I pick up the carrot and try to eat it. I am able to swallow it without any problem. I then drink the water. Again, I don’t have a problem doing this. I can eat and drink while projected. The next question is what happens when the projection ends.

I walk round so I am standing directly in front of my body and switch off the projection. I wake up from my out of body experience and look up just in time to see a wet chewed up carrot fall and hit the patio.

I get up and walk over to where my projected self was standing. There is a small puddle of water on the ground and the bits of carrot have splattered themselves into a pretty pattern on the brickwork. While an interesting way of making abstract art, I think eating and drinking while projecting is definitely something to be avoided, otherwise it could get very messy.

While I wait for Susan to turn up, I decide to start going through my wardrobe working out which of my clothes will fit this new body. I hope that most of my shirts, t-shirts and sweaters should fit OK, even if they will look tomboyish. The pants might not fit very well. With any luck, my Jeans will be acceptable. Most of them are stretch fit so shouldn’t cause a problem. I can always wear a belt. I need at least one outfit to wear shopping so that I can buy more.

Just before four o’clock, I hear the doorbell ring. I lie on the bed and take a quick look to see who it is with remote vision. Susan is standing at the door. She has changed out of her school clothes and is wearing blue jeans and a hello kitty t-shirt. She is carrying a supermarket pizza box, and her school bag, a pink rucksack, is hung over her shoulder.

Moments later, I am answering the door as David. I have projected myself wearing a pair of black chinos and a white shirt.

I let her in and she carries the pizza through to the Kitchen. “Mom gave me this; we can cook it and have it later, if you feel up to eating. You look a lot better than you did earlier.”

I giggle to myself, which causes Susan to give me a suspicious look. “I’m starving, I haven’t lost my appetite. If fact I am more hungry than normal.”

“You look awfully happy and relaxed for someone who is supposed to be sick. You’re not pulling a fast one are you?” Susan accuses me.

“Certainly not, I was genuinely ill”, I reply, “but I must admit I am feeling brilliant now. Being ill is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” I know I am grinning from ear to ear, but I can’t help it.

Susan looks at me puzzled. “I have never seen you looking so pleased to be sick before.” She pauses for a moment thinking, then a smile appears before she asks “you haven’t by chance just discovered you are intersexed and the headache was the onset of period pains?”

This was a standard joke between us. It was quite possible that I may have been intersex. I was showing signs of gynomastasia, but it was perhaps more wishful thinking than actual reality. I did have a slightly sensitive chest, and being slightly overweight meant there was something to get hold of, but not enough to be seen as way out of the ordinary. I did get a few comments from the boys while getting changed for gym class, but it wasn’t serious enough yet for me to need to see a doctor or be excluded.

I decided to string Susan along a bit before the big reveal. “No, it’s not my time of the month yet, however I am willing to bet it will be within the next four weeks.” I didn’t know for certain, but from my experiments earlier, it was a good bet that I was fully functional. “I am not sure what the medical term is, or if there even is one, but I seem to have undergone a spontaneous change of sex.”

“Yeah, right!” She didn’t look convinced. “Prove it, drop those panties.” Therefore, I did. The look of absolute surprise on her face when the person before her suddenly changed from a fully clothed, black haired young man, to a naked, buxom, red haired, freckled face girl was well worth seeing.

“How? What? Shit!” Susan was at a loss for words. She doesn’t normally swear, so I know I had shocked her. I turned back into David again, took her hand and led her to the nearest chair.

“Sorry about that, but I didn’t think you would believe me, as what I need to tell you sounds so unreal that I still half expect to wake up and find this is all a dream.” I explained all that had happened to me during the day, although I did leave out details of some of my self-exploration. Although it’s a given that everybody masturbates, nobody will ever admit it, me included.

Once I had finished explaining my change and that I can project my image, I led Susan upstairs to where I was lying on the bed. I then let my projection of David fade. Returning to my body, I woke up and looked at Susan, who was now staring at me in amazement.

Susan sat down on the bed beside me, still slightly in shock. I sat up and hugged her. She put her arms around me, returning the hug. We spent the next ten minutes with our chins on each other’s shoulders wrapped in a tight hug. Susan whispered in my ear “Congratulations Jenny, I don’t know how this happened but I am pleased for you, sister.” With that, we both started crying.

---

 

After we have recovered from our joint emotional outburst, we decide that it is getting late enough to get dinner ready. Susan had brought over a supermarket pizza that we can warm up in the oven and have between us. Dad works late on Fridays, so it will be just the two of us for most of the evening. I can’t practically eat as David any more. I have already proved how messy and pointless that would be. I will be dining as Jenny in my new body. I certainly do not want to try to eat the same food twice, which is a simply disgusting idea.

Telling Susan about my new self isn’t really an issue for me. I confided my dual identity to her years ago. Telling the rest of my family scares me. I don’t know how they will react, especially as what has happened to me is a scientific impossibility, at least by common knowledge. I certainly don’t know of, nor can find, any other instances. I don’t want to become a lab rat; a freak show to be prodded, poked, and studied.

I would try to keep this a secret for as long as possible, although I expect that the chances of discovery are high. Perhaps discovery is a bad way of putting it. Nobody is likely to believe that Jenny and David are the same person unless I specifically prove it.

I have two main problems. The first is hiding Jennifer while David is around. I can’t just put my body in a cupboard and leave it there for a week. I still need to eat, drink, go to the loo, etc. I also need to be close to where I am projecting. Therefore, in order for David to go to school, Jennifer will also need to go in order to be in range for projection.

The second problem is the limitations of what I can do while projecting. I can’t eat or drink, at least not without creating a big mess later. That means family meals are out. I haven’t found out the length of time I can stay projected, but I am certain it can’t be indefinitely. I need to work that one out soon.

While we wait for the pizza to cook we go though my entire wardrobe working out exactly what clothes fit me, which I can sensibly wear with my new body, and in what I am lacking.

I am a different shape now. Apart from the obvious anatomical differences, less down below, more up top, my body is different in other ways. Previously I was slightly plump, I am now slim. I am a few inches taller than before. My head is the same size, but my torso has shrunk and my legs have expanded. I now have long sexy legs. My hands are longer and thinner than before. My feet are also a smaller size.

Practically, this means that although most of my shirts and sweaters will fit fine, some are a bit tight round the top. I will need to get new pants. I find that some of my jeans are OK, although they will need the legs turned down. Luckily, there is enough material to do this to a couple of them.

I get the sewing box out and with Susan’s assistance, we manage to lengthen the jeans to fit my new legs.

I therefore make a shopping list of what I will need to get. Firstly, I need some new bras. I also would like to get some new panties. I will need some shoes and trainers. I can get by with what I have by wearing extra pairs of socks, but really, they are too loose to be comfortable. I have always felt more comfortable in skirts and dresses, so I think I will buy some of them rather than anything with legs in, except nylons of course. I will need some of those.

After we have eaten our pizza and followed it up with some apple pie and ice cream that I found in the freezer, we decide that we will spend the rest of the evening watching movies. I decide that this is a good time to test my projection skill, especially as my father will be home soon anyway. I go and lie on my bed and project myself back down to Susan.

We start watching movies at around 6pm. It’s initially Jennifer and Susan curled up on the couch. That is until shortly after half eight when my father gets home and joins David and Susan in watching a rerun of The Simpson’s Movie. Susan heads home at around half ten and I head on up to bed shortly afterwards. I have managed just over four and a half hours straight projection and I am absolutely knackered.

I won’t need to project for that long at school. I can break it down in to a series of two-hour stints with short rests and refuels in-between. I am now confident that I can make going to school on Monday work.

I sneak across the hall to use the bathroom while my father is downstairs. I am now getting better control over the remote viewing. It is still tricky to do with my eyes open as it gives me double vision, but if I close my eyes, it becomes easier. I keep an eye on my father while I sneak about upstairs in my new body. I don’t think I could easily explain a girl in blue pyjamas sneaking in and out of my bedroom.

The next morning I do some careful juggling of personalities. While my father uses the bathroom, I quickly go downstairs and get my breakfast. I make sure I am back in my room before he emerges.

Then while he is downstairs having breakfast himself I sneak into the bathroom. Checking that he is still in the kitchen drinking coffee using remote viewing, I sneak down and out the front door. I quickly hide in the drive behind his car and my projection goes back in the front door carrying the post and newspaper. After depositing these with dad I leave by the back door and collect my bike from the garage, wheeling it down the drive past the kitchen window as David, until out of sight of my father but not yet in sight of our neighbours. I then lean the bike against the wall, return to my body, get on my bike and cycle down the road before I am spotted.

Susan is waiting for me at the end of the road and we swiftly head off into town. We stop off at a public toilet block so that I can quickly slip inside and put on a bra I have borrowed from Susan. She sneaked one out of the house for me to use while shopping. We thought it would look odd if I went shopping without a bra. It didn’t fit very well, but it was better than nothing.

We head straight to Platterns department store. It’s a local family-run company and it’s where my Uncle, Susan’s father, works. He is in the home ware department and is their carpet and curtain fitter. Both Susan and I have worked there before as well. While we have been too young to lend a hand on the shop floor, we have assisted behind the scenes during summer break to earn a bit of extra pocket money. Last Christmas we both participated as elves in Santa’s grotto.

Normally they can’t find teenage boys willing to dress up in the costumes. Because most of the time the roles were fulfilled by girls, and the costumes get used for several years before being replaced, they ended up being rather feminine in appearance. So much so that when I volunteered, and was dressed in one of the costumes from the previous year, I ended up looking like a young girl.

I was secretly delighted by this, much to Susan’s amusement. My family and the shop’s management were initially concerned by my appearance; however, I assured them it wasn’t a problem and it didn’t bother me. In fact, it became a shop-wide joke. Some of the staff were running a betting syndicate on how many times I would be called miss instead of mister. I played up my girlishness, and made myself look as much like Susan as possible. In the end, I think most customers assumed I was a girl. My uncle won the bet as he came closest with the percentage of male versus female pronouns used by customers. He reckoned 94% of the pronouns would be feminine: it was actually 92.5% when counted.

Because we are classed informally as employees, we are allowed to leave our bikes in the bike rack in the staff compound, which is a lot more secure than leaving them on public display.

We head into the store and up into the lingerie department. We go and find Maureen to fit me with a new bra. Maureen is a nice older lady. She is actually in her seventies and should have retired ages ago, but she still works part time on weekends when the shop is at its busiest. Susan introduces me as a friend of hers. I of course already know Maureen, but she has never met the new Jenny before.

Maureen may be a busybody and fond of a bit of gossip, but she is very good at what she does and is very discreet with customers’ particulars. I explain that it’s been a while since I had a proper fitting and feel I’m overdue for another one. She soon has me measured and I pick out a couple of nice bras. I also buy a sports bra and a strapless bra while I am at it. Maureen lets me use Susan’s store card to get the family discount, and allows me to wear one of the bras out of the store. I feel a lot more comfortable in a properly fitting bra.

Four bras isn’t a large number for constant wear, but I can’t afford to spend too much money, as my funds are limited. I also think that it would look suspicious to buy too many in one go.

I was always too frightened to shop properly in the past. I certainly couldn’t use this store as I was too well known. My new body gives me confidence to do what I want without risk of discovery. There is no way I can be mistaken for David, and I am physically female, so I can’t be accused of being a boy in drag. Well, I suppose I could be accused of being a boy, but now I can act offended and prove otherwise if necessary.

Platterns also carries an excellent selection of school wear, so I make sure to pick up a couple of school skirts while I am there. I can re-use my boy’s tops and sweaters. I also make sure to get some socks and a pair of black school shoes while I am there.

Having gotten this much we head to the staff car park and deposit our purchases into my uncle’s car. Susan carries a spare key for just this purpose. Uncle Richard is out fitting some curtains this morning so we haven’t seen him, but he knows that Susan is shopping with friends, so it won’t come as a surprise to find a trunk full of shopping.

It isn’t long before I have spent all my available cash. I can’t risk using my debit card in this store as too many of the staff know David. Although I could probably get away with it elsewhere, the name on the card reads D. A. Palmer, not David A. Palmer, my middle name being Andrew.

In order to continue shopping I would need to withdraw some savings from the bank. We head down the street to our local branch. I won’t need to go to the counter as I can withdraw using one of the ATMs. Rather than queue up outside at the single ATM in the wall we enter the bank. There are several machines inside and I feel a lot less vulnerable.

The main customer-accessible floor space of the bank is square. The entrance is on the front left. When you enter the bank, the queues for the counters are directly ahead of you. The counters are down the left hand wall. To the right are a number of cash machines for both depositing and withdrawing money. In the back right, there is the customer service desk and seating for those with appointments in the offices in the rear.

There are several people ahead of us so it takes several minutes to withdraw the extra funds I need to continue. We are just about to leave the bank when three armed men in face covering balaclavas storm in the front door shouting for everybody to get down.

---

 

The armed robbers act quickly and with purpose. To rob a busy main street bank on one of the busiest days of the week is nothing short of audacious.

All three are dressed in what appears to be army surplus desert camouflage gear. It’s all patterned in various shades of sandy colours. The bulkiness under their jackets seems to indicate that they are also wearing some sort of body armour underneath their outermost layer of clothing. Each is heavily armed.

The first man is carrying a pump action shotgun, the second an AK47 automatic rifle. The third man’s armed with a Desert Eagle semi-automatic pistol and is pulling a large suitcase on wheels. All three are carrying secondary pistols on their belts.

Mr. Shotgun rounds up the customers and staff in the room, and makes us lie down in the front corner of the bank, away from the main entrance. He then stands towards the rear, covering us with the shotgun and making sure that we all stay put. I guess he’s trying to keep away from the windows and use us a human shield in case the police try to shoot through the frontage.

Mr. AK47 covers the doorway, making sure nobody can enter from outside. He positions himself on one side of the door so that he has a clean shot out of the bank, but his body is hidden behind the doorframe for protection from outside.

Mr. Suitcase proceeds to the rear where there is a security door leading to the secure area behind the counter. He takes something out of the case and places it onto the reinforced door. By this time, all the cashiers have ducked down below their desks and alarms are ringing throughout the building. The raider then retreats to a distance before there is a flash and loud bang as the substance on the door explodes.

The security door swings open allowing the man to enter the area behind the counter. He then proceeds to threaten the staff and make them load cash into rucksacks that he produces from the case.

Although I am lying face down on the floor like everybody else, I’m the only person with a good view of what’s happening, due to my unique abilities.

I hear sirens outside and can see police taking up positions around the bank. The street outside is cleared and armed SWAT teams assemble nearby. Snipers make their way to vantage points on nearby buildings.

The thieves seem in no rush to get out of the bank. In fact, the person covering the door even remarks at how slowly the police have responded. It appears that they have planned for a hostage situation, rather than attempting to get away before the police arrive. This doesn’t look good. If they try to leave the bank with hostages, there’s a good chance people are going to be hurt.

I keep watch for what the police are doing outside the bank. It looks like they are going to wait for the criminals to come out before taking action. One of the staff must have been able to get a message to the police, as they know that there are three gunmen inside. However, they can only see two through the windows.

I also hear some of the instructions to the snipers. Although they can see inside, they can’t risk taking a shot. The glass frontage of the bank is reinforced and resistant to bullets. The windows won’t stop a sniper’s bullet, but will slow it down, altering its trajectory. Any shots through the glass would be likely to fall short and injure the hostages.

Mr. Suitcase is in the rear and appears to be talking on the phone to a police negotiator while forcing staff to fill bags with money.

These people look extremely organised. There is no hint of panic and they are remaining calm and focused. I have no doubt the robbers are in control of this situation and not the police. It is looking increasingly likely that they are going to leave surrounded by hostages, a strategy highly likely to get somebody injured or killed. The suitcase is now open on the floor and I’m able to see what else is inside. There appears to be explosives, and what I assume is a dead man trigger. I don’t like how this situation is unfolding.

For some reason a certain song about Spiderman comes to mind. Ode to a Superhero, by Weird Al Yankovic.

I analyse the situation carefully, then make a decision to use my powers to intervene.

My first action is to project myself behind the man with the shotgun. I have chosen the appearance of a female police officer, Olivia Benson off the TV series Law and Order: SVU. A male officer may be more intimidating, but why choose male when I can be a women instead, especially one who can kick ass? I am dressed in black jeans, blue blouse and black leather jacket. A police badge is attached to my belt. The only thing missing is a gun. I can only project in one place at a time, so I can’t simulate a bullet. Besides which I have never shot a gun, so the chances of being able to hit a target are remote.

By appearing behind the person with the shotgun, I am out of sight of both outlaws in the room. I quickly move round to his side grabbing the shotgun and thrusting it upwards into his face. This has two advantages. Firstly, the gun is no longer pointed towards the hostages, including me, and secondly, it gives him a nice bloody nose. I also strike a blow onto his neck with my other hand while kneeing him in the groin for good measure.

He drops to the floor half-conscious and in pain. I grab and throw the shotgun away into the rear corner of the bank. I bend down and take his pistol from his belt. I turn my attention to the second gunman while the first rolls around on the floor incapacitated.

Surprised at hearing his companion being attacked Mr AK47 swings round to face me. He sees me remove the pistol, and as soon as I am stood up, he opens fire. I am prepared for this. As long as the bullets are heading in my direction and not at anybody else, I’m happy.

The bullets travel straight through me, making a mess of the plaster and brickwork behind where I’m standing. I grin menacingly at the gunman and walk slowly toward him. He continues to unload the full clip into me. All the time I can see the fear building in his eyes.

“I’m a ghost, but the gun is real.” I raise the gun and point it at his head from only a foot away. I calmly state: “You can either leave now or join me in the afterlife, your choice.” He turns and runs straight out the front door into the path of several armed police officers who promptly arrest him.

I feel a bullet pass through my head from the rear of the bank, and the glass door in front of me shatters.

“Very clever, now drop the gun and stay where I can see you. If you try anything, I will start killing people. You may be immune to bullets, but everybody else isn’t.” I turn to see the final gunman holding his pistol to the bank manager’s head. The manager also has a device strapped to him with wires linked to a trigger the gunman is holding in his left hand.

The gunman has a mobile phone in his breast pocket with a wire going to a hands free headset. He is talking to both the police and me. “I don’t know what is going on here, but I don’t believe in ghosts, especially as Mariska Hargitay isn’t dead. Any more tricks and someone’s going to get hurt.”

I gently put the gun down at my feet.

The gunman calls out to the ex-shotgun guy, “Hey, numbskull, are you awake over there?” I look across at the person lying on the floor. It would appear some of the bullets fired through me dislodged a pot plant off a shelf and it has landed on his head. He is at the very least out for the count, if not more severely injured.

I weigh up my options. The trigger on the dead man device is large enough for both our hands to hold. I can grab it below where it’s currently being held and prevent its activation. My primary problem is the gun. There’s nothing I can do while it’s against the hostage’s head. I can re-project myself across the room in an instant, but even with the element of surprise I am not confident of being able to knock the pistol far enough to stop him shooting the manager in the head. I am also stuck at what to do afterwards.

The armed man orders the bank staff out from behind the counter. There are five of them, each with a rucksack. He tells them to surround him. I am instructed to join the hostages in the corner, which I do. As I walk over to the window, I gradually make myself more transparent so that by the time I have reached my destination I am hardly visible. He watches me carefully as I do so, saying nothing but eyeing me suspiciously.

Keeping a careful watch on me, he leaves the bank surrounded by hostages. The manager leads the group, still attached to the bomb and with a pistol a few inches behind his head.

I quickly remote view the position of each police sniper. At least one of them has a good shot, but none of them will be able to shoot unless the dead man trigger can be neutralised. I take a deep breath and pray that what I am about to do won’t make the situation worse. At least there’s now only one dead man trigger instead of the original three.

I wait until the police snipers have a clear shot, then I instantly appear directly in front of the outlaw. I take hold of the trigger with my right hand making sure to keep a tight grip while simultaneously grabbing his right wrist, the one holding his firearm, with my left hand. I pull his pistol arm downwards and to the side so any shots will hit the ground.

I realise I can’t maintain this struggle for long so I yell at the top of my voice “Shoot him!” As I do so I drop to my knees maintaining a tight grip on both the trigger and his wrist. I hear a loud crack and see the man’s head explode above me. His hand releases the trigger. I let go of his arm and grab the trigger with both hands as his body crumples to the ground. As the only thing solid about me is my hands, his body falls through mine. I am left kneeling on the street through the dead body, holding the bomb trigger.

A police officer dressed in SWAT body armour dashes over. “Here, take this before I fade away.” I carefully hand over the device to the astonished police officer. Once I am satisfied that he has a tight hold of it, I slowly fade out of sight so not to surprise him.

I return to my body inside the bank and sit up as several SWAT team members enter the building. One goes over to the unconscious shotgun owner and carefully checks his pulse by putting a finger on his neck. He then calls for a medic while handcuffing him. Another comes over to us and asks if anybody is injured. Nobody answers. Looking around, no one else seems to be hurt. Several more SWAT personnel head into the back of the bank. We are then quickly led outside via an emergency exit to the rear, and taken a short way down the street into a wine bar that the police have temporarily requisitioned.

Susan and I are holding hands. When nobody is looking, she squeezes my hand. I look at her and she raises her eyebrow in a questioning fashion. I nod at her. I whisper to Susan to go ahead and say exactly what she saw, just don’t let on that I’m the ghostly figure.

A couple of paramedics and several police detectives come into the bar and address us. The paramedics check each of us out in turn to make sure we are all right. The police then start interviewing each of us in turn. Because we are both classed as minors, the police ask that our parents to be present when we give our statements. Susan is allowed to phone her mother. As I don’t have an adult who knows me, I ask if I can give my statement alone. As I am only giving a witness statement, and am not being read my rights, I am told I will be able to do so without parental supervision.

It is going to take at least twenty minutes for my Aunt to arrive so we sit in a corner of the bar where we are not likely to be disturbed. I position myself so that I can project without it being obvious that I am asleep.

I decide to take the opportunity to speak to the senior officer. First, I project myself across town into the Public Library. They have free to use internet terminals and I quickly sign up for a new gmail account.

With remote vision, I locate the senior officer in one of the rooms nearby. He’s giving instructions to two other officers. I project the same appearance I used in the bank in ghost form so that I am semi-transparent.

“Excuse me,” I say to the surprise of the officers. “I believe you may want a statement from me.”

“Um, yes, of course,” the senior officer responds, recognising me from my brief appearance on the street. One of the other officers grabs a pad and pen ready to take notes. The third pulls a Dictaphone out of his pocket and starts recording the conversation.

“First, I am not a ghost, but a person with unique gifts of astral projection and remote viewing. I was nearby and saw the gunmen enter. I am in a trance close by. I don’t want to identify myself, as I don’t want to end up being dissected in some secret government laboratory.” I keep my identity and whereabouts deliberately vague. “I intervened as I could see that they were organised and ready to take hostages.”

I relate the earlier events in as much detail as I possibly can. The officers question me about my actions and I answer them truthfully, but refuse to identify myself further. I give them the email address I have just created before ending the interrogation by vanishing.

My Aunt Janice and my father arrive. I’m introduced as Jennifer, a friend of Susan’s. It feels very weird treating my own family as strangers. One of the detectives calls Susan to be questioned, and she heads into another room with Aunt Janice. I am called in to be interviewed shortly afterwards.

First, I am asked for my name. I reply, “I am commonly called Jennifer Palmer, however do you need my full legal name?” I am told that it is indeed required. “David Andrew Palmer", I answer, looking her directly in the eye. She looks at me slightly surprised.

“Despite my appearance I am legally male. The reason I declined having my father present is that he is unaware of my female persona. I would appreciate if this information was kept on a need to know basis, it could have implications for my safety. There are a lot of bigots about,” I respond.

The police officer nods and then asks for my date of birth and address, which I give. I am then invited to speak about what I saw happen. I begin to relate how I would have expected to see and hear the events had I not been the one doing the heroics.

“I had just finished using the ATM when three individuals dressed in army surplus clothing entered the building. I could not see their faces as they were covered. They instructed everybody present to get down on the floor at the front of the building in the opposite corner from the door. I did as instructed.” I pause so that the officer can catch up with the notes she is taking. “The man with the shotgun positioned himself along the right side wall and kept watch. The rifleman stood near the entrance and the third person headed towards the back of the room. I didn’t see much else as I kept my face to the floor until your officers came in, however I can tell you what I heard.”

The officer nods for me to continue. “By this time, a number of alarms were ringing, so I couldn’t hear everything that was going on. I heard a loud bang followed by the sound of a door being kicked open. There was some shouting and screaming, but I couldn’t make out what was said. I assume this was coming from behind the counter. I heard a couple of thwacks and what might have been a bone breaking, quickly followed by someone falling to the floor, from the direction of the right rear corner of the bank.”

I pause again before continuing. “The sound of gunfire came from the main entrance. It continued for several seconds. A female voice then said ‘I’m a ghost, but the gun is real, you can either leave now or join me in the afterlife, your choice’.”

“Were those the exact words spoken?” the officer asked.

“Yes, I remember then clearly,” I reply.

“What happened next?” The officer asks.

“I heard someone barge through the front door and run off. There was then another gunshot from somewhere to the rear of the bank and the sound of breaking glass from the direction of the door. A male voice then said ‘Very clever, now drop the gun and stay where I can see you. If you try anything, I will start killing people’.”

“You are certain that is what was said?” The police officer asked.

“Yes,” I confirm. Satisfied the police officer asks me to continue. “The male voice then said something else, but he was speaking more softly and I couldn’t hear what he said over the background noise. He then shouted ‘hey, numbskull, are you awake over there?’ to which he didn’t get a reply. He then shouted ‘right, move it’ and I heard a number of people walk out the front door. I heard the female voice shout ‘shoot him’ and there was a gunshot. I then heard a number of people running into the bank and shouts of ‘armed police’. It is at this point I finally look up to see your SWAT officers and we were taken out of the bank.”

“Thank you, Miss Palmer,” the police officer states. “That is a very clear and concise statement. If we need anything further, we will be in contact. I will get this typed up for you to sign.” With that, she rises from her seat and leaves me alone in the interview room. It’s actually a side room off the bar used for private parties.

We are then allowed to leave, and the four of us head outside. The street in front of the bank is still blocked off, so we have to take a diversion down a back street to head back towards Platterns department store.

My father then asks where David is, as he thought I would be with Susan. I quickly think of an excuse. “He is currently playing computer games with my younger brother.”

“Oh, I thought I recognised his bike chained to Susan’s in the bike rack,” he replies.

“David let me borrow his bike as mine had a flat tyre. He and my brother were going to take a look at it while Susan and I are out shopping.” That seems to be a satisfactory explanation.

We call back at the department store and retrieve our shopping from the trunk of my uncle’s car. We drop the back seats down and load the bikes in instead. My aunt leaves a message on my uncle’s phone regarding bringing the bikes home.

We all then proceed to travel back home in my father’s car. I’m asked where I live and give a vague response, “Just a few roads away from Susan. You can drop me by the Red Lion on the way through.” The Red Lion is our local bar, it’s based on a traditional English public house.

I have another reason for being dropped here, one that I think Susan realises. She smiles at me when I say it, so I assume she knows what I am going to do. There are a number of back alleys around the estate, one of which leads down the side of the Red Lion to the street behind ours. From there I can get down the alley to our back gate.

Luckily, neither adult insists on meeting my family and they let me get out where requested. As soon as the car starts to drive off, I sprint down the alley towards home. As I come through the back gate, I hear a car turning round in the end of the road. I quickly unlock the back door and dart through the kitchen as I hear it reversing up the driveway. I head straight to my bedroom and dive down the other side of the bed.

By the time my father comes in the back door, David is putting the kettle on to make some coffee.

“Coffee?” I ask.

“No thanks, Janice is making me some,” he replies. “You’re back, I thought that you had gone out with Susan.”

“She and Jenny were planning on doing some shopping and while they did invite me and Steve to join them, we don’t feel comfortable hanging round the lingerie department.”

My father chuckles at that. He then turns serious and explains what had just happened at the bank. We both then head back down the street to my cousin’s house.

My aunt makes us some sandwiches for lunch. Susan and I manage to escape into the back garden to eat ours. I am able to temporarily return to my body and sneak down the back alley so that Susan can hand my sandwiches through a hole in the hedge. I quickly sneak them back home before projecting myself into her back garden again. I was keeping a close remote eye on my father and aunt the whole time to avoid being caught.

About mid afternoon, I leave with the excuse of finding out if Jennifer is all right after this morning’s heist. I go home and phone saying I have been invited to dinner, which gets me out of eating with my family. Not being able to eat as David is going to become awkward quickly.

With my father staying for dinner with my aunt, uncle, and cousin, it means I have the house to myself, although I have to keep an eye out for him coming home.

I eat the sandwiches from earlier and down a whole packet of chocolate chip cookies. All this projecting is making me exceedingly hungry. I find a microwavable meal in the back of the freezer for my dinner.

My father returns home mid evening and we spend the rest of the night watching TV. I retire to bed slightly earlier than usual, as I am extra tired from all the day’s activities. I am projecting my old image again, and I don’t want to run the risk of fading out.

I am woken up on Sunday morning by my father bringing me a cup of coffee.

---

 
I am fast asleep when my father enters my room on Sunday morning with a cup of coffee.

“Wake up...” He stops mid sentence and stares at me, not that I notice, as I am still only partially awake.

“Thanks dad,” I yawn and raise my head off the pillow to look at him. I notice that he is still holding the cup, rather than it being on my bedside cabinet, and that he has a shocked look on his face.

I brush some stray red hair out of my eyes and my brain kicks in as I realise what the problem is. I’m Jennifer, he’s expecting David. “Shit!” I exclaim beneath my breath. I close my eyes and lay back down on my pillow.

“I think I have some explaining to do,” I say from the doorway, behind my father. I have projected myself as my old male form. I am wearing a pair of pale blue satin pyjamas, the same as my body in bed. I walk round him and sit on the bed next to my sleeping form. My father puts the coffee down, grabs the chair from the corner of my room, and sits down next to the bed.

He crosses his arms and asks, “Well, why is Jennifer in your bed. Exactly what have you two been up to, and do her parents know where she is?” He’s playing angry, and although he is definitely not pleased, I get the feeling he’s getting some amusement out of my predicament.

I sigh and look down at the floor to collect my thoughts. I look across at my girl self lying in bed. I think for a moment about trying to pull off a scam, but I realise it would never work. I could try to pretend that Jennifer is my girlfriend, but that raises a whole host of problems. The biggest of which is that I can’t be in two places at the same time, so Jenny stays asleep while David is present. I decide it’s time to tell the truth, although that’s going to be less believable than sneaking a girlfriend into bed for rampant sex.

While still projecting as David I look at my father and lamely reply, “This isn’t what it looks like.” I quickly add, “The person lying in the bed is me. I know that doesn’t make sense, but just watch and keep an open mind.”

I morph my projected appearance to match my new body. I then climb on the bed and lay myself down into my own body so that my projection is now occupying the same space as my physical form. Ending my projection, I slowly sit up and look at my father. He is now looking even more shocked and confused than before, and is noticeably paler.

“I know this seems ridiculous, I can hardly believe it myself. I don’t know how or why this has happened to me, but it has.” I pick up my drink, take a sip, and place it back down. “If you want more proof I can do the astral projection again and bring my old self back temporarily. However, if I do that I won’t be able to drink my coffee. Well actually I could, but as soon as I return to my body the coffee would get left behind in mid air, and that’s kind of messy!”

I see a slight smirk on my father’s face as he pictures what that might look like. I grin widely. “I could demonstrate that if you like, although I’m not wasting this coffee, and it would have to be outside.” I throw the covers on back on my bed and get up. I dash downstairs to the kitchen calling “come on” to my father.

He follows me down, still slightly dazed, entering the kitchen as I’m filling a glass with water. I walk out into the back garden, and place it on the table. I sit down and as soon as I am comfortable, I project David standing next to me. I pick up the glass and drink the water down as quickly as I can.

My father is standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, watching me.

“Ready?” I ask. He nods and I disappear, this time making sure to keep watch via my remote vision. As soon as my projected body disappears, a glass full of water falls from the approximate position of where my stomach would have been, and hits the ground with an almighty splash. My father comes over and sits down opposite with his cup of coffee.

“I left mine upstairs didn’t I? I’ll go get it. Now don’t dare wake me up, unless you want coffee spilt all over the place!” I project myself back upstairs and grab my coffee and dressing gown. This time I project myself as I currently look.

Returning outside I place the coffee on the table, and then drape the gown over my physical shoulders. Ending the projection, I stand up, wrap the gown around myself then sit back down. The chair is made of metal and is cold on my posterior.

I sip my coffee and wait for my father to ponder my demonstration. We sit in silence drinking our coffees, enjoying the heat of the morning sun on the sides of our faces. I run my fingers through my hair. It’s slightly knotted after sleeping on it all night. I must get myself a decent hairbrush, I managed with a comb yesterday, but it was a struggle. My hair is now longer than I have ever been able to have it in the past, and would be more manageable by brush.

It’s at least ten minutes before my father says anything. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have thought it possible. I don‘t know how, but it is you. The way to play with your hair, how you hold your mug with your little finger stuck out, that crazy look in your eyes and wicked smile as you dreamt up that practical joke with the water, it’s all classic you, just in a different package.”

I explain Friday’s events to my father. “Since then I have been trying to come to terms with my change. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I wasn’t sure how you would react. I have been trying to hide what’s happened. I don’t want to be regarded as a freak, or poked and prodded like a lab rat in some horrid scientific institute.”

“At the bank yesterday people were talking about a ghost helping to rescue the hostages,” my father asks, “was that you?”

“Yes, it was,” I sigh, “I figured if all three robbers made it out of the bank, each with a set of hostages, then things were bound to turn bad. They seemed too prepared, even the police turning up didn’t bother them. I was worried that people could be injured or killed, myself included. Therefore, I used my abilities to try to take them out.” I explain in detail all the events of the previous day.

I try not to, but I start to cry. My father moves round beside me and gives me a hug. I lay my head on his shoulder, comforted by his warm embrace. Up until now, I have been suppressing all emotions to do with the shooting, but describing it has brought the trauma back again, and I have to let it out. I sit weeping on his shoulder for the next ten minutes while he comforts me.

After I recover from my emotional outburst, I notice how late in the morning it is. It’s already past 11 am. No wonder dad came and woke me up. I decide it’s about time I get dressed, and I need the bathroom anyway, so I head back inside.

I am back down 15 minutes later fully dressed. I have on some of my new underwear and one of the new bras. I am wearing a blue denim skirt. It’s the only other skirt I owned prior to yesterday. The green skirt I had worn last week is now in the wash. I’ve put on one of my white t-shirts, and a blue fleece jacket.

“I take it that’s why you went shopping yesterday,” my father says pointing to my skirt, “how many of your old clothes fit you now?”

“Actually the only things I was able to buy yesterday were some bras and a couple of school skirts. I had spent all my available cash. That’s why we went to the bank, so that I could withdraw some more funds. The original plan was to continue shopping for some other clothes,” I reply. “Most of my shirts and t-shirts are OK, but I have longer legs so a lot of my pants look too short. My hips and waist are also a different size. The larger pairs and those with stretch fit are all right, I can use a belt, but quite a few don’t fit very well.”

“You mean that you didn’t buy that skirt yesterday?” he asks.

“Ah, no,” I sheepishly reply. Well I might as well come clean now, “I bought this about three months ago. I may have only been a girl physically for a few days, but mentally and emotionally, I have always been one. Jenny has been my alter ego for quite a while.”

“That doesn’t actually surprise me,” he articulates, “I have suspected you might be a regular cross-dresser. I know that you like to dress up as a girl for costume parties and your choice of clothing has always been rather effeminate. There have been several occasions where I have seen odd pieces of clothing around the house. I never knew if they were yours, or just some of Susan’s that got muddled up in the wash. I never managed to catch you in the act though, despite several tries.”

“I’ve had a lot of close calls, I did wonder if you suspected. I usually dress up and go walk by the river. Several times I have had to do a quick change when you got home before me.” I giggle at some of the memories. I then relate the quick-change act I had to do on Thursday.

“You said you bought some school skirts yesterday,” he states. “Exactly what were you planning on doing in school tomorrow? I can’t believe you were just going to try turning up as a girl, especially as you were trying to hide your change from me.”

“You’re right. It has to be David who turns up to school tomorrow. However, you have already seen that I can still appear as David when I need too. There are however some limitations, apart from the obvious involving food and drink, I explain. “Ideally I could simply stay in my bedroom and project myself into the classroom; however, I have a limited range. The further I project, the more tiring it becomes, and the shorter time I can keep it up. I need to keep the distance to a minimum. I planned on hiding under the stage and projecting from there.”

Our school has a small theatre attached to it. Our drama department is one of the best in the state. At the front of the room is a stage. Half the room has stepped theatre seats, the other half is open space that can either be filled with chairs, or left empty and used as a classroom. It’s used for drama and dance classes. With the room full of chairs, there is just enough room to sit an entire year of the school. There are daily assemblies after morning roll call. Each day a different year attends.

The stage is three feet high. Underneath there is a semi-sunken room, although the ceiling is quite low at only six feet. There is a trap door in the middle of the stage, under which there is a lift. The trap door is kept locked most of the time for safety, and only gets used in actual productions. Because of the machinery down there, the room is kept locked nearly all the time. It’s used as a storeroom for the drama department and isn’t entered very often.

“The room below the stage is rarely visited. There is a door from the stairwell leading up to the art rooms. There is very little foot traffic in that area, so I should have opportunity to slip in unnoticed. The door has a Yale lock, so it can be opened from the inside without a key. They fitted one instead of a conventional lock a few years ago after someone was locked in there by accident. All I have to do is project myself inside and open the door.”

My father listens to my plan then sits back and thinks it through. Eventually, after much consideration, he gives me his opinion. “You can’t just turn up as Jenny, they would never believe you without proof. I can understand you not wanting to make this public, especially after the bank yesterday. Luckily the press haven’t picked up on the unusual aspects of this case.”

At least that’s one advantage. The last thing I need is too much publicity.

“If David were just to disappear that would also cause a lot of questions. It would be a lot easier if you could still attend as David, at least until the end of the school year,” he reasons, “the bit of the plan I don’t like is the hiding on school grounds. It’s a recipe for disaster. I think I may have a better solution, at least for a couple of weeks.”

I look at him quizzically as he continues. “There is an empty shop unit in that block of shops on Hamilton Road. The rear yard of the shop backs onto the side of the school football pitch. The owner has given up hope of renting it out. Nobody wants to open a small corner shop in the middle of a recession when there are already two other such shops and a supermarket nearby. My company is looking after the place, so I suspect I can get you access, if it’s close enough?”

“That’s brilliant!” I reply. “I can easily project myself from there, and I won’t have any risk of being disturbed and woken up.” I smile and then think carefully. “There is only one small issue I have left with my plan, which I haven’t sorted out. My projections are usually fully clothed, which makes changing for gym class difficult. I would have to project naked and put clothes on as normal, which takes a lot more effort to maintain. If the clothes are part of the projection then I don’t have to remain fully solid all the time, which actually takes less energy. The problem is I can’t project myself changing clothes. As soon as they leave contact with my body, they disappear into thin air. Besides which I don’t feel comfortable getting undressed in front of a load of boys, I never have done.”

“Leave that with me, I will see if I can come up with a solution. I may be able to find a way of getting you excluded on medical grounds,” my father answers, stroking his chin.

I suggest gynecomastia as a possible reason. I was actually developing the condition before my change, so it isn’t that far-fetched. The other way would to be to declare myself as transgendered, but I don’t really want to do that. Either way may require a medical professional to be involved. Having a medical could prove challenging, however at least I can exaggerate my symptoms.

We discuss letting Aunt Janice and Uncle Richard in on my secret. I’m slightly uneasy; however, they are very close family, so I reluctantly agree. However, that won’t be today as they are visiting some of Richard’s relatives. Aunt Janice is my father’s sister.

We decide that it would be a good idea to resume the aborted shopping trip, so after a quick lunch we depart. We head over to the next town so that there’s less chance of meeting anybody we know. It isn’t a problem for me, as nobody could possibly recognise me; however, it’s not so easy for my father. It would be awkward to meet people who know he has a son, not a daughter.

I have been shopping with my father loads of times, but shopping as a girl with him is certainly a new experience. It feels very strange at first, but after a while, my embarrassment disappears, and I really enjoy myself.

My father is very good with colours and is able to pick out matching outfits from memory without having to hold the items together. This comes in extremely useful when the items are in two different shops. Considering the age difference, he is also especially good at picking outfits that will look good, and are appropriate for my age. I never realised he has such a good fashion sense.

Shopping with father also brings the added benefit of credit cards. I am able to get a lot more than I would have relying on my funds alone. We don’t go overboard, but I now have a reasonable selection of skirts, leggings, jeans, dresses and tops from which to choose. I tend to go for the more frilly feminine fashions. I missed the little girl stage so I’m overcompensating now. At least that’s my excuse.

I buy more shoes, as my old ones don’t fit any more. These include sandals, slippers, trainers, and even a pair of hiking boots. I do like walking down by the river, and it can get a bit muddy at times.

We also purchase things that I hadn’t considered before. Firstly, I get my ears pierced, at my father’s suggestion. He reckons most teenage girls that he’s met have earrings. The majority of girls in my class do indeed have piercings. I opt for a small pair of gold starter studs. I also pick out a set of ruby earrings, as they match my hair and freckles.

We then head for the drugstore. With the help of one of the assistants, we buy a basic makeup kit. I’ve never been into using makeup, and instead prefer the natural look. Besides which it isn’t something that can be easily hidden. After trying several fragrances, we also chose a nice perfume that really suits me. It’s a smell that reminds me of strawberries. I also pick up some talc, soap, and shampoo in the same range.

While in the hair care aisle, I look at the stand containing hairbrushes. As I look for one I like, my dad whispers in my ear, “is it the bristles you are looking at or the handle? That aluminium brush has a nice long fat straight handle on it. It would comb your hair well as well.” I immediately blush bright red in embarrassment.

He then proceeds to wind me up some more by adding a small tub of Vaseline into the cart. I do indeed pick the aluminium brush, and nonchalantly place it in the cart, much to my father’s amusement. The alternative usage had crossed my mind when I first saw it.

I decide two can play that game, so we go over to the feminine hygiene products and I start to examine the various items on offer. Unfortunately, this doesn’t faze my father as much as I thought it would. He simply advises me on what products my mother used to use, and what he has seen his sister buy when she was my age.

I am probably more knowledgeable on the subject than most boys of my age are. Our school has a policy of explaining such products to both boys and girls during sex education lessons. They like to make the boys know exactly what the girls have to go through. This is to emphasise that it’s not a matter to be joked about, and any teasing of girls experiencing periods will not be tolerated. Following on from that particular lecture several of the girls decided to try to embarrass the boys up by openly discussing which products they found the most comfortable. That was until our teacher intervened and threatened to make the girls write an essay about their experiences and read it out in front of the class. The subject was instantly dropped.

After a couple of hours shopping in town, we head back to the car. With all the commotion yesterday, we haven’t done our usual weekly grocery shop, so our next stop is the supermarket to get some food.

The mention of food reminds me of how much I have been eating over the last few days. I explain this to my father and tell him about my theory about needing extra energy for my unusual abilities. He thinks that it sounds logical, although he’s slightly dismayed that the grocery bill is likely to rise.

My father had been a cross-country runner when younger and had competed at state level while at college, although he wasn’t fast enough to turn professional. One of the things he learnt was how to adjust your diet for energy input. We decide to approach this scientifically and we buy a stock of high-energy food that can easily be digested and won’t be likely to cause constipation, or the opposite.

We return home, and after putting everything away, we sort out my wardrobe. Removing the things I have identified as being no good, we make room for my new purchases. The two of us spend the evening watching TV, curled up on the couch.

I keep an eye out for when Susan and family return, something that is very easy to do with remote viewing.

“I hope you are not going to become a peeping tom with that ability of yours,” my father remarks. “I can imagine how tempting it can be to look into the girls’ changing room.”

“Just because that’s what you would do doesn’t mean I’m going to,” I reply, “Anyway, I don’t need to use remote viewing for that. I can walk into the changing rooms and watch in person, I’m a girl now. Now peering into the boys’ changing room is another matter. Mind you, I have seen all of them often enough not want to look at them again anyway.”

“I know I have never asked this before, and you can tell me to mind my own business if you don’t want to answer,” my father asks tenderly, “but what is your sexual orientation now? Has it changed along with your body?”

I sit and think for a while before responding, “Being confused over your gender rather distorts your outlook a bit. When looking at girls I’m jealous instead of anything else. The thought of gay sex between two men doesn’t appeal to me at all, however now that I am female the thought of going with a man doesn’t feel wrong, but then neither does being with a woman. I guess I can be classed as bisexual, but until I am actually attracted to somebody, I don’t know.”

“Well don’t be in a rush to find out. I really do not want to have to cope with you getting pregnant, as I have to assume you are now capable of doing. That doesn’t mean I would have approved of David sleeping around either, it does take two to tango,” he warns me sternly. I promise to be a good girl.

We wouldn’t normally have talked about such topics, but after all the revelations earlier today this new-found openness between us feels comforting. I’m a lot more relaxed than I have been in a long time and feel refreshed by our newly discovered closeness.

---

 
My cousins’ family arrives home around 10pm. I don’t actually speak to Susan this evening, as it’s getting late. However, I have left a note on her pillow to come across to my house half an hour earlier in the morning. Projecting into her room and writing a note is no problem. Although if needed we do have a key, so I could have done it the conventional way.

I make sure my alarm is set for Monday before going to sleep. I have set it to go off earlier at 7am instead of half past.

The alarm wakes me up, and I proceed to get out of bed. I head across into the bathroom and take a quick shower, amongst other activities, returning to my room wrapped in a bath towel and get dressed in my school clothes. Although I won’t actually be entering the school as a girl, I think I will look less conspicuous dressed the same as everybody else.

I start with a clean pair of panties. They are a new pair that I got yesterday. Although I have been wearing panties for a while, most of the ones I had could be considered unisex. You have to look hard to tell the difference. These ones are pale blue and have lacy bits around the edges. They also have less material around the sides, but still cover a lot of skin in case I accidentally show them off.

I put on one of my new white bras. I have been wearing a training bra once or twice a week for the last two years, so fastening it behind my back is no problem. Since my change, it’s actually easier, as I seem to be a little more flexible. It’s also very handy being able to remote view your own back.

I pick out one of my new navy blue skirts, step into it and zip it up. I then get a new white blouse out. Originally, I was going to keep wearing my old shirts, but my father has bought me some blouses instead. They are slightly different to my normal shirts in that the buttons are the other way round and the collars have rounded ends to them instead of being pointed. They also fit better as they are tailored for my shape, being wider at the chest and narrower at the waist rather than being straight.

I finish off by putting on my school sweater, socks and shoes. I make sure I have my watch on. It isn’t a very girlish model, as it’s a digital sports watch. However, it has countdown and alarm functions, and I will need these later.

I would normally clip my keys to my pants using one of the belt hoops. They are on a chain so I can keep them in my pocket. However, I no longer have that option, as the skirt doesn’t have pockets. I instead make sure they are attached to my school bag. I actually hope to be able to project a working key, as this will make life easier.

Heading into the kitchen, I get myself some breakfast cereal. There is already a cup of coffee waiting for me. While I was dressing, my father has disappeared into the bathroom.

Susan sneaks in the back door as I rinse my dish, cup and spoon in the sink.

“Where is Uncle John, his car is still in the drive?” she asks, concerned about me being seen by my father.

“Upstairs in the bathroom,” I reply, “don’t panic.”

I grab the hand towel and dry my hands. Just then, my father walks into the kitchen.

“Hi Susan, morning Jenny,” he greets us. “Jenny, I hope you and David got some sleep last night. I know it’s cramped in that single bed. If you are going to sleep over more often, then we may have to buy a bigger bed.”

Susan is at a loss for words. I decide to play along with my dad and add, “we managed to get some sleep eventually Mr Palmer. I hope my groaning didn’t keep you awake. I did try to keep the noise down, but it’s difficult to concentrate in the heat of the moment.”

Susan is now eyeing us both suspiciously. I don’t think she is buying the idea that my father would let his 14-year-old son have underage sex with his girlfriend.

My father laughs. “Come on, it’s time to get you three to school,” he says, picking up and finishing his half-full cup of coffee.

I choose to put Susan out of her misery. “It’s all right, Dad knows everything. He woke me up with a drink yesterday morning. He got a bit of a shock seeing a girl sleeping in his son’s bed. I decided to come clean.”

Susan signs with relief. “You two had me going for a minute there. Considering all the weirdness over the last few days I wasn’t sure what to believe.”

My father loads up a large cool box with items from the fridge then starts to head out to the car. As he gets to the back door, he pauses and calls out, “Jenny, you didn’t keep me awake last night, I was reading my book. You know you sound just like your mother did when reaching climax. Volume must run in the family. My sister was always quite loud, and if what she tells me is correct, Susan here can generate some decibels as well.” He then walks out the door chuckling before we have time to respond.

Both Susan and I colour up, speechless. I don’t know which of us is redder, and with my complexion, I have a head start. The trouble is, I was testing the hairbrush last night, and although I think I kept the noise down, I am now not sure if he is joking or serious.

We load the car up with the cool box, our bikes, an old garden sun lounger, and some blankets. It’s a tight squeeze to get two bikes in, but we manage with half the rear seat folded down.

While we drive, I fill Susan in on the slight change of plan regarding my location, and yesterday’s events. We arrive at the shop units on Hamilton Road. There are four units with customer parking at the front, and loading space at the rear. We drive round the back and up to the loading door for the empty unit. There are two doors going inside from the rear. The first is a normal width door, which my father unlocks and opens. The other is a larger roller door for bringing in stock.

The open door leads in to a small corridor heading to the back of the main shop floor. To our left is a small stock room that the other external door accesses. On the right is a small office. The main shop floor fills most of the unit’s area. It’s empty apart from a counter near the main entrance where a till would normally be placed. All the other fixtures and fittings are missing.

We enter the office. In the corner is a stainless steel kitchen sink. My father runs some water to make sure that the supply is on. At the other end of the room, we find a door to a bathroom. There’s a counter with two small hand basins and two toilet cubicles, both identical except for the symbols on the doors.

The sun lounger is set up in the office for me to lie on. Also placed in the room is the cool box with my food supply, and some blankets in case I get cold, as there’s no heating switched on and I won’t be moving round much.

I lay down on the lounger, covering myself with a blanket. I can’t be seen from outside as the only windows are high level. The front of the shop has metal shutters covering the windows and door. The rear isn’t boarded up, but the windows are small and contain wired glass.

Susan and my father wait outside while I prepare myself. We are going to try to speak to the nurse. This means that I’ll need to be able to be examined if necessary. Projecting my old body into the room, but this time naked, I quickly check myself over to make sure I’m happy that the projection is foolproof. I enlarged my chest a fraction, something I have discussed with my father, before getting dressed and returning outside, locking the door behind me. There is another key inside. We called at my father’s office on the way home yesterday and picked up the keys. We stopped and got some extra keys made in one of the shops nearby.

We then drive round the corner to the school. Susan and I unload the bikes and deposit them in the bike shed while my father heads for the school office.

Shortly after roll call, the school nurse enters my homeroom and asks for me. I quickly gather my things and follow the nurse to her office. Everybody knew I had been off sick on Friday afternoon, so it isn’t unexpected when the nurse arrives. She often has a brief chat with students returning from time off sick.

We entered the nurse’s office and my father is sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk. I guess at what will happen next, if a parent is present, it usually means a full examination. The nurse is limited in what she can do without parental consent.

The nurse, Mrs Carter, a plump older woman, motions for me to sit in other chair before sitting down at her desk. “Your father tells me that you are becoming embarrassed about the way your body is developing and that this is causing a lot of anxiety about using the changing facilities, especially when you have to use the communal showers. He is concerned that the migraine attack last week could have been stress related and triggered by you having gym class that afternoon.”

I nod showing my embarrassment, and start to cry softly.

“Please climb onto the bed and remove your sweater and shirt so that I can examine you.”

I do as instructed. Underneath my shirt, I am wearing a silk camisole. At her questioning glance, I respond, “My chest, especially my nipples, can get quite sore by the end of the day, so I wear this on days I don’t have to change for gym.”

She then proceeds to examine my chest. I wince slightly at her touch. “Your chest is a little tender and larger than average. It doesn’t help that you are slightly overweight.” She finishes her examination and makes some notes on my file. “You appear to have the onset of a condition known as gynomastasia. You are developing breasts as a girl would. This can happen to boys going through puberty and usually rectifies itself after a while. Would you consent to a genital examination? I would like to check if everything is normal.”

I nod and dropped my pants and underwear. She proceeds to feel my gonads before returning to her desk to write more notes.

“Thank you, you can get dressed now.” I quickly put my clothes back on before she continues. “You seem to be underdeveloped for your age. It would appear that you have started puberty, but your body is giving mixed signals. You may be suffering from a hormone imbalance. I suggest you make an appointment with your doctor to get this investigated as soon as possible.”

She then takes my temperature and blood pressure. I am worried that this might not work, but it seems my projected form is able to generate heat to warm the thermometer, and my arm is solid enough to provide a reading.

“I can see why you are anxious while using the changing and shower facilities. I also see from your file that there have been several instances of bullying recently, noted by the coach.” The nurse concludes. “Your blood pressure is slightly high, possibly due to stress. I am therefore signing you out of P.E. lessons for the next fortnight. Please report to the front office during those periods instead of going to the sports halls.”

We thank her and leave the office. First lesson has already started so I’m provided with a note to explain my absence.

As we leave the nurse’s office, a woman in a smart business suit emerges from the Principal’s office.

“Thank you for your time, Mr Edwards,” she pronounces while shaking the principals hand.

“I am sorry I wasn’t able to help in your enquiries, Mrs Stapleton. If any of my students do go missing, I will let you know,” Mr Edwards replies as he shows her out of the front door.

I say farewell to my father before heading to my first lesson. On the way, I slip into the boys’ bathroom. It’s empty as expected during lessons.

The visitor to the school has caught my attention, so I spy on her with remote vision as she gets into her car, placing her briefcase onto the passenger seat. Once sat behind the wheel she reaches over an opens the case. Inside there are a number of files marked with a Homeland Security logo and confidential in big red letters. She pulls out a list of the local schools and makes a note next to our school’s entry of ‘no known candidates.’ The paperwork is returned to the briefcase, which is locked and placed under the front passenger seat. Mrs Stapleton then drives away.

I may be paranoid, but I get the feeling that it could be connected to the events at the weekend. Perhaps I’m not the only person to have experienced a sudden change of appearance and to manifest strange abilities. My decision to keep my change as secret as possible might turn out to be a wise one. If I’m being hunted, then it may be best to lie as low as possible.

I put my rucksack down on the counter and step into the middle of the room. I relax and let my projection become more ghostlike. My clothes fall to the floor through my body leaving me naked as I step away from them. I look down at myself and make my crotch change from male to female. My normal school attire then appears on my projected form.

Scooping up my discarded garments, they are quickly folded and put into a bag. Leaving the room, the clothes are deposited in my locker on the way to class. Most lockers are in our homerooms, however as my homeroom is one of the science labs, our lockers are in a nearby corridor instead.

Walking into the lesson five minutes late, I place the note on the teacher’s desk, and sit in my usual place. Mr Carpenter simply nods at my arrival and pauses while I take my seat. I assume one of my peers has told him that I was with the nurse.

Morning lessons progress as normal. At morning break, I go to the school library and leave my bag at the desk in the entrance. It’s a rule that all bags have to be left at the door. There are tables at the front for the purpose, overlooked by the librarian’s desk. I walk through the seating area, where a number of students are sat, and round behind one of the bookshelves. While nobody is looking, I vanish.

Back in the deserted shop, I get up from where I have been laying and stretch my legs. I quickly use the bathroom before returning to my seat and consuming a bar of chocolate, while also drinking a bottle of lemonade. This is followed by spending the next fifteen minutes dozing before my watch alarm beeps to denote my time is up. I quickly picture the school and look around remotely to find somewhere to appear. The library is too busy, but I find a spot beneath a stairwell to emerge from and appear there. I retrieve my bag before heading into my next lesson.

I use the same trick at lunchtime. We have a full hour for lunch, so I disappear as soon as I can. Once back in my body I eat my lunch, having worked up quite an appetite by projecting, and follow up by a half hour catnap. My watch wakes me up ten minutes before the end of the lunch period, allowing me to return to school feeling refreshed.

By the end of the day, I’m getting tired, but the situation is manageable. After classes are over I quickly meet up with Susan and we head out to the bike sheds. We try to get away as quickly as possible so we don’t get harassed. Once we have collected our bikes, we ride round to the empty shop. We wait for some kids to pass, and then sneak round the back. Once out of sight I get Susan to hold onto my bike while I cease projection. I grab the cool box and leave through the back door, making sure it is secure.

I meet Susan outside and fix the box to the back of my bike with the aid of some bungee cords. I have a wire rack over the back wheel, and although slightly large, the box can be secured.

My bike doesn’t have a high crossbar, which means it can be ridden while wearing a skirt. Strictly speaking, it is a girl’s bike, but it’s unisex enough to get away with. I climb on and start to ride home, having only ridden in a skirt a few times before, it feels odd, but strangely satisfying to do so.

I realise that I will need to adjust the seat and handle bar heights when I get home, as they don’t feel quite right. I know I have longer legs and I think my arms may be an inch or two shorter. It’s hard to tell, as the sleeves on my sweater have always been slightly long.

We split up at the end of our road and go to our homes. Having adjusted my bike, I head upstairs to change, ditching the school sweater and skirt, and hanging them up for tomorrow. I put on a sleeveless red denim top with built in mini-skirt that barely covers my derriere. I remove my socks and shoes and put on some thick red opaque pantyhose, so that I won’t be showing off my panties. I love the feel of the material tight against my legs.

Putting on my new fluffy slippers, I head back down to the kitchen table. I get my homework out of my school bag and settle down to work, being joined shortly afterwards by Susan. We spend the next hour and a half working through our homework. During that time, I put a casserole in to cook for myself and my father to consume later.

Susan is surprised when she sees what I’m wearing. She doesn’t think my father will approve, however I point out that he was with me when I bought it. In fact, he had suggested it in the first place!

When my father gets home, we discuss how things have gone and decide to play things by ear for the time being.

Tuesday morning Susan and I ride to school as normal, taking a detour so that I can switch bodies at the shop unit. I follow the same routine as the day before, projecting into school and discretely disappearing at recess and lunch to recharge my energy levels.

Wednesday morning is slightly different as I am due to have gym class. As everyone else disappears off to the changing rooms, I divert to the main office. Explaining to the secretary who I am and why I’m there, I’m instructed to report to the library instead. The librarian is expecting me and sets me to work cataloguing new books. The books require a barcode inside the front cover, which is then scanned and entered into the computer system.

Things were going fine until Wednesday lunchtime, when I hear one of my regular tormentors call out to me, “Hey, Daisy, have you been avoiding us?”

---

 

In the last few months, a couple of jerks have been giving me trouble. Dwain and Freddy, or Dimwit and Thicky as I prefer to call them, have been hassling me. First, they tried to blackmail me. When that didn’t work, they tried more violent tactics.

Unfortunately, they have photographic evidence of me in a dress. I have seen the photo, it was taken at a fancy dress party when I was eleven. I went as Alice in Wonderland. I was supposed to go as Robin Hood, however for some reason that nobody has ever worked out, Susan’s and my costumes somehow got switched and we were both fully dressed and running late before the ‘mistake’ was noticed by our parents.

Dimwit tried to blackmail me by threatening to show the photo to everybody. I told him to go ahead. That really pissed him off, especially since I did it in a loud voice in the middle of the canteen. That got the attention of several teachers eating at a table nearby and landed Dimwit in detention for attempted blackmail. They have both been on my case since then.

Openly admitting to several instances of cross-dressing at Halloween and various other costume parties does at least deflect away from my more serious reasons for cross-dressing.

Most of our classes are divided by ability level. I am in the higher-level classes for most subjects and these two troublemakers are in lower sets. Unfortunately, this doesn’t include geography, which is one of the few lessons I have with these idiots.

Tracy delayed me leaving the room at the end of the lesson, as she wanted to copy some of my notes. She has been late to school a couple of times in the past week, and has missed some classes. Tracy is lactose intolerant. She can only consume limited quantities of milk-based products before suffering with stomach upsets, nausea and diarrhoea. Her condition has been playing up recently causing her to be ill some mornings.

These two decided to wait behind and hassle me.

“Hey, Daisy, have you been avoiding us?” Dimwit asked.

“You owe us some lunch,” Thicky added.

At this point, I have my bag packed and I’m closer to the door than they are. I decide now would be a good time to make an exit. I dash out the door and down the hallway. Our teacher has disappeared and there are no adults about. It seems Dimwit and Thicky realise this and give chase. The geography classroom is close to the gym so I head in the direction of the coaches’ office, in the hope it will be occupied.

As I approach the office I quickly glance in through the wall, but the room is empty. The coaches are probably in the changing rooms evicting the students who are being slow to get dressed. I am about to run into the boys’ facilities when I have a better idea.

Instead of going into the boys’ changing room, I carry on past and enter into the girls’ room instead, figuring they won’t dare follow. For privacy, there are two doors to go through to reach the inner sanctum of the girl only zone. As soon as I pass the outer door, I morph my appearance into Susan.

I dash through the inner door and into the changing room interior. There are six girls still in the room in various stages of undress, along with Coach Sanders. Coming to a halt, I stand leaning against the wall to get my breath back.

Coach Sanders starts to ask, “What are you doing in...” but never finishes the sentence as Dimwit bursts into the room. The other girls weren’t bothered when I entered the room, but several of them scream as they madly tried to cover themselves up seeing a boy burst in.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” The coach yells at the top of her voice, which is very loud. It is very rare to hear one of the teachers swearing, so she must have been caught by surprise. “Get out and stand outside my office. Now!” Coach Sanders is a tall muscular woman, very athletic looking. The best description of her is scary, and that’s when she’s in a good mood. When angry she’s nothing short of terrifying.

Dimwit looks both shocked and scared as he suddenly realises exactly where he’s chased me. He looks across at me and is his eyes get even wider when he realises it’s Susan, not David, staring back at him. Dwain quickly retreats out the door as he’s bombarded with gym shoes and aerosol cans. Several girls have decided to throw things at him while shouting, “Pervert” and “Asshole.”

I turn back to Coach Sanders, “Sorry for barging in miss, but Dimwit and Thicky were chasing me. I never thought they would actually follow me in here though.”

“I take it Dimwit is Dwain Scott, who’s Thicky?” she asks.

“Freddy Forrester Miss Sanders,” I reply.

“Good nicknames,” she chuckles to herself, “why were they after you?”

“I think they may have mistaken me for my cousin, David Palmer. They have been bullying him lately. We do look alike, especially from behind. To be honest I didn’t stick around to find out.”

“I don’t blame you,” she replies, “leave those two to me. I can’t do much to Freddy, as I didn’t see him, but Dimwit Dwain is going to regret it.” The coach turns to the other girls still left in the room. “If you lot had actually gotten a move on instead of dawdling, Dwain wouldn’t have had anything to see. Now move it!”

The girls speed up what they are doing. Miss Sanders then walks to the door and holds it open for me. I go through and open the second door into the corridor. When we both enter the corridor, a very nervous Dwain is standing next to the office door, trembling. There is no sign of Freddy.

The coach opens the office door. “Mr Scott, take a seat. Thank you Miss Potter, you may go.” She follows Dwain into the office and closes the door.

I look round, the corridor is empty and nobody is watching. I quickly change projection to look like the real me, Jennifer, not David. I don’t want turn back into David, in case Freddy is still around waiting to jump me. Staying as Susan isn’t a good idea, I don’t want to meet anybody we know and I now need to speak to Susan. I need to let her know what’s just happened and two Susans would look suspicious.

I quickly locate Susan with my remote vision and head to the common room where she is sat talking with Tracy and Mary. I deposit my bag in my locker on the way. She spots me at the door and excuses herself. I turn and head outside before anybody else can get a good look at me. Susan follows me to a secluded location.

She asks, “What’s going on?” I explain the incident and Susan bursts out laughing, “Serves him right for being so stupid!”

We both have a good laugh at Dimwit’s expense. I just hope he won’t be stupid enough to try to take revenge.

Once we have calmed down, I cease my projection. After using the bathroom and eating some lunch, I take a snooze on my sun lounger. Five minutes before the end of lunch, I start remote viewing to scout for a location to appear. David emerges out from behind a bookshelf in the Library.

I head to my locker and retrieve my rucksack. After collecting my belongings, I hurry to my homeroom for afternoon registration, arriving just as the bell rings. Our teacher, Mr Francis, is already in the room. Thicky is sat by himself, as Dwain’s chair is empty. Freddy glares in my direction. He doesn’t look happy. As roll call is completed, Dwain’s name isn’t called.

A number of whispers start going round the room. It seems the grapevine has been working overtime in the past hour.

Mr Francis addresses the class, “For those of you wondering where Mr Scott is this afternoon, he has been temporarily suspended following a serious incident of inappropriate behaviour.”

When the bell rings, we head off to our next lesson. I make sure to stay in a group with some other girls and avoid Freddy.

The rest of the day passes without incident. I think Freddy has been warned to keep his distance. Dwain is due to return school tomorrow, but is going to have break, lunch, and after school detentions for the rest of the next five school days.

I arrive home tired but satisfied. I change into a denim skirt and head down to the kitchen as Susan arrives. We are settling down at the kitchen table when the front doorbell rings. I slump over in my chair and project David into the room. I proceed to the front door and answer it. Susan follows me through into the hall.

It is Audrey Pyke from number five. She frantically asks, “Have you seen Becky, she’s disappeared?” Rebecca is her nine-year-old daughter. “We had an argument and I sent her to her room an hour ago, but when I went to check on her she’d gone. I was hoping that she might be with one of you.”

“She’s not here,” Susan comes forward, “but we will help look for her if you like.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what to do! I thought about phoning the police, but I am not sure they would do anything this soon,” Mrs Pyke responds. “They would probably tell me to wait for her to come home by herself.”

“I assume you don’t have any idea where she may have headed?” I ask.

“Two thoughts, she is either with one of her friends, or she may be out walking along one of the paths. I do hope she’s sensible enough not to get lost or fall in the river.” Audrey is getting upset with worry. Becky is a sensible girl and knows to stay away from the river’s edge. Susan has taken her walking down there several times, so she knows where and where not to go.

“Why don’t you go home and wait for her there, phone round her friends to see if any of them know where she’s gone? We’ll look round the river and woods. She may have gone to one of the quiet spots to cool down. What’s she wearing?” I ask.

“A blue denim romper suit over a pale blue blouse, her hair is in twin plaits,” Mrs Pyke answers before dashing off home leaving us to search out her daughter. I shut the door and cease my projection, while Susan returns to the kitchen.

“I can cover the area quicker remotely. I can do a low level aerial search from the tree tops,” I tell Susan.

“OK,” Susan replies, “I will take my phone and head out down the usual path we take, phone me if you find her and I will meet up.”

Susan heads out the back door, across the garden, and out the back gate, disappearing down the alley towards the river. I head up to my bedroom, boot up my computer, and sit down. Closing my eyes, I start remotely viewing the surrounding area for signs of Becky. As I told Susan, I start soaring up and down the river valley at a fast running pace, looking down from about fifteen feet in the air, carefully listening for sounds of life. I quickly cover the open ground along the river edge. There is a band of marshland between the river and the woods, and it is easy to spot people from quite a way off. There is no sign of Becky, so I start a grid search of the woodland on the side of the valley.

After ten minutes, I pick up the sound of someone sobbing. Homing in on the noise, I see Becky laying face down at the bottom of a slope. Her left leg is obviously broken as it is bent in half, part way between her knee and ankle. I look directly down at the ground then zoom upwards as high as I can manage before my vision goes blurred. I have Google Earth running and cross-reference what I can see on screen with my remote vision. I am able to pinpoint the exact latitude and longitude.

I project myself as my father. I figure the emergency services will take me more seriously if I sound older. I call 911 on my cell phone and request an ambulance. I give the co-ordinates of where Becky can be found. I end the call pretending my phone is out of battery life. I make sure to turn off the phone.

Locating Susan and appearing on the path in front of her, I instruct her to turn round and head back to Mrs Pyke. I describe as accurately as possible what I can see and where Becky can be found. Susan runs back to our street to update Mrs Pyke on the situation.

I run to the kitchen and pour a glass of water. Fetching the container of sugar, I start pouring it in, stirring until no more sugar can be dissolved. I swallow the sickly substance as fast as possible. It tastes disgusting, but I figure I will need the extra energy a sugar high can provide.

I decide to project as David. Becky knows me, not Jenny, and it will prevent awkward questions later, especially as I have already said I have found her. I appear a few yards behind her and shout her name, quickly running up to where she is lying. Becky is lying face down at the bottom of a short slope. Her dungarees and panties are round her ankles, and her left leg is obviously broken. Her bare legs, bottom, and back are covered with scratches.

“What happened?” I ask, fearful that she may have been sexually assaulted.

“I needed a pee, so I left the path to find a spot where I wouldn’t be seen,” she sobs, “I saw this branch hanging over the slope. I pushed it with my foot and it seemed solid so I sat on it, using it as a toilet seat. I was in mid flow when the branch snapped and I tumbled backwards down the hill. My leg’s broken and I can’t move my right arm, it’s too painful.”

“Your left leg is definitely broken,” I tell her and she nods, “I’m going to feel your legs and arms to check for any other breaks.” She nods again and I carefully feel my way over her body. I also try to look through her body with my remote vision; however, I wasn’t able to see inside of her. My remote vision isn’t capable of seeing inside solid objects and I don’t have x-ray vision. I can only see what I would normally be able to see if I was standing in the location being remote viewed.

“I think you may have dislocated your right shoulder. I can’t feel any other breaks, and there is no sign of blood, so I think you will be OK,” I reassure her, “Help is on the way, we simply have to wait for it to get here.”

I have deliberately projected myself wearing a thick fleece jacket, figuring I would need to keep Becky warm. She is half-naked, and the evening breeze is turning cold. If it leaves contact with my body then it will fade out of existence, however I have a plan on how to use it. The thermometer the nurse used shows that my projected form can produce a degree of warmth. I carefully lay down beside Becky and wrap my fleece round her back. I hope the fleece and my projected body heat will keep her warm. I am optimistic that they have the same thermal properties as the real thing.

Although I can’t project in two places, I can still remote view another location while projecting. Actually I can remote view many places at the same time, however this isn’t very practical, as having multiple visions and sounds coming at me is too confusing, and gives me a migraine, so normally I only concentrate on one place at a time.

I look back to our street and see Susan talking with her parents and Mrs Pyke. They get into my uncle’s car and head round to the nearest access point into the woods. They arrive just after the ambulance. The paramedics grab their medical gear and a stretcher and Susan leads them in a quick jog. The paramedics have GPS, but Susan is more familiar with the terrain and can show them the quickest route. I am also not sure how accurate my co-ordinates are. I hope that they are within a hundred yards.

I whisper in Becky’s ear, “Help will be here soon”. She murmurs an answer, but is rapidly falling asleep. I am aware that this is not a good idea, so make her wake up again. Knowing Becky is a big Abba fan since the film ‘Mamma Mia’ came out, I start singing Abba songs and make Becky join in with me.

I’m starting to tire myself, as I have been projecting all day, and I’m trying to maintain the best projection I can while being near the limit of my range. I suddenly feel something brush my lips and I can taste honey. Realising that there is nothing here in the woods to cause that, I remotely view my bedroom. My father is sat by my bed smearing honey in my mouth. I can’t control my body and a projection at the same time, but I figure I can perhaps rapidly switch between the two. While concentrating hard on maintaining the projection I manage to make my body swallow the honey in my mouth, without fully fading out.

Becky is now half-asleep and doesn’t seem to notice anything. My father continues to dip his finger in the honey and I quickly begin sucking it off his finger. I immediately feel recharged, and after a minute of sucking, I am feeling much stronger.

I can hear the rescue party calling to me. I start shouting as loudly as I can. I lock onto them with my remote viewing and start shouting instructions as to which direction to turn. I see them reach the top of the slope and I call them down. There are two paramedics, Susan, Uncle Richard, and Audrey Pyke. The two paramedics, Dave and Jim, tell everyone else to remain at the top of the slope and they carefully slide down the incline.

I am still lying down with my fleece round Becky, both to keep her warm, and shield her modesty. I quickly explain the situation, and my assessment of her condition. A warm blanket is draped across Becky’s back and legs and I get up and sit nearby. The paramedics hand me a tinfoil blanket and tell me to wrap it around myself. They are concerned that I could also be chilled from lying on the ground. The medics fix neck and back braces on Becky, then the broken leg is carefully set in a splint. Becky is turned over onto her back on top of the stretcher. Becky’s shoes are taken off, and the remains of her torn and dirty clothes removed.

The medics shine light in her eyes, and take measurements of temperature and blood pressure. Becky is now drifting in and out of consciousness. A drip is fitted and an oxygen mask placed over her face. One of the paramedics is carrying a small oxygen bottle on his back. They call up to the other adults at the top of the slope to find another way down, that they can then use to carry Becky out without needed to climb steep slopes. I point them in the direction of a route that can be used. I have had time to scout remotely the quickest path out of here while waiting for them to reach us.

The stretcher is a light canvas one with two metal rods. Jim takes the front with Audrey Pyke, down by Becky’s feet, and Dave takes the other end with Uncle Richard. Susan is given the drip to carry. She walks alongside, holding the stretcher in one hand and the drip in the other making sure Becky is all right. Between them, they carry Becky out of the woods. I lead the way, making sure to warn them about any obstacles while choosing the quickest and flattest route back to the ambulance.

After assuring the paramedics I’m not suffering from hypothermia myself, I hand them back the tinfoil wrap and they leave for the hospital with Becky and Audrey on board. We return home, and David vanishes as soon as the front door closes.

My father is still sat on my bed as I sit up, so I give him a hug. I thank him for his assistance earlier.

“Janice told me what had happened and that you were with Becky. I knew you must have been projecting, so came to check on you. I saw the glass and sugar on the counter in the kitchen, so figured out what you were up too. I thought that you might require some more fuel. I know you’re not keen on honey, but thought you might need some,” he explains.

I thank him again and fill him in on what happened. I join my father for some pasta, and then opt for a very early night. It is only half past eight, but I’m exhausted.

The doorbell rings the next morning while we’re having breakfast. I get up from the kitchen table and head into the dining room while my father goes to answer the door. I follow him into the hall as David. Mrs Pyke is at the front door, carrying a small bag.

“Come in Audrey,” my father beckons her in.

“I just wanted to drop this over and say thanks,” she says, handing me a big box of chocolates and a card. “Becky asked me to give you these. She was kept in hospital last night, but will come home later today. Her leg is in plaster, and they had to pop her shoulder back in. She has quite a few bruises and is very embarrassed about what happened. Becky also asked me to thank you for not looking or taking advantage. She was worried who might find her lying in such a prone position.”

“Thank you, I’m glad she’s OK, I got quite worried when she started to drift off to sleep,” I reply.

“She had the onset of hypothermia from being exposed to the cold and damp. If you hadn’t kept her warm she might have been a lot worse, thank you,” Mrs Pyke expresses again.

After promising to call by after school, she leaves us to finish our breakfast. Mrs Pyke was heading back up the hospital with some fresh clothes so that she could bring her daughter home.

Susan and I, as David, drop round after school. We are both bombarded with hugs and kisses from Becky, especially me. She is embarrassed about the accident, but is thankful for her rescue. We promise not to tell anybody of the circumstances surrounding how she came to fall. We leave her to rest and go home to complete our homework.

---

 
I spend most of Saturday morning asleep. Using my powers to project myself into school is exhausting. I have been eating twice as much as normal and I’m heading to bed an hour earlier each night.

My father has gone grocery shopping with my Aunt and cousin by the time I get up. My Uncle is at work. Some customers are willing to pay extra to have their carpets and curtains fitted at the weekend, instead of having to take time off work during the week.

We have invited Aunt Janice, Uncle Richard, and Susan to dinner on Sunday with the intention of revealing my secret to the adults. Therefore it’s necessary for Jenny to be absent on Saturday. As I want to give my new-found abilities a rest, I decide it will be easier to disappear for the day.

I get up around 11am and make myself some brunch. I dress in my blue denim skirt. I have on my sports bra, over which there is a plain white t-shirt and my old blue-checked shirt. It’s made of thick material, and it will keep me warm if it turns cold. I have on some thick white sports socks and my new hiking boots.

I load my rucksack up with some waterproofs, a blanket, and an umbrella, and sneak out the back gate to head down to the river.

After an hour’s walk, I find a clearing in the woodland lining the river valley. I get the blanket out of my bag and spread it on the ground next to a tree. I then sit down, using the tree as a backrest, and proceed to complete most of the week’s homework assignments.

It starts to rain about 4pm. Swiftly packing up, I put my waterproofs on, and trek back home. I take a less roundabout route home, and arrive back half an hour later. I quickly check where the various members of my family are with my remote vision. Happy that my father is home alone I continue through the back gate, across the garden, and into the kitchen. He’s vacuum cleaning the dining room when I arrive. He stops and comes into the kitchen when he hears me enter.

After exchanging greetings, it’s time to go upstairs and take a nice relaxing bubble bath. After my bath, I return to my room wrapped in towels and look through my wardrobe. I get out a knee-length maroon pleated skirt and a red shirt. I have washed my hair so I put it up wrapped in a towel.

My father continues to clean the house while I put some potatoes on to boil, and warm some oil in a frying pan. I fry some pork medallions and when nearly done, I put some plates into warm, and zap some baked beans in the microwave.

Later that evening, Susan pops round to give me a lesson in hair care. I already know the basics of styling, but never had much opportunity to practice until now, as I had to keep my hairstyle unisex. Before my change, my hair was almost black, and came down to just below the top of my shoulders. In school, I usually tied it back into a short low ponytail.

When I was in girl mode, I wore it loose in a long pixie-type cut. Depending on the direction I combed, I could also have bangs. The effect was subtle, but I could portray either a tomboy or an effeminate boy. I was willing to be regarded as a bit of a sissy if it allowed me the flexibility to cross-dress. I’m now a red head. My hair is also longer, coming down and almost covering my breasts. It also seems to have more volume than before. Up until now, I have been using very simple styles. Most of the time, I have had my hair in a high ponytail, as that’s quick to accomplish. I have also worn it in both single and double braids.

I want to do something special in the morning, so Susan is going to help me experiment. We try several styles, but the one I like the best is a mixture of several styles. I end up with two narrow inch-wide braids, one each side of my head, running from my forehead round above my ears and meeting at a bun on the back of my head. The rest of my hair falls from underneath the bun, straight down my back. We decide it would look even better with a slight wave, so I end up wearing rollers to bed.

I have a slight lay in on Sunday morning and arise around 9am. I descend to the kitchen in my pyjamas and satin dressing gown. As I enter, my father is putting a piece of beef in the oven for lunch. I get myself some breakfast cereal and a cup of coffee. My father has already made a cup for himself.

I spend most of the morning finishing off my homework. There were some bits of research I need to do on the internet that I couldn’t do while out yesterday. Around eleven I start to get ready for our guests.

I first sort my hair out by removing the curlers and giving it a good brush out. I then recreate the hairstyle from the evening before, only this time it looks even better with waves of hair running down my back instead of being straight.

I apply simple makeup. I quite like my freckled cheeks, I think they look cute, so I don’t want to cover them with foundation or blush. Lightly dusting my face, just enough to take the shine off, I apply some mascara and outline my eyes with a black line to emphasis them, then add some red lipstick. Using red nail polish, my fingers and toes are soon decorated.

I remove my gown and pyjamas and start to get dressed in the outfit I have chosen. I start with a garter belt and then roll some black stockings up my long smooth legs before pulling on a pair of sexy red lace panties. Wrapping my strapless push-up bra around me, I secure it in place so that it cups and lifts my bosom.

Taking my dress from its hanger, I step into it and zip it up. There is a small hook and eye at the top, to make sure that the zip can’t come undone. This would be fiddly to do up for most people, but I have the added advantage of being able to see my own back.

The dress is a dark red and strapless, the top coming straight across the top of my chest from just below my armpits. It’s shaped round my breasts becoming narrow at the waist, emphasising my figure. Below the waist is attached a pleated skirt section that comes down to just below my knees. The join between body and skirt isn’t straight, but is instead V-shaped. The bottom of the V is in the middle in front of my crotch and extends upwards over my hips before levelling off and going straight across my back. The material is uniform in colour, but has tiny fleurs-de-lis arranged in a diamond pattern all over it.

I put on my red t-bar shoes with a two-inch heel. I get out and wear my new ladies’ watch. It has a white dial with black numbers, the bezel and buckle are gold-coloured with a thin black leather strap. I finish off with a gold chain round my neck from which is hung a single gold teardrop with a ruby in the centre and affix matching earrings.

I then wait upstairs until our guests have arrived. The three of them turn up shortly after noon. Uncle Richard and my father are both wearing chinos and casual shirts. Aunt Janice is wearing a green summer dress.

Susan is wearing a cream blouse and a blue plaid skirt. Normally she would have been in jeans, but made an exception today. As I am going formal, she didn’t want to go overboard and upstage me, while on the other hand needed to be smart enough to support the special occasion. I am watching events remotely from upstairs.

Dad sits everybody down and pours each person a glass of sherry. Once everyone has sat down, it’s time to make my entrance. Our living room has two couches and a matching chair. My Aunt and Uncle are sat on one couch and Susan on the other. My father is stood by the chair. I slowly descended the stairs and glide into the room.

Susan gives me a wolf whistle as I pass her, which I simply ignore. My father hands me a glass of sherry, saying, “You look gorgeous, honey.”

I take a sip and place it down on the coffee table. “Thank you, daddy,” I reply. I then kiss him on the cheek, leaving him with a bright red lipstick imprint, before turning to face our guests as my father introduces me.

“I believe you have all briefly met, but I would like to formally introduce you to my daughter, Jennifer Alice Palmer.” I smile and curtsy. My father then adds with a smile, “I decided to trade David in for a more beautiful model.”

“I’m an upgraded refit, not a trade in!” I reply sharply. Turning to Susan, who is sat laughing on the couch, I add, “and you can cut that out, or I might decide to give you a real reason to laugh. I know where your ticklish spots are.”

“Two can play at that game,” Susan replies mischievously.

“Yes, but I’m not ticklish am I,” I confidently retort.

“Your old body might not have been, David, but I haven’t tested this new version yet,” she says, twitching her fingers at me menacingly.

“True,” I concede, “but now is not the time to test it.”

My aunt and uncle are watching this surreal exchange with both amusement and puzzlement. My father then explains further, “I know this is quite a shock, but this is, or at least until recently was, David. I was most surprised when I walked into David’s room last Sunday to find this young beauty asleep in my son’s bed. Exactly what has caused this is still a mystery, but David’s body has undergone a spontaneous gender change.”

“Nice try John,” my aunt responds, “but this is one wind up that’s simply too unbelievable. I have seen both Jenny and David several times this week. In order for this to be true, David must have the ability to change sex at will.”

“I do, I’ll show you,” I reply. With that, I sit down on the couch next to Susan and stand back up again as David, leaving my now unconscious body on the couch behind me. “Is this proof enough?” I ask.

Susan decides now is the time to test if I’m ticklish, as she starts to attack my defenceless unconscious body. It would appear my new body is ticklish. At first, my projected form reacts, as I start to squirm and laugh where I’m standing as David. However, I can’t maintain my projection under such stimulus, and after a couple of seconds, I’m forced to return to my body to defend myself. I retaliate by tickling Susan back, having the advantage of knowing exactly where to aim. Susan has yet to discover my weak spots. We quickly call a truce and end the silliness.

I explain what has happened to me on that Friday. We then serve and eat lunch. During the afternoon, I relate some more of the events of the past week. Although the adults are concerned about me being bullied, they all have a good laugh at the changing room incident.

It has taken some time, but by late afternoon, my aunt and uncle had come to accept the new me. By the end of the evening, we have all become closer as a family.

On Monday morning, Susan and I follow our new routine, stopping at the shop for my usual body switch.

I am getting the distinct impression that something is going on while I sit in homeroom during morning roll call. Dimwit and Thicky seem too pleased with themselves, as if they are planning some nefarious scheme. I will need to make sure to be extra careful between lessons in case they try to jump me again.

During second period, I am scheduled to take an English Literature lesson. We have been studying Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Having completed the text, we are now watching a film adaptation for comparison. As our lessons are only an hour long, we can’t watch it in one sitting so having watched the first half in the previous lesson, we are watching the remainder today.

Our teacher, Mr Spencer, has the movie on a DVD, and he is playing it on a laptop hooked up to a projector at the front of the room. He has set it going and then sat at the back of the room out of the way. About 20 minutes into the video, the movie is suddenly replaced by footage of me wearing girl’s clothes. The footage is from before my change and shows me walking with Susan down by the river.

We both look alike and if the footage was just of me, I could possibly claim it to be Susan, but this isn’t possible with both of us in shot. I recognise the location. The footage must have been shot from the other side of the river using a zoom lens. I certainly don’t recall seeing anybody filming me. There is no sound with the recording. Instead, whoever made the clip superimposed a simple tune over the top.

To make sure everybody knows who this is of, the wording ‘David Palmer’ appears across the top of the screen, and ‘Perverted transvestite faggot’ across the bottom.

Everybody in the room is caught by surprise. Mr Spencer dashes to the front and stops the video, but it’s already too late to save my embarrassment. There is already a mixture of laughter and wolf whistling filling the air.

“Silence!” Mr Spencer calls as he removes the disc from the laptop and takes a closer look. “This isn’t the disc I prepared for the lesson; somebody has been tampering with my equipment.”

The room goes quiet. I have turned a nice shade of red and I’m trying hard not to lose it and start crying. I take some deep breaths and concentrate on remaining focused and in control. I’m projecting into the school from the empty shop unit again, and the last thing I need is to get distracted by my emotions and simply vanish.

I quickly regain my composure. I always knew that this was a risk and have already decided on an action plan in case something like this happened. I will not try to deny anything, and openly tell the truth if questioned, but not volunteer information unless directly asked. If this means openly acknowledging my gender variance, then I will do so.

I have an additional option since my change. Originally, I had thought that it might be possible to start at another school, hopefully as a girl. Now David could simply disappear. Not even my relatives could believe David and Jenny are the same person, so I don’t think anybody else will be able to make the connection. Of course, I still have the legal identification problem to solve, which is the Achilles heel of my plan. In addition, Homeland Security appears to be watching for people disappearing, so that alone is incentive not to do so.

Mr Spencer has been looking over at me with a concerned look on his face. Seeing that I have regained my composure he addresses the room. “This is no laughing matter. Not only has school property been tampered with, which is serious in its own right, but this constitutes a direct attack on one of our students. Now I don’t know the circumstances of how this film was shot, so I can’t say if it would be classed as an invasion of privacy, but the wording added on top could definitely be described as libellous.”

He looks around the room before continuing, “I want to know who did this or you’re all going to end up in detention.”

Everybody sits in silence waiting to see if anybody will own up. It doesn’t look like anybody is going to respond. I am in enough trouble without getting resentment from ending up in detention so I decide to speak up.

“I don’t think it was anybody in here, Sir,” I begin. All eyes turn in my direction, “I have a good idea who would want to do this, I just can’t prove it. That piece of music was the tune to ‘Daisy, Daisy’. I have been called Daisy on many occasions, but not by anybody here as far as I can remember.”

“As to the contents of the video,” I continue, “yes, that is me and I won’t deny being cross-dressed. I do object to the caption. I find the terminology both inaccurate and offensive.”

Mr Spencer considers what I have said before answering. “Very well, I won’t issue a detention.” A collective sigh of relief fills the room, “But I would like a word with you, David, after class. The rest of you may leave when the lesson ends, however please do not discuss this incident. Any rumours or harassment of Mr Palmer will not be tolerated.” He then looks through his briefcase and finds a backup version of the disc. “Good job I burnt a second copy,” he remarks as he puts the new disc in the laptop. After checking that this version has not been tampered with, he resumes the video.

Nothing more is said about the video clip and the lesson continues as normal. After the bell rings for the start of morning recess, Mr Spencer asks me to accompany him. There are a number of small offices around the school, which belong to various departments. We enter the English department’s office and shut the door so that we can talk alone.

“First I would like to apologise,” Mr Spencer starts, “if I had paid closer attention to the disc I would have realised it wasn’t the one I prepared.” I nodded and he continues, “I can understand you not wanting to openly accuse anybody of doing this, so I won’t force you to name anyone. I know that there have been several incidents between yourself and Dwain Scott. Do you think that he is responsible for this?”

“He would be my prime suspect,” I reply, “He first came up with the idea of calling me Daisy. He has also tried to blackmail me before with pictures of me dressed as a girl, only last time it was a photo taken at a Halloween fancy dress party with me dressed as Alice in Wonderland. That particular incident backfired on him and he has been hostile to me ever since.”

“Ah, yes, I remember that incident. The canteen is not the best place to try and conduct blackmail,” Mr Spencer smiles at the memory.

“I presume you are aware of what happened last week when he tried to chase me and ended up following Susan into the girls’ changing room?” I ask.

“Yes, I heard what happened from coach Sanders. None of us can quite work out how you both managed to trick him into that, although even if it was you who went into the girls’ changing rooms you would think he would have had enough sense not to follow,” Mr Spencer states.

“He can be a dimwit at times,” I laugh, “which is why I’m surprised he can manage to pull off a trick like this. He must have had help. His usual partner-in-crime is Freddy, but he’s just as brainless as Dwain. They both had a smug look on their faces this morning. I thought they might be planning something, but I didn’t expect this.”

Mr Spencer nods in agreement, “I am going to have a word with Dwain and Freddy, as they are obvious candidates anyway. Unfortunately I suspect they will simply deny it and we won’t be able prove anything.”

“I fully expect that to be the case,” I agree.

“I guess things are about to get very difficult for you now that this has happened,” Mr Spencer states. “You don’t have to talk about this if you are uncomfortable with the subject. Anything you say will be in confidence and I will only speak to other staff on a need to know basis. Do your parents know about your cross-dressing? You obviously have the help of at least one friend.”

I trust Mr Spencer. He’s a good teacher and an honest person. I decide to admit some details, “I only have my Father. He’s a single parent. I kept it hidden from him for a long time but he recently caught me en-femme. We’ve had a long heart-to-heart discussion on the subject and he’s willing to support me. The other person in the video is my cousin, Susan Potter. She has known about my feminine side for years. We actually told her parents about me yesterday and after some initial disbelief, they have come to accept what I am. This won’t cause any problems for me at home.”

“That is good to know,” he replies, “you say you have been cross-dressing for a long time. I presume that means you are unlikely to be stopping any time soon.”

“Correct,” I state, “in fact the only time I now present myself as male is during school hours. The rest of the time, I present as a girl. I classify myself as transgendered and eventually I intend to transition fully, but there are protocols that have to be followed, and these take time.”

Mr Spencer looks at me for a few moments before answering. “You always have been slightly different from the other boys. In fact, I wasn’t sure of your gender until I learnt your name. I will discretely have words with your homeroom teacher and the Principal. You’re in Mr Francis’s homeroom?” I nod and he continues, “I think it best if we set up a meeting with your father. This school operates a strict equal opportunities policy and we won’t allow any discrimination or harassment. If you have any problems then you’re welcome to come and find me.”

“Thank you Sir,” I smile, relieved at his reaction.

He stands to leave and opens the door. Susan, Tracy and Mary, my three closest, and possibly now only, friends are waiting outside the door. I am enveloped by a group hug. I hand my bag to Susan, “Can you hold on to this, I need to pop to the loo.” Susan knows that means I want to end my projection.

I enter the boys’ bathroom. The only toilet cubicle is occupied. There is another boy at one of the urinals. As he currently has his back to me, and therefore hasn’t seen me, I safely do my vanishing act.

Back in my body in the closed shop unit, I quickly grab a coke and a bar of chocolate and dash into the loo. My primary concern is to replenish my energy; going to the loo is actually a secondary priority that could have waited until lunchtime. I drink and eat as fast as I can while I have a pee.

Returning to my sun lounger, I sit back down and remotely view the bathroom. There are now several boys inside, although none of them are looking in the direction of the entrance. David appears behind the door and leaves the bathroom before any of them notice. The girls are waiting for me outside.

Susan mouths sorry to me while the others aren’t looking. I nod my head slightly in acknowledgement. It is obvious that they don’t want to leave me alone. As the bell is about to ring I am escorted to my next lesson.

Tracy is in all but a few of my lessons and we always sit together. Susan shares about a quarter of her classes with me, as does Mary. Between the three of them, I have at least one of them with me all the time. The only exception is Physical Education, where the girls and boys are separated to play different sports. However, as I have been temporarily excluded by the nurse, this is no longer an issue.

The next lesson passes without incident. I can hear some whispering going on behind my back, but nobody confronts me.

As we break for lunch I realise I have a new problem. Up until now, I have been able to slip away unnoticed. However, my friends have decided that I need safety in numbers, and won’t let me simply disappear. I can’t pretend to be in the loo for an hour.

I am with Tracy and Mary. Susan will no doubt meet with us soon; she was in a different classroom last period.

Suddenly there is a loud bang and a scream. I immediately home in on the source with my remote vision to see Susan standing in front of her open locker, soaking wet. I start running towards Susan’s location calling to the others to follow me.

---

 

I arrive in the hallway where Susan is standing, with Mary and Tracy in tow. Coach Sanders and Mr Spencer are already on scene. There is a nasty stench in the air, and it’s coming from Susan.

Mr Spencer asks, “What happened?”

“I opened my locker and that thing,” Susan responds pointing at an object in her locker, “exploded and covered me in this foul liquid.” She is clearly upset and appears to be on the point of tears.

I quickly inspect the inside of the other lockers with my remote vision to see if there are any more surprises. There appears to be a similar device in my locker as well. It’s hooked to the back of the locker and a string is tied to the inside of the lock. Whoever put these here did a good job. Opening the locker door more than about an inch pulls the string releasing the pin out of the canister causing it to explode.

I quickly move to my locker and open it a fraction, being careful not to detonate the device. I close the locker again and turn to the teachers.

“There appears to be another device in my locker, does anybody have a pair of scissors handy?” I ask.

Tracy hands me a pair from her pencil case. I reopen the locker far enough to slip the scissors in and cut the cord tied to the door. I then open the door so that the teachers can see what’s within.

All of my belongings are still inside. Sat on top of them is a spray canister. It’s a joke device bought online with the name of the website printed on the side. I take a tissue out of my bag, wrap it round the device and hand it to Mr Spencer. I then place my bag into the locker and lock it back up. The security of the locker has obviously been compromised, but I need to offload my belongings, as I will have to end my projection during the lunch break.

I look down the corridor and spot Dimwit and Thicky laughing from a distance.

This is the last straw. I’m normally a calm and collected person who doesn’t anger quickly, but these two are really making my blood boil. I have simply had enough of their games. I can put up with a lot of crap as long as it’s aimed only at me, harming my friends really pushes my berserk button.

“You bastards!” I yell in their direction and storm off down the corridor towards them.

“Mr Palmer,” Coach Sanders warns me in a stern voice as I pass. I pay her no attention whatsoever.

Dimwit has stopped laughing by this point and is watching me approach.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Daisy,” he says in a soft voice intended for only me to hear.

This only annoys me even more. I don’t waste any time, grabbing him round the throat with both hands, I shove him up against the wall.

“Listen here, Dimwit, I have had enough of your childish antics. Susan could have been blinded by that prank if that stuff had gone into her eyes. Any more shit and I will destroy you. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and this is one girl you don’t want to mess with.” I shout in his face while squeezing his neck. Thicky is unsuccessfully trying to pull me off his friend.

“Unhand Mr Scott this instant!” Coach Sanders bellows at me. I let go of Dimwit, who starts panting for breath. “Mr Palmer, report to my office immediately,” the coach states. I turn and head in the direction of the sports block, still angry with Dimwit. The crowd that has gathered to watch my outburst parts as I storm off.

Mary and Tracy start to follow me and I yell to them, “Leave me alone!” Seeing the mood I am in, they decide to err on the side of caution and stay to help Susan. Coach Sanders leads Susan through to the front office and nurse’s office, no doubt to call my Aunt to collect her, and wash off some of the foul smell. Mr Spencer escorts Dwain and Freddy away for questioning.

I arrive at the coaches’ office, but it is locked. Frustrated I slam my palm into the surface of the door while kicking it. I look around to see if anybody is watching. Nobody is about so I simply walk through the door, irritated at the situation. I decide it’s time to get even with those two idiots and I have a brilliant idea on how to do it. We have one classroom set up as a TV studio, and after checking the coast is clear with my remote vision, I teleport my projection into it. Due to the valuable equipment, the room is kept locked when not in use.

I quickly set to work making a short video starring my two nemeses. Fifteen minutes later there is a new video up on YouTube, I have set up an account especially. I email the video link to every single student and teacher. Each student has a school-issued email address, and most of them have been set to auto forward onto private mailboxes. Normally only teachers have the ability to access the full address book and send global mail, but when you can watch the keyboard from a few inches away while a teacher enters their password, it isn’t that difficult to hack in and use the function.

I return to the coaches’ office and await Ms Sander’s appearance. I don’t have long to wait. An angry Coach Sanders opens the door and enters the room, slightly surprised to see me inside. I am sat in one of the comfortable chairs with my arms crossed looking straight ahead. I ignore her entrance.

“There you are, I have been looking for you. How did you get in here?” she exclaims.

“You told me to wait here, so here I am,” I reply sarcastically.

“Susan is currently in the shower in the nurse’s office cleaning that gunk off. Your Aunt is on her way to collect both of you. Susan is being given the afternoon off, and you have been given a half-day suspension for your attack on Dwain Scott. You have Mr Spencer to thank that it isn’t an expulsion. He argued that you were under severe emotional stress following an incident earlier.”

“That bastard deserves what’s coming to him,” I state angrily.

“That may well be the case, but we have no proof that he is responsible for the actions against you and Susan. Going off in a rage is simply going to land you in as much trouble as he is. Revenge is not the answer,” Ms Sanders tells me.

“Maybe not,” I reply, smiling at her evilly, “but it’s very satisfying.”

“This ends now. You are behaving just as badly as he is. Don’t sink to his level. Do you really want an all-out war?” she asks.

I don’t give an answer, but instead go back to staring straight ahead. At this moment, war is acceptable. War isn’t about who is right, it’s about who is left, and I have the tactical advantage with my secret weapons. I have already thought up my next move. I wonder if Dimwit has ever read Dickens’ Christmas Carol. I have, and I fancy turning him into Scrooge.

I am led through to the front of the school where my Aunt is waiting. On our way, we stop at my locker so that I can collect my belongings. We reach the front of the school and Susan comes out of the nurse’s office dressed in a tracksuit. Aunt Janice must have brought it.

Aunt Janice signs the release forms to state she has collected us and leads us to the car. She doesn’t look at all happy with the situation. I can tell she is annoyed as she is giving us both the silent treatment. We get in the car, Susan in the front and me in the rear. My aunt starts to drive us home.

After about a quarter of a mile, I sigh deeply and ask my aunt, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

She glances at me through the rear view mirror, “What?” she asks in an annoyed voice.

“I’m not really here, this is only a projection, and I’m about to reach the limit of my range,” I state as I fade out.

I return to my body in the empty shop unit, collect my things and head out of the back door, locking it behind me as I leave. Being in no mood to listen to a lecture from Aunt Janice, I quickly walk back towards the school before she has chance to turn up. The front gates are patrolled to make sure only those with permission can leave. Mr Ellis is standing at the gates checking students as they enter and leave. In order to leave school during the lunch hour you need parental permission, and this is indicated on your school ID.

I don’t have my school ID on me, and it wouldn’t do any good as it’s for David, not Jennifer. I cross the street and head into a nearby park. Finding a secluded spot, I sit down and make myself comfortable for projecting. I can’t stay here all afternoon, as my presence will be questioned after the lunch hour has finished.

Using my remote vision, I come up with a plan for gaining a new school ID. All the materials I need are in a room beside the main school office. It is a stationery cupboard and machine room. Inside are a number of locked metal cabinets, a Xerox machine, guillotines for trimming paper and a laminator for encasing paper in plastic. I project myself into the room, but do so as Mr Ellis in case anybody walks in on me.

I switch on the laminator so that it is heating up. I search through the cupboards with my remote vision to locate the blank templates for the ID cards. These are sheets of paper pre-printed with a complex background pattern and small hologram and are designed so that they cannot easily be forged. They are in one of the metal cabinets. I don’t have the key, so reach through the door. Making my hand solid inside the cabinet, I get hold of one of the sheets and pull it through the gap in-between the doors.

With much concentration, I project into my hand a piece of paper with my photo, name, and various other details in the correct position for copying onto the ID. I load the blank template into the manual feed tray and place the projected paper on the glass. I activate the copier and it transfers the details onto the template. I take the newly copied ID sheet and fold it in half. I trim it to size and feed it through the laminator. This encases the folded paper in plastic. I take the newly created ID card and switch off the laminator.

I now need to get the card to my current location. I put the card in my pocket and make myself invisible. This doesn’t work as the card can now be seen floating in mid air. I sigh and rethink my plan. I take the card in my hand and open the door slightly. I keep myself invisible and make only the very tips of my fingers solid, just enough to carry the ID card. I bend over and walk out into the corridor so that the card is floating just above the ground. I walk past the reception desk, keeping the card out of sight of the office staff.

I push the card through a gap in between the front doors and skirt round the edge of the building. Instead of going to the front gates where Mr Ellis is on duty, I head to the side of the campus near the Hamilton Road shops. Checking that nobody is about, I throw the card over the wall and catch it as I appear on the other side. This time I am projecting myself as police chief Millward, with whom I spoke at the bank heist. I casually walk to my current location. I note that my aunt’s car is now parked in Hamilton Road.

I quickly bring the card to my body and end my projection. I head back to the school gates and enter the grounds. On the way past, I show my pass to Mr Ellis, who checks and acknowledges that it has the symbol displayed allowing me out of school grounds at lunchtimes. I don’t have to worry about being recognised later, as Mr Ellis is a temporary teacher who is only with us for a few weeks while Mr Cobbler is recovering from prostate surgery. He doesn’t know many students, and won’t be about if I later join the school as Jennifer.

I head to the bike sheds and attach the cool box to my bike. I lock it on with the bike chain so it can’t be removed. I have already taken some food out of it and I‘m munching on some chocolate.

It feels slightly strange to be back in school in the flesh, rather than pretending to be David. As I’m just another face in the crowd, I’m able to walk the halls unchallenged. I head for the door that leads under the stage. I wait until nobody is looking and quickly open the door from inside using a quick projection. I slip in and close the door behind me.

Nobody is going to find me in here and I can watch the fun unfold without having to stretch my powers. There is still about half an hour of lunchtime left. I decide to see if anybody has seen my email yet. I take a quick look into the computer room. Considering the commotion, it would appear that at least some students have watched the video already.

I hear the P.A. system activate and call Dwain and Freddy to the principal’s office. I decide to look in on this, as it’s bound to be worthwhile. The boys arrive and I watch them enter the room. Principal Edwards has a certain email up on screen. He indicates for them to sit and then shows them what he has displayed on the monitor. The subject line reads “A public apology to all students” and it looks like it has been sent by the principal himself.

When opened, the wording ‘Dwain Scott and Freddy Forrester would like to issue an apology’ appears in large red letters. Below that is a photo of Dwain and Freddy in drag and a link to a YouTube video. The photo is a still taken from the start of the video.

Both boys look shocked at the email in front of them. They deny all knowledge. I keep a close eye on their faces as the video clip is played to them.

The video shows both of them sat side by side in the school TV studio. It is a long shot so that we can see both of them from head to toe. I had to use a split screen technique and merge two clips together to get the effect, but it’s impossible to see the join.

Dwain is dressed up like a toddler. He is wearing a pink dress, which is covered in lace on every edge. There is a classic Peter Pan collar, and short puffy sleeves. He’s also wearing a pink plastic bib with a teddy bear on the front. The skirt is very short and is puffed out with five layers of petticoats. His hairy legs are visible. Dwain is wearing short lace ankle socks and classic Mary Jane type shoes. The camera is angled so that it’s looking right up his skirt and the cloth diaper can clearly be seen, emphasised by the overly large safety pin holding it on. To finish the effect he is sucking a pacifier.

Freddy is sat next to him in an equally embarrassing outfit. He’s wearing a red skin-tight rubber cat suit, which has an overly large fake cleavage sticking out. It doesn’t look realistic. The suit includes a short miniskirt. Again, he is sat so that the camera can see up the skirt, revealing a thong. There is a slight bulge sticking out at his crotch, but it’s smaller than would be expected. He is holding his hands across his stomach because they are tied together with pink fluffy handcuffs. On his feet are bright red seven-inch platform stilettos. Clipped to his belt is a large leather whip.

This same scene is inserted as the photo in the email message.

After a few seconds, the scene changes to a close-up of Dwain’s face. It is a flawless rendition, my photographic memory allowing me to get every detail deadly accurate. Dwain is clearly recognisable, although he is wearing a degree of makeup. His lips are bright red and he has overdone blush on his cheeks in two red spots. The pacifier is gone.

“I, Dwain Scott, would like to say sorry for my naughtiness over the last few months. I have been a very bad boy, calling people bad names. I have been saying that some boys are sissies, when I’m a bigger sissy than they are,” he says, and then pauses before continuing, “I also snuck into the girls’ changing rooms to see them naked.” He smiles at that. “Mistress Winifred is going to punish me for my behaviour. I don’t mind, but I think she likes it.” Dwain frowns at that idea. I have deliberately chosen very childish language and he is speaking with a slight lisp fitting for a two-year-old girl.

The scene changes to Freddy. Again, his face is easily recognisable despite the hideously overdone makeup that makes him look like a hooker. He is smoking Cannabis. After taking a deep inhale, he removes it and exhales a puff of smoke. I am getting good with my projections. His hands are still tied together with the handcuffs.

“I’m Mistress Winifred, better known to most of you as Freddy Forrester. I would also like to apologise for assisting little Miss Dawn here to bully my fellow students. For my punishment, I will only flail myself twenty times each evening, instead of my usual forty. I also have to change Dawn’s diapers, not a very pleasant task. Whipping Dawn is just for fun.”

The video ends with another long shot of the both of them. A very large farting sound is heard and Dwain pouts and says, “Dawn needs a diaper change.” Freddy looks across disgustedly as the scene fades to black.

Both Dwain and Freddy’s faces have turned very pale as they sit and watch the video in silence. Neither can believe the footage before them.

Both are questioned by the Principal, but neither can provide answers. They deny all knowledge of making the video and sending it round the school, pointing out that they would never do that to themselves, as it’s social suicide, and that it has to be faked.

My name is mentioned as a possible suspect. Well, that was to be expected, I have just threatened to destroy them. I think I have successfully destroyed any street-cred they may have had.

Nobody can work out how it was done. They know when and where it was filmed, and the computer used to send it, the one in the TV Studio. They also know that it was Principal Edwards’s credentials used to log in. However, the room has been locked the whole time and nobody was seen entering or exiting the room. The studio is soundproofed, so nobody outside even realised the room was in use. Dimwit and Thicky were being interviewed by Mr Spencer while I was making the film, which unfortunately gives them an alibi.

Seeing Dimwit and Thicky in trouble again lightens my mood. Not only was it entertaining to watch, it’s also taken the heat off my own video incident earlier in the day. I decide that as I am here I might as well attend afternoon lessons. Well, not in person, but I can sit here and view the action.

As I am only remote viewing instead of projecting, I can take notes while I sit under the stage. I always carry a spare pen and small notepad in my coat pocket. I spend the afternoon watching my normal lessons. Come the end of the afternoon, I calm down and decide it’s time to face the music.

---

 
I am in no rush to leave school at the end of the day. I decide I can’t risk leaving the under-stage storeroom until the bell has gone, in case I get spotted wandering the corridors during lessons. Once the final bell of the day has gone, I then have to wait for all the students to pass before slipping out. The first thing I do after leaving my hiding place is dash as quickly as possible to the girls’ bathroom.

I haven’t been to the loo since break this morning and I have been drinking all afternoon from a large bottle of water. I have needed to pee for the last hour. I didn’t want to risk being spotted going to the loo by any teachers, having to pass by several classrooms. All the doors have windows in them, and I can’t risk being challenged, as Jennifer is not a student.

I take special care to enter the girls’ room instead of the boys’. I go into the bathroom to find that the three stalls are occupied and there are two other girls waiting. Both are jiggling slightly in desperation. I am seriously contemplating jumping up on one of the sinks when it’s finally my turn. I just manage to get my panties out of the way in time.

I quickly finish my business and leave the stall for the next girl to use. Queuing is not something I had been used to as a boy. Not wanting to engage in small talk I swiftly wash my hands and leave.

I head slowly towards the bike sheds. After checking that there is nobody I know hanging round, I unlock my bike and ride off. I don’t want any of my friends accusing me of stealing David’s bike.

Instead of riding straight home, I go for a long bike ride through the countryside to relax and clear my mind. I let my hair down and it blows in the wind behind me as I pedal along. I soon find that this puts a bit too much strain on my neck, so I end up with a ponytail again.

I finally get home at around six. I am just putting my bike away in the garage when my father reverses his car into the driveway.

“Where have you been?” he asks, sounding annoyed.

“School, followed by the scenic route home to help me relax from all the stress earlier,” I reply.

“You have been riding around for the last five hours?” he asks sarcastically as we both head into the kitchen.

“Of course not,” I answer, “School ends at half three remember. By the time I had been to the loo and collected my bike, it was getting on for four. I have been riding for a little over two hours.”

“You got chucked out of school at lunchtime!” My father shouts at me while making us both mugs of coffee.

“I remote viewed the lessons. I thought it would be easier than trying to catch up later,” I shrug as I get potatoes out of the cupboard beneath the draining board and start to peel them.

“Where from, you weren’t at the shop?” my father asks as he gets some chicken breasts out of the fridge. “Your aunt isn’t happy about your disappearing act.”

“If Aunt Janice had collected me as well as my projection I wouldn’t have needed to disappear. I stayed in the car as long as I could, but I do have a limited range. If she had been in a mood for listening, then I might have pointed out her mistake earlier. However all she seemed interested in was getting home as quickly as possible without any regard for why she had to collect us both,” I say as I put the potatoes in a pan to boil.

“When I was forced to leave the car, I left the shop and returned to school. I spent the afternoon hidden under the stage, as originally planned, remote viewing my lessons taking notes as appropriate,” I say waving my notebook in his direction.

“What the hell were you thinking trying to strangle another student?” he yells at me while throwing the chicken in a frying pan of hot oil.

“I wasn’t thinking. I was too angry and upset to think rationally,” I admit with a sigh, “did the school bother to tell you why I was so upset?”

“Something about Susan being hit by a stink bomb,” my father replies, “While it’s honourable that you should stick up for your friends and family, trying to kill somebody is not a proportionate response, young lady.”

“Oh, that was just the icing on the cake, the last straw that finally broke the camel’s back!” I reply angrily. “There was one of those things in my locker as well. Susan was just unlucky that she got to her locker first. However, that’s small in comparison to what I had to endure earlier. What would you have done if someone had played a video of you dressed as a girl, out walking with your sister, accompanied by the caption ‘John Palmer, perverted transvestite faggot’?”

I was now yelling at the top of my voice and was fighting back tears. I stormed out of the room and upstairs. I lay face down on my bed sobbing. I know girls tend to be more emotional, but this is becoming frustrating. I roll over onto my back and take some deep breaths.

“I would have found the person who did it and broken their nose,” my father says calmly from the doorway. “They didn’t tell me about that, however they said there were some details that needed to be discussed in person in the morning. We have a meeting before school tomorrow.”

I sit up and he sits down beside me, giving me a hug. I rest my head on his shoulder.

“Tell me what happened,” he whispers softly.

“It was during Mr Spencer’s English class. We have just read Macbeth and we were watching a film version for comparison. All of a sudden, the video changes to Susan and me walking down by the river. The video was taken of me in Jenny mode a few weeks ago before my change. Unfortunately, I am still recognisable as David in the video. Therefore, everybody could clearly see me in a dress. To make sure the words ‘David Palmer’ and ‘perverted transvestite faggot’ were superimposed on the clip. I was shocked and upset. I didn’t think it was worth denying so I admitted to being cross-dressed, but nothing further.”

“After class I had a discussion with Mr Spencer,” I continue, “I expressed my suspicion that Dwain Scott was behind the incident. I also admitted to living part time as a girl outside of school and that my family are aware of my gender preference.”

My father hugs me tighter, before motioning me back downstairs so that he can keep an eye on the cooking.

“Squirting stink bombs had been planted in the lockers belonging to me and Susan. I was able to disable mine, but not until after Susan had been covered in foul smelling liquid. I saw Freddy and Dwain laughing at us from down the corridor, and I lost control of my temper.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” my father chuckles, “But at least I can see why. You seem to be extra moody since your change.”

“You try having all your male hormones replaced with female ones and see how you are affected,” I state.

“No thanks!” he replies.

“For all I know I could be suffering from PMS,” I laugh.

“Seriously?” my father looks over at me with concern.

“How would I know? I’ve only been female a week. I assume I’m fully functional. Therefore, it’s bound to happen sometime soon, as will all the other monthly symptoms. I just don’t know when. Assuming I started a cycle when I transformed, I will probably have to start using those tampons in a little over a fortnight’s time.”

“Too much information,” my father steps back with his hands in the air, “you can go discuss that with Susan and Aunt Janice.”

I laugh at my father’s reaction, “Thanks!” I reply while getting some plates out to warm in the oven.

It’s not long before our evening meal is cooked and we sit down to eat. After washing the dishes, we settle down in the lounge. Instead of watching TV, my father decides we need to discuss the meeting with the school in the morning.

“Attacking another student should have meant an expulsion. I guess they took the stress you were under into account when suspending you for the afternoon,” my father reasons, “I guess they will probably let you back into class tomorrow.”

“That depends,” I say sheepishly, “there is something else I haven’t mentioned yet.”

“What did you do?” my father is looking at me with raised eyebrows.

“I sort of made my own video, and put them into the same position as me,” I guiltily admit. Within a few minutes I have my email open and on screen on my netbook.

My father reaches over and clicks the link to the video. The two of us sit and watch the clip.

“I take it you didn’t manage to coerce those two miscreants into doing this?” my father asks me.

“No, it’s me in both cases. I shot Dwain first, then Freddy, then merged the footage together so it looks like they are sitting together. Its similar to the technique Eddy Murphy used in the Nutty Professor. There is no evidence that I made the video, although I am probably prime suspect,” I answer as I download a copy of the video in case it’s deleted from the internet.

“Explaining how you managed that would not be a good idea,” my father opines, “unless the school figures it out, we don’t need to say anything. However as they aren’t going to punish you for this stunt then I will. You’re grounded for the next fortnight.”

“Dad!” I exclaim.

My father ignores me and clarifies the rules. “That means you only leave the house to go to school or when I give you direct permission. You come straight home and don’t have any visitors, except family. Also, no projecting yourself elsewhere and claiming you haven’t left the house because your body is still here.”

It’s not going to be that bad, as I don’t go out much anyway. My river walks were mainly for girl time anyhow, and I can live without them for a little while considering I am now a physical female. He said family was allowed over, so Susan can still keep me company.

We sit in silence for a while before I speak again, “I think I have probably been well and truly outed. Not only have at least twenty people seen me cross-dressed, I also shouted at Dimwit that I wasn’t a girl to be messed with. I think the grapevine will have ensured everybody will know by tomorrow. The only consolation is that my video will have diverted some of the attention onto Dimwit and Thicky as well.”

My father nods his agreement and waits for me to continue.

“They may decide to give me the option to attend school as a girl. We have a tight equal opportunities policy. They wouldn’t want to be seen to discriminate against me by denying me the ability to present how I choose,” I reason, “However I don’t want to attend as David in a dress. Standard procedure for transsexuals would be to make them use separate toilet and changing facilities, not that I would be using them anyway. I don’t want that stigma hanging over me.”

“I will only go to school as Jenny if it’s unconditionally as a girl, without projection,” I declare, “That isn’t going to happen. I would rather have a fresh start where there is no history of being male, even if I have to drop out of school this year and start again next year in the year below. However, in order to do that we need to sort me out with a proper legal identity.”

“I still haven’t worked out how to do that,” my father answers. “Turning up at a doctors and getting them to examine you would prove you are female, but how can we then explain your sudden change, or even prove you are who we say you are? Your ability to project is astonishing, but it wouldn’t pass a full medical examination. They couldn’t take a blood sample for example.”

“I did wonder about that,” I say, “if I collapsed as David, complaining of stomach pains in order to fake being intersexed with a blocked uterus, they would have to operate in order to fix the problem. However, it wouldn’t work, I don’t think I can do a convincing enough projection of internal organs to fool a surgeon. Also, my boy bits would vanish as soon as they are cut off. That’s even assuming I can fool an X-ray or MRI scanner.”

“I think we can safely reject that idea as a plan,” my father agrees. “I have been discussing the problem with your Uncle. He may be able to help us. One of his school friends is now a qualified lawyer and works in the District Attorney’s office. Richard has suggested contacting his friend and discussing the problem with him. He could keep the conversation fairly anonymous to start with and not identify you until necessary.”

“Do you think that this person can be trusted?” I ask.

“Yes, Robert Turner is well-known in the community and is recognized for his stance on justice for all. From what I have read about his history online, before joining the D.A.’s Office he represented a number of individuals in cases related to discrimination and harassment, including several related to homophobia,” my father states. “Richard goes out drinking with him about once a month. He trusts Robert and believes he may be able to help with the legal aspects.”

“OK, in that case let’s see what advice he can give us,” I reply.

---

 

We get up half an hour earlier in the morning, as we have to meet my teachers before school starts. Having dropped me off at the shop so I can project my boy self again, we continue to the school, arriving shortly before our half past eight appointment.

When we arrive there is a lot of commotion happening. I then see the reason. Dwain Scott is on the roof of the building, sitting near the edge, crying. He is two stories up on a section of flat roof over the main school offices.

Quickly remote viewing the area I see that he must have used an access door to the roof round the side of the building. The door is blocked from the outside and a number of staff members are trying to gain access to the roof.

Several teachers, including the principal, are trying to persuade him to get away from the edge and come down. He is ignoring them and seems quite content to sit and stare into space while sobbing. Dwain is clearly very upset, and is sitting in a dangerous position. He doesn’t appear to be making any effort to jump off the roof.

Mary is one of the onlookers. I go over to where she is standing and ask her what happened. It seems some of the other students have been teasing Dwain about his appearance in the video. I’m not the only person he’s been annoying, and many others are using the opportunity to get their own back on him. The video I made did stitch him up in a way that is hard to discredit as fake.

It seems that about five minutes ago he flipped and stormed off on the point of tears. Freddy tried to stop him, but he shoved him over into some lockers and fled up to the roof.

Without further thought, I slip to one side. After checking that the coast is clear, I project myself on top of the building. I appear crouching down and out of sight of any observers on the ground.

I quickly and silently move across to Dwain. Before he has chance to react to my presence, I grab him from behind, pulling him backwards. He ends up lying on his back on top of me in a bear hug.

“Oh no you don’t, mister,” I say to the startled boy, “I’m not letting you jump off any buildings while I’m around.”

“Let go of me you freak!” he shouts at me in vain. “My life is over thanks to you. You’re responsible for that video clip on YouTube. Nobody else hates me that much to go to the effort of faking it so well.”

“You’re right, I do hate you!” I exclaim. “If you stopped being such an annoying arsehole perhaps you wouldn’t alienate everyone.”

“Because of you I am now the laughing stock of the entire school,” he articulates, “I will never live this down.”

“Stop being so melodramatic, I’m in exactly the same position as you are. In fact, for me it’s worse. I’ve been outed as a cross-dresser. You can just claim it’s a joke, or that you were forced into making it against your will. I have no excuse for explaining walking by the river en femme. Are you going to deny inserting that clip into Macbeth? Those squirting stink bomb things didn’t appear by themselves. You only have yourself to blame,” I reply.

“The video wasn’t anything to do with me! What benefit would I get from showing something like that?” he replies.

I get the nasty feeling that I may have gone too far in publishing the video without confirming who outed me. I simply assumed he was behind it. In truth, it isn’t his modus operandi. If he had such a video, then he would have been more likely to try to blackmail me, like before. Besides, he isn’t exactly the most computer literate of people.

I note he didn’t deny planting the stink bombs. They are much more his style. Freddy’s father is a locksmith, which could explain how they knew how to get the lockers open.

I continue, “I have been putting up with crap from you and Freddy for months, all you are getting is a taste of your own medicine and you can’t handle it. You’re pathetic!”

“If you are trying to talk me out of jumping you’re doing a lousy job,” he shouts at me angrily, struggling more than before.

“Unlike you, I actually have a conscience, and I can’t just stand by and watch you hurt yourself without feeling at least partially guilty for pushing you into it. I’m doing this for my benefit, not yours,” I reply.

Following the Dirty Harry discipline of suicide prevention, I continue, “Besides, if you did decide to jump off, it would make a bloody mess on the pristine concrete below. Not to mention you could land on and injure one of the spectators. I have seen someone being killed close-up before, it’s not a pleasant experience.”

He is still struggling and flailing his legs around trying to kick me. It appears my attempts to talk him down have failed. I therefore rely on my backup plan of using brute force. I hastily bring my knee up between his legs, swiftly engaging my thigh with his testicles. This has the effect of subduing him due to the sudden pain. He grabs his crotch. I roll him sideways onto the roof and loosen my grip. He is now lying on my left arm, which I quickly free from under him by removing its density. I continue to roll Dwain until he is face down, and then kneel on him, placing my right knee in the middle of his back.

During our time on the roof, a police car has pulled up, sirens blazing. I call down to the officers, “Can I borrow some handcuffs?” One of them throws a pair up to me, which I catch, and I quickly handcuff Dwain’s right wrist to his left ankle behind his back. He is still too distracted by the pain in his groin to mount an effective fight back. Once cuffed, I start to drag him over towards the blocked door, away from the edge of the roof. He tries to struggle and resist further.

“Stop it,” I say, kicking him lightly in the stomach, “Behave and I might not inflict any permanent damage.”

I was going to head over to unblock the door, however this isn’t required as the people inside manage to force their way out onto the roof. They quickly come over and get hold of Dwain. One of them is a police officer, presumably the partner of the one on the ground. He releases the cuffs and puts them on properly while Coach Sanders and Coach Mitchell hang onto an arm each. Both of our sports teachers are large, strong people and Dwain is no match for their combined strength.

Dwain is quickly frogmarched down off the roof and toward the nurse’s office.

“How did you get up here?” the police officer asks me.

“I can climb,” I reply simply, hoping he won’t query it further. I follow the two coaches and Dwain off the roof, and the officer follows on behind after glancing around.

I meet up with my father at reception, who asks, “Nice moves, how come he was ever a problem to you in the first place if you were able to beat him up so easily?”

“Projections don’t bruise,” I answer softly, “It’s easy to win when you don’t have to worry about getting hurt. In addition, he seems a lot less intimidating in his current state. I don’t know if he was seriously thinking of jumping, but he seems to be dangerously depressed. He is usually a lot more boisterous and full of energy. Part of his problem is that he is quite often hyperactive.”

He nods and we both sit down on the easy chairs in reception. My father tells me that we will be seen soon, however dealing with Dwain has become a priority. A few minutes later Dwain is escorted to an ambulance by the police, and taken away. I hope they can help him.

Shortly afterwards we are called into a meeting room. The Principal, Mr Spencer, and Mr Francis, my homeroom teacher, are present.

“Sorry for the delay, you saw what happened with Dwain. Thank you for subduing him. How did you get up on the roof so quickly?” Mr Edwards, our principal, asks, “I saw you arrive and speak to Mary, then when I looked back round you were on the roof pulling Dwain to safety.”

I decide to dodge the question, “I couldn’t stand and watch, especially as my actions yesterday may have contributed to his state of mind. If anybody has a right to be upset, I do, not him. He’s just getting a taste of what he’s been putting me through for the last few months.”

“We heard what was said on the roof,” Mr Edwards replies, “Does that involvement have anything to do with the video that is now circulating via email? Is he right to accuse you of making it? Somehow I don’t think Dwain and Freddy would willingly put a film of themselves in a compromising position on the internet.”

“How exactly could I have made it?” I ask back, trying to divert the subject without answering the question. “I don’t have enough influence over those two to force them to appear in it. If I did then I could have stopped their annoyance months ago.”

Mr Edwards pauses, thinking about my response. As I suspect, unless I admit it they can’t pin anything on me.

“Let’s ignore the video of Mr Scott for the moment,” Mr Edwards continues, “and concentrate on what happened to you. We haven’t been able to prove who made and swapped the DVDs, and it doesn’t make a difference to your current situation. The rumour going round yesterday afternoon after the video and your outburst at Mr Scott is that you want to be a girl and like to dress as one. Are the rumours true?”

“I can be regarded as transgendered,” I answer, “I have identified myself as female for as long as I can remember, despite being outwardly male in appearance. I take it the video and my actions yesterday have well and truly outed me.”

“Screaming that you’re not a girl to be messed with did attract a lot of attention,” Mr Spencer confirms, “combined with your effeminate appearance and mannerisms, a number of students have put two and two together.”

“Is it your intention to start to come to school as a female student now that your secret has been revealed?” Mr Edwards asks.

“I haven’t made a decision on my future yet. There are certain legal and medical issues to be resolved. All this has happened so quickly. I had considered trying to transition over the summer break. I don’t want to attend as a girl while obviously being male. I would rather wait until such a time that I could convince people who don’t know my history that I’m a girl. I also want to see what level of abuse I am going to be subjected too. I may simply decide to drop out or seek transfer to another school if necessary, although I would rather stay here.”

“Mr Palmer, do you support your child’s position?” Mr Edwards asks my father.

“Yes, she is perfectly capable of making her own decisions when it comes to her future,” my father replies, “We will be seeking legal and medical advice before any further changes are made. We have already discussed this and it will be David attending for the foreseeable future, rather than his feminine alter ego.”

“I see,” Mr Edwards replies, “In that case I must ask you to let me know before turning up dressed as a girl, as this may cause disruption to classes. Do not attempt to enter any girls’ bathrooms or changing facilities. I note that you have already been temporarily excluded from physical education and this is duly being made permanent. As your safety cannot be guaranteed out of sight in the boys’ bathrooms, and I suspect you don’t feel comfortable using them anyway, you may use the unisex disabled toilets that are normally off-limits to able-bodied students. The one opposite reception is invisible from the office, so you won’t run into trouble if you use that. I will make all staff aware that you will be using these from now on.”

I nod at his instructions.

“If you receive any abuse please talk to a member of staff. A notice is being read out in all homerooms this morning reminding students that we run an equal opportunities policy in this school. I am making specific mention of discrimination and bullying based on sexual and gender preferences. However, I am not mentioning any names.”

He hands me a copy of the notice. While it doesn’t specifically name anyone, it is obvious that it is connected to yesterday’s incidents. While it doesn’t state that we have any transgendered students, it does stipulate that any intolerance against such people won’t be tolerated. It’s evident that such a statement wouldn’t be being made unless one of the students could be considered in that category.

It’s decided that no further action will be taken against me regarding my outburst yesterday, as it was out of character, and I was under stress from the earlier incident.

The meeting quickly ends. We all shake hands and depart our separate ways. Mr Spencer heads in the direction of his homeroom, my father leaves for work, and I accompany Mr Francis to our homeroom.

As we walk in the door, one of my fellow students, Kate Harris, slaps a pair of handcuffs onto my left wrist, binding us both together.

---

 
Kate is a blonde girl who despite being very intelligent also lacks common sense. She tends to act without thinking things through. I suspect this might be the case with the handcuffs. A number of dumb blonde jokes could certainly be applied to her. In fact, she seems to like to play to the stereotype.

“Miss Harris, what are you doing?” Mr Francis asks her.

“I saw David up on the roof with Dwain. I was worried for his emotional stability, so thought it a good idea to put him on suicide watch. Research shows that witnessing one suicide attempt can prompt other vulnerable people to try,” Kate replies.

“I was the one pulling Dwain away from the edge, I wasn’t about to jump off myself. I am definitely not suicidal,” I respond, placing my hands on my hips.

“Where did you get the handcuffs, and do you have the key?” Mr Francis asks.

“I keep the handcuffs handy to lock up my little brother if he misbehaves. Threatening to cuff him usually prevents him from being a pest. The keys are in my sister’s car, she will be picking me up at the end of the day,” Kate replies.

While Kate is talking to Mr Francis, she is not looking at the handcuffs. I quickly grab the handcuff and cover it with my right hand. I remove my left hand and wave it behind Kate’s head before putting it back in place. The only person in the room who fails to see this is Kate. The rest of the room is now stifling laughter. Mr Francis raises his eyebrows at me.

I decide to see just how far Kate has thought this through. This could be just the thing to lighten the mood from the dark cloud that has descended via Dwain. Laughter is supposed to be the best medicine, unless you have bruised ribs, in which case it’s not such a good idea.

“It’s all right Mr Francis,” I say, “I am quite willing to spend the next six and a half hours handcuffed to Kate. I only had a small cup of coffee this morning so I can probably wait until after school to use the bathroom. Although I honestly don’t mind if she has to watch if the need arises. I’m sure Kate either has already planned how to avoid using the facilities, or doesn’t mind being watched.” I wink at Mr Francis to let him know I’m winding her up.

I turn to Kate and continue, “Actually I’ve always wondered if you’re a natural blonde, I hope I get a chance to find out,” I smile and look down at her crotch. Kate is now looking very sheepish, and slightly worried. Water suddenly starts flowing down one of the sinks of the science lab we are in, for which someone quickly apologises after knocking the faucet with their elbow.

“OK, fine, you two can stay chained together for the rest of the day. I will write you a note explaining the situation to the other teaching staff,” Mr Francis says to us, trying not to laugh. “Kate, if you end up in an embarrassing position, then you only have yourself to blame. Perhaps next time you will learn to think before you act.”

I can see the note Mr Francis writes with my remote vision, although I have already guessed its contents. It explains why we are chained together and that I can free myself at any time. He hands me the note and then takes roll call.

Mr Francis omits Dwain’s name from the register. Freddy asks what has happened to Dwain, and Mr Francis states that he has been taken to hospital. He then reads out the notice that the Principal talked to us about. As we are running late, homeroom is slightly shorter than usual, and we are soon off to our various classes. Kate and I have the same schedule today, so at least there won’t be an issue with lessons.

Apart from being handcuffed to a dumb blonde, the day is turning out to be incident free. My attack on Dwain yesterday, the drama over Dwain’s escapade on the roof, and the warnings from the notice, mean that nobody is willing to confront me directly. I’m mainly given the silent treatment, something that doesn’t bother me. There are whispers behind my back, but these I simply ignore.

Freddy is having the same issue, however being one of the largest boys in the year means that he isn’t likely to be picked on anyway, at least by our year group. He could be at risk from older students, but even then, he is known to be a strong individual. My video portrays him as a masochist who enjoys pain, which doesn’t contradict his reputation for being tough.

I hand the note to the teachers at the start of the first two lessons, and in each case, they smile and return the note without comment. Lessons progress as normal, with slight adjustments to seating arrangements where necessary. Kate can write with her left hand, so isn’t having a problem having her right hand handcuffed to my left wrist.

I keep my eye on Kate, and by the end of the second hour, she is starting to show signs of discomfort.

At the start of break time, I offer Kate a trip to the bathroom, but she refuses, stating she’s fine. I’m not convinced. Our friends offer her a drink and she initially refuses. However, they are able to convince her to have half a cup to stop dehydration. Unfortunately, they keep topping it up when she isn’t looking. I think Kate must have drunk about three glasses by the end of break.

There is a sweepstake going on amongst several of the students as to how long she can last before she has to pee. There are also bets going on as to if I will actually watch, or will let her go from the handcuffs. I again ask if she needs the loo before the third lesson starts, and again she refuses the offer.

By halfway through the next lesson it is becoming obvious to everyone watching that Kate is getting desperate. I am getting concerned that she may not make it to lunchtime. Even the teacher comments, however Kate insists that she is fine. I decide it is time to end this silliness before we end up with a puddle on the floor. I slip my wrist out of the handcuff and attach it so that both ends are round Kate’s right wrist.

“You don’t have to pee yourself on my behalf. It’s obvious you urgently need to go,” I tell her.

She glances at me, then at the teacher, and then makes a dash for the door. I keep an eye on her remotely to ensure she makes it OK. I don’t invade her privacy, but watch from outside the stall.

Kate returns just before the end of lesson. She is slightly red in the face, but looks a lot more relaxed than before. The lesson ends without further incident. Kate thanks me after the bell rings for letting her go. I tell her everybody knew I could get out of the cuffs, and that was the only reason the teachers allowed it to go on. I couldn’t have gone into the toilet with her without getting into serious trouble.

I use the excuse of going home for lunch to disappear without questions from the others. They agree that I can’t be got at while not physically present. I assure my friends, with Susan’s help, that the journey will not leave me as a target on the street. In fact, Susan and I both now have passes to leave, and we plan to eat together at the shop.

It’s slightly frustrating for both of us that I can’t stay and eat with my friends. I try to argue with Susan that she should stay, rather than burden herself being alone with me, but she insists this is OK. It means that she can catch a quick nap at lunchtime as well, something not usually possible.

Not being able to have lunch with my friends is starting to become tiresome. I am seriously considering letting Tracy and Mary in on my secret. I really want to start to have more experiences as a girl, and to do that I need to be around girls my own age. I have had limited opportunity to talk with Mary and Tracy in private, but both of them seem supportive of me and don’t appear to be bothered about my wanting to be a girl. They understand the reason behind keeping such a secret hidden, although I can tell they are disappointed not to have been told earlier.

During the last lesson of the day, one of the office staff comes and gives me a message from my father. He is going to pick me up after school, and I should wait for him out front.

Father picks me up after school and takes me to a private clinic out of town. My family have called in some favours to get me a medical and start the paperwork to turn me into a girl. With him is Robert Turner, an old school friend of Uncle Richard’s. Mr Turner is now a senior figure in the District Attorney’s office.

I first undergo a thorough gynaecological examination by a female doctor. Mr Turner then asks them to sign an affidavit stating my physical characteristics as being female instead of male. They query the need, but he tells them that my birth certificate states I am male, something he is trying to fix.

They sign the document to state that under medical examination I have the outward appearance of being female. This is backed up with X-rays, MRI and ultrasound evidence, signed and dated by the medical staff.

DNA samples are then taken of both my father and me. I am slightly concerned at this, as they are trying to prove my identity by relating me to my father as an only child. I’m not sure how deep my change has been, could my DNA have rewritten itself? Apparently, we will find out, as DNA taken from hair left in my old comb is also sent for analysis.

Before leaving, Mr Turner takes several passport-style photos of my new appearance.

Later that evening I make a decision to do something about the video I posted on the internet. I have gone too far and pushed Dwain past breaking point. I therefore decide to prove it’s a fake, not something that is going to be easy, considering how well I have made it in the first place.

I enlist my father’s help after we get home from the clinic. My digital camera is capable of taking short movies as well as photos.

The video clip starts with Dwain, as he appeared in the previous video, sitting down in front of the camera. The hair on his head is lifted off, revealing it’s a wig. Cold cream is then applied to his face. Once cleaned off with a sponge, a darker skin tone is revealed. Two pieces of rubber are removed from the nose, to uncover a smaller one beneath. Finally, a skullcap is removed, revealing the persons hair. Instead of Dwain sitting in front of the camera, there is now a young Asian girl.

For comic effect this whole process is repeated several times, first Dwain is revealed to be an Asian girl, then an Inuit boy, then a young African-Caribbean girl, then a Chinese girl, then finally, Bugs Bunny saying, “You didn’t expect that one coming, did-ya?” while chewing on a carrot.

This is set to music, specifically Guaglione by Perez Prado*. My father suggests the music. It was by the same person who wrote Mambo No. 5, and was used in a British beer commercial he had seen while travelling as a student.

I add a large annotation over the original video saying ‘This is a fake — see the video response’. I then upload the new video as a reply to the original. I had opened a new YouTube account for uploading the first video without being traced. I notice several of my fellow students have subscribed to this new identity, so I know this will soon be making the rounds at school.

The next two days are fairly quiet. I’m not being openly attacked, but there is a lot of hostility in the air. As I suspect, the new video clip is being circulated and I overhear a number of people discussing how it could have been done, and whom the people in the video are. I have deliberately modelled the faces from photos on the internet, so that they’re not based on any fellow students.

There is a small incident when the drama club announce that Romeo and Juliet will be their production this year. One smart Alec, Alec Wilson to be precise, suggests I should take the part of Juliet.

“I would be happy to take the part, however the person cast as Romeo might object, or are you going for the part so that you can snog me on stage?” I reply, puckering my lips and fluttering my eyelashes at him. His original comment has gained a few giggles, but my reply sends many people into hysterics. I can take a joke or two, as long as things don’t turn physical.

Things come to a head again on the Friday. It is during the first half of the afternoon when the rest of my class are in the gym. I’m reading in the library when three large lads from the year above come in. The librarian isn’t in today as she is off sick. This means I’m alone in the library until they turn up. I briefly had trouble with them in the past, and they often call me a sissy. However, they usually don’t bother me too much.

“What have we here lads?” the shortest, but widest, of the three, Terry, asks, “Looks like we have a perverted faggot on the loose in the library.”

“With Mrs Baker not about, there is no one for you to run to either, Daisy isn’t it?” Mike adds.

I try to ignore them, but they all decide to surround me and stare.

“It certainly looks girly enough. Almost had me thinking it was a girl,” the third, Ben, snidely remarks.

“Leave me alone,” I state calmly.

“What you going to do about it?” Mike asks.

“I have several options, all of which will land you in detention if I complain loudly enough,” I serenely tell them.

“Figures, a snitch as well as a perv’,” Terry snarkily replies.

I stand up and face them. Terry and Mike are in front of me, and I can see Ben edging round behind me. I can guess what is going to happen next, but they can’t.

Ben has bent down behind me and Mike goes to push me over backwards, the intention being that I will fall over Ben and end upside down on the floor. I have already made myself into a ghost with no solid form, and quickly sidestep to the right as Mike lunges at me. The net result is that Mike falls on top of Ben on the floor. None of them notices that he partially falls through my body. If I had been solid, he would have clipped me and I would have gone down as well.

Terry then decides to try a left hook at me. I lean back slightly in reaction, as his fist passes through my face by several inches, however from his point of view he doesn’t realise. This throws him off balance and I shove him as he wobbles and he falls backwards over the chair I had been sitting on.

I quickly run round the table so that they are all the other side from me, as they all get back to their feet. There is still no sign of any teachers so they continue to have another go at me.

“Come here you queer,” Ben barks at me as he comes round the table. I back away towards the door.

“Stop now and I’ll forget this, continue and I’ll make sure you’re expelled,” I warn.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Terry taunts me, edging closer.

I have had enough of toying with them. I sigh as I take a small round object out of my pocket and throw it to the floor. Before they can grab me, there is a flash of light and a loud bang. When the smoke clears, I have vanished. Three very confused looking boys are left standing in an empty library.

I have been practicing that exit for a few days at home. I couldn’t go out as I have been grounded, so I’ve been amusing myself with perfecting magic tricks using my projection. I discovered that I could project a smoke bomb.

I still haven’t been able to master projecting in more than one location at a time, so the bomb has to stay attached to my body, or it vanishes. To stop it disappearing as soon as it leaves my hand, I keep it attached to my body by a thread of cotton tied to my finger. I can summon the bomb from my pocket, and throw it at the floor. The flash of light it emits, and the bang, hide my disappearance. I found I could simulate smoke for a few seconds as long as it is in a solid cloud that fades from view in one piece. As soon as the bomb hits the ground I turn my body into smoke, let it billow upwards in a mushroom cloud, and fade out after a few seconds.

The loud noise causes one of the teachers from a nearby classroom to investigate. The boys have passes to be in the library, so are let off being out of class, but they have to do some quick talking to cover themselves. They are ultimately let off with a warning about disturbing other lessons. I am watching remotely and only return after they have left.

I decide to get my own back later in the evening by making another video. Considering the trouble the last one caused, I tone down the embarrassment factor slightly and keep it humorous. I don’t email this one round, I just rely on the people who have subscribed to the channel to pick it up. Apparently, they like to sing karaoke as they do an excellent rendition of It’s raining men while dressed as young attractive weather girls.

*http://youtu.be/Y_ShCX_JAbg - Guaglione by Perez Prado

---

 
Saturday morning is grocery shopping as usual. I go with my Father, Aunt Janice, and Susan to the supermarket to fill up with food for the coming week. My Uncle is working again this morning. It’s mid-morning by the time we get home and have all the purchases put away.

Aunt Janice suggests we pay a visit to the local swimming pool, as we haven’t been there in a while. My father agrees that it’s a good idea, and lets me go despite being grounded. Before my change, I hadn’t been keen on using public changing rooms. I felt out of place in the men’s locker-room, and I wasn’t comfortable with my chest bare, especially considering my I was starting to develop gynomastasia.

Now that I can use the women’s locker-room, and wear a proper girl’s costume, I’m not bothered. In fact I’m looking forward to just being accepted for what I am. I think Aunt Janice wants to keep an eye on me to make sure I behave correctly, and don’t ogle the women getting undressed.

The first thing on the agenda is going to be buying a swimming costume. There is no way I can use any of my old swimming trunks, unless I want to be arrested that is. After lunch, we called in at Platterns department store to find me something to wear.

I decide for my first outing I will buy something slightly conservative and go for a one-piece rather than a bikini. Although I am proud of my new body, and don’t mind showing it off, I’m not convinced the tiny bits of fabric in some of the costumes on display will stay in place. I find a nice one-piece suit in red that seems to suit my figure. It doesn’t show off a lot of skin, but it is very figure-hugging to show off my new curves.

Satisfied with my purchase we head to the local pool. It’s just Susan, Aunt Janice, and me. My Father has stayed home to do some gardening. I think he believes I need some female bonding time.

Aunt Janice and Susan are already wearing their costumes under their clothes, so I am the only one who has to change fully. Having paid the entrance fee, we head into the locker rooms to change. I’m not fazed in the slightest by being surrounded by half-naked women, and simply proceed to get undressed, ignoring what is going on around me. I do catch my aunt glancing at me. Susan has already seen my new body naked, but this is the first time for my aunt.

Having gotten into my new costume, and locking my clothes into a locker, I follow my companions out to the poolside. I tie my towel to one of the railings round the edge of the pool, and then walk into the water.

The pool is quite large, although not up to Olympic size. It has a slope that comes right out of the water. It is a favourite for disabled visitors as there are special wheelchairs that can be pushed down the slope into the water. It’s also popular with families as the water depth slowly increases from zero at one end to full depth. It’s ideal for small children. It’s almost like being on a beach, but without the nasty currents to deal with. A wave machine is started up for ten minutes every hour to give a realistic seaside experience. The only thing spoiling the effect is the lack of any sand.

I wade in and walk until the water is up to my neck. It’s at least a year since I last went swimming, and it’s the first time in this new body, so I take my time to get used to the water. It takes me a quarter of an hour to get used to my new buoyancy. Fat people float better than thin ones. I used to be slightly tubby and could float well. Now I’m a lot skinnier my legs and waist don’t float as well, however my chest seems to act as a floatation device so keeps me from sinking totally.

I have never been a good swimmer. Once I get used to the feel of the water and my new body I am able to swim for short lengths, however I don’t dare leave my depth.

After an hour and a half swimming, we head back to the changing rooms. I make doubly sure to go into the right one. The three of us remove our costumes and head into the communal showers to rinse off the chlorinated water from the pool. Standing amongst a group of naked women seems so natural to me. I was always tense when doing this as a boy and would get in and out as quickly as possible, but here I feel relaxed and Susan has to drag me out from underneath the refreshing spray.

I make sure I am thoroughly dry and apply some sweet smelling talc before getting dressed. I am wearing a white long sleeve top over a white bra and camisole. I have a green pleated skirt with a white slip underneath. I wear transparent nylons and a pair of black shoes.

I have washed my hair in the shower and have it wrapped in a towel while getting dressed. I dry it as best as I can then put it in a high ponytail so it won’t fall down and make my back damp. I take the longest to get changed. My aunt comments that I am worse than Susan for dawdling in front of a mirror. I simply ignore her, of course I’m going to take longer than I used too, I’m a girl now, that’s what we do.

We head out to the car and drive home. My aunt seems happy, so I assume I met her expectations and behaved correctly. I decide to query this as she drives.

“Well, do I present myself OK as a girl? I assume you were worried I would behave like a boy and get a kick out of seeing naked ladies,” I ask.

“If I didn’t know I would never be able to tell. Not that anybody can argue with a body like yours. You definitely don’t look like a boy anymore. You acted so naturally it’s as if you have always been a girl.”

“I have always been a girl, it’s just that my body took some time to get the message and get in sync with my brain,” I reply.

“Yes, I agree, I think that’s a good way of putting it,” my aunt says, “How are you coping with being a girl, I assume I don’t need to give you a biology lesson.”

“I have made sure to read up on the subject, and I know exactly which bits are which and what to expect each month,” I reply, slightly embarrassed, “I’ve only been a girl for a fortnight and haven’t had to go through the icky bit yet. I already have the materials at hand to cope when the time comes. I’m not worried about the biological aspect.”

“What I am finding strange, and what concerns me more, is the emotional aspect and the mood swings. I know it’s something I will simply need to get used to, but I’m a lot more emotional now than I was a few weeks ago. I think it’s the effect of the female hormones,” I reason, “I also have the added consideration of projecting my old form. If I get too distracted either emotionally or physically by cramps or pains, I may not be able to continue pretending to be David.”

Susan decides to join the conversation, “I haven’t mentioned this before, but emotionally you have changed over the last few weeks. You’re showing emotion a lot more than before. You’re also acting much more girlish, even before you were outed. Several of the girls have commented about it.”

“I have always tried to act manly, but since the change I haven’t been as motivated to be as careful. Since being outed I have simply given up pretending and just acted naturally,” I admit. “It’s the same with showing my feelings. I always tried to keep them suppressed, but not anymore. However, my hormones are definitely playing a part as well,” I smile.

I have a nice long lie-in on Sunday morning, followed by a nice relaxing bubble bath. After a good soak, I dry off and put my dressing gown on. My hair is wrapped up in a towel. I head downstairs where my father is making some coffee. It is already nearly eleven o’clock.

Susan knocks on the back door and enters the kitchen.

“How do you fancy going for a walk down the river,” she asks. “Becky is driving her mother mad. I have volunteered to take her out for a little while and wondered if you would like to come. We can introduce her to Jenny.”

“Sounds like a good idea, I need to stretch my legs having spent the week sitting down pretending to be David,” I reply, “Is Becky OK walking with her leg in plaster?” I ask. Her left leg is plastered up to her knee and she is currently walking with crutches.

“She’ll be fine as long as we keep on solid flat ground. I have already checked with Audrey and she’s OK with us taking her for a walk as long as we take it easy,” Susan counters. Audrey is Becky’s mother.

After confirming with my Father that it will be all right to go out, I get dressed in a denim skirt, white blouse, long white socks and hiking boots. The boots are the new ones I got specifically for walking round the countryside. They may not be very girly, but they are very practical. I put a fleece on to keep warm and put on a straw sun hat and sunglasses.

We head round to pick Becky up. I am introduced as Jenny, a friend of Susan’s. Susan casually asks Becky if she has been to the loo before we set out. Becky is not amused, giving Susan a dirty look, but politely states that she has. I am not supposed to know that Becky broke her leg while sitting on a tree branch having a pee. When I ask how she came to break her leg, I am told that she was out walking and fell down a slope.

The three of us head out through the alleyways behind the houses and out into the countryside. We soon join the footpath that runs alongside the bank of the river. The river is to our right, meandering through marshland on which sheep are grazing. To our left is woodland on the slope of the river valley. We walk along a raised soil bank that separates the river from the marsh, the top of which is a footpath. It hasn’t rained in a few days so the soil is hard and dusty. Although slightly uneven, Becky has no problem hopping along on her crutches. There is no danger of slipping or sinking in mud as the ground is too dry.

After ten minutes, I get the feeling we are being watched. I glance over the river and catch a glint in the corner of my eye. I take a closer look with my remote vision. I see somebody filming us through a zoom lens on a digital camera. It’s one of our classmates, Stephanie Miller. I suddenly realise exactly where on the river we’re walking. This is nearly the exact spot that the video of the old me dressed as a girl was taken.

Becky is a couple of yards ahead of Susan and me. I lean over and whisper into Susan’s ear, “We are being watched, I think David needs to stroll along the other bank.”

Then aloud I call to Becky. “Take a left at the next gate, there is a nice clearing in the woods where we can take a short break.”

We head into the clearing and I spread a blanket so we can lie down. Susan deliberately puts herself in the middle between Becky and me. We take out the bottles we have brought with us and sip our drinks. I lie down on my back and pull my hat over my face. While Susan keeps Becky distracted, I project myself over the river.

Stephanie is still on the other side of the river with her camera. I appear behind her as David. Although I am projecting as David, it’s David as a girl. I am dressed the same way as I was in the video taken a few weeks ago.

“Hello Stephanie, looking for me?” I ask. I have obviously caught Stephanie by surprise as I make her jump. She stumbles forward and drops her camera. I catch it before it hits the ground.

“What are you doing here, pervert?” she screams at me angrily.

“I could ask you the same question,” I say waving her camera at her. “Do I take it that you were responsible for that video of me appearing at school? Somehow I didn’t think Dimwit was clever enough for that trick.”

“Stay away from me you perverted freak,” Stephanie shouts, stepping backwards away from me, pulling out a pepper spray and pointing it in my direction.

“What’s the matter, what do you think I am going to do to you? I hardly pose a physical threat. You’re stronger and fitter than I am. Also according to you I am only interested in boys, so I wouldn’t want to rape you, or do you now doubt your own accusations?” I ask her, grinning menacingly.

“Stay back. I don’t know what goes through your sick twisted head,” she replies, “The way you mince your way around school shouts at you being gay, but I wouldn’t put it past you to try to sneak into girls’ locker rooms so that you can catch a peek. Why else try to pass yourself off as a girl?”

“Perhaps because I am one, a girl I mean, have you never heard the terms transgendered or transsexual?” I ask, “People who identify as being the opposite gender to their physical sex. There are thousands of people undergoing sex changes each year.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean it’s right,” Stephanie retorts, “Abortion is legal but can still be classed as murder.” She stares at me, looking me up and down as if I am a piece of stinking garbage. “You’re a disgusting pervert. You should be locked up. I don’t know how you haven’t been expelled from school yet.”

“If being a girl was grounds for expulsion, then half the students, including yourself, would have been expelled,” I reply. Before she can cut me off and say, ‘you’re not a girl’, I quickly continue. “Our school has a strict equal opportunities policy. They can’t discriminate based on gender, sexual orientation, race, or any other factor. I could be a green-skinned lesbian from Mars, and they would still treat me the same as any other student. They did ask me if I wanted to attend as a girl, but I declined the offer, as I’m not yet ready. I have enough problems as it is without the constant laughter of being seen as a boy in a dress.”

“That’s just political correctness taken too far. You try and come to school as a girl and the uproar you would cause in the community would force the school to chuck you out,” Stephanie spits at me angrily.

“I doubt it,” I reply, “and if you start stirring up trouble it will be you who ends up expelled. I am not going to let you intimidate me, Stephanie. Now take your camera and get out of here and stop trying to spy on me.”

I hold my arm out and she snatches the camera from me, and backs away, keeping the pepper spray aimed at my face.

“I suggest you look where you are going, I don’t want to have to fish you out of the river if you fall in,” I call to her. She turns round and starts sprinting down the path. I vanish before she has chance to look back.

I sit up on the blanket where Susan and Becky are talking. I get up and stretch my legs. “Shall we continue our walk?” I ask my companions.

We resume our hike and arrive home shortly after one in the afternoon. We part company with Becky, who heads inside for lunch, and carry on to Susan’s house.

We take our sandwiches and sit in Susan’s back garden. I fill Susan in on what happened with Stephanie. We decide to keep an eye on her at school and let our friends know what has happened.

Sunday evening we set up a video conference between the four of us using our computers. Susan and I, as David, are in Susan’s room, while Mary and Tracy are at Mary’s house. Tracy is staying the night with Mary. Tracy’s elder brother, Damien, has some of his friends over, so Tracy has opted to spend the night away from home. Tracy hates her brother, and likes his friends even less. When Mary offered her a sleepover, she jumped at the chance.

In some ways I feel envious as sleeping over is something that I have never been allowed to do properly. Susan did arrange a sleepover for the four of us for her last birthday. I stayed with the girls until bedtime, but had to sleep in a different room. Susan deliberately arranged it to be as girly as possible, but it wasn’t the same with me being regarded as a boy. I almost revealed that I was transgendered that night, but I chickened out, as I was afraid of the consequences.

We let Mary and Tracy know that we caught Stephanie spying on us down by the river.

---

 

It appears I now have two sets of people keeping a close eye on me. Tracy, Mary and Susan are keeping look out to make sure I’m not attacked. Stephanie and her friends are now watching me closely, not letting me out of their sight. Several times as I walk down the corridors near the girls’ bathrooms, one or more girls deliberately go and stand guard in front of the door and stare at me, making sure I don’t attempt to enter.

I have a scare during second lesson. I hear a loud banging, and my remote vision automatically kicks in to show me a police officer rattling the door on the shop where my body is located. I spend the rest of the lesson dividing my attention between the classroom and the store. Luckily, the teacher doesn’t notice I am distracted. Given recent events and my normally high marks, I think the teachers are giving me extra leeway.

It seems the owner of the butchers next door has heard me, and is concerned about noises coming from an empty unit.

I decide I need to relocate to under the stage. As soon as the lesson is over, I wander down to the door. I am thinking of quickly unlocking it, so that it will be ready for when I arrive. It will be easier to get in if I don’t have to project inside to unlock the door, leaving an unconscious body in the corridor as I do so. As I’m currently projecting, I can simply reach through the door and open it. When I arrive, the door is already open and I can hear voices inside. I peek in with my remote vision to see the drama teacher and one of the janitors discussing moving some of the scenery out of storage.

That rules the stage out as a hiding place. I look around to see if it is safe to disappear, but there are two girls watching me from down the corridor. I head to the disabled loo near the front office.

Alone at last I end my projection and return to my body in the shop. I quickly phone my father at work with my cell phone, using his personal number.

I explain the problem with the police officer. He tells me not to panic, but to try not to make any noise, he will come and meet me at lunchtime and we will work on the problem. He has an idea, but it will involve telling his secretary about my skills. As I am running out of options, I agree.

I end the call and go to the loo, but deliberately don’t pull the chain. I then head back to my seat and project myself back into the toilet at school. I flush and wash my hands, then step out once more as David. The same two girls are still watching me from a distance. I go and join my friends in the common room. They recognise who has been following me and confirm my suspicion that they are associates of Stephanie.

I am starting to get uneasy about being in school, and worry about being disturbed at the shop. Suddenly disappearing in the middle of a lesson will cause problems.

I am slightly nervous during third period, between break and lunch, and keep an eye out remotely for anybody trying to enter the shop. I also keep viewing what is going on behind my back, as I sit down the front of the class and can’t see what people are doing.

When I return to my locker at the start of lunch, it is covered in graffiti. Somebody has written ‘sissy faggot’ across it in permanent marker. A teacher, Mrs Hargreaves, is already stood in front of it, looking unhappy. I identify myself as the owner of the locker. I’m asked who I think might do this.

“There are a number of people who are openly hostile towards me, although none have done anything that could be described as harassment,” I reply, “This wasn’t here when I last passed by a few minutes before the bell rang at the end of break.”

I open my locker to find a note has been pushed inside through the gap in the doorframe. Mrs Hargreaves takes the note and holds it by her nails. Letting it fall open, it reads, “We’re watching you, pervert. Any false moves and you are out of here.” It’s printed out from a computer. Mrs Hargreaves proceeds to take the note to the office. I empty the locker and head towards the front office, still being watched. I consider going into the disabled loo and simply vanishing, however I need to take my belongings with me this time. I decide to leave school as normal and see if anybody follows.

Heading towards the bike sheds, I meet Susan on the way and tell her not to come with me today, and not to be surprised if I don’t turn up this afternoon. We are still being watched and followed so I speak in code in case we are overheard. I tell her that problems have come up with location A and location B is now not an option. I also say I am meeting with my father to work on plan C.

I pack my things onto my bike and ride to the front gates. Speaking to the teacher on patrol, I explain that I’m worried about being followed. I ask if anybody else coming out of school can be delayed until I’m out of sight. He reluctantly agrees after I relate the locker incident. I cycle off in the opposite direction to the shop, circling round the block to make sure there is no tail, before doubling back towards Hamilton Road, deliberately dismounting from my bike and taking a short cut down a back alley. I have already looked down it with my remote vision so I know there are no surprises at the other end. Once out of sight I change my projection from David to Jennifer.

I figure if I’m seen entering the shop that I will then be leaving with the same appearance. I spot my father’s empty car in the parking lot and pull up beside it. He emerges from out of the butchers next to the empty shop unit. He asks quietly if I need anything from inside. The butcher is watching us so I nod and scratch my nose with my finger. As I do so, I make my finger slightly transparent. My face is hidden from view of the shop so only my father sees this.

We load my bike into his car then walk round to the back of the shop. He unlocks the door and we enter. He explains that the neighbours have heard noises from inside, and have seen several youths hanging round the back entrances to the shops. They have called the police thinking that the empty unit might have been broken into or vandalised.

I end my projection and get up. I quickly go to the loo again, flushing this time. My father picks up my cool box and puts it in inside of a black plastic sack. We also pack up the sun lounger in another bag and leave the shop. Pretending that we are removing some rubbish, we exit the building, locking it on the way out.

As soon as we are in the car, I explain that I can’t hide at school this time and that I’m worried about being followed. I also tell him about the damage to my locker, and the threatening note inside.

“You’re not at physical risk in school, as you have already proven you can’t be harmed while projecting. You need to project from a different location, one in which you will be safe from discovery. As you said earlier, there is the risk of you suddenly disappearing from class if you get interrupted.”

“I still have the range problem,” I reply, “I can’t project to the school from home. I still need to find somewhere to project from that’s closer.”

“How far can you manage,” he asks.

“Projection needs to be as close as possible, no more than a quarter of a mile if I want to keep it up for a long time,” I reply.

“When was the last time you tested your range?” my father asks, “You stayed with Becky for over half an hour until help arrived, you then slowly walked all the way back leading everyone to safety. I checked out the point where she fell on Google Earth. It was nearly half a mile from our house. According to your measurements that distance should have been out of range.”

“I was on a sugar high, and you helped me by feeding me honey,” I reply, “However, I take your point. I have been getting better at using my powers, and it’s less tiring now than when I first started. I guess I’m getting used to controlling my abilities.”

After a short drive, we arrive at a house two blocks away from school. We are met at the front door by his secretary, Gloria. I have met her on many occasions, but didn’t know where she lived. My father greets her with a kiss, and we head inside.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jennifer,” Gloria says, “John has explained your unique problem. You’re welcome to use my home as a base for getting into school. Nobody will disturb you here. I have made up the guest bedroom for you so that you can lay in comfort while you do your thing.”

I am shown round the house and told where things are if I need them. I’m then taken upstairs to the second bedroom. The room is set up as a sewing room and has a desk covered in bits of material. In one corner is an adjustable dressmaker’s mannequin. Gloria often alters her own clothes, and when younger had even made several outfits.

There is a bed along one wall, and it has been made up with a sheet, duvet and pillows for my use. I thank Gloria and sit down on the bed. I take my shoes off then lay down to test for comfort. I am presented with a spare key to take with me, and shown where there is another hanging up on a hook in the kitchen if I need it. After having some lunch, I project David into the room and we head outside, locking the door on the way out. The plan is to project into school from here, where I won’t be disturbed.

In future, I can cycle here and then onto school, coming and going as needed. I think this is a much better arrangement than the shop unit I have been using. Gloria seems a nice woman, and my father obviously thinks affectionately of her.

Having unloaded my bike from the car, I part company with my father and Gloria, then cycle back towards the school. I time my arrival so that I arrive in my homeroom as the bell rings. There is no time for anybody to hassle me before lessons start again for the afternoon. With my real body in a safer location, I can relax and concentrate on my classes. At the end of the day, I am escorted out of the school by Susan and Mary. Tracy would have come as well, but her brother was due to collect her by car, something she wasn’t happy about.

After cycling around the streets for half an hour, making sure we are not followed. I lead Susan to Gloria’s house. Mary has already peeled off and headed home.

On Tuesday morning, Susan and I cycle to Gloria’s house. Gloria has already left for work so I let us in using the key provided. Having made myself comfortable, I project myself as David and we continue on our way to school. The day progresses well, and I am a lot more relaxed in the knowledge that my body is not going to be disturbed.

At lunchtime, both Susan and I cycle back to Gloria’s where we have lunch, before returning for afternoon lessons. The bed I’m laying on is cosier than the sun lounger was, and the room’s a better temperature. This increased comfort means I am not as tired come the end of the day.

On Wednesday morning at roll call, there is a note in the register for me to go see Coach Sanders in her office. Mr Francis excuses me and I head through the school to my appointment. Everybody else is still in homeroom for the next ten minutes.

When I arrive at the office, it’s empty. Not sure what to do, I stand and wait. Having walked through the locked door once before, I don’t think it a good idea to push my luck a second time.

Three girls come along the corridor. They look familiar, but I can’t place their names. As they pass, they suddenly turn and grab me. One gets me in a bear hug from the side, while another wraps a cloth bag over my head so I can’t see or scream. I start to struggle when the third hits me in the stomach, instructing me to follow instructions or pay the price.

I decide to play along for the moment. I can end this easily by simply ceasing my projection. However, vanishing while being held would take a lot of explaining. The smoke bomb trick I used on the boys before I could claim as a simple magic trick. I can argue I legged it while they were distracted.

I’m dragged into the girls’ changing room, where they try to pull my pants down. I make sure that they aren’t successful by making the projection of my clothes impossible to remove. The zipper holding my pants on is well and truly jammed and there is no way they can expose me, not that my projection has any male genitalia anyway. I continue to struggle and resist them undressing me, much to their annoyance.

“What’s the matter Daisy? Too shy to get undressed in front of girls, aren’t you supposed to be one?” one of them taunts.

“Well in that case we will have to persuade you otherwise. Put him in the shower girls, we can leave the clothes here for her to get into by herself,” instructs a second girl, whom I assume to be the ringleader.

I am dragged into the showers and tied to one of the showerheads. They leave the room, turning the water on as they depart.

They seem to want to embarrass me by forcing me to wear girls’ clothing. I suppose they think it’s humiliating, not that I find it particularly so. Perhaps they also think I will get into trouble for being in the girls’ changing room. I know I am not allowed to be in here, but I can hardly be blamed for being dragged in against my will. Maybe they were going to dress me as a girl and tie me up assuming, after my demonstration with the handcuffs, that I could free myself quickly, relying on me being caught before I could escape.

I consider simply vanishing and reappearing elsewhere, but I decide to play the victim and see what happens next. I don’t have long to wait. The bell rings and shortly afterwards I hear a stampede of girls enter the room. I know exactly who is here without looking, as my class are due to have gym first thing this morning.

They immediately come to a halt, and I can hear their laughter. It’s followed by an angry sounding Coach Sanders calling for silence.

“Will somebody please turn off the water,” I call out. The water stops a couple of seconds later.

“David! What happened?” asks Coach Sanders, lifting the bag off my head.

“There was a note in the register asking me to come to see you in your office. You weren’t about so I waited in the corridor. Three girls came along and as they passed me, they grabbed me, put the bag over my head, and dragged me in here. They then tried to strip my clothes off, but failed to get my pants down. Instead, they shoved me in here to force me to change clothes.”

“I assume that cheerleaders outfit over there is what they wanted me to put on,” I say. My schoolbag has been placed on one of the benches, and hanging from a hook above the bag is the outfit.

“Do you know who did this to you?” the coach asks.

I look round the room, none of the girls who attacked me are present.

“I don’t know who they were, but I did get a look at them before they jumped me. I have a photographic memory, so won’t have a problem identifying them,” I reply.

The coach examines the knots holding me in place then says, “It looks like they tied you up well.” She pulls a penknife out of her tracksuit pocket and cuts the bindings holding my wrists, being careful not to brush against me as I’m soaking wet.

I emerge from the showers into the main changing area, followed by the coach.

The girls are sat around the room on the benches, in what I assume are their normal positions. I note that only three of the girls are actually changing. Mary and Tracy are stripped to their panties and have their backs to me as they change to sports bras. Susan has gone even further and is standing naked, facing me, while she removes her gym kit from her sports bag, completely ignoring both me, and the stares she is getting from the other girls and the coach.

“Susan, what are you doing?” Coach Sanders asks in surprise.

“Getting changed for class, Miss. Did you not just instruct us to change into our indoor kits while we were lined up in the corridor?” Susan replies. Turning to me she continues, “I have checked the size of the cheerleaders’ outfit. It’s going to be a bit tight as it’s a size too small, but its Spandex, so should stretch to fit you.”

“The pervert probably set this up himself so that he has an excuse for wearing it all day,” Stephanie calls from the other end of the room.

“There is no way Mr Palmer could have tied those knots himself,” Coach Sanders replies, “Any more comments and you will find yourself in detention.”

Mary and Tracy sit back down, having finished getting changed. Susan is still stood naked, having stopped what she was doing.

Susan reaches into her sports bag and pulls out a plastic carrier bag containing her towel. She keeps it in the bag so that none of the other items become damp when the towel is wet.

“Here, you can use my towel. Put your wet clothes in the bag,” Susan instructs.

Without waiting for the teacher to respond, I walk across to Susan and take the offered items. I pick up the cheerleading outfit and my bag, being careful not to get them wet, and walk into a nearby toilet cubical, shutting the door behind me.

“If the rest of you want to get changed, I promise not to come out until given the all clear,” I shout from inside.

“You would be better off getting changed in my office,” Coach Sanders states.

“And risk being seen as the boys go into the sports hall? No thanks,” I reply, “It’s humiliating enough being seen by this lot, without the boys having a laugh as well.”

“OK, but if you open that door before I say so you will be in deep trouble, the rest of you, get changed, we are wasting time,” the coach instructs.

I pretend to take my clothes off and dry myself with the towel. As my clothes are part of my projection, they vanish once I remove them, unfortunately, as they are soaking wet, the water remains, forming a puddle on the floor. I dry myself off with the towel. Placing the cheerleading outfit into the carrier bag, I hide it inside my school bag. I then project an identical outfit onto my body.

The cheerleading outfit consists of two parts. The first is a red and yellow leotard, and the second is a yellow pleated miniskirt. The skirt doesn’t hide much as it’s too short. I know everyone is going to expect a bulge at my crotch, but they’re going to get a surprise. I may be projecting as David, but my projection is without male genitalia. I also have no hair on my exposed legs, arms, and armpits. My chest is slightly larger than it was before my change, so as the material is tight it appears I have two small breasts.

“David, do you need a pair of shoes? I have a spare pair that should fit you,” Mary calls out.

“Yes please, I don’t fancy walking round bare-footed,” I reply. Pink sandals are pushed under the door and I slip them onto my feet.

As I have been forced into appearing female, I decide that I don’t want to look an idiot, although that may be tricky. I therefore make my appearance as girly as possible. Considering that I’m projecting and can appear however I want, this isn’t difficult. Nevertheless, I need to make sure any changes are realistic.

I don’t have a mirror, but as I can see myself with my remote vision, one isn’t necessary. I adjust my hair into a high ponytail and comb it forward into bangs on my forehead. Gold earrings appear in my ears. I add a touch of makeup, just some mascara and lipstick. My toenails and fingernails become red to match the leotard. I pick my feet up one after the other while I change their colour in case anybody is watching me. My feet are visible below the stall door as there is an eight-inch gap underneath.

With my hairless body, painted nails, hair and makeup, I am now looking particularly girlish. Anybody who doesn’t know me would now assume I’m a girl. Unfortunately, approximately thirty girls on the other side of the cubicle door believe otherwise.

“OK David, everybody is now changed, you can come out when you are ready,” Coach Sanders states, “You can wait until we are in the gym if you don’t want to be seen.”

The coach is offering me a get out clause to prevent further humiliation. However, I decide not to take it. Putting my rucksack on my back, I open the toilet door, and step out into the room. I don’t want to give the perpetrators the satisfaction of humiliating me. Instead, I’m going to use their act as an excuse to do something I would not normally be able to do: dress as a girl at school.

“Actually, I go by Daphne when en-femme,” I state. Daphne is the first female name that I can think of that starts with a ‘D’ and which isn’t Daisy. I need a third identity, as I don’t want to add confusion over two entirely different appearances of Jennifer, especially if I later find a way to attend in person.

All eyes turn in my direction and there are a number of astonished gasps at my feminine appearance. When I used to dress, I was never able to be as presentable as I have now achieved. I wasn’t this passable in the video.

“What’s the matter?” I ask everybody while handing Susan her towel back. “I don’t look stupid dressed like this do I? I know quite a few of you have already seen me in a skirt before thanks to Stephanie’s video, although I don’t think her filming did me justice.”

“You look more beautiful than half our actual cheerleading squad,” Kate answers, much to the annoyance of Stephanie, who is one of our cheerleaders. I blush.

After getting over the shock of my appearance, Coach Sanders instructs the girls into the gym. Mr Barker, a trainee teacher who is assisting in gym classes, takes over running the girls’ lesson while Coach Sanders escorts me to the school office.

I am sent to the library to write up a statement and to look at the school yearbooks to identify my attackers. Having written up what happened, I browse the photos. Having looked through the whole collection, I can’t locate the people who attacked me.

The librarian disappears into the back of the library office to make some phone calls. While she isn’t looking, I end my projection and return to my body in Gloria’s house. I have brought my netbook with me to her home, although I didn’t take it into school. Finding a plain magnolia coloured wall, I project as each attacker in turn, photographing myself using the built-in webcam.

I find software on the internet that can take a photograph and make it look like a police identikit picture. By the time I have finished it looks like I have matched up pictures of facial components to make faces. I email the edited images through to my school email address. Returning to the library I call the photos up on one of the computers and start a second trawl through the images in the yearbooks.

The Principal, Mr Edwards, comes to see me in the library. He looks at the pictures on the screen and I explain that this is what they looked like, but I can’t locate them in the books.

“Is it possible that these girls were wearing wigs?” he asks me.

I think for a minute before suddenly twigging why I hadn’t recognised them earlier. “Yes, I think they were. I thought they looked familiar but couldn’t place names to the faces. Their hair is wrong, that’s why I can’t recognise them.”

After a few minutes’ discussion we have three names to match the faces. Britney Madison, Cherry Conroy, and Alison Little are associates of Stephanie. The ringleader, Alison, is known for her racist and bigoted attitude. I tell the principal an edited version of my run in with Stephanie at the weekend, and my suspicion that she was behind my outing. I inform him I don’t expect the school to do anything, as it’s my word against hers. Mr Edwards agrees it won’t be helpful to go after Stephanie. However, he will be expelling the other three. Before coming to see me he had already compiled a list of students who were not present in homeroom, and he just needed me to confirm their identities.

When asked if I want to press charges for assault and get the police involved, I decline. I am happy for the school to handle it internally. I think the threat of assault charges will be enough and that the chances of a prosecution are remote. At most, they will be let off with a caution.

---

 

With Mr Edwards’s permission, I remain in the cheerleaders’ outfit for the rest of the morning. I could have gone home for the remainder of the day, but declined the offer. I am given a note to explain my appearance to the teachers. It doesn’t take long for the grapevine to spread word of my attack through the school.

There are a number of students doing double takes when they see me in the common room at break. Instead of trying to hide, I deliberately sit myself in a prominent position, making sure to sweep my skirt under me and sit with my legs together.

At the beginning of the lunch period, I go to see Mr Edwards. Given the commotion caused by my outward change of gender presentation, I ask him if I can remain dressed as a girl. I use the argument that I might as well carry the momentum I have already generated in moving towards a female presentation. He states that he is not happy for me to continue without my father’s permission.

I return to Gloria’s with Susan. I explain to her my sudden adoption of another name. When we return to school for the afternoon I am again dressed in my usual attire. The rest of the afternoon runs smoothly. At the end of the school day, I decide I don’t want to run the risk of being followed or attacked outside school. I still need to get my schoolbooks home, so I can’t simply vanish.

I temporarily leave my bag in Susan’s care while I sneak into the boys’ bathroom and end my projection. I have been keeping an eye remotely so I know it’s currently empty. Susan enters the girls’ bathroom and places my bag in an empty cubicle while nobody is looking. I immediately appear in the stall, as Jennifer, and emerge. I head to the bike sheds leaving Susan behind. We act as if we are strangers in case Susan is being watched.

In case Susan is followed, she is going straight home instead of to my location. I watch her ride off safely then proceed to walk to Gloria’s house. As nobody knows who I am, I can safely proceed without fear of being attacked. I have left my bike at Gloria’s this morning and walked the rest of the way. By varying my normal routine, I hope to avoid attention. In addition, it simply allows me to vanish if the need arises and I won’t be stuck trying to collect my bike to get home.

That evening I relate the day’s events to my father. He isn’t pleased that I have been attacked again. On one hand, I simply want to give up being David and get on with my new life as Jennifer. On the other hand, I don’t want David to disappear suddenly, effectively letting them win by driving me out of school. Until my legal identity is sorted out, I can’t do much anyway.

The next day passes without incident. I cycle to Gloria’s in the morning, change into David and cycle to school. I disappear at break and lunch and then cycle back to Gloria’s after school. I am careful to make sure I’m not being followed by cycling round in circles a few times before heading to Gloria’s house. I don’t want to bring trouble back with me. I then cycle home and meet up with Susan to do homework.

There is a definite tension in the air. I am becoming increasingly uncomfortable attending school as David. While Mr Turner sorts out my legal identity I still have no option other than to continue. Given that three students have just been expelled from school, and the teachers are keeping a close eye on me, nobody wants to run the risk of being openly hostile to me in school.

On Thursday evening Mr Turner comes to visit. He has several surprises for us.

Firstly, the results are back from my DNA tests. My DNA has changed from XY to XX, but I am still identifiable as being a direct descendant of my father. I am effectively my own sister, genetically, even if I don’t look like anybody in my immediate family. Red hair has previously appeared in my ancestors. I know that one of my great grandfathers, Isaac, had been nicknamed ‘reddun’ after his fiery red beard.

The second surprise is that I now have an entirely new legal identity. I am handed a birth certificate and passport in the name of Jennifer Alice Dalton. Mr Turner has used my mother’s maiden name as my surname so that there is no connection with my former identity.

“I know we were going to try to get the courts to change your birth certificate,” Mr Turner explains, “However, I have found an alternative method that may work out better in the long run. I have a few connections with people in witness protection and the associated creation of new identities. The Department of Homeland Security has recently drafted a new classified procedure for fast-tracking replacement identities.”

“Is this legal and above board?” my father asks with concern, “We’re not going to get a visit from Federal Agents are we?”

“Don’t worry, the only person who knows about the identity is the person who created it, and they are more likely to get a visit than us,” Mr Turner states. “The person in the Records Office is a friend of mine, and he owed me a few favours. He gave me the form to fill in. I only had to fill in the new identity information, not provide any detail about your current identity. He then took the form and slipped it in amongst a batch of others also being processed at the same time. Apparently, these are becoming quite frequent. Once created, he then intercepted the documents as they were being sent back out, removing your new credentials from the pile and giving them to me.”

“Sounds dodgy,” I reply.

“Yes and no. Strictly speaking, I shouldn’t know of the form’s existence. The form is submitted and then countersigned and approved by a senior figure. I submitted the request without that information being filled in. My contact then processed the form and somehow made it look like it had the correct approval, I didn’t ask how. He assures me that there will be no repercussions.”

The new Jennifer is currently an orphan and ward of state. The final pieces of paperwork are adoption papers to be signed by my father. Once filed, he will legally be my next of kin again.

Also included in the new identity is a blank school transcript that can be filled in to match my existing one, so that I can enrol at school again.

After much discussion, we come up with a workable plan.

As David, I will try to provoke another attack. Considering the number of incidents against me, I don’t think that will be hard. This will be the last straw and we can use it as an excuse to withdraw me from school on safety grounds. David will then be going to boarding school where he can make a fresh start as a girl.

Mr Turner has been working closely with the police as part of a task force dealing with bigotry and racism. There is a secret white supremacist cult operating in the area, a cross between the Ku Klux Klan and the Nazi party. They have been stirring up trouble in the area and there may be links with the hostility I have been experiencing. As I am relatively safe while projecting, I can possibly draw out those who are involved so that they can be brought to justice.

Jennifer, having recently been orphaned, will be adopted by my father as her closest living relative. We will soon have the paperwork to prove that. She will be arriving in a week’s time after the affairs of her parents are sorted out. Jennifer will have a double funeral to attend.

There is a slight risk of people correctly assuming David and Jennifer are the same person. Especially if one disappears and is immediately replaced by the other. Given the physical differences, this is unlikely. David was short, fat, and had black hair, where as Jenny is taller, thinner, and has red hair. As Jenny, I also have a paler skin tone and prominent freckles. I have a few ideas of how to have David and Jenny seen together. It will be tricky to stage, but potentially worth the effort.

The important thing will be to convince the school. The students should be convinced once I am seen naked in the showers after gym class. If my guess is correct about when my period is due then there might be the possibility of discovering menstrual blood while changing, an added bonus that would certainly convince them that I’m female. As I was still using the boys’ facilities until a few weeks ago, I think that there is no doubt that David is male. I have been seen naked often enough in the communal showers.

We put our plan into action Friday morning. My father phones the school as soon as the office opens and makes an appointment to see the Principal and Mr Francis during our lunchtime. I then proceed to school as normal, heading to Gloria’s and projecting myself the rest of the way.

I am changing the presentation of my male projection. Up until now, except for when forced into the cheerleaders outfit, I have stayed just on the masculine side of androgynous, but today I am crossing the line. Instead of my usual boy ponytail at the base of my neck, I have let my hair down and styled it in a girls bob cut. I have curled the ends inward and used a centre parting. I have combed my hair forward over my forehead so that I have a straight fringe half an inch above my eyebrows. Again, I have added a slight curl to give me the classic bangs look. I have once more applied makeup and nail polish, to give myself a feminine appearance.

This will be the second time I have appeared at school as a girl. The first time was against my will, having been forced to change clothes after being attacked. This time I am doing so by choice. I’m not dressed as a cheerleader. Instead, I am following the normal school dress code for girls. I am wearing a white blouse and navy blue skirt, the same as many of the girls, although a lot prefer to take the option of wearing blue or black pants instead.

I am deliberately provoking a reaction. The effect of my clothes, hair, feminine mannerisms, and speech inflection, is pushing the gender balance way over the line.

I time my entrance to perfection, arriving in my homeroom just as the bell rings for registration. Most of the people in the room are staring at me, but I simply ignore them as I take my seat next to Susan, sweeping my skirt under me, keeping my knees together, and crossing my legs at my ankles. There are one or two comments, but these are soon stopped by Mr Francis calling for silence.

The first two lessons of the day go smoothly. I’m given some nasty looks and there are some insults shouted at me while moving between classes. During lessons, the teachers keep the students under control, so nothing is said to me.

At break time, I don’t do my usual disappearing trick. I briefly take a break from projection while locked in the disabled loo so that I can use the toilet, but apart from that, I remain highly visible. My friends and I sit in the common room discussing makeup and fashion. Susan has quietly clued them in as to why I am acting overly girlish, to provoke a response. They help by keeping the discussion as girly as possible and calling me Daphne instead of David. I am making sure that my mannerisms and body language are exceedingly feminine, exaggerating my naturally effeminate behaviour.

I expect that by the end of the day my status as a transsexual will be common knowledge. There are already plenty of rumours circulating about me, and all I am doing is confirming them.

It would appear that nobody is going to challenge me while I’m in a crowd. I expect to be confronted later in the day.

The third lesson of the day goes as expected, the teacher making sure that there is no open abuse aimed in my direction.

At lunch, it is time to put my next bit of subterfuge in place. With Susan providing cover, I vanish back to Gloria’s, where my father is waiting for me to wake up. We drive to the school and report to reception. I take a seat and position myself so that I can project while still appearing to be awake and alert. I have been practicing body control while projecting. I still can’t move around, but I can maintain a pose. Instead of appearing asleep, I now appear to be in a trance.

I project myself back into the school as Daphne and find Mr Francis as he is heading to reception. I walk slightly ahead of him and disappear into the disabled bathroom. He passes me as I enter and he goes into the back of the school office, past where my father is sitting with my real self.

Mr Edwards then comes out to greet my father. I choose this moment to emerge from the toilet and interrupt them.

“Hi Daddy, hi Jenny,” I call as I pass.

“Don’t forget you have a dentist’s appointment after school,” my father replies.

“I haven’t forgotten,” I respond as I disappear down the corridor.

The waiting area for the school office is in full view of the canteen, through a set of glass doors. I know that the whole spectacle has been viewed by a number of opponents. In one stroke, I have just successfully appeared in two places at the same time while also revealing that I won’t be going straight home when school finishes.

Once I am out of sight, I quickly return to my body sitting in the reception. I move my head, indicating to my father that I have ended my projection.

“I would like to introduce you to my niece,” my father motions in my direction as I stand up. “This is Jennifer Dalton.”

I shake hands with Mr Edwards.

“She is the reason why I asked to see you,” my father tells the Principal. We then proceed into his office where Mr Francis is waiting. I am introduced to Mr Francis as well before we all take seats.

My father then explains further, “Jennifer has recently lost her parents, and as her nearest living relative, I am adopting her as my daughter. I would like her to attend this school with David and Susan. I have the paperwork here.”

My father presents them with the documentation, including a copy of the adoption certificate and my new school transcript. “We still have some matters to settle, but hopefully Jennifer will be available to return to school sometime next week, if you have a place for her?”

The Principal takes the records and looks through them.

“We can potentially fit Jennifer in. Do I take it your preference would be that she has a similar schedule to David and Susan?” he asks.

My father confirms that we are hoping this will be possible.

“They will be the only people here I know,” I add, “It would help me adjust for them to be close.” I dab my eyes with a tissue. I am acting upset at being an orphan.

“We will get back to you and let you know, may I take copies of this paperwork?” Mr Edwards asks.

My father agrees, and after clarifying some details, the meeting ends.

We leave the school and my father drops me at Gloria’s house. After grabbing a bite to eat I return to the school to stir up some more trouble. Stephanie and friends are still doing the blocking routine whenever I get near an entrance to a girl-only zone, such as the toilets or changing rooms. I deliberately walk close to the doors to provoke them, diverting in a different direction at the last minute and grinning inanely at them.

Nothing happens during the lunch break, but I can tell that there are a number of students unhappy with my presence. I make sure it’s overheard that I will be travelling home alone tonight, as I will be heading into town to the dentist rather than home with Susan or any of my friends. I am setting up a perfect opportunity to be attacked.

The first lesson after lunch is gym. The rest of my class heads off to get changed. I joke with the girls that I should perhaps come with them, but I don’t actually try. Instead, I head off to the Library to study.

Nobody disturbs me in the library this week. I take the opportunity to wire myself up with a small hidden camera and microphone, which Mr Turner has provided. The idea is that these will collect evidence. I am to stay in sight of the town’s CCTV system. Mr Turner is arranging for me to be monitored. I have a panic button that will summon the police, who have promised to be waiting nearby.

After the final lesson of the day, I deliberately hang around the bike sheds while my friends reluctantly leave. Susan leaves by bicycle, Mary on a bus, and Tracy by car. Tracy is again collected by her brother, much to her annoyance. I then slowly ride out of the school grounds and to the nearby park. There I sit in full view in the entrance and wait to see if anything happens.

There are a number of students hanging around, but they are all avoiding me for the moment. I decide to walk through the park with my bike. This should make me an easier target. It’s not long before I realise I am being followed. I can see behind me with my remote vision, so know what is going on. Terry, Mike and Ben who I humiliated last week, and Stephanie with two of her friends, Cherry and Britney, are following at a distance. I am impressed. If all six are working together then this must be a major achievement in teamwork. I find a secluded park bench and sit down. I wait for them to try to sneak round the back of me and surround me.

“I know you’re there, why don’t you simply come out and face me,” I call out, “It’s time to put up or shut up. I am a girl now, if you have issues with that then this is your opportunity to do something about it, otherwise leave me alone.” I lie down on the bench with my hands behind my head, looking directly upwards.

Mike comes at me with a baseball bat, swinging it for my stomach and shouting insults. I see it coming and catch the bat in my hands, and then shove it sideways so that its handle connects with his stomach. He lets go of the bat, staggering backwards, winded.

I spring to my feet as Ben and Terry come at me from opposite directions. I jump over Mike, who is now curled up in a ball in front of me. I let the other two collide with one another and fall to the ground.

Stephanie now comes at me. However, she tries to employ brains rather than brawn, and deploys her pepper spray against me. While it has no effect on me, Stephanie isn’t as lucky and is incapacitated when she accidentally gets some in her own face.

Britney comes from my side and tries to land a punch on my face, thinking I’m blinded. Instead, I grab her fist and deflect it, while at the same time twisting her arm, so that it spins her round and she ends up with her arm behind her back, her wrist touching her neck. I shove her forwards and she falls to the ground. As I do so, Cherry comes at me from behind and attempts to punch me in the back. I see this coming and brace for the impact. Instead of hitting the soft skin of my back, Cherry’s fist strikes the hard steel plate of the body armour I have projected under my clothes, hidden from view.

Cherry stumbles away with a badly damaged hand, crying out in pain from her injury.

It’s only taken a few seconds, but I have successfully disarmed and disabled six opponents. I run forwards a couple of feet and turn back towards my attackers. Cherry and Stephanie are still incapacitated, however the other four are returning to their feet.

“You lot are going to have to do better than that to intimidate me,” I shout at them as they start to lunge towards me. I sprint to the side and wall-run up a tree trunk, grabbing a branch about seven feet in the air, and pulling myself up into the canopy.

While not physically impossible, the manoeuvre I have just performed is highly improbable and would take the skills of an advanced parkour practitioner to pull off.

“How did he do that?” Terry asks.

“Come on down Daisy, you can’t stay up there forever,” Mike calls.

Ben picks my bike up. It still has my school bag on it. I will need to retrieve my belongings in a minute.

“You lot couldn’t catch a cold in the Arctic,” I call out to them, “and my name is Daphne, not Daisy. I gave you a prime opportunity, and you still failed. Ben, get off my bike. Now do I have to come down there and kick your asses a second time, or are you going to accept my choice of living as a girl and leave me alone?”

I jump down out of the tree and land in front of them as Mike retrieves his bat from where it was dropped earlier. They spread out in a semi-circle a few feet in front of me. This time they wait for me to make the first move.

Suddenly I feel something hit me just above my collar on my right side. I touch the area with my hand and find something sticking out. I use my remote vision to examine the object. A knife is embedded in my neck.

---

 

I am shocked for a second wondering where the knife embedded in my neck came from, and why there is no blood. After a few moments, I realise that there should be blood, and immediately dark red creeps down my arm, soaking my clothes. As I am currently projecting, the wound is fake, as is the rest of me. I can't be harmed while outside my body, at least not as far as I am aware. The worst-case scenario is that I am simply forced to end my projection.

Not sure what to do next, and slightly shocked by the turn of events, I fall to my knees, then over onto my left side.

I carefully analyse the situation. At any time I can choose to vanish, however that is going to be hard to explain later. Looking at the wound, I conclude it should be fatal. I could make a recovery, however explaining a lucky escape would be as bad as disappearing. I decide it's safest to play dead for the moment.

I survey the scene remotely. Alison is to my right, crouched in the shadows, her arm outstretched as if she has just thrown something. Britney screams and Cherry turns and throws up in a nearby bush. Sirens can be heard in the distance, slowly getting louder. Mike and Terry decide to leg it. Ben jumps on Alison and pins her to the ground.

The sirens stop and I hear people running. Two police officers appear on the scene. One immediately arrests Allison and handcuffs her, while instructing the others to stay put.

The other comes over and examines me. My projection is now hardly breathing, and has blood coming out of its mouth.

With my dying breath, I can’t resist repeating the classic movie quote, "Infamy! Infamy! They've all got it in for me!"

A paramedic arrives and pronounces me dead at the scene. The police now seal the area off. I maintain the projection of a dead body, and watch the activities remotely from overhead.

Another police car and van arrive. Alison is escorted to one car and driven away. Britney, Ben, and Stephanie are loaded into the van, which then drives off. Cherry is taken away by ambulance, her hand no doubt broken from hitting me.

A photographer comes and records the scene from all angles. The police spend nearly half an hour measuring and recording the area. The coroner comes and places me in a body bag. I am loaded into the back of a van. I realise that this could be a major problem. I don't know how far away I am from the morgue. It might be out of projection range. I also have the problem of the post mortem.

I focus all my energy on maintaining the projection. I notice that the blood on the ground beneath where I have been laying doesn't disappear when the body is removed. This is a new development. Normally, anything that is created as part of a projection disappears after leaving contact with my projected form. Somehow, I’m effectively projecting in two places, a pool of blood and a corpse. My head is starting to pound from the effort of maintaining the scene.

Luckily, it starts to rain, washing the blood on the ground away so that I no longer have to keep it projected in place.

Eventually my body is taken away in the van. I follow the vehicle from above with my remote vision as I continue to project the corpse into the back. Within a few minutes, I am driven into the morgue at the local hospital. I'm not sure how I’m maintaining this projection. I am at least five miles away from where I left my body. This should be out of range.

I try not to reason how, but instead maintain my concentration on keeping the projection going. The knife is removed from my neck, placed in an evidence bag, and taken away. The blood on it doesn't disappear. I am covered by a sheet and wheeled into another room. Unlike the morgue, this is less sterile looking. The morgue is all stainless steel and white tiled walls. This room has soft furnishings and fake flowers on a table nearby. I assume that this must be some sort of chapel of rest.

My father is led into the room, accompanied by a police officer.

“Yes, that is my son David,” he says, almost on the point of tears. “May I have a few minutes alone with him?”

The other people disappear from the room. However, I note that there is a CCTV camera in the room. I therefore can’t communicate with my father. Having also noticed the camera, he is careful when addressing me.

“Jenny, I hope you can hear me,” he whispers softly. “Your body is in a nearby ward. You seem to have gone into a coma with the effort of keeping your projection going. You only need to keep this up for a short while, hang in there.”

He leaves the room after a few minutes and I am wheeled back to the morgue. The coroner then proceeds to start a post mortem on me. I have seen a documentary on TV last year of an actual post mortem being carried out, so I know what the inside of a body looks like. It takes all my energy, but I am able to make it through the ordeal. The coroner seems happy with what he sees.

There’s not much he needs to examine, as it’s obvious that the knife wound is the cause of death. It has nicked one of my arteries and cut several veins. Blood has leaked into my windpipe and down into my lungs. I have effectively drowned in my own blood.

During the procedure, my clothes are removed and placed in evidence bags. The steel plated body armour comes as a surprise. Again, they don't immediately disappear when they leave contact with my body. As I watch them being taken away I feel myself go dizzy, and I start to feel faint.

After closing me up, I am wheeled into a storage locker. I watch the coroner pack up his things and head home. Finally, I can relax and return to my body. I let the exhaustion overcome me and I feel myself falling into a deep sleep.

I am woken up by the sound of a door being opened. I realise I haven’t returned to my body, and I am still in the morgue, looking down from the ceiling.

My dead projected corpse is wheeled out and transported away by an undertaker. I am again placed in storage and I fall back asleep.

The next time I wake, I am in the undertakers. They place me in a yellow summer dress, polish my nails and do my makeup. They place a jewelled choker around my neck to hide the stab wound, and place me in a maple wood coffin.

I recognise the name of the undertakers. It is only a couple of blocks away from the hospital. My father must be trying to keep my projected form within range of my body.

I am wheeled into the chapel of rest. An hour later, my family comes to pay their last respects. Uncle Richard, Aunt Janice, Susan and my father surround the coffin and look at me. The undertakers leave the room.

“Jenny, can you hear me?” My father whispers to me softly.

“CCTV in operation,” I whisper back, “I will take care of the tape later, nobody is watching the monitor, I checked.”

“Thank god you seem to be all right,” my father says in hushed tones. “We were getting seriously worried that something had happened. You are still lying in a coma at the hospital.”

“I guess I am pushing beyond my limits to make sure the projection doesn't disappear. I will need to keep this going until after the funeral,” I reply quietly.

“No you don't,” my uncle replies, pulling a lump of metal out from under his jacket. “We each have lead weights. We figure that if your projection disappears then the coffin becomes lighter. This should solve the problem. We just need to hide them somewhere.”

I think for a moment before smiling, “The clothes aren't part of this projection, so I need to maintain their position, but the rest of my body doesn’t need to remain solid. Stick the weights in my legs, body, and head. When I make the rest of my body solid again, they will be inside of me.”

The plan is quickly executed. Soon I am lying peacefully in the coffin and there is no evidence of the added mass.

“Where exactly is my body?” I ask them, “I seem to have lost track of it. I know I'm in a coma in the hospital, but where?”

“Ward 10, Bay 3, second bed on the left,” Susan replies.

“Thanks, I will meet you there later. I need to make sure this coffin is sealed before I leave,” I state.

My family departs and my father instructs the undertaker to seal the coffin, which they do later that afternoon.

I end the projection and remotely view the hospital. Following the signs, I float through the halls and find my body. Using all my willpower, I push myself back inside.

I suddenly wake and take a deep breath. The monitors attached to me give some loud bleeps and an alarm goes off. I try to get up, but I am too weak. A nurse comes running in and presses a few buttons on the machines.

“Welcome back, you had us worried there,” she says.

“I feel like I’ve run a marathon,” I reply.

I am subjected to a number of tests and examined by the doctor.

I don't like being in hospital. I have been fitted with a drip and a catheter, both of which are uncomfortable. I'm informed it will be several days before I will be released, as they still haven't worked out what is wrong with me.

My father and Susan come to visit that evening. Only two people are allowed to visit at any one time.

“It's Tuesday,” my father tells me, carefully wording his statements in case we are overheard by the hospital staff. “David was stabbed last Friday. He was released to the undertakers yesterday. I was at the office when the police informed me that my son had been killed. I went with them to identify the body while Gloria went home to check on you. She got Susan and Janice to meet her there. They found you on the bed sweating and hardly breathing. Your condition seemed to be getting worse so they called an ambulance. You were brought here to the hospital where you were found to be in a hypoglycaemic coma. Your body was almost devoid of sugar. You have been on a drip since then. The doctors can't work out why your blood sugar levels keep dropping.”

I have been wondering how I managed to keep the projection going. I guess that my body must have been taken to the hospital at a similar time to the projection being moved to the Morgue. With both in the same building it minimised the distance. I was also hooked up to a drip to restore my blood sugar levels. This explains how I was able to carry on projecting way beyond my normal limits.

Trying to sleep in a noisy hospital is virtually impossible. I take advantage of being awake at one in the morning to pay my coffin a visit. I am concerned that the weights might shift about when the coffin is moved. I also have a CCTV tape to erase.

I deal with the recording first. Having found the equipment, I make sure it is all switched off. The footage is being recorded onto video tape. Each tape appears to last 24 hours, by only taking a still image every few seconds. Looking at the labelling it appears that the tapes are changed over each morning. The current tape in the machine is the recording I need. Not only will I be erasing the video of the weights being put in the coffin, I will also be hiding my current activities.

I eject the tape from the machine. I pull the entire length of tape out of the cassette and hold it up to the TV being used with the system. It is an older CRT model rather than a flat LCD model. It has a degauss button on the front, which I press a few times while holding the tape against the screen. I can feel the static electricity across the surface, hopefully erasing the tape in the process.

I wind the tape back into its cassette and return it to the recorder. I rewind the tape to the beginning then press play. I remove the solidness from my finger and push in into the machine. Making the tip of it solid again, I press on the spool that the tape is being wound on, slowing it down. The tape is now being drawn through the play heads faster than it is being collected. The net result is that the recorder is soon filling up with tape. Pressing fast forward causes the tape to stream out into the machine. It soon becomes wrapped round the wheels and the whole knotted mess comes to a sudden stop.

Satisfied with my sabotage, I head into the workshop and find the tools I need for my next task. The lid to the coffin has been screwed shut, so taking a screwdriver I remove the lid. Inside I find the lumps of metal covered by the yellow sundress. I need to keep the weights in place and stop them sliding around.

I find up some PVA wood glue, some strips of material, and some nails. I paint the bottom of the coffin with the glue. I doubt the glue will adhere to the metal very well, but I can tape it down using the material. I soak the dress and some strips of material in the PVA and press them down over the weights, sandwiching them in place. I then take some nails and proceed to nail the material to the bottom of the coffin. Once dry, this should hold everything in place without slipping.

I make sure that the coffin is sealed and that there is no sign of tampering, before returning everything to where I have found it. I'm satisfied that nobody will discover that the coffin is empty and that my death has been faked.

I end the projection, returning to the hospital, but I can't get to sleep. The ward isn't exactly quiet at night and I'm not very comfortable. I have also spent several days effectively asleep, so now I'm not tired. It’s boring in the ward, so I start exploring the hospital with my remote vision.

I soon find something interesting. The hospital has a gym and it isn't being used. I decide to project myself inside. I find the light switch and then proceed to expend my frustrations on a punch bag. That makes me feel much better. After an hour's work out, I am able to return to my body and get a few hours of sleep before being woken up again at six in the morning.

Wednesday morning comes and I’m not in a good mood. I am confined to the bed by the drip, catheter, and various monitoring equipment to which I am hooked up.

I am also feeling bloated and have stomach cramps. I complain to the nurses. Susan has warned them that I am getting close to my time of the month. I hadn't realised that that delight has snuck up on me already. It partially explains why I'm not very comfortable, although the tubes going in and out are making things worse.

The nurse gives me some tablets to help with the menstrual symptoms. I swallow them and proceed to drink the entire five-pint jug of water they have left on the bedside cabinet. If they insist on having this catheter stuck in me then I'm going to make sure they have to change the bag as often as possible. This doesn’t please the nurses, especially when the bag overflows all over the floor.

My father comes to see me at breakfast time. He has been given bereavement leave from his employers.

I am fed up and make it clear that I'm leaving this hospital this morning, whether the hospital staff agree or not. If I haven't been discharged by noon, I am going to walk out, and nobody is going to stop me, even if that means I have to remove the catheter and drip myself.

My father goes to have a word with the senior nurse, explaining my intention.

The doctor comes round at half past nine, giving me a thorough examination, and checks my charts. As I have started to bleed, I am given a full gynaecological exam as well, to check that the blood is menstrual and not from an infection. He instructs that the catheter and drip be removed and that I be given suitable materials. I am relieved to have the catheter disconnected, and although I now have a tampon inserted, it's still more comfortable than before.

The doctor tells me that if there are no more fluctuations in my sugar levels I can be discharged on Friday. They may not know what is causing the symptoms, but I certainly do. I have already looked at the charts and figured that the lows corresponded to when my projection was being worked on, although I’m not going to be explaining this to the doctors.

“I am leaving at noon today,” I tell him. He isn't happy and instructs me to remain here until Friday, as they are concerned I might have a relapse. They still haven't figured out what is causing the problem, and I’ve been given a preliminary diagnosis of diabetes pending further tests.

I’m currently wearing a hospital-provided gown. I have already checked and some of my clothes are in a locker by the bed. I have the shoes, skirt and blouse in which I arrived. I am already wearing clean panties under the hospital gown, although my bra and socks are missing.

I can do without those if necessary. With a puzzle book brought by my father, I am allowed to sit in the chair by my bed and do crosswords. The nurses keep an eye on me to make sure I'm not about to carry out my threats of leaving.

I have a plan for how to get out. I wait until mid-morning and take the opportunity when it arises. I have been keeping an eye on the nurses with my remote vision. They are all now occupied with other patients and there is nobody between the door and me. I have already snuck my clothes into a bag. I put down my puzzle book and creep out of the door. Having scouted the whole hospital with my remote vision, I head to a disabled loo with an out of order sign on it, and sneak inside. The toilet bowl has a large crack in it, leaking water over the floor. I guess that they are waiting for a replacement, and there is a chance it won't be today.

I make myself comfortable on a dry bit of floor, and project back into the ward. I smile at the nurses as I come out of one of the patient toilets and return to my seat. They look relieved, having not seen where I had disappeared to.

At three minutes to noon, I again go into the patient toilet on the ward, being closely watched by the nurses. As soon as I am locked in the room, I end my projection. I quickly get dressed, and after checking the coast is clear, leave my hiding place and proceed to walk out of the hospital. I cross through the front doors and out into the car park at exactly twelve o'clock.

I have been keeping a remote eye on the ward. It takes them several minutes to realise I'm not coming back out of the bathroom, after which they decide to unlock the door and check on me. They are very surprised to find the room empty, considering that the senior nurse has been observing me for the past half an hour. She watched the door since I entered, and can't understand how I cannot be inside.

They call security to look for me. However, I have already left the hospital grounds. My father arrives on the ward a few minutes later and asks them where I am. When told that I'm missing, he bursts out laughing.

“This is a very serious matter, Mr Palmer,” the senior nurse tells him.

“What were you expecting to happen?” my father asks. “Jenny had made it perfectly clear that she would be leaving at noon, and it looks to me that she has done exactly that. It's now nearly ten past twelve. Given her usual walking pace, I expect she is at least a half mile away by now, possibly more if she was jogging. Now, is there any discharge paperwork to be signed?”

Twenty minutes later my father leaves the hospital after signing several forms to indicate that I have discharged myself against medical advice.

It takes me two hours to walk home, and my father is waiting for me when I arrive.

“Do I take it that they saw a projection walking into the toilet and you were already elsewhere?” he asks me.

“I snuck out an hour before, and was projecting from an out of order disabled loo,” I tell him. “I made it perfectly clear I wasn't going to remain there after noon. Besides, we both know the reason for my coma. I was projecting too hard. The only chance of it happening again is if I choose to make it occur.”

After a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee, I go upstairs and have a good long soak in the bath. That makes me feel a lot better.

---

 
Author's note:
There have been a number of comments on the last episode about the severity of the crimes, and the related punishment. As pointed out before, I am an Englishman writing a story set in America, and therefore I’m prone to making cultural mistakes. I have therefore decided to clarify exactly how I have arrived at the sentences applied this episode.

I have tried to research the penalties applied for such crimes, but it’s tricky to find definitive answers. There are plenty of sites defining the crimes, but very little info on the actual penalties. I am therefore basing my punishments on the information found at http://www.criminaldefenselawyer.com/crime-penalties/federal/felony-assault-battery.htm.

I have decided to set the story somewhere in New Hampshire. Therefore, I’m assuming that the punishment for felony assault and battery is a fine up to $20,000 and up to one year in prison.

I am also applying a bit of poetic licence with Stephanie, as I want her to appear in a later episode, and therefore need her out of jail.
 

---

 
I spend Wednesday afternoon relaxing. Susan joins me after school and we catch up with what’s happening.

Alison has been arrested and charged with murder. I query how it can be murder if the victim is still alive. My father points out that anybody else would have died receiving that wound, and there is plenty of evidence that David is dead. In any case, she intended to kill David, and it is her intent that is significant.

Mr Turner is working with the police on my murder. The blood on the knife, as well as the clothes taken from the body, have both mysteriously vanished. He is hiding that fact. As Mr Turner is going to be in charge of the prosecution, this won’t cause an issue. Apparently, it doesn’t matter if there isn’t actually a death, the intent is still present, and this is enough for the case to be taken to court.

However, as a precaution the charges against the other six attackers do not include any form of accessory to murder. It appears that there was some plea-bargaining going on between Mr Turner and the various defence attorneys. They all agreed to plead guilty to assault and battery if the accessory to murder was dropped.

In total, there are six charges of felony assault and battery, and one charge of first-degree murder.

The date for Alison’s trial has yet to be set. There has been a delay in setting a date while additional investigation takes place. Details of which have not been released. The other six were brought before the court yesterday. As each were pleading guilty the procedure didn’t take long.

Mike, as he was armed and tried to flee the scene, received the most severe penalty, a full year imprisonment and a fine of $20,000. However, a deal was made for him to attend a private reform school instead. The J. Thompson Academy only accepts two or three students at a time, and has an excellent record of reforming individuals. If he successfully completes the course, the fine will be waived and he won’t face jail.

Brittney and Cherry both received $5,000 fines, nine months in prison, with a further three months parole.

Terry received six months prison and a $5,000 fine, mainly for fleeing the scene.

Ben got off lighter, as he didn’t participate as effectively in the attack. He only managed to run in my direction and collide with Terry. He also fought with Alison after she threw the knife, wrestling her to the ground until the police arrived. He has ended up without any jail time, but instead has a $10,000 fine.

Stephanie was originally going to get jail time, however some skilful negotiation got her sentenced changed. She now has a $20,000 fine, community service, and is restricted by a curfew. She is wearing an electronic tag and is under house arrest, except when at school, for the next three months. The pivotal argument was her agreement to testify against Alison. Stephanie had been seriously affected by the events and is now severely depressed for outing me in the first place. Susan thinks part of the close observation she is now under may be a form of suicide watch.

Mary and Tracy are taking my death badly. They are blaming themselves for letting me face my enemies alone. I will have to keep an eye on that situation. The ghost of David can still make an appearance if it will help heal the emotional wounds. I was already considering letting Tracy and Mary in on my secret. I could still do so, if I feel it will help them.

My property has been recovered and handed back to my father. All the textbooks have been returned to the school. I suspect they will be issued to me again when I start as Jennifer. We decide to replace my bike and book bag, as I don’t want to be seen with David’s old possessions.

I spend Thursday at home resting. I feel a lot more relaxed lying in my own bed. I spend the day reading and catching up on schoolwork. The school has sent me some assignment sheets to fill out to gauge my current knowledge level. These only take a few hours to complete. I don’t bother to rush.

On Friday, I have the unusual honour of attending my own funeral. My coffin arrives in a funeral car shortly before half past ten. My family gets in a second black car, and we proceed slowly to the local church. We form up behind the coffin and follow it inside.

The church is full to capacity. I take note of who is attending. Most of my neighbours are present, including Becky Pyke and her mother, who are both very upset. I also observe that half the staff members from Platterns are attending.

There is a delegation from my school present. This includes all of my close friends, and most of the people with whom I have lessons. A number of teachers are also present including Mr Edwards, Mr Francis, and Mr Spencer. In total, there must have been at least forty people paying respects from the school.

It feels surreal attending your own funeral. However, I am no longer this person. I am Jennifer. David is now only a memory. I like the service. Some of my favourite pieces of music are played. I note that all the speeches are written not to use gender pronouns, something that is difficult to achieve. Not once am I referred to as ‘he’ or even ‘she’. It is always by either name, or by general terms such as ‘this person’. Throughout the service, I am referred to as David.

There are references made to my gender issues, and unfortunate demise, however they are kept low-key.

At the end of the service, we again follow the coffin, this time to the graveside. The traditional interment is then made when the coffin is lowered into the ground.

There are bouquets of flowers laid out in a semi-circle nearby. We read the cards and admire the display. We then shake hands with the mourners as they pass.

We hold a reception at the Red Lion, in a function room at the back.

Saturday is spent cementing my new identity. David’s assets have been frozen and are automatically being transferred to my father as next of kin. We go to the bank and open new current and savings accounts for me with my new identity, using my new passport as identification. My father deposits some money into the accounts, promising the savings from my old accounts will be transferred back to me once the bank has finished probate.

We go to the local bike shop and trade my old bicycle in for a new one. I get an obvious girls’ model this time, rather than the unisex version of before. We find and buy a red rucksack for use at school. It is similar to my previous one, which had been black.

We also pick up some more school clothes as I will now be attending in person. In addition, we have to buy sports gear, as I will now be returning to Physical Education. I have never liked getting changed in the boys’ changing room, and I would never have been let into the girls’ as David. Now I can finally get changed without feeling odd. I need two sports kits, one for use indoors, and the other for outdoors.

I log in and close down all David’s online accounts, making sure I have new logins as Jennifer.

Sunday is spent resting. My body is still aching from lying in a coma, and I’m still having symptoms from my first period. Thankfully, the bleeding seems to have stopped. We have a big family meal together at my Aunt’s house on Sunday evening. I have given them quite a scare when I didn’t wake up after being attacked. They didn’t know what would happen if I died while projecting. Would it mean that I was truly dead, or would I simply return to my body?

On Monday morning my father phones the school and sets up an appointment, saying that I’m now ready to start school. We are asked to come in during lunchtime.

I dress in my school clothes for the meeting and accompany my father to the school. After some discussion, I am issued with a schedule and it’s agreed that I will join the school population after lunch. At our request, my schedule is as close to Susan’s as possible. That means my new timetable is going to be nearly identical to my old one. The only difference is that I will be taking a textiles course instead of metalwork. I had wanted to do this in the first place, but didn’t dare be the only boy in amongst all the girls.

The meeting is soon over and it’s time to join my fellow students. There are still twenty minutes of lunchtime left before afternoon roll call. A call is put out over the public address system asking Susan to come to reception. When she arrives, I give her a hug and tell her I am starting school this afternoon. Mr Francis instructs her to show me round and introduce me to my fellow students.

We say goodbye to my father and go through the doors into the canteen. Susan has already eaten, but I haven’t had the chance yet. After buying some sandwiches, we head outside, as it’s a warm day. We find our way to a bench we used to use a lot before I was outed and put in danger. Mary and Tracy are sitting nearby talking when we arrive.

Susan immediately introduces me and we all sit down while I scoff my sandwiches. I notice that the mood is quite sombre and they deliberately keep the conversation light. I guess they don’t want to upset Susan or me by mentioning David. I don’t want to raise the issue, but don’t like seeing my friends depressed. My apparent death has put a dampener on the school, and many of the students seem to be shocked by the turn of events.

I wonder if I will have difficulties, effectively replacing a dead person. I decide to be very careful in lessons and not automatically sit down where I always have done. I will make sure to wait to be invited, or ask permission to sit down first.

I’m formally introduced to my fellow students at roll call that afternoon. Having asked Susan on the way in where I should sit, she has indicated my old chair, as it is next to hers. This gets a few looks from my fellow students, but I simply ignore this.

Mr Francis comes in and immediately does roll call. I have to pay attention to where my name now appears. I am now a Dalton instead of a Palmer, so I’m called earlier than before. Once finished he asks me to stand and say a few words about myself.

“Hello, I’m Jennifer Dalton, and I am a distant cousin and close friend of Susan, hence why I have been placed in this homeroom. It was felt a familiar face would be helpful while I get to know everybody,” I begin. “The reason I am here is that my parents died a few weeks ago in a car accident. My closest living relative is John Palmer, David Palmer’s father, and I came to live with them a few weeks ago while sorting out the affairs of my parents. The plan was that I would have had two friends here with me. However, that unfortunately wasn’t to be.”

I pause for a second before continuing, “I want to apologise if I seem to take David’s place, that wasn’t my intention. I wish I could be joining you under happier circumstances, however life has dealt me a number of challenges, and I intend to make the best use of the opportunities given to me. I look forward to getting to know you all. Thank you.”

I have decided to stick to the identity created for me and not try to hide my relationship to Susan and David. I hope by specifically stating my closeness to Susan it will deflect from my obvious replacement of my old self. It feels very weird being here as somebody else, pretending not to know everybody’s history. For the first time in several weeks, I’m physically in the room rather than projecting into it. It has only been a month since my change, but it feels more like a year.

I end up repeating a variation of the same speech in the next two classes that afternoon. The first class I’m with Susan, and she openly invites me to sit in my own seat. The final lesson of the day Susan isn’t with me, so I make sure to sit at an empty space, rather than my usual position next to Tracy. I hope to quickly rekindle my friendship, and return to my previous seating position.

One advantage of changing identity is that it doesn’t matter that I have missed a week’s homework. I’m not expected to hand anything in. I have caught up with most of my lessons anyway from Susan’s notes. There are a few holes in the lessons I don’t share with Susan, but I can soon catch up. Because I’m starting halfway through term, I am given extra leeway in what I’m supposed to know, as it isn’t expected that I know what has already been taught.

One of my big fears is that I will be accused of being David. However, my public execution, and the subsequent media frenzy over the arrest of Alison, has worked in my favour. There’s now little risk of that happening.

The next few days progress without incident. The first real test of my new identity comes on Wednesday. Third period, between break and lunch, is my first gym class with the girls. Susan squeezes my hand and smiles at me in reassurance as we queue to go into the changing rooms. Once the bell has rung, Coach Sanders instructs us to enter and get changed into our indoor kits.

This is one place where I don’t have to worry about filling my previous shoes, as I was never allowed in here before. Susan and Kate make a space for me between them. Mary and Tracy are on the bench opposite us. I follow Susan’s lead and change into the correct outfit. I also change my bra for a sports one, as do most of the other girls.

Coach Sanders then comes in and does roll call before instructing us to enter the gym. We then spend the next forty-five minutes engaged in various forms of aerobic exercise. We are all very hot and sweaty by the time we have finished.

Ten minutes before the end of the lesson, we are told to go back to the changing room to shower and change. I am slightly slower to undress than the other girls, as I’m worried if there will be a reaction.

I don’t have any issues. We all strip naked and proceed to enter the communal showers. I receive a few looks, and return a few myself. There’s certainly some comparison of body size and shape going on, but there are no reactions accusing me of being male. With some relief, I get dressed. I do wonder how people would react if they ever find out. Kate had almost wet herself trying to prevent me catching a glimpse of her partially clothed, and I am sure Stephanie wouldn’t be very happy if she knew. I have now seen all of them naked.

I get a surprise after school on Thursday. Robert Turner from the DA’s office rings me.

“Hi Jennifer, you wouldn’t happen to be the Alice who helped out at the bank heist?” he asks.

“Yes, that’s me. How did you know that?” I reply.

“I’ve seen the statements and your name popped up. You are also the only person I know to have mastered astral projection. I am working on another case with the police, and we are getting desperate for assistance. Your name came up as a possible solution to a problem we are having. Can you project yourself into Chief Millward’s office in say half an hour?” he enquires.

I’m certainly intrigued. After confirming exactly where I need to be, I set out to meet Mr Turner and Chief Millward at the police station.

---

 
I ride my new bike into town and find a position close to the police station from which I can project. I search the building with my remote vision and find the office containing Chief Millward and Robert Turner. I choose to appear as the Cheshire cat. My feline-like head appears hovering in front of the police chief.

“I believe you wanted to contact Alice?” I say, causing him to jump. It takes him a few seconds to recover his composure.

“You gave me quite a surprise,” he says, “I take it you are still unwilling to give your true identity”

“Yes, it could be dangerous,” I reply, disappearing and reappearing as Alice in Wonderland. “Considering a young transsexual has just been murdered for standing out from the crowd, I think I would rather not draw attention to myself more than absolutely necessary.”

“It’s OK Tom,” Robert Turner interjects, “I am aware of this person’s true identity. It’s best if you don’t know.”

“OK, I will respect that. I was involved in the case you mentioned, a very tragic hate crime,” Chief Millward replies, “Let me explain our problem, it’s actually related to the case you mentioned.”

That certainly gets my attention! I glance across at Mr Turner who simply smiles at me.

“A ten-year-old Afro-Caribbean boy has been kidnapped, and is being held to ransom. They want to exchange him for Alison Little, the girl currently charged with murder. We let her go; they don’t post him back to us limb by limb,” the chief explains handing me a file about the boy, including a photo.

Mr Turner takes over the explanation, “We have tried to get info out of Alison, but she doesn’t want to co-operate. We are hoping a haunting from her victim may change her mind.” He hands me a crime scene photo of David lying on the ground with a knife in his neck. I immediately change my appearance to that of my old self, minus the knife.

“I thought torture was illegal, besides are you sure she knows something? Victims will make anything up to get the persecution to stop,” I state.

“It’s only dodgy if the jury believes in ghosts,” Mr Turner says through a laugh. “Seriously, nobody is going to object, and quite frankly no one is going to take her seriously if she complains. We will make sure that whoever is guarding her at the time ignores any screaming. Yes, we may be bending the rules, but a boy’s life is at stake.”

“We think she may know where the boy, Donald, is, as he disappeared several days before the murder of David Palmer. Depending on how the interrogation goes we have several choices,” Chief Millward adds. “You could possibly take Alison’s place in a swap, or you might be able to find the boy and help rescue him. It depends on your exact capabilities. We have both seen some of what you are capable of, but don’t know what your limitations are.”

“I can remotely see up to two miles. Drop that to one and a half if listening as well,” I explain, “I can form a solid projection up to a quarter mile, further than that and I start to fade out. I can do a ghost up to around half a mile. The further the projection the more energy it takes and the less time I can maintain it. If the distance is kept to a hundred yards then I can maintain the projection for hours. My record is three hours without a break. With short breaks to eat high energy food, to recharge my batteries as such, I have managed seven hours of near continuous projection.”

After a short pause, I decide to add, “Projecting takes a lot of energy, if I try to project for too long or too far then I risk falling into a diabetic coma. I have to eat double or triple the normal amount of food when using my powers.”

“You seem to be able to mimic the appearance and voice of anyone you choose, is that correct?” Mr Turner asks.

“I can reproduce anything I have seen or heard. The limit is my memory and imagination,” I tell them. “Also, I can only project in one place, so there are limits to what I can do. For example, I can project a baseball into my hand, but if I throw it at the wall, it will disappear once airborne. I can’t therefore simulate a working gun.”

“What about other objects? Could you simulate a flashlight, or a radio?” the chief asks.

“I’ve never tried,” I reply, “Let’s find out.”

I start by projecting a torch into my hand. I turn it on and shine the light round the room. Chief Millward opens a door, through which is a walk-in cupboard with no windows. It is dark inside. I walk in and shine the light around, illuminating the room.

“I would say that your flashlight simulation is a success,” the Chief says, closing the door to the darkened room.

I then try to project my cell phone. It appears to have a signal, so I dial the phone on the desk, after confirming the direct dial number. The cell phone appears to be ringing, waiting for the other phone to pick up, but the phone on the desk remains silent.

“OK, let me try something simpler,” I say. I replace the phone in my hand with a simple radio. I try to tune it into a station, but all I get from it is static.

“Hmm, I can simulate the look, but not the functionality. Let me try the most basic of radios,” I say. I have at home a book of circuit diagrams that can be built using a special kit designed for learning electronics. It includes a basic crystal radio schematic. I bring the diagram to mind from my photographic memory and then picture a blank circuit board resting on my hand. I build up the connections and components one by one, each part appearing in turn on the board. It doesn’t work.

“If you want me to wear a wire, it will have to be a real one. However, that would prevent me from appearing, disappearing, and walking through walls. I can however carry things while invisible,” I state. To prove my point I vanish and pick up a pen from the desk. I carry it around the room and place it back down. The only part of my body that’s solid while doing this was my fingertips, so that I didn’t have to worry about colliding with the furniture, as I can’t see where my limbs are in relation to other objects.

I then have another idea. I project a portable video player into my hand. I switch it on and it starts to play my favourite Benny Hill sketch. The image of the fat British comic comes on screen being chased at high speed by a group of scantily clad women to the tune of Yakety Sax by Boots Randolph*.

“Mr Turner, would you mind assisting me in a little experiment? Please go into the next room, out of sight. I will try to project what I can see and hear with my remote vision onto this screen,” I request.

Mr Turner leaves the room. I close my eyes and follow him with my remote vision. Chief Millward gets out his cell phone and uses the built in video camera as he watches the screen. Mr Turner walks into the stairwell, stops, holds three fingers in the air, and then recites a Limerick:
“There was a young lady named Alice,
Who used dynamite instead of a phallus,
They found her vagina,
In South Carolina,
And most of her anus in Dallas.”

Mr Turner walks back into the room as Chief Millward pulls up the footage from the phone on his computer monitor.

“Not bad,” Mr Turner states as he sits back down, “that could come in very useful for remote surveillance. However, I wouldn’t like to have to rely on it in court, as explaining how the footage was obtained would be impossible. In addition, there is no proof that it hasn’t been tampered with. You can presumably make anything appear on that screen.”

A image of Alice in Wonderland appears on the screen and she recites another Limerick:
“There is a young man named Robert,
Who’s at great risk of being hurt,
If he doesn’t watch out,
He will get a clout,
From a fiery young girl in a skirt.”

“Touché,” Mr Turner replies, “While remote surveillance might come in handy in the future, right now we require your projection skills. We need to act fast. Are you able to pay a visit to Alison tonight?”

I agree to try it, and we discuss how it’s going to work. I will return home and get some rest, and then Mr Turner will collect me and drive me to just outside of the local jail. Alison will be in solitary confinement and the guards instructed not to check on her and ignore any sounds coming from her cell.

The cell is rigged with CCTV and microphones to record any information. The footage will never find its way into evidence. It will only be seen by Robert and Tom. I can have free reign over what I do to her. The only limitation is that there must be no lasting physical harm. If she is examined the next day, it has to appear that it’s all in her head, or self-inflicted.

Alison has been responsible for spreading and promoting the vile bigotry in our school. It was Alison who influenced some of the others, especially Stephanie, to bring out their prejudices. One of the charges being considered against her is inciting racial hatred. I’m not convinced that she will tell us anything. I certainly can’t rely on her conscience, the young boy is black, and therefore to her sick eyes isn’t even human.

It’s nearly midnight when I appear in her cell. As promised, only Alison is present. She is wearing red prison-issue cotton pyjamas, and is lying on the bed asleep, covered with a thick woollen blanket. The room is sparse in its appearance. The bed is along one wall. On the opposite wall is a toilet and washbasin. The plain brick walls are painted white. A small barred window is high in the far wall. Behind me is a solid steel door with a small letterbox-sized hatch for looking through, which is currently closed. Embedded in the plain white ceiling are two spotlights. These are currently dimmed, providing a small amount of light should the guards need to look in.

I materialise in the room as David, my appearance matching how I was when murdered, including the knife sticking out of my neck and blood soaked-clothing. I find the light switch and put the lights to full intensity, which isn’t massively bright. Alison starts to stir in her sleep. I take hold of the bed covers and yank them from the bed. As Alison is holding the covers, and wrapped partially in them, this has the effect of pulling her out of bed. She ends up on the floor, on her back, looking up at me in shock. I bend down over her and shout “Boo!” She screams.

I wait for the screaming to stop. She sits on the floor staring up at me, breathing heavily. I have made myself slightly see-through, so that she can just make out the outline of the door and ceiling through my body. The light in the ceiling is just visible though my head.

“What’s the matter, never seen a ghost before?” I ask. Alison shuts her eyes and refuses to look at me.

“There is no such thing as ghosts. This is all just a bad dream,” she whispers to herself.

I sit down beside her. I extend my finger and run it down her cheek, under her chin, sideways across her neck, and down her chest. I find one of her nipples through the fabric of her pyjamas and start to move my finger in small circular motions around it.

“Are you sure this isn’t real, your nipple is becoming hard? Thanks to you I died a virgin, perhaps we could rectify that now?” I ask.

Alison opens her eyes and looks at me. “Go rot in hell!” she shouts angrily, getting up off the cold floor and sitting down on the bed.

I think for a few seconds, and then reply, “OK, that can be arranged. This is close enough to hell. Let me see if I can make myself rot.” My primary reference for rotting is seeing fruit go off in the fruit bowl. I’m not sure how realistic this is going to be, but it will look real enough. I make my face turn to shades of blue, green and black. My skin starts to shrivel and shrink, exposing the skeleton below. Fungus sprouts over my body. The clothes I am wearing also commence decaying and fall to pieces, exposing more of the putrid skin beneath. The knife in my neck begins to corrode.

Alison tries to ignore me, but can’t help but stare at the revolting sight. She turns green and races to the toilet to throw up. I change back to my previous projection, pre decomposition.

“I take it you didn’t like that. Any other suggestions you want me to try?” I ask.

Alison finishes throwing up and flushes the toilet. While she is doing that, I pick the blanket up off the floor and make the bed. Alison stands and watches me finish tucking the blanket under the mattress.

“Lie down, let’s talk,” I say, lying on my side, my head supported by my hand. I indicate that Alison should join me. I am now dressed in identical pyjamas to Alison.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to rape you. Unless you want me to, that is,” I say with a grin. I’m not at all interested in her sexually. In fact, the idea repulses me, but I can play the part if it’s called for.

Alison pauses for a few seconds before lying down beside me on her back. She tilts her head towards me.

“You’re not going to go away, are you?” she states, sighing.

“You want me to stay and keep you company?” I ask, deliberately misinterpreting her meaning.

“I want you to sod off and leave me alone, but I guess that isn’t going to happen,” Alison says to me. “What is it you want, why are you here?”

“Don’t you think it’s appropriate that I haunt my murderer?” I tease. “Seriously though, there is a reason. Within each of our souls, there is a balance of good and evil. In your case most of your life has been spent expressing your evilness. I’m not even certain you have a good side. Unless you want to spend the rest of eternity in damnation I suggest you start to redress the balance.”

Robert Turner, at my request, has given me some of the propaganda circulating from the white supremacist group to which Alison belongs. A lot of their inspiration comes from the writings of the Ku Klux Klan and the Nazi party. There are some religious references included, so I hope my heaven and hell spiel will get her to talk.

I continue, “You have taken my life, possibly others. You have spread misery over an entire town. You can help to redress this balance by trying to save a life. Specifically, there is a young black boy by the name of Donald, and I suspect you know where he is. With my help you could save his life, and yours, from eternal damnation.”

“Firstly, I am not sure I believe in eternal damnation, and I am not fully convinced there is such a thing as ghosts. I must be going nuts. Either that, or this is a very bad nightmare,” Alison replies. “Donald was kidnapped by thirteen on the instructions of two. Thirteen is my mother. I’m number 52. I don’t know if there are actually 52 of us, or if the numbers are assigned non-consecutively. Low numbers are seen as higher ranks. I helped snatch the kid for my mother.”

Alison then talks about the hostage, “The brat’s mother is a hooker, and the father is a retarded dropout. Scum like that shouldn’t be allowed to breed. Intelligence is largely hereditary; with genes like those, he isn’t ever going to amount to much. That’s without even considering his flawed racial background. The blacks are several hundred years behind us in evolution. Just look at their music, all primal beats and no refinement. Name one great scientist, scholar, or philosopher who was black. ”

“Never mind his heritage, where is Donald now?” I ask, having listened to enough of Alison’s racism.

“It was being held in my family’s basement up until I left on Friday morning,” Alison replies. “I assume the police raided my home after I threw that knife at you, so it must have been moved. I don’t know where. Two would have found somebody else to house the brat. Policy is that we don’t get to know people in the other cells. Therefore, we can’t identify them. Two acts as a go-between. The intention was to raise publicity for the cause by executing him live on the internet on Monday morning. Now they are trying to swap him for me, I don’t know why. I was an idiot.”

Alison begins to cry. “I was aiming for the knife to pass you and stick in the tree. I didn’t mean to kill you. I wanted to scare you and make you rethink your stupid behaviour and drop the sissy nonsense. You’re one of the smartest people I know, if only you could lose the eccentricities then you would be the ideal partner for selective breeding. I knew I would get in trouble, although I didn’t expect this much. I was supposed to keep things low-key so as not to draw attention to my house. The last thing we needed was police snooping about with a hostage in the cellar.”

I wipe her tears away with my fingers. “If you would just learn to look beyond the hatred and fear of different lifestyles, and get to know people properly instead of judging them, then life would be a lot better. I simply had a birth defect, something that is not beyond the capability of being fixed. At least now I can be reincarnated as a proper girl instead of a defective one.”

I kiss her lightly on the cheek. I figure that the one thing that might overcome hate is love. I wasn’t sure but the selective breeding partner comment almost sounded like she had feelings for me. At first, I was angry with her, but the more I listen to her, the more my feelings turn to those of pity. In a way, she has done me a favour. By killing David, it gives me the opportunity of closure and a fresh start as Jennifer. I think she is genuinely upset by my death, although she seems to think it’s justified and I wonder how much is true regret and how much is resentment over being imprisoned.

“Who’s number two?” I ask.

“All militant members are only ever referred to by code. That way if anybody is caught we can’t identify one another under interrogation. The leader is one. Two is the go-between and second in command. I have never seen him, although my mother has on a number of occasions. He is an older man with a deep husky voice, that’s all I know,” she sobs.

“I have already said more than I should, if they find out they might abandon me, or worse, arrange for my martyrdom to the cause,” she adds.

“You don’t have any further information that could be useful?” I ask. “You do realise I could make your life in here very difficult if you lie to me. I can keep you from sleeping every night until you collapse from exhaustion. I could restrain you so that you can’t use that toilet over there, I don’t think the guards would be pleased with the mess that could cause.” I disappear and reappear sitting on top of her stomach.

“Get off me!” Alison shouts. She tries to slap me in the face, but I let her hand pass through my head. I laugh at her attempt before vanishing again and reappearing standing leaning against the wall at the end of the bed.

“I can keep this up all night, can you?” I ask. “Look, the police aren’t going to let you walk out of here. The first rule of dealing with hostage situations is that you don’t give in. It only encourages more hostages to be taken. What they will do is find a substitute to send in your place.”

I morph myself to look and sound exactly like Alison, “I could offer my services to do that, I know enough about you to pull off a passable impression.”

I sit back down on the edge of the bed beside her. “You are going to be spending a lot of time in cells like these, that is certain. What isn’t certain is how comfortable that cell will be. If you help bring down this web of evil hatred you are entangled in, then the D.A. will ask for leniency.”

Alison lies back and closes her eyes, before speaking, “I don’t know. I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t. If I help the police, then a hit will be put out on me by the cult. If I don’t, then I spend the rest of my life in misery in prison, possibly with you annoying me. I screwed up, yet they still care enough to want to break me out.”

I think about this for a moment. “You said that the cult runs selective breeding, are you one of the products of this?”

“Yes, third generation, it’s my duty to have as many children with as many suitable candidates as possible,” Alison replies.

“It sounds to me that the only reason they want to break you out is so that you can be a baby factory for their twisted ideals. After all, you have already proven yourself to be a liability.” I pause for a second before pushing the point home. “This cult of yours sounds very clinical and full of hate. It doesn’t sound like love, romance, and happiness feature in their priorities.”

Tears once again start streaming down Alison’s face as the thought that I could be right rips at her heart.

“Besides, what’s the harm in telling a dead person the truth?” I ask. “You said yourself that I don’t exist. It might help ease your conscience, if you have one.”

“54 West Wallaby Street,” Alison whispers, “I am not supposed to know that, and I don’t know for certain he would have been moved there, but it’s the only place I know he might be.”

Alison rolls over onto her side and faces the wall, sobbing into her pillow. I bend over her, kiss her lightly on the cheek, and say “Thank you.” I switch the lights back down to their dim setting and leave the jail.
 

---

 

*http://youtu.be/l1WpzrtQwI0 - I couldn’t find any decent Benny Hill chase scenes on YouTube, so this is the next best thing. The car chase from Blues Brothers set to Yakety Sax.

---

 
“Did you catch all that?” I ask, as I sit up from where I have been laying inside a large van parked outside the prison. The inside of the vehicle is lined with surveillance equipment. A live feed of the cell is on a screen, being watched by Robert Turner and Tom Millward. Another police officer, Lieutenant Scudder, is up front in the driver’s position.

I am wearing a burka, provided my Mr Turner to help protect my identity. It’s not the most glamorous of female attire, but it serves its purpose. I am covered from head to toe in black fabric. The only gap is a piece of black netting for my eyes.

While I have no problem with helping the authorities, I’m not keen on too many people knowing my identity. Not being able to see what I look like is a major benefit.

“Yes, the microphone is quite sensitive. Good job Alice,” Mr Turner tells me.

“I think she is telling me the truth about Donald,” I say, “I get the impression she has been brainwashed from birth with extreme racism. Alison is very intelligent, possibly Mensa level. I get the impression that she questions her beliefs, but they are so ingrained that she is struggling to fight them. I don’t believe she was aiming to miss. Her hatred overcame her rational thinking and she reacted stupidly.”

“I don’t know if you picked it up, but she was trembling when she gave that last piece of information,” I continue, “I think she genuinely fears for her safety, especially in prison. This cult sounds resourceful. Do you think it’s possible that she’s in danger?”

“It’s possible,” Mr Turner admits, “We have arrested several people from this organisation before. One was stabbed to death in state prison after giving evidence against one of their superiors. The threat is genuine. I have already arranged for Alison to be in solitary confinement for the duration. I have also arranged for all of her guards to be Afro-Caribbean in origin, just to be safe.”

“Let’s go for a drive near West Wallaby Street,” I suggest, “I can take a quick look inside and see if there is any sign of Donald.”

The two men agree and pass the instructions on to the driver. Once we park up in a lay-by close to the street, I take a wander with my remote vision. I locate number 54 and look inside. The house is very minimalist in decoration. It looks lived in, but only just. There is an adult male sitting watching late night television in the front of the house. It’s just past one in the morning.

There is nobody else on this floor. I try to look underneath the building, but there is no basement and all I can see under the floorboards is soil. I decide to look upstairs. I first look into the master bedroom and see a woman asleep in the bed.

There are two bedrooms and a bathroom on this floor. The bathroom is the next room I look into and it’s empty. I head towards the second bedroom. As I am about to enter through the door, I notice a bolt has been fitted to the outside, effectively turning the room into a prison cell. It’s currently bolted. A chill goes down my spine.

I enter the room. A young black girl is asleep on the bed. The room is warm and she is sleeping on top of the bed covers. The girl is in a short yellow baby-doll style lace-edged nightdress. She is face down and all I can see is a mass of curls on her head. Hanging from a closet door is a yellow summer dress. It’s very pretty, feminine, and suited for a large five-year-old.

Something about the picture in front of me doesn’t seem right. I look around the room. Apart from the bed, the only other furniture is a chair and an empty bucket in the corner. With the bolt on the door, I can guess why that is there. The walls are bare. There is a distinct lack of personal items. There isn’t a bedside table, lamp or clock in the room. There aren’t even any curtains on the window. There is a full moon and the light is shining in, illuminating the room in a soft glow.

The child is not sleeping with any soft toys, something I would have expected one apparently this young. There are no toys anywhere to be seen. I poke my head into the closet. There are two other dresses and a small pile of underwear. Not exactly, what you could call a complete wardrobe. There are barely enough clothes to last a week.

The youngster is black while the adults are white. It’s obviously not their kid, at least by birth. It’s possibly an adopted child, but somehow I don’t think that likely. This doesn’t strike me as a happy family scene. I decide to take a closer look at the sleeping girl.

As I get closer, the young girl rolls over onto her back. I am now starting to doubt my original opinion of the child’s gender. Seeing the individual’s face, there’s certainly a resemblance to Donald, but I can’t be sure. Donald has a crew cut in the photo, and this person has long curly hair. Looking closely at the top of the head, I think I can make out the canvas of a wig. If it is a wig, it is well glued on. This person looks like Donald’s younger sister. However, I know he is an only child from the details on the police file. Donald is ten, while this looks like a five or six year old.

I look at the sleeping child’s crotch to determine physical gender. The panty is padded, obscuring any bulges present. I know from my own experience that a tight pair of panties, and the correct positioning of the genitalia, especially at this age, can result in an almost flat appearance.

I decide to risk a closer look. I project myself fully into the room, but make myself almost invisible. I make only my hands solid and carefully lift up the nightdress. Making sure the child is still asleep I pull on the elastic of the panties and peek inside. This child is physically male. Removing the fabric also allows me to see something else previously hidden. A small scar is present at the top of his right leg. This matches the description of distinguishing marks in the file. I am now certain that this is Donald. I carefully put the boy’s clothes back into position and return to my body in the van.

“I found Donald. He is in the back bedroom of number 54,” I state. “There are two adults present, a male in the front room downstairs, watching telly, and a woman in the front bedroom. The rear bedroom is locked by a bolt on the outside. Donald has been disguised as a young girl. I didn’t recognise him at first. I suspect they think he is less likely to run away if he’s dressed as a five-year-old girl. There is a wig glued to his head.”

“You’re absolutely sure it’s him?” Tom Millward asks.

“Yes. I wasn’t sure if I was looking at a girl or boy, so I peeked inside his panties. Not only could I then see he was a boy, but I could also see the hernia scar mentioned in the file as a distinguishing mark,” I explain.

Tom nods then calls for backup on his radio, asking them to approach silently and meet up at our current location before raiding the property. I volunteer to unlock the doors from the inside to make entering easier. I can also help protect Donald should something go wrong.

The raid takes place at two in the morning. Both adults are now asleep, one in a chair downstairs, and the other in bed. I quietly unlock the doors and armed SWAT officers silently take positions pointing guns at the sleeping targets. One of the officers wakes Donald, and carries him out of the house. As soon as he is safely in a car, the officers wake and arrest the captors. Everything goes according to plan.

I finally make it to bed at three in the morning. I am going to be tired tomorrow; correction, later today; but it’s worth it.

My father wakes me up with a cup of coffee at half past eight. As soon as I see the clock, I start to panic, as I only have twenty minutes to be in school.

“Don’t worry,” my father reassures me, “after last night you deserve a rest, if needed you can call in sick. However, I did think of a quicker solution. Don’t bother getting dressed, just put on your dressing gown and get in the car. I can take you to Gloria’s and you can project yourself into school, it will be a lot quicker than getting ready. You can down some cereal bars on the way.”

I think about it and agree. I quickly go use the bathroom then grab my clothes and bag. Still dressed in my pyjamas and gown I get into the car and we drive over to Gloria’s house. I lay the clothes on a chair. I will change into them and go into school later. I make myself comfortable then project myself into the room. Grabbing my bag, my father gives me a lift to the school gates.

I arrive in my homeroom as the bell rings. I have just made it in time.

“Did I see you drive past in pyjamas a few minutes ago?” Susan asks, quietly. I thought I saw her on her bike.

I smile at her and nod. I then whisper back, “Gloria’s.” She chuckles to herself shaking her head. She doesn’t know about my visit to Alison yet, so isn’t aware of the reason for my tardiness.

Lessons proceed as normal for the first part of the day. At break time, I take Susan to one side and explain about Alison and Donald. Susan is shocked at the turn of events, and concerned for my safety. I point out that I am dead, and Alice doesn’t exist. Nobody will come after me.

History class turns out to be interesting for all the wrong reasons. We have to do a group assignment researching events related to the Second World War. The groups are picked out of a hat. Somehow I get the impression the hat is rigged. I end up with Stephanie, Freddy and Thomas. I’m not looking forward to working with two of my old enemies. I could of course be paranoid, they are after all David’s enemies, not Jenny’s.

Thomas is not an issue. In fact, I get on with him very well. We had always been on friendly terms when I was David. I used to sit next to him when getting changed for gym class, and on several occasions he has intervened when I was being taunted. Working with Stephanie and Freddie will be interesting.

The students have been split into five groups, and several of the groups go to the library to do research. Mrs Hargreaves is keeping a close eye on us, as we start to discuss how to tackle the task. I am not sure if it really is a set up, but she is certainly concerned given the history between my family and these students.

I leave it to Thomas to take the lead of the group and get the discussion going. I add in some thoughts on which reference books to check, assuming our library stocks them. In fact, I know they do, as I had been the one to catalogue them when they came in. I was given that job while excluded from gym class.

Stephanie is looking at me slightly worried. Freddy is being quiet, something unusual for him. He normally has a wisecrack or two. I guess they are slightly uneasy with me, given I am supposedly a cousin of David. I note that they have been avoiding both Susan and me since my apparent death.

There is a definite tension in the air during the discussions. Mrs Hargreaves’ attention is drawn away by another group of students. I decide to use the opportunity to clear the air between Stephanie, Freddy and myself.

“Look you two, there is no need to be so nervous, I’m not going to bite your heads off,” I state to Stephanie and Freddy. “I am fully aware of the history between you and my cousin. My adoption means that Daphne and I would have been living as sisters. She was concerned that her transgenderism could affect me, and we had an in-depth discussion before she died.”

I let them process that for a few seconds before continuing. “As far as I am concerned, all past problems are history and I am willing to start over with a clean slate.”

Tears start to roll down Stephanie’s face. She closes her eyes and hangs her head low, crying. I reach round and put my hand on her shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

“I was worried you might resent me for causing David’s death,” Stephanie sobs.

“You’re not responsible for David’s death, Alison is the one with blood on her hands,” I reply.

“It was my video footage that started all the problems. I knew what Alison was like. I shouldn’t have exposed him to that.” Stephanie is clearly upset and suffering from survivors’ guilt.

“It’s true that David was upset by the video,” I comment, “but it was inevitable that her secret would be exposed sooner or later. You simply speeded up the processes. She would have transitioned over summer break and attended next year as a girl, possibly at a different school if required. For the final few weeks, she was able to live fully as a girl, except for in school. It was the happiest I have ever seen her.”

Freddy adds, “Jennifer’s right, you’re not to blame, it was Alison that caused David’s death.” Turning to me he then explains, “Alison was the one who organised the attack on David. She tried to get me involved, but having already been on the receiving end of David’s wrath, I didn’t want any part of it. I am still being taunted about the video he made in revenge. I was also there when he exploded against Dwain. He might have looked weak, but he was a lot quicker than he appeared, and could be quite formidable when angered. Besides, it was an obvious trap. David was far too smart to put himself in such a position by accident.”

I chuckle and Freddy and Stephanie look at me puzzled. “It was a trap, and it seems you were the only one to realise. I guess David’s ‘Thicky’ nickname for you isn’t entirely accurate. David wanted an excuse for leaving school, but didn’t want to look like he gave in to the hate campaign trying to force him out. He hoped that provoking a confrontation would give him a valid reason to leave.”

“It backfired,” I say solemnly. “Nobody realised what Alison was capable of until too late. She is almost pure evil, raised from birth to be a bigoted hateful killing machine. Did you know there is a warrant out for Alison’s mother? She is wanted in connection with a kidnapping of a young black boy. They wanted to swap the boy for Alison. Luckily the boy has been found and rescued.”

The full details of the case aren’t in the public domain, however I am safe in revealing this as most of the information has already been in the news. There has been a warrant for Mrs Little since she disappeared after her daughter’s arrest. The kidnapping of Donald has been headline news for the last few days with public appeals on TV by the mother for the return of her son. The only bit of extra information I have told them is that the two cases are connected, and this will be on the news tonight anyway.

My murder had been headline news itself until knocked off the front page by the kidnapping of Donald. I was in hospital, so missed most of the news stories. A police car had been parked in our road for several days to keep news crews away. My death has been labelled as a hate crime due to me being transgendered. Donald’s kidnapping had diverted attention away from me temporarily, however once the connection was made known, I would have to be careful as interest in my death will be renewed.

I take the opportunity to find out some more information from Freddy. “What happened to Dwain Scott? I know he disappeared after his last confrontation with David. Has he recovered?”

“He’s been sent to a clinic in the next county,” Freddy replies, “He has been diagnosed with a mild form of bi-polar disorder, which is currently being treated.”

“I assumed he must have been depressed after David described the events on the roof,” I say, “but I didn’t realise he was suffering from manic depression.”

“Neither did anybody else,” Freddy elaborates, “however looking back it is easy to see his mood swings. His more crazy ideas, and most of the trouble caused, were during periods that could be described as manic. I often had to rein him in to stop him getting into serious trouble. I didn’t always succeed. I assume you heard how he charged into the girls’ changing room before I could stop him. Other days he would be very quiet and reflective.”

“He was on a high while rigging up the locker prank, but David suddenly fighting back shocked him out of it. Instead, he sunk into a low with anxiety over what might happen next. The video destroyed his confidence entirely and he sunk into a bigger low than I have witnessed before,” Freddy states. “I am in regular contact with him. He was shocked over David’s death. Once he has been stabilised he will return to school, although possibly not here, as he has too many enemies, not enough friends, and no respect following the video and David’s death.”

Having cleared the air with my two opponents and learning a lot about past events, we settle down to complete the assignment. While we will never be friends, we are at least on speaking terms without biting each other’s heads off. Stephanie is feeling guilty about her involvement, but I am confident my reassurances have helped her come to terms with the situation.

---

---

 
Saturday morning usually consists of grocery shopping. Today is no exception. While at the supermarket, I pick up some flowers for my grave. I know that the coffin may only contain lead weights, but it symbolises the end of my old life, and the start of a new era.

I feel it’s important to keep up appearances and that it is only right and proper to pay visits to the churchyard. It also gives me time to reflect and spend some time alone. I have always liked disappearing for a while and simply enjoying the outdoors. I have spent many an afternoon down by the river, usually cross-dressed for stress relief.

This time I am keeping things simple. I’m wearing a black skirt, black nylons and sensible black shoes. Heels would not work very well walking over the grass near the grave. I have on a black blouse and my thin navy blue fleece. I am carrying the flowers cradled in my arms and have my fleece pockets full with a pair of garden scissors and a small bottle of water.

As I come round the corner of the church, I see someone kneeling at my grave. As I am approaching from behind, I can’t recognise them, so I take a brief look at their face with remote vision. My friend Tracy is knelt down on the ground at the foot of the grave, looking at the marker.

There is no gravestone yet. We can’t erect one for six months, as we have to let the ground settle before it can be placed. Until then there is a simple wooden cross with ‘D. Palmer’ carved into it. At the foot of the cross is a stone flower vase. The current flowers need replacing, hence the bunch I am presently holding.

There is a line of trees going through the churchyard, under which there are a number of benches. I sit down on a bench a few rows from where my former self is supposedly buried. Tracy is obviously here to pay her respects, so I keep my distance for a while, waiting for her to finish.

Tracy is clearly sobbing and seems unaware of my presence. She is whispering something, but I don’t try to listen in, even though she is effectively talking to me.

The sky is overcast and it soon begins to rain. Tracy seems not to notice that she is getting wet. I look over at her concerned. She’s shivering and not attempting to move to cover. I walk over and crouch beside her, keeping both of us dry with an umbrella that I have been carrying.

“Tracy, are you all right? You’re getting cold and wet. It’s more sheltered on the bench, would to care to join me?” I help her to her feet and we return to where I have been sitting. I move the flowers out of the way and we both sit down under the umbrella. The seat has yet to get wet, as it is being protected by a tree.

Tracy sits on the bench shivering. She is only wearing a lightweight cotton top so I take off my fleece and wrap it around her shoulders. She currently needs it more than me. I put my arm round her back and she lays her head on my shoulder. We sit for five minutes, huddled together under the umbrella.

Tracy is very upset, but I am not sure why. She didn’t seem this distressed when at my funeral, and I get the impression that something else is bothering her. I know she doesn’t get on with her family, and that her lactose intolerance has been playing up.

The shower eases off and stops. I pick up the flowers and make my way to the grave. I leave Tracy sitting on the bench for a minute, with my fleece. I take the flowers out of the wrapping and arrange them in the vase, cutting the stalks to length. Taking the small packet of cut plant feed provided in the packaging, I pour it in between the flowers and top the vase up with water from my bottle. I collect the rubbish, depositing it into a nearby bin before returning to sit next to Tracy.

“That’s much nicer. Yellow carnations were David’s favourite flowers,” I state, trying to make conversation. I then ask, “Are you feeling better? A good cry often helps clear the air. I know he wouldn’t have wanted to upset you if he could have avoided it. David didn’t have many friends, but I know he regarded you as one of his closest companions.”

I really only had three close friends as David. After Susan, I regard Tracy as my next most trusted friend. I also like Mary, but we were never as close. Neither Mary nor Tracy ever knew my secret identity, and in some respects, I regret never opening up to them. I could still reveal my secret if I choose to, and have already discussed the idea with Susan. I will do so without hesitation if it will help ease the grief. However, to do so now could risk greater hurt for the lie I have been persisting against them.

“Any friend of David’s is a friend of mine. I know you hardly know me, but I think we will get on fine. I have the same weird sense of humour as David, it runs in our family,” I smile at Tracy, trying to get her to lighten her mood. It fails, instead more tears fall down her cheeks.

“What’s the matter Tracy?” I ask again. “It helps to talk. David made that mistake by not coming out to his family earlier. The last few weeks were his happiest as he finally started living as the girl he dreamt of after all those years of hiding. You can trust me, I promise.”

I am getting seriously worried now. Tracy has a distant sad look upon her face. The only time I have seen that before was when Dwain was sitting on the roof of the school. He had a similar expression before I pulled him from the edge. I don’t like how Tracy is acting, she is not paying any attention to her well-being, still shivering with my fleece around her, oblivious to the changing weather conditions.

Finally, she starts to respond to my prompts. “Thank you, you have been most kind.” Tracy is speaking so softly I have to listen carefully to what she is saying. “I could use a good friend about now. However, I know that you will soon hate me, along with the rest of my former friends.”

She breaks down in tears again. I hug her and whisper in her ear, “Whatever you think you have done, don’t underestimate the power of friendship. Tell me what the problem is, I promise I won’t get angry with you.”

Tracy takes a deep breath before looking me in the eye. “I came here to beg forgiveness. I never meant to hurt David, but I don’t have any options left. I’m pregnant. I have named David as the father.”

I wasn’t expecting that as an answer. I thought that perhaps she was feeling guilty over some involvement in my death. This is a totally unexpected development and I’m not sure of what to make of it. I’m still a virgin. If she is pregnant, then it isn’t by my doing.

“In that case, what are you doing in a middle of a graveyard freezing your butt off? You have a baby to think about, so you need to make your own health top priority. Come on, I’m taking you home.”

“No!” Tracy shouts at me, “I can’t go back there.” There is a scared look on her face. Her sudden panic tells me a lot about what is going on. Someone is responsible for getting her pregnant and she has named me as the father. There are only two reasons I can think of for her lying. Either she is protecting somebody, or she’s scared of whoever is responsible, possibly both. I suspect that the latter is the case.

“Don’t panic, I was thinking of my house, not yours. Come, it’s only a short distance.” I know that Tracy has misinterpreted me, as she has never been to my residence. Tracy doesn’t have transport, and we live several miles away, so we normally meet up with our friends in town or at their houses. On the few occasions any of them have been round before, it’s always been to Susan’s home.

We slowly walk back to my house. On arrival, I bring her in through the front door. As we enter, I call out. “Hi Dad, we have company.” This is a precaution in case he says something inappropriate. He pokes his head out from the kitchen to look at us.

I still have my arm round Tracy and I can feel her tense up. “I need a favour. Tracy here is very upset. Can you give us some space while we talk?”

My father takes the hint. “I think Richard wants some help cleaning his garage, I will be back later. Would you like me to send Susan down here?”

I nod and he heads off down the road out of our way. I bring Tracy into the kitchen and put the kettle on for some hot chocolate. I get three cups out of the cupboard and put the chocolate powder in while I wait for the kettle to boil.

Turning to Tracy I tell her, “Don’t worry about Susan, let me explain what is going on. Everything will be all right.”

Susan enters through the back door, and joins Tracy at the table, asking, “What’s up?”

“I found Tracy crying at David’s grave,” I tell Susan. I place three cups of hot chocolate on the table, sit down next to Tracy, and put my arm round her again. “She has confided that she’s pregnant, and that David is the father. I always assumed David died a virgin, it seems I was wrong.”

Tracy won’t have noticed the significance of the last sentence. Susan on the other hand looks me in the eye, well aware that I have just accused Tracy of outright lying.

Susan asks, “Are you certain, and who else knows?”

“I went to the doctors yesterday after school, and he confirmed it. Then he called my parents and they contacted the police. I had to tell them who the father was, as it’s statutory rape of a minor.” Tracy starts to cry again while sipping her cocoa.

“David isn’t the father, is he?” I ask softly. “You were so scared that you had to name somebody and David is no longer around to be hurt by the accusation. I am going to take a guess here. I think you didn’t willingly have sex, and that somebody close to you, possibly one of your family, has raped you. You were panicked earlier when you thought I was taking you home.”

Tracy says nothing. Susan looks at us both, worried.

“You are safe now, you don’t have to worry, nobody can harm you,” Susan states, “I’m sure that you could live with either me or Jenny should the need arise. Now tell us who did this to you so we can nail the bastard.”

“It’s Damien, my brother,” Tracy finally confesses, “The bastard first raped me last month after getting drunk. He keeps threatening to blow my brains out in the middle of the night if I tell anybody. Since then he has forced me to do his bidding at least twice a week ever since. He was there staring at me last night. I had to lie or he would have killed me.”

Tracy breaks down completely, slumping forward onto the kitchen table sobbing.

“Nobody threatens my friends and gets away with it!” I state forcibly, banging my fist onto the table.

Susan looks at me alarmed, “Don’t do anything stupid, think this through. Last time you let your anger get out of control you nearly strangled Dwain and almost drove him to suicide. Your last fight almost killed you, you’re not indestructible.”

This catches Tracy’s attention. She looks up at us, puzzled.

“This time I make sure it’s the right person, and I’m not doing this alone. Tom and Robert owe me a favour,” I reply, “come with me, I have a plan.”

I lead Susan and Tracy through to the front room. Having sat them both down on one of the couches, I lie on the other and project into the room as Tracy. For effect, I start out occupying the same space as my physical body and rise up out of myself.

“You won’t be going home until Damien is safely in jail,” I state, much to Tracy’s surprise, “I can be the perfect doppelganger. If I take your place, Damien can do what he likes to this projection, and we are perfectly safe. My projections are as indestructible as I choose to make them.”

“Last time you got into a fight you ended up in a coma for a week!” Susan shouts at me.

“That had nothing to do with getting stabbed. It was because I had to maintain the projection of my body through a crime scene investigation and post-mortem. If I ended the projection as soon as the knife was in my neck, there wouldn’t have been a problem. This time I will have back up and it won’t matter if I suddenly disappear.”

“Wait, you’re saying David’s death was faked?” Tracy asks, “He’s still alive?”

“I’m David, it’s a long story,” I declare, morphing my projection into my old self, “Susan can fill you in while I go make some arrangements for kicking some butt on your behalf.” I head for the phone.

I soon locate Robert Turner. He is on the local golf course partnering Tom Millward. After explaining the situation, I persuade them to carry out my plan. They are equally appalled at Damien’s behaviour. Mr Turner asks me if I am sure I want to do this, as I could end up getting raped or attacked.

I have been speaking to Robert Turner. However, he cautions me that I will be giving away clues to my identity by involving Chief Millward.

At this point I trust Tom Millward enough that I am willing to risk him finding out who I am.

I project myself up the street to my uncle’s house to inform my father of the situation. He returns home bringing Aunt Janice with him. I head into town with my father and Tracy. He drives us to Mr Turner’s office, where he is waiting. I dress again in the burka before Chief Millward arrives in the same van as we used for the visit to Alison. Accompanying him are the police officers who interviewed Tracy last night. Tracy tells the officers the truth about her ordeal.

I position myself on the mattress in the van and project myself once again as Tracy. This time I am wired up with miniature cameras and microphones to record the events. The plan is for me to head home as Tracy and see if Damien does anything.

Tracy is going to be watching from the van so that she can give me any information I need. I am not wearing an earpiece, as they are difficult to hide. I am therefore relying on my remote hearing to listen to instructions from the van.

The van is parked a block away from Tracy’s house and I complete the journey on foot. I head in the front door using Tracy’s key. Damien is the only person home and is sat on the couch playing computer games on a console. I discreetly deposit a camera on the windowsill where it can get a good view of the room, while at the same time initially being out of his sight.

I sit in a chair to the side of where he is. “Where is Mom and Pops?” I ask.

Damien grins at me menacingly, “Out visiting Gran and Gramps. No doubt they will be so upset when they learn their granddaughter is a slut.”

“Not half as much as when they learn the truth about their grandson,” I calmly reply. Looking him directly in the eye, I smile at him sweetly. “I have a hospital appointment tomorrow so that a cell sample from the foetus can be taken to conduct a paternity test.”

Damien throws the games controller to the floor and comes towards me. Grabbing my arm, he pulls me to my feet. With his face only a few inches from my own, he snarls at me. “You think you can blackmail me, bitch? You do what I say.”

We are stood face to face, his fingers digging into my arm where he is still holding me. Damien shoves his other hand down the front of my jeans and starts to rub and probe me with his fingers.

“I end up in the slammer, and several of my friends will enjoy ramming themselves into that tight little pussy of yours. They won’t be as caring and tender as me, little sister.”

“Take your hand out of my panties you incestuous pervert,” I angrily reply, slapping him hard in the face, sending his head sideways and leaving a large red handprint on his cheek.

Damien throws me to ground. I land face down and he jumps on my back.

“I will get you for that, bitch!” he shouts as he pins me to the ground while attempting to rip my jeans off. Both my arms are pinned under my body. However, I soon rectify that by making my arms travel through my body until they are free. I grab his gonads with my hand and squeeze until he cries out in pain.

Damien rolls off me onto his back. I quickly jump to my feet and try to run for the door, but he kicks my feet out from under me. I land on the floor again as he reaches under the couch. I am getting up again when I hear the distinctive sound of a revolver being cocked.

“What’s the matter Sis? Did you forget about Big Bertha? I thought you liked her cold caress inside of you?” Damien laughs at me while pointing a large revolver in my direction.

The police have been making their way to my assistance and to arrest Damien, however I am now remotely hearing calls to hold back. Tom Millward instructs me to disarm him. I am immune to bullets, but his officers are not. I nod my head slightly to denote I have heard the message, while at the same time not alerting Damien that there is anything amiss.

“You fancy adding murder to the charges against you?” I ask. “You can’t possibly get away with killing me. Give up before you give yourself the death penalty Bro.”

“Rapists don’t last long in prison, especially ones who bang their own underage sisters. I don’t have anything to lose and I can be long gone before the police arrive,” he coldly states. “Now I think it’s time for you and me to take a drive. Co-operate and I will drop you out in the countryside. You will have a long walk, but you will live. Any more crap and I pull the trigger.”

Damien slowly gets to his feet while keeping me in his sights. I cautiously stand. We are a few feet apart, and in clear view of the camera that I planted earlier. There is now enough video evidence for several offences.

“Walk to the garage and get in the trunk of my car,” Damien instructs, waving the gun at me and indicating that I should head through the kitchen. I consider my options then walk slowly as directed. I will let him lock me in the trunk, and then I will be free to appear when and where I choose.

Arriving in the garage, I open and climb in the trunk. Damien watches from a distance. The garage is double width and his car is on the far side, while the other bay is empty. Once I am safely curled up, he comes over and slams the trunk shut, locking me inside. We are now out of sight of the surveillance equipment I left in the lounge and the second wire is now locked in the trunk of the car. I end my projection and keep watch remotely as he decocks the revolver.

Damien is carefully making his firearm safe, holding it out in front of him. As soon as the weapon can no longer discharge accidentally, I appear beside him, as Lieutenant Scudder, the driver of our van, holding a police baton. I rapidly bring the baton down onto his hands knocking the revolver to the floor and smashing his fingers in the process. The gun clatters to the ground, and in one fluid motion, I spin through 360 degrees and the baton connects with the centre of his back. As he is bending forward, his spine is exposed and there is a loud crack as the baton strikes bone.

I kick the revolver under the car out of reach, as Damien collapses to the floor in agony. Seeing that he is now disabled, possibly in more than one sense of the word, I open the garage and wave the other officers forward who enter and quickly handcuff Damien.

I advise them to call for an ambulance, and then head outside and round the side of the house, out of sight. I re-project myself into the trunk of the car as Tracy, then bang on the lid and shout to attract attention. I am released from captivity and led back to the van where Chief Millward is waiting for me.

An ambulance has been on standby nearby and is on the scene within minutes. We drive back to the police station while I explain in detail what has happened.

I fully admit my actions in attacking Damien. I point out that the injuries inflicted were not fatal and were aimed to disarm and render harmless. If I wanted to kill him then I could have appeared behind him with a knife and slit his throat. My reasoning for my methods was that if the police, or me pretending to be an officer, were to order him to put the revolver down at gunpoint, then he would have opted for a shoot out.

While not totally pleased with having a potentially crippled criminal on their hands, they reluctantly agree that my actions were justified given the circumstances. The official report of the arrest would indicate that Tracy went in to confront her brother while wearing a wire. This would be supported by the video evidence.

Lieutenant Scudder is reluctantly ordered to say that he was first on scene having sneaked through the house and disarmed Damien with his baton.

On arrival, Tracy is taken inside to an interview room. Mr and Mrs Spencer, Tracy’s parents, are already at the station when we arrive. They were stopped from entering the street as Damien was being carted away to hospital, and escorted to our location.

I remotely watch Tracy’s interview room as there is a tearful reunion of mother and daughter. The police then begin to interview Tracy a second time. I decide that I don’t want to know any more details and tune out.

---

---

 
It is depressing how the actions of one individual can cause the destruction of a family. It is now half past ten on Saturday evening, six hours since Damien was arrested. In that time the Spencer family has self-destructed.

The mother refuses to believe that her son is responsible for getting her daughter pregnant, despite the evidence to the contrary. The father is taking the side of his daughter and has disowned the son. Last we saw them, Mr and Mrs Spencer were being escorted to two different cells to calm down after nearly coming to blows in the middle of the police station.

As soon as Damien’s prints were taken and run through the police computer system, unsolved crimes started spitting out of the machine at a high rate of knots. It looks as if Damien is a one-man mini crime-wave. Actually, that is not quite true. The friends he mentioned earlier seem to be his partners in crime, although the police are still working on their identities. Now that they have identified one member of the gang it is only a matter of time before the rest are found.

The Spencer household is currently a crime scene. Not only did Damien have an unregistered firearm, which has now been sent to ballistics for analysis, it also appears half his possessions might be stolen property.

This is why I am currently lying in bed curled up with Tracy. With her parents helping police with their enquiries, she needed somewhere to stay. After some discussion, it was decided that given the emotional turmoil, she needed to be with friends she could trust.

Susan’s bed can be turned from a single into a double by pulling out a trundle from underneath the main mattress. All three of us are sleeping together. Tracy is in the middle between Susan and me. I smile as I think of the irony that only a few weeks ago I was trying to explain having a strange girl in bed, and now I am sleeping with two of them. Not that either of them can be described as strange, and I have shared a bed with Susan on a number of occasions when younger.

This wasn’t how I envisioned my first sleepover as a girl, but then, whenever can anything to do with me be considered normal? We have spent most of the evening talking and comforting Tracy. She has been through a lot already, and unfortunately, it’s not going to be getting any easier.

Tomorrow morning she has an appointment at an abortion clinic. Tracy has always been anti-abortion in viewpoint, and I know her mother has similarly strong views on the subject. However, faced with the close inbreeding involved, and the associated high risks of genetic deficiencies and health problems, Tracy has made the decision to terminate the pregnancy. Her father has already signed the permission forms. Mr Turner made sure all the paperwork was in place for us.

I am the last to wake up on Sunday morning. Tracy was first up, suffering from symptoms of morning sickness. This first alerted her to the possibility of being pregnant. She has been covering it up by claiming her lactose intolerance has been causing the problem. Tracy had to climb over Susan to get out of bed and this caused Susan to wake up. I wake up half an hour later, after Tracy’s nausea has started to subside.

After some breakfast, Aunt Janice drives Tracy and me to the hospital. Tracy wants somebody she trusts with her while she goes into the clinic. She is not on the best of terms with her parents, especially her mother. It seems they always favoured Damien. At Tracy’s request, I am to accompany her, while projecting as her mother. I am more likely to be allowed to stay with her as a family member.

We arrive for the appointment on time at 11am. It’s one of the few clinics open on a weekend. It seems they specialise in teen pregnancies outside of normal school hours. After the various methods of abortion are explained, Tracy is given an examination to confirm how far into the pregnancy she has reached. This includes an ultrasound. Tracy is too upset to watch. I comfort her as much as I can.

After discussion and confirmation that Tracy wants to go ahead, she is given a dose of mifepristone and told to rest for a couple of hours while it starts to take effect. A second appointment is made for late afternoon on Tuesday, after school, for the second part of the procedure. Normally the procedure wouldn’t be started so late in the day, but it was thought preferable that Tracy not miss school, which could start rumours.

Sunday afternoon we call at Tracy’s home to pick up some of her possessions. At a minimum, she will need some changes of clothing and her schoolbooks. The house is still being searched by the police, however under supervision of a police sergeant we are allowed in to pick things up. Tracy freezes as she walks up to the building and runs back to the car. It seems most of the attacks occurred in this house and she can no longer face going back inside.

In the end, I go inside with the sergeant and pick up the necessary belongings. It looks like Tracy will be living with Susan for several days until arrangements that are more permanent can be made.

It is with much apprehension that the three of us return to school on Monday. I have been the target of nasty rumours and open hatred at school before, so I know what to expect. Tracy has witnessed what can take place, and is fearful about what may possibly happen if it is generally known that she is pregnant. Her brother has threatened to spread stories about her regarding sexual promiscuity.

Susan finds Mary as soon as she arrives and takes her to one side to whisper the situation in her ear. Shortly afterwards Mary comes and gives Tracy a hug. Having taken over most of David’s old schedule, I share a large proportion of my lessons with Tracy. David always used to sit next to Tracy, but as Jennifer, I have been using different seats. I am now taking back my place at her side in order to support her. She stood by me when I was outed, I fully intend to return the favour should the worst happen.

We get some strange glances as I stick closely to Tracy throughout the day, sitting in my old seats once again. When queried on the subject, Tracy states that she is having family problems and that I am helping her work through the issues. It seems that word has gotten round that Damien has been arrested, however nobody seems to know the reason. There are some wild ideas floating around the school, but luckily none of them are correct.

After school on Tuesday, I once again accompany Tracy to the clinic pretending to be her mother. We arrive at 4pm, and are the last appointment of the day. After being given prostaglandin, Tracy is shown to a side room where she has to wait for the medicine to take effect. Luckily, it acts reasonably quickly, and with the aid of some painkillers, the procedure is completed within four hours. We arrive home shortly after 9pm. The hospital psychiatrist has prescribed a sedative to help Tracy sleep and she opts to take an early night. She is still sleeping in Susan’s room, but this time the trundle is set up as a separate bed. I stay until she goes to bed before heading home.

Thursday afternoon the three of us are about to leave school when I get an uneasy feeling that we are being watched. As Tracy doesn’t have a bike we have been getting a lift from my father. He has been dropping us at school in the morning and picking us up in the evening from Gloria’s house, except for Tuesday when Aunt Janice collected us directly from school to take us to the clinic.

I scout round the neighbourhood with my remote vision and spot a group of youths watching us from down the street. I immediately notice that they all have the same tattoo, a thistle ring going round their left wrist. Damien has a similar tattoo. I assume that this is not a coincidence and lead the girls back into the school.

After talking to Mr Spencer about our concerns, we are allowed to stay in the school library while the police are called to drive through the neighbourhood.

“I don’t like this waiting around,” I state to Susan and Tracy, “The police may move them on this time, but they haven’t actually done anything so I am not sure what they can do.”

“Don’t even think about it!” Susan immediately gets on my case. “I know how that mind of yours works. You are not going to project yourself out there into an ambush.”

“Why not?” I ask. “I can’t get hurt. It will be just like at the bank except nobody will be watching this time, so I can unleash full-on ghost effects.”

“Go for it,” Tracy instructs me, “from your description they are friends of my brother. Those bastards have probably been instructed to rape me again. My brother was always threatening to get his mates involved. Go out there as me and see if they react.” The outright hatred in Tracy’s voice is hard to ignore.

“OK, but the first sign your body is in pain or reacting badly I’m slapping you out of it,” Susan warns me.

I lie back in my seat and project myself into an empty corridor of the school. Sneaking out the front gates, I start to head directly past where the gang is still located. I note that they are standing out of sight of the CCTV system.

As suspected, as I pass the alleyway that they have been loitering in, they grab me and pull me into a disused building site, out of sight of the road. I don’t resist or struggle as they drag me by the arm with a hand over my mouth.

“Hello, Tracy, your brother says ‘hi’,” one of the boys tells at me, pulling a knife and holding it to my throat, “Any screaming and I cut out your vocal cords.”

I am wrestled to the ground and pinned down. Two men take an arm each, another two each take one of my legs. I am spread out with my arms stretched to the side and my legs held apart. The fifth and final youth lifts my skirt and pulls down my panties.

“I’m not Tracy, I’m Alice,” I state calmly, “Alice the Avenger.”

I morph my features and cloths to look like a younger version of Wonder Woman before vanishing in a puff of smoke. Predictably, this startles and confuses the five young men attempting to rape me. I cackle, projecting nothing but my voice into the area.

“Let’s get out of here,” one of them shouts and they all start running to the hole in the fence through which we entered. I project myself in front of them blocking their exit.

“Hello boys,” I say grinning at them menacingly as they screech to a halt in front of me.

The one with the knife steps forward and lashes out with the blade. I let it pass straight through my head. I laugh at him, and then punch him in the face as hard as I can. He staggers, and falls over backwards, as blood streams from a broken nose.

I have already decided how I want to handle this. I refuse to kill anybody. I won’t inflict anything that I consider could potentially be a fatal wound. Anything else is fair game. As far as I am concerned, these scumbags deserve whatever they get. They crossed the line by trying to rape me, and now the gloves are off.

Another one tries to karate kick me in the stomach. I let him pass through me before turning and kicking him in the back. This sends him head first into the wooden fence behind me, knocking him out.

A third assailant picks up a lump of wood and starts swinging it back and forth, while running in my direction. The wood passes through my body as an identical lump of wood appears in my hand. I swing it, smashing it into his upper right arm. The force snaps his humerus and leaves it bent at a funny angle. He falls to the ground, dropping his weapon, and he clutches his broken limb.

The other two start running in opposite directions away from my current location. The one to my right starts to climb the wooden fence bordering the alley. Before he can get over it, I run horizontally along the fence, defying gravity. As he reaches the top, I kick him in the shoulder, dislocating it. He falls to the ground in pain.

The other is attempting a similar manoeuvre on a fence the opposite side of the building plot. I disappear, reappearing instantly behind him, and pull him back into the compound. Tossing him to the ground, he lands in a heap on the hard rough earth, his ankle twisting under his weight.

I once again reappear in the gap in the fence as the others try to slip through while I am busy with the fence climbers.

“Going somewhere?” I ask.

They back away nervously as a red-hot branding iron in an @ shape appears in my hands.

Sirens can be heard as police cars scream to a halt in the nearby street.

“I suggest you surrender to the police and confess past crimes, unless you want me to hunt you down,” I state before fading out just as police officers reach the hole in the fence, guns drawn.

Returning to my body, I wake from my trance to see Susan and Tracy staring at me.

“What did you do?” Susan asks, concerned, “you have had an evil grin on your face for the last five minutes.”

“They will no longer pose us a threat,” I reply. Susan looks at me crossly. I sigh and count on my fingers as I list the injuries, “Knocked out, twisted ankle, smashed arm, dislocated shoulder, broken nose. All now in the custody of the police, hopefully so scared they will confess anything through fear of me coming back.”

“You’re letting your abilities go to your head. Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely. You nearly drove Dwain to suicide. Damien is going to be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life, and god knows how much damage you’ve inflicted on those people out there. I was watching your face. You enjoyed it!” Susan yells at me, slapping me on the cheek before storming off.

“They were trying to rape me!” I yell after her.

I sigh and ask Tracy, “Do you think I went too far?”

She considers the question before answering, “I am not the best person to ask. If I could have gotten hold of Big Bertha, I would have blown my brother’s head off. He always kept the revolver hidden from me. The only times I saw it, I wasn’t in a position to try to wrestle it off him without risk of being shot. Given your power, I’m not sure I would be as restrained. Does it matter if you enjoy it, as long as you know when to stop?”

I ponder Tracy’s words for a minute before standing and saying, “Come on, it’s safe to leave now. Susan will calm down.”

We leave the school and slowly walk to Gloria’s house. I have kept my remote eye on Susan to make sure she doesn’t get into trouble. She’s sat on Gloria’s doorstep when we get there, a few minutes after her own arrival. She looks up at me.

“Yes, I did enjoy myself earlier,” I state, “I recognise that fact. Am I happy that Damien can no longer pose a threat to young girls? Yes. Am I happy that five fewer criminals are now on the streets? Yes. Am I happy that I was able to save the life of a child by effectively torturing Alison? Yes. Did I kill Damien when I had the opportunity? No. Did I attack those five men without provocation? No, I waited for them to drag me into the alley and rip my panties off before I acted. Did I try to kill those five? No, I only injured them. Have I taken any hostile action in revenge against Stephanie, Cherry, Britney, Terry, Mike, or Ben? No. In fact, only last week I was working with Stephanie and Freddy in a civilised fashion, actually helping Stephanie deal with her guilt over David’s death. Going after Dwain the way I did was a mistake. I let my emotions control me instead of thinking it through. I don’t intend to make that mistake twice. I am not about to make the ghost of David go on an undead rampage of killosity.”

I help Susan to her feet and unlock the door to the house.

“I’m sorry,” Susan says softly, “I overreacted. I’m just worried about you.”

I wrap her in a hug, “If I ever look like I am crossing the line, let me know.”

“I will,” she replies, and then adds, “and if you quote Skin Horse at me again I’m going to hit you.”

As soon as I am settled inside Gloria’s I start to compose an email to Tom Millward and Robert Turner, explaining exactly what has happened. I don’t want them accusing me of vigilantism by going round beating people up without justification. I need to make them aware that I was acting in self-defence, as I’m not convinced that the five youths will actually admit to what caused them to end up in hospital. If they had let me walk past, then I would have ignored them and not taken any action.

Shortly after sending the email, I get a phone call from Mr Turner.

“Your last escapade has caused quite a commotion,” Mr Turner states. “I have just gotten off the phone with Tom. We were already discussing the arrests when your email came through. We guessed you might have been behind it when one of the injured begged us for protection from Alice the Avenger.”

“Did they actually confess all, as I asked?” I enquired.

“Two of them have broken down and confessed all, the rest are taking the fifth. The police arrested all five for breach of the peace and disorderly conduct. While not serious crimes, it did allow them to collect and process their fingerprints through the system. Like Damien, their fingerprints and DNA have been linked to numerous crime scenes in the last few months. Well done, you have probably made a serious dent in the crime figures for the town,” Mr Turner compliments me.

He pauses before continuing, “We found out some useful information from the two who talked. Seems they have links to our favourite supremacist cult. The cult has been hiring these thugs to intimidate individuals they regard as inferior. Combining this information with the data already collected from Alison, and a few other sources, we now have a good idea regarding the identity of Number Two. I think we may have an opportunity to shut this cult down once and for all. Would you be interested in helping out if the need arises?”

“As long as it’s outside of school hours, and my father approves, I’m willing to lend a hand,” I reply. I have a unique talent, and it seems a waste not to put it to good use. I quite enjoy assisting the police every now and then.

After a short discussion it is agreed Mr Turner will get back to me later if he or Tom Millward need my abilities.

---

 
Friday evening Robert Turner pays my father and me a visit. My assistance has been requested in bringing the cult down. All the intelligence collected points to a meeting of senior figures. The person suspected of being Number Two is being tailed by plain-clothes detectives. However, he is exceedingly cautious and difficult to follow.

Attempts to try to listen in on conversations or use bugs have so far failed. The suspect regularly sweeps for electronic devices in his home, office and cars. He is also employing electronic countermeasures to prevent anybody from listening in. Even his phone calls are encrypted.

Given the lengths to which he is going, my talents may be the only thing that can penetrate what is happening.

After discussion of exactly what I am and am not prepared to do, we come to an agreement as to what will happen. I have agreed to act as a spy. However, nothing I hear or see can necessarily be used in evidence. Anything I find out will be treated as an anonymous tip off that the police can then act on to gather further, more solid evidence by means of search warrants. I won’t project myself into the situation unless there is an absolute need. I don’t mind using violence, but I want to aviod causing serious injury. I certainly do not want to be responsible for killing anybody.

I have seen death close up already at the bank heist. That time a police sniper did the deed. Although I did help in bringing the situation about, I was not actually the one to pull the trigger, and despite only being a subtle difference, it’s enough for me to be able to cope.

After an early night, I get up at seven in the morning to get ready for the day ahead. With Susan and Aunt Janice’s help, I am taking some additional precautions this morning. Although I intend to wear the burka again to hide my appearance, it may be necessary to remove it. It isn’t the most comfortable of garments and can be quite warm. I have therefore decided to change my look in case I need to remove it at any point.

“Mr Turner’s idea to dress you up in a burka was a good one,” my aunt states, “but we can make you look quite different with the help of some temporary hair dye and makeup.”

I have never really been into the girly activities of constant beauty treatments. Simple hairstyles and a little makeup is more my style.

“Now you will really know what it feels like for a girl,” Susan adds, picking up her large makeup case, grinning, “When I was little, this used to be my playground.”

I groan, look skywards and mutter, “Oh, father, rescue me!” I like being a girl, but I am still a tomboy compared to Susan when she gets started. “Hey, you need to keep in mind that I need to look average, not like some Hollywood material girl off the cover of Vogue.”

“I’ll remember,” Susan replies as she starts on her beauty routine.

My aunt has provided us with a temporary hair dye from the local drugstore, as well as some coloured contact lenses. It takes a while, but I soon have my red hair and eyebrows tinted almost black. I am using a long-lasting foundation to cover my freckles. My true blue eyes are now green and I add subtle makeup to them to make them look a different size to normal. The effect makes me look older, more like eighteen than fourteen.

I am wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved black blouse. I have a black bra and camisole. I decide for practicality and put on my hiking boots in case I need to leave the van and hike after the target. I don’t know what ground I may need to go over so these are the most sensible option. Having changed my appearance so that I am not easily recognised, I put the black burka on over the top so that the only parts of me visible are my hands and eyes. My eyebrows are a different colour from usual, not that they can be seen very well through the fine mesh veil in the eye slit.

Tom Millward may have an idea who I am, but we have deliberately kept my identity secret, with his agreement, for my own protection. The rest of the police force doesn’t know anything about me, and I intend to keep it that way.

My father drives me to Mr Turner’s office. The CD playing in the car’s stereo changes from ‘Like a virgin’ to ‘Die another day’. I am getting into the groove when my father reaches over and turns the music down.

“What you are doing is very honourable,” my father states, “but don’t let them take advantage of you, or let them put you in danger.”

“Papa, don’t preach,” I reply, giggling. He casts me a funny look as I point to the Madonna CD case sitting between us. “I have no intention of placing myself in the spotlight. I am well aware of the danger in using my powers, but I can’t stand by and let these people get away with their evil when I have a chance to make a difference.”

“Sorry,” he replies, the look of love in his eyes, “I am just worried about you my Angel.” We pull up at Robert’s office and I get out. “Bye Bye Baby,” my father calls as he drives off. Mr Turner is waiting for me inside.

Chief Millward picks Robert Turner and me up shortly after half past nine. We are using the surveillance van from before. Lieutenant Scudder is once more our driver.

We drive out of town and park in a lay-by on the edge of the highway. Our target for observation is a small log cabin about three quarters of a mile from our current location. This is within range for my remote vision. It’s slightly past the limit of my projection ability, but hopefully that won’t be needed anyway.

I will be using the trick I discovered back in Chief Millward’s office. I project myself into the van, once again as Alice in Wonderland. I am reproducing an exact likeness of Mia Wasikowska from the latest film adaptation. On my lap, I am holding a small flat screen TV. This is part of my projection, and it is showing what I can see remotely.

A video camera has been set up pointing at me to record what happens. Although it could never be used in a court of law, it might prove useful. While not easy to accomplish it is better than trying to do a running commentary of what is going on. I could easily miss details that the others can pick up with their own eyes and ears.

The log cabin is in the woodland in the surrounding area. The one noticeable feature about New England countryside is the amount of trees we have. The cabin appears to be unused most of the time. It is situated on a bend in a river. The meandering of the water makes it almost on an island. The cabin can only be approached from one direction, making it easy to guard. It seems to be referred to by cult members by the codename ‘La Isla Bonita’.

There is a single SUV parked in the clearing. It belongs to our prime suspect, Jonathon Walker. Mr Walker is a local businessperson, running a small manufacturing company constructing wooden garden furniture. There is nobody else present yet.

He is noted for refusing to employ any coloured workers. He has recently been sued for discrimination. The case against him failed, as he was able to demonstrate other reasons for not employing the person in question.

After a wait of four minutes, a second vehicle turns up. I recognise the two people who get out. Mrs Little, Alison’s mother, codename thirteen is one person. The other is a young male I recognise as Jessie Little. He graduated from school last year having been a member of our football team. I believe he is a cousin to Alison.

Mr Walker gets a metal detector out of his vehicle and waves it over the two newcomers before handing it to Jessie. Mr Walker then takes out a Revolver and hands it to him. All three of them don Ceremonial robes. These are in the style of the Ku Klux Klan with pointed hoods with holes cut in for the eyes. The only difference is the colour, instead of white these are blood red. Hung round their necks are chains with numbered metal plaques. Walker has the number two, Mrs Little has thirteen, and Jessie 45.

Jessie stands guard at the door while the other two enter. I follow them inside, however they are sitting in silence.

During the next twenty minutes, more vehicles arrive with members. Each of them is already wearing a hood covering their face. They are all checked with the detector, presumably so no listening devices can be sneaked in. All arrivals give Jessie a codeword, which he checks against a list to verify each person’s identity.

The vehicles seem to turn up at almost exactly two-minute intervals. This does not appear to be accidental.

Soon there is a crowd present in the log cabin, sitting round on beanbags in a semi-circle around Walker. Everybody remains silent while waiting for the last people to arrive.

The last to arrive is Number One. When he enters the room, everyone rises from their seats to take a bow before returning to where they are sitting. In total eighteen people, numbered from one to twenty, excluding sixteen and seventeen, are present in the cabin. Jessie remains on guard outside whistling the tune ‘Don’t cry for me Argentina’.

The leader opens this get together by reciting a rather disturbing incantation that could be described as something like a prayer - asking god to smite all those inferior in his eyes and do not conform to their ideal design for American life. I can’t see his face, but from the look of the skin on his hand, he appears to be quite old. He is talking with a slight German accent and I wonder if he has some connection to the Hitler youth. He might be old enough to have been a member of that organisation.

It would appear from the opening speech that these meetings only happen once every two months.

They then get down to business. The first thing on the agenda is the capture of sixteen and seventeen. From the conversation, it is obvious they are talking about the couple arrested when Donald was rescued. It seems that they are concerned about a possible security breach. Mrs Little is questioned as to if Alison could have been responsible. Mrs Little denies that this is likely as Alison doesn’t have enough information to be able to identify anybody else, and she wouldn’t dare repeat anything anyway.

Alison is congratulated on removing an undesirable, me, from the population, a point for celebration, but is heavily criticised for the method and being caught. She is considered a security risk and an order goes out for her to be permanently silenced. Mrs Little begs for her to be given one more chance, and instead she will receive a reminder of her duty to keep quiet, or she may not live to tell the authorities any information.

Twelve volunteers to take care of this. He has the same tattoo round his wrist as Damien Spencer and friends. He points out that several members of his gang have been arrested, and could end up in the same institution as Alison. If this happens then they will arrange for Alison to be attacked. It is suggested this could be an opportunity to further the breeding program, whether Alison agrees to any hanky panky or not.

Mrs Little objects, but is reminded that because of her daughter and her involvement in the kidnapping, she herself is wanted by the police and is in a dangerous position.

“You express yourself well, and are only here due to your past successes. You need to open your heart to the truth. You have been compromised. It would be crazy for you to remain here,” Number One explains, “Dear Jessie will be taking you on a permanent holiday across the borderline into Canada. There you can be hidden until such a time as the heat has disappeared. I am not a gambler. I cannot risk you staying here.”

The more senior figures don’t seem pleased but drop the subject. There is then some discussion as to who might replace the two missing numbers. Various other higher numbers are mentioned. No names are spoken, but the conversation does include clues to their identities.

Twenty-six will become the new seventeen. This person is referred to using female pronouns and it is mentioned that she owns a boat, the Lucky Star, which may come in useful for future operations.

Her brother, number thirty-one, will be promoted to eighteen. He works for Walker as one of the furniture makers. Eight recommends him highly as he has just made her pregnant as part of the breeding program. It would appear that eight’s husband is unaware that his wife is pregnant by another man.

Various plans for furthering their cause are discussed. Another two schemes for kidnapping are considered and rejected before a third is finally approved. The target is a young black girl living in a trailer park on the south side of town. The daughter of number nine regularly babysits the girl and can take care of the collection. The plan intended for Donald will then be executed. The child will be dismembered on video and the clip sent round to the local news media and displayed on the internet.

Now we know the next target and the time of the attack, so I can be there in the girl’s place. Instead of being read a bedtime story, I will be abducted. Once I have been snatched, I will signal the police to come and arrest whoever has me in their possession. I intend to wait until the last moment to be rescued, meaning that the maximum number of arrests can be made for kidnapping.

A bombing is planned for the gay pride march to happen next month in a town in the neighbouring state. Nineteen already has the explosives prepared. He will execute the plan, hiding the bomb and detonating it remotely using a mobile telephone.

Although exact details are not discussed, there is sufficient information for the police to be able to foil the plans. On several occasions it is mentioned that number two will finalise exact points where needed so that the full group aren’t aware of enough information should any of them be caught.

The whole organisation seems paranoid about security. It is no wonder that they have been so successful so far. However, that is all about to end. Our little operation will soon rain on their parade.

The meeting finishes mid-morning. Each person or group of people where sharing vehicles, leave at two-minute intervals. I follow them as they progress down the dirt track to the road. As each vehicle approaches the end of the private track, the hoods and robes are taken off to reveal the faces beneath. By the time they have all left we have photographs of all the participants and half of them have already been identified.

The number plates have already been run through the police computer system. Several are hire cars, and some are using fake number plates. Chief Millward has requested a few highway patrol officers to be positioned on routes back into town. The cars using fake plates will be stopped and the occupants arrested. This will allow search warrants to be issued and further evidence collected. It will be pure coincidence that they just happen to be coming back from the meeting when they are stopped. We don’t want to take them down too quickly and spook the others into going to ground.

One of the people, identified as number four, is a court clerk. The police have suspected a leak for some time and this person’s presence explains why some police raids have failed to find evidence. He must have been tipping off those who have warrants issued against them by the court.

It’s been tiring, but the outcome of the morning has been very successful. Four people are about to be arrested for driving around in vehicles with fake number plates. Plans are already being drawn up to stop the kidnapping, and the bomber will be monitored and arrested once the police have located where he is hiding the explosives.

Lieutenant Scudder pulls the van out of the lay-by and we head back towards the town. As we near the outskirts, Chief Millward receives a call on his phone.

“Lieutenant Scudder, get the blue light out, there is a terrorist attack happening near the waterworks,” he instructs our driver after the phone is hung up. “Homeland Security has tracked a group of terrorists to a warehouse nearby and a fire fight has broken out. They are calling for backup from local police to isolate the area while they deal with the threat. Get us there as fast as you can. Alice, your talents may come in handy for finding out what’s going on.”

Lieutenant Scudder pulls a light out of the glove box, reaches out the window, and sticks it to the roof. A siren is switched on and we accelerate towards the town.

We are only a few miles away so our target will soon be in range of my remote vision.

I concentrate and focus on our destination. I soon locate it by the number of police and military officers running around. They are surrounding a warehouse next to the waterworks. I look inside the building and can soon see what is causing a commotion.

A teenage girl is lying on the ground in the middle of the floor. The beautiful stranger is surrounded by fire. Her clothes are scorched, but she seems unaffected by the flames that are burning up the surrounding crates.

A teenage boy in a military uniform walks up to her and stretches out his arm. As he raises his hand, the girl floats off the ground. As she levitates upwards, I can’t see any visible means of support.

He is joined by a second teenager, a girl, her uniform showing the rank of warrant officer. The sound of gunfire causes them to jump. A mercenary opens fire on them. The boy holds his hands up and the bullets travelling towards them stop in mid air. The girl shoots lightning from her fingertips, electrocuting their attacker. A second mercenary attacks them, and is again dispatched with a ray of light.

Two more teenagers in uniform rush to assist their comrades. Suddenly they all fall to their knees, clutching their heads in pain. The levitating girl gently returns to the ground. The boy waves his arm sending his friends sliding across the floor. Two more mercenaries run up and start dragging the now barely conscious boy and scorched girl in the opposite direction. I follow them back to the other end of the warehouse. A woman and teenage girl are standing at an exit, holding hands.

The woman is in her late forties, and wearing a business suit. The girl she is holding hands with is in her late teens and has bright blue hair.

I am looking down on the scene from about nine feet in the air. As they turn to leave, the blue haired girl stops, letting go of the woman’s hand. She then looks directly into my eyes and grins.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Alice,” the sound of her voice thunders through my head, but she doesn’t actually speak, “Bad girl! You’ll see me later, Goodbye!”

The power of ‘Goodbye’ kicks my vision backwards away from the scene. The encounter leaves me dizzy and I am no longer able to see the warehouse.

After a short distance, we pull into the car park of a diner on the edge of the main road.

“Lieutenant Scudder, why are we stopping here?” Chief Millward calls out to the driver.

“The steering feels weird. I am just going to check to see if we have a slow puncture,” he replies as he gets out of the van.

Two round objects bounce into the back of the vehicle. There is a blinding flash and an ear-splitting bang as the first object explodes. I’m disorientated and can’t see or hear. Instead, I try using remote vision.

I can see the second device thrown at us. It appears to be hissing, releasing gas. I try to focus on it to throw it out of the van, but my limbs are becoming heavy and I can’t reach it. I begin to cough wildly. I try projecting myself next to it, but it is too late and I start to pass out. Unable to keep it together, I can feel myself falling deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.

---

 
The pounding in my head is receding and I slowly regain consciousness. I open my eyes and look around. I am sitting in the middle of a tent, chained to a chair. My burka has been removed.

Opposite me is a TV and video camera. Lieutenant Scudder’s face is on the screen looking at me.

“Nice to see you’re awake,” he says, “Before you try anything, I would like to point out that you are currently connected to a car battery. Any tricks and I zap you.”

I look over to my right. There is a bank of twelve car batteries hooked up to a black box. Wires are running from the box to the TV and video camera. Another set of wires are running from the box and are wrapped around my wrist. I feel a sudden jolt of electricity flow through me and I scream in pain.

“That was only a low voltage setting, it can go much higher if needed,” Scudder laughs from the TV. “I’ve been listening in. I know your effective range. We are in the middle of nowhere and I am far enough away that you can’t touch me. I also have this button,” He waves a control pad in the air, “that I can zap you with if you try anything. Now sit tight until my buyer arrives.”

The image on the TV screen disappears. I assume that the camera is still operational. I decide to err on the side of caution and not to project myself just yet. I sit staring at the camera while I check out the surrounding area with my remote vision.

First, I closely examine the chair and myself. I am tightly chained to the high-backed wooded chair. My hands are restrained in handcuffs, which are in turn chained to leg irons. The cuffs and irons are tight against my skin, and there is no chance of being able to slip out of them. There is a heavy chain looped around my waist and through holes in the chair’s frame. It’s also looped through a large metal ring attached to a stake emerging from the ground. The arrangement is held together with several sturdy-looking padlocks.

I could probably free myself if I projected with a pair of bolt cutters. However, I still have the problem of the electrics. I will need to take those out first. I could chop the wires with insulated cutters so that I can’t be shocked. There doesn’t appear to be any backup mechanisms in place.

Although my burka has been removed, I am still in disguise. The hair dye, contact lenses, and make-up are still intact. I don’t currently look like my normal self.

Next question, where am I? I look outside the tent. I am on the edge of a large rectangular clearing amongst tall trees. The ground is hard and compacted. There are windsocks fluttering in the breeze a short distance from my location. It appears that I am beside a makeshift runway. I take my vision upwards into the sky to survey the surrounding area. There is no civilisation as far as I can see. Dense woodland covers the area I can make out.

There is a track leading up to my location. I follow it and it emerges onto a road. The road appears to be a main one, however it must be getting on for a mile and a half as I can see it, but I am losing the ability to hear as well. There is a small shack where the track meets the road. A car is parked outside. Looking inside, I can see Lieutenant Scudder sat watching me on TV, while lying back on a sofa. He keeps glancing at his watch impatiently.

He said he was waiting for a buyer to turn up, so I guess I’m for sale. He has gone to a lot of trouble to make sure that I’m incapacitated. There is no way I can project far enough to reach him.

I continue to explore the surrounding area, but there are no other signs of life in the vicinity. Every now and then people drive past on the road, but I am too far away to be able to make myself known to them via projection.

After about ten minutes, a large black SUV pulls up at the shack. I watch remotely with interest as a tall woman in her late forties climbs out of the driver’s seat and enters the cabin carrying a large briefcase. It is the same woman I saw at the warehouse abducting the two teenagers.

I examine the vehicle. The two hostages are inside. The boy is handcuffed on the back seat, next to the blue-haired girl. The other girl, the one who had been on fire, is wrapped in a blanket in the trunk. In the front passenger seat is one of the two goons from earlier.

I turn my attention to the inside of the cabin.

“Where is the girl?” the woman asks Lieutenant Scudder. I am using all my concentration to be able to hear at the limit of my range.

Pointing to the TV Scudder replies, “She’s tied up next to the runway. Be careful as you approach, she can project herself half a mile. She’s a ruthless bitch, wouldn’t surprise me if she suddenly tries to appear behind you and cut your throat.”

“Don’t worry, I have a countermeasure in the car, she will be rendered harmless long before we get to her,” the woman smiles as she answers.

“Where’s my money?” Scudder asks.

The woman throws the case on the floor in front of him, “Here,” she says. The lieutenant bends down and opens the case, but finds it empty. As he looks up at the woman, she shoots him between the eyes. “Sorry, change of plan,” she coldly states.

She returns to the car and starts to drive in my direction. I decide it’s time to escape. I quickly project myself into the tent and cut the wires leading to my wrists. I then chop the chains using projected bolt cutters.

Having freed myself I exit the tent and run towards the tree line, however as I do so my head begins to pound and I fall to the ground incapacitated by a migraine. I try to get up and crawl away, but the pain becomes more intense. It feels like every pain receptor in my body is firing simultaneously. I am overcome with intense feelings of terror, and I can hear an evil laugh reverberate through my head as a series of horrific images pass through my mind.

The black SUV pulls up alongside me and the woman gets out.

“Nice try, Alice, however my pet dominator won’t let you escape. If you refuse to co-operate I will be forced to make Lucy hurt you,” she states and points to the teenage girl with blue hair, who is getting out of the vehicle. I try to project myself behind the woman with a knife, as Scudder suggested earlier, however I am unable to do so.

“You can forget about your talents as well, they are being suppressed,” Lucy’s voice once again sounds in my head.

The pain gets more intense and I feel myself blacking out.

“Oh no you don’t, I’m not letting you pass out,” Lucy states. I open my eyes to find myself in a cave. A chandelier with candles is providing the illumination. Lava bubbles in pools on the floor, the space filled with intense heat and a strange red glow.

“Where am I?” I ask. I am lying on my back chained to a wooden bench in the middle of the room, naked.

Lucy is standing over me with a red-hot poker in her hand. She stabs me in the thigh and I scream in pain.

“Welcome to my torture chamber. I have pulled your mind into mine. This little corner of my imagination is where I conduct my interrogations. In here, I can conjure up any nightmare of my choosing. What you see and hear may be a dream, but the pain is real,” she states as she twists the burning hot poker in my leg.

Red ants surround me and start to crawl over my body. I can feel them biting me and burrowing under my skin. I start to hyperventilate and I close my eyes as the ants reach my face.

All of a sudden the pain and heat stops. I feel a cool breeze on my cheek, and I open my eyes to find myself back in the forest. I still have a pounding headache, but it has now receded to a manageable level. Lucy is standing ten feet away grinning at me.

I hear the drone of engines and look down the landing strip as an aircraft touches down and taxis to our position.

“Excellent timing,” the woman states, before signalling the rest of the occupants of the vehicle to join us.

The captured teenage boy, bound in handcuffs, is let out of the car by Lucy. The large man in combat gear emerges from the other side and goes to the rear of the vehicle. Opening the trunk, he lifts out the unconscious scorched girl and carries her to the plane, and we all follow.

The plane is a small business model with a high wing and two turboprop engines, one on each side. The engines have been powered down and the propellers are stationary. We climb the steps and enter the aircraft on the front left side, just behind the cockpit. Inside, down the left of the plane are six seats, one behind the other. There is a gangway down the middle. On the other side is a box, slightly larger than a coffin.

Lucy heads to the back of the plane and takes the rear seat. The boy takes a seat, leaving a place between himself and Lucy. I sit directly in front of him. The man places the unconscious girl in the box and closes the lid, before taking the front seat.

“What are you doing? Won’t she suffocate in there?” I ask alarmed.

“The box is being fed oxygen, and there are chemicals to soak up the carbon dioxide. It is merely a precaution in case of second emergence,” the woman states. I look at her blankly. “Brian, be a good boy and explain the situation to our newcomer here while I go speak to the pilots.”

She turns and enters the cockpit. The engines roar into life and we start to take off.

The teenage boy behind me starts to speak as we climb away from the ground. “First emergence is the name given to when one of us firsts starts to demonstrate our talents. About a day after first emergence comes second emergence. This is when the body undergoes spontaneous sex change. During second emergence a person’s talent becomes uncontrolled and can pose a risk.”

I hear Lucy’s voice in my head, “The girl, Sarah, is a pyrokinetic, and she is due to change soon. The box is asbestos and should protect us if we don’t land in time. Don’t worry, I am keeping her suppressed for the moment.”

The boy, who I assume is Brian, groans. “Why can’t you just talk like everybody else, get out of my head you bitch.” He scrunches his face up as if he is in pain. Lucy laughs to herself at his discomfort. I guess that she’s the cause.

“Lucy here is a dominator and dampener,” Brian explains, “she can get inside your head and incapacitate you while at the same time preventing the use of your talents.”

“I gathered as much, I was watching earlier when you got captured,” I reply, “Was that you stopping the bullets? Neat trick.”

“I’m a telekinetic from the Center, a branch of the Department of Homeland Security dedicated to finding and protecting emerged individuals. I was part of a team sent to retrieve Sarah and prevent her from causing a bonfire when she changes. How did you see that?”

“It’s my talent,” I say, “I have the ability to remotely view and astral project. What I don’t understand is how you, Lucy, managed to kick me out of there. I was only viewing; I didn’t have a physical presence.”

The voice returns to my head, “I could still sense the presence of your mind, even though you had no physical form. You’re quite a strong one, I will enjoy cracking you later.”

We seem to have reached cruising altitude as we have now levelled off. The woman comes back from the cockpit.

“Nicely explained, Brian, I will look forward to learning more about what our glorious government has been up to when Lucy interrogates you later. By the way, my name is Doctor Mustard, I will be looking after you during your conversion,” she states.

I hear Brian groan behind me and ask, “Is that your real name or are you another colour coded operative for the Syndicate?”

“Why yes, you are so well informed. Why don’t you explain to Alice here who we are?” Doctor Mustard encourages.

“The Syndicate is the creation of Jason Carson, the billionaire computer programmer. His son is one of us and he set up the Syndicate to find a cure, while at the same time exploiting and experimenting on all the emerged he could find, brainwashing some into perfect weapons for hire.”

There is a sudden whooshing sound and the asbestos box starts to heat up. The whooshing is joined by crackling as electricity arcs between the box and the fuselage. All the lights in the cabin flash and burn out. The plane starts to shake violently and the distinctive smell of burning electronics wafts from the cockpit.

Lightning arcs from the foot of the box across the aisle and into the mercenary sitting at the front of the plane. He screams as the electricity passes through him into the fuselage. The smell of burning flesh fills the cabin.

A ball of lightning forms at the foot of the box. The light it emits is blinding and I can feel the heat from it scorching my skin.

“Shit! She has electrokinesis as well,” the doctor shouts as she dives to the floor, out of the way of the growing ball of light and flame. The ball shoots towards the sound of her voice, but misses her and carries on forwards into the cockpit. Screams and explosions can be heard as the pilots are engulfed in flames and the lightning discharges through the electronics. I am looking at the box beside me, when out of the corner of my eye I notice smoke coming from the engine below the wing. I look forward into the cockpit. The pilots and a lot of the instrumentation are on fire. Through the smoke, I can see that we are diving straight towards the cliff face of a mountain.

---

 
“Terminate her before she kills us all,” Doctor Mustard commands. The headache I have had since first meeting Lucy recedes as she focuses all her attention on the box. The sparks stop and the box begins to cool down.

“She’s dead,” Lucy speaks, sounding exhausted, sweat pouring from her forehead.

I test my remote viewing and it’s now working again. I am able to see into the cockpit. Most of the instruments are burnt out and the co-pilot is dead, covered in burns. The pilot is madly trying to issue a mayday, but the radio is fried, as are his hands. The right engine appears to be on fire and we are in a steep dive. The pilot pulls back on the controls to raise the nose, and he banks the plane sharply to fly through a gap in the mountains. Activating the extinguishers in the right engine, he is able to put out the fire. We are now flying on one engine, and it doesn’t sound very healthy.

I don’t know if Brian has realised that Lucy is too tired to use her talent, or if she is concentrating on him rather than me. I decide to take advantage and take her out while she is distracted.

Up until now, I have always maintained that I won’t inflict a fatal blow with my power. However, Lucy is one very sick and twisted individual. If the images that she projected into me earlier are in any way accurate memories, then the Syndicate makes the antics of the cult seem tame. I have read about some of the atrocious experiments carried out by the Nazi party, and these people seem just as bad.

This is a life or death situation, and I’m likely to have only one opportunity. I am therefore going to strike hard and fast. If I try to incapacitate Lucy and fail, then she will torture, and possibly kill me. I can’t guarantee knocking her unconscious with a single blow. I can however deliver a lethal attack. I therefore reason it is my only course of action.

I take a deep breath and project behind her with a knife. I try to stab her in the throat, inflicting the same injury as Alison did on my projection of David. Instead of impaling her, the knife simply passes through harmlessly. Lucy has somehow turned my solid projection ghostlike.

“Nice try, Alice, but you have to do better than that,” I hear Lucy’s voice echo in my skull.

Every pain receptor in my body fires simultaneously and I’m instantly in excruciating pain. I can hear Lucy’s manic laughter in my head as she once again invades my thoughts. I try to project a physical presence, but it’s like wading through treacle.

I try imagining a wall around me to block out the attack.

“Oh, that’s so clichéd,” Lucy sniggers at my attempt as the wall starts to crack and disintegrate. “You can’t keep me out of your head. My psychic link is too strong.”

I feel myself being sucked through the hole in my imaginary wall and I once again find myself in Lucy’s twisted mind, back on the wooden bench in the lava-filled cave. The heat is intense, but I stagger to my feet, the rock floor burning my soles as I stand. Lucy is stood in front of me with a whip, and starts to flog my bare skin.

I fight through the pain, catching the whip in my hand and pulling it from her grasp. It instantly turns into a snake, which bites my wrist. I can feel the poison flow up my arm, burning through my veins.

“I have just killed Sarah in here, do you want to join her?” Lucy asks angrily.

An axe appears in Lucy’s hand and she swings it at me. I dodge the blade and it embeds itself into the wooden bench. Lucy looks exhausted, something that I may be able to use to my advantage. She has been keeping Brian and Sarah suppressed for hours, and now me as well since we boarded the plane. Lucy had to use all her effort to kill Sarah. Now she is struggling to do the same to me.

I ignore the pain being inflicted on me. Lucy comes at me again with the axe. As she swings it at me, I don’t flinch. Instead, I focus my thoughts on imagining a sword. Just as the axe is about to hit my ribs a broadsword appears in my hands, blocking the axe’s path. The clang of steel on steel catches Lucy by surprise. I launch forward, kicking her in the stomach. The force throws her backwards into one of the lava pools. She screams and the cave starts to collapse. I notice a small crack in the cave wall. A dim light is coming through from the other side. I focus all my concentration on projecting myself through the hole.

The pain suddenly stops and I find myself standing in a strange room. More precisely, it seems to be two rooms merged into one. I survey the scene around me. Neither of the two rooms are complete, the ceilings and most of the walls are missing. Instead, I can peer out into blackness.

At my end of the room is a stone fireplace with a painting of a sailing ship hanging above the fire. The mantelpiece is covered with greetings cards. Over in the corner is a large Christmas tree, easily seven feet tall. Under the tree are a number of presents waiting to be unwrapped. There are two leather chairs in front of the blazing open fire. I can feel the warmth on my arms, and can smell the scent of mulled wine. I recognise this as being my Grandmother’s, specifically from the Christmas when I was eight. She died five months later and her home was sold.

The other end of the room appears to be the bedroom of a young boy. A pine bed is directly opposite me. A chest of drawers is beside it with a lamp on top. A large toy chest with ‘Luke’ stencilled onto the front is against one wall, its lid open. Scattered around the floor are toy cars and comic books.

A floor length mirror is stood next to the drawer unit. It is angled so that I can see my reflection. I’m projecting as Jennifer, but a younger version. My freckles and red hair are now on a young girl of about six or seven. I am dressed in a red and green Christmas party dress.

Stting opposite me is a little boy of about the same age. He is wearing a pair of Spiderman pyjamas. I assume this must be how Lucy used to look before her change.

“How did you get into here? This is my private place, my most cherished memory,” the boy shouts at me, “You should be dead by now!”

“I guess I must have projected myself here,” I reply, “The question is, ‘What happens now?’”

We stare at each other for a few moments. The young boy starts to cry. I walk over to him and give him a hug.

“I don’t want to leave this place. Here I am free from Lucy, from the evil bitch she has become,” Luke states through his tears. “The Syndicate filled me full of hate. I can’t go back to that.”

“You don’t have to, it’s not too late to make amends,” I say. He pushes me away and climbs onto the bed.

“You don’t understand. I’ve been brainwashed. I have a chip in my skull that will kill me if I try to fight,” he replies, “I have made my decision. You are going to have to kill me, please put me out of my misery, and make the torture stop. You have temporarily knocked Lucy out. She will come back and kill us both if you don’t.”

He hands me the pillow and lies on his back on the bed. Crying, I take the pillow and press it into his face. I hold it in place as he starts to suffocate. The room around me starts to fade into darkness. I feel myself floating away from the scene. The last thing I see is an image of me standing over the bed, holding the pillow on the boy. The bed and two figures drift backwards into the distance and disappear.

I wake up back in the plane. I turn round to see Lucy collapse onto the floor. Her lips have turned blue and she is no longer breathing.

Dr Mustard gets back to her feet and shouts, “What have you done? Lucy!”

I turn to face her as she pulls an automatic pistol and aims it at my head. I am frozen in fear as the trigger is pulled. I see the bullets travel towards me and stop in mid air, a few inches from my nose. They then reverse direction and embed themselves into Dr Mustard’s chest. She slumps to the floor, dying. Her last act is to fling her arm sideways and fire the gun at the window in the door.

Brian isn’t ready for this and the bullets shatter the window. The sudden explosive decompression rips the door from the plane. It collides with the left wing, tearing a lump out of the structure. The plane tilts violently to the left. Dr Mustard and the big bloke sitting up front are sucked out of the plane as it goes into a nosedive.

I grab onto the seat in front as the air rushes past us. The air pressure quickly equalises, but there is still severe buffeting from the speed we are travelling.

I remote view into the cockpit, the pilot is now either unconscious or dead. I make sure I am well strapped in, and project myself into the cockpit in ghost form. This way I am not sucked out of the plane. I check for a pulse on the pilot but can’t find one. I hit the release on the belts of the obviously dead co-pilot. He floats up out of his seat and out of the way. I look back towards Brian, who winks at me.

Having strapped myself into the co-pilot’s seat I try to gain control of the plane. Pulling back on the controls, I bring the nose up while at the same time applying right stick and rudder to bring us back to straight and level flight. The plane judders and shakes, but slowly responds. I pull us into a slight climb and our air speed drops considerably. The amount of air blowing into the cabin is now greatly reduced, enough for Brian to be able to get out of his seat and carefully make his way to the cockpit.

He takes the pilot’s seat as we attempt to assess the situation. Smoke is now pouring from the remaining engine.

“We have no instruments, no engines, and nowhere to land,” I shout to him above the noise of the open door, “The radio’s fried, as are all the electrics. I doubt we have landing gear either, flaps are not responding.”

Being a modern aircraft nearly everything is fly-by-wire. Luckily, the main controls seem to be traditional physical connections. I am an avid gamer and have spent many hours playing flight-sims on my home computer, so I know the basics, even though I have never done it for real.

There is a loud creaking noise as another lump of metal tears itself from the left wing. I have to apply near maximum stick and rudder to maintain straight and level flight and stop us going back into a spiral. The plane is starting to shudder again and the left wing is flexing alarmingly.

“I don’t think that wing is going to hold long, we will have to attempt a crash landing, we don’t have any choice,” Brian shouts at me.

“Can you help us land with your telekinesis?” I ask.

“No, the maximum I have ever shifted is 30 stone, this plane must be a hundred times that mass,” he replies.

“I have an idea, can you hold the plane while I test something?” I enquire. He nods his head.

I end my projection then project myself out of the plane. I imagine a parachute into existence on my back and pull the ripcord. I suddenly decelerate and start to float down to the ground. After a few seconds, I am forced to end my projection as I get out of range of the fast-moving plane.

I project myself back into the co-pilot’s seat and take back control of the plane from Brian.

“We’re going to bail out, I can project us a parachute,” I state as I put the plane into a climb to gain as much altitude as possible while also losing excess airspeed. “I can’t be in two places at once. While I am projecting here, my body is unconscious. I need to keep this plane straight and level so that we can safely jump. You are going to have to get back there and drag my unconscious form out the door with you. As soon as we’re clear, I can sort us out a parachute. Try not to knock me too hard or I will lose concentration and my projection. Whatever you do, don’t let go of me.”

“OK, I trust you Alice,” Brian calls back as he makes his way to the rear.

Brian spots and grabs the first aid kit that is tied securely to the cockpit wall. Once released, he carries it in his teeth as he carefully makes his way past the door, and back to where I’m sitting. He removes a bandage from the kit and unrolls it, then binds my right arm to his left, from the wrist down to the elbow. We are now firmly tied together. Brian undoes the seatbelt holding my body, and it gently floats up out of the seat.

Using telekinesis, Brian floats me down to the door. Using all his strength, he positions me so that I will cleanly exit the plane. He lets go of the seat and jumps through the door. As soon as Brian and my body are safely away from the plane, I leave the cockpit and return to my body. The plane immediately loses control and veers into a nosedive. As the speed increases, the left wing breaks off and the plane plummets towards the ground.

With the ground rapidly approaching, I pull myself round and grab Brian’s other hand. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him close to my body. I then project myself clinging onto his back, bear hugging both of us. A parachute appears on my back and straps materialize tying all three bodies together.

The chute deploys and we begin to slow down. I keep growing the parachute in size until we are drifting down at a sensible speed. Surveying the area, I can see a town in the distance. I steer us towards it as we slowly drift down. The plane has crashed in open fields to our left. We can see the smoke.

“It’s going to take a while to reach the ground. What else can you tell me about this Center and our kind?” I ask.

Brian explains how a terrorist attack at a genetics lab sixteen years ago caused pollution to enter bottled water, and the effect it had on pregnant women who drank the liquid. He then explains the purpose of the Center, a safe refuge for people like us to live and work, to protect us from those who would exploit us, while also safeguarding the public from the misuse of our talents.

“So, what’s the age range of those at the Center?” I query.

“The oldest will be turning seventeen in a month’s time. The majority of us are sixteen, although we do have a fifteen year old who will turn sixteen in a couple of months,” Brian tells me, “We do have one twelve year old, although we don’t know how she is so young.”

I start laughing. Brian asks me what’s so funny. I stop laughing and ask, “What will happen to me? Is it compulsory to join the Center, or do I get the choice? It’s been nearly two months since I changed sex. Only a few close relatives and friends know that I have changed, my talent has allowed me to continue to appear as my old self. I’m quite happy where I am.”

My chuckle was down to realising why the Center hasn’t found me. They are looking for sixteen-year-olds. I only turned fourteen a couple of months ago. My mother didn’t die in childbirth. She was killed in an accident at a fairground. I was born by emergency caesarean section after she died. Although I always suspected I might be intersex, no medical tests ever proved it. David never disappeared, and he’s now dead. I have just made Brian think I am still using my original male appearance when in fact I am attending school as Jenny.

I suspect the forms Robert Turner found are connected to the Center. I wonder if they will twig that they have already given me a new identity. It seems they haven’t so far. The Center sounds attractive, but I am happy where I am. I would rather stay with my friends and family. Besides, I’m nearly two years younger than all the other residents are. It may not sound a lot, but it will mean I would always be playing catch-up academically.

“You’ve seen the Syndicate operate,” Brian replies, “They are only one faction out to collect emergents, you could be placing yourself and your family in danger.”

“I don’t think so,” I reply, “you’re the only person outside my circle who has seen my face. The man they shot at the shack before coming to the airfield was a corrupt police officer. I have been helping the police with my talents, but none of them knows my identity, I kept myself hidden under a burka. He grabbed me and abducted me before trying to sell me to the Syndicate. They killed him instead of paying up.”

While Brian may have seen my face, he hasn’t seen what I normally look like. The make-up is still hiding my freckles. I know he was looking into my eyes on the way down. The tinted contact lenses are still making them appear green. My hair is almost black from the temporary dye. By Monday, all these changes will have disappeared and I will be back to being a blue-eyed, freckle-faced redhead.

The Syndicate’s only connection with me was Scudder, who they killed. The Center’s intelligence officer has already visited my school once. If she comes back, she will be looking for a sixteen-year-old boy, not a fourteen-year-old girl.

“I don’t know,” Brian ponders, “We’ve never let someone refuse to join us. Normally there isn’t a choice. The change is too great to allow you to continue your old life. Your case is different due to your talent.”

About two feet from the ground I end the projection and let go of Brian. We both fall to the ground and roll over in a field of corn. I cut the bandages binding our arms together on the way down, so that we could land easier. We get up and dust ourselves off before starting to walk in the direction of the nearby town. We reach a road and flag down a farmer driving an open top truck. He lets us climb in the back and we drive towards the town centre.

“As wonderful as the Center sounds, it’s not for me. I refuse to abandon my friends and family,” I state.

I scribble my Alice email address on a scrap of paper and hand it to him, “I can be contacted here. If you can prove I am at risk by emailing my name, date of birth, and current address, I will reconsider, until then it’s time to part company.”

I fade from view, leaving Brian alone in the back of the speeding truck. I sit up from my hiding place in amongst the cornfield. Brian never noticed me switch to a projection. I take my small wallet out of my pocket and curl up in a tight ball. I project myself next to my body with the appearance of a six foot six bodybuilding blond surfer boy in his early twenties. I project a large rucksack around my physical body and lift it onto my back. Picking up the wallet, I start to hike across country in the direction of the train station. I have $50 and a debit card. I suspect the magnetic strip on the card is a write off, but the cash will at least get me part of the way home. I can phone home from the station and arrange for somebody to meet me halfway.

I don’t know what the future holds. I may well end up at the Center, but for the time being, I think I will head home and lie low. Besides, ‘Alice the Avenger’ already has a prior engagement. I have a little girl to impersonate to prevent her being kidnapped and executed.

---

 
“Sorry, the grotto is closing for lunch, we are not accepting any additions to the queue,” Susan tells the third family in a row after putting the sign out. There are currently twelve children left in line to see Santa before our lunch break.

Susan and I are dressed as elves and are once again helping in Santa’s grotto in Platterns department store. I say once again, but this is my first year as Jennifer, rather than my old identity of David. I underwent a spontaneous change of sex a few months ago.

I am one of a small proportion of individuals affected by a genetic mutation caused by contaminated bottled water. Not only have I changed sex, I have also gained some neat abilities. I can project myself out of my body in any form I choose, and remotely view anything up to two miles away.

Today is Saturday the 18th of December. There is exactly one week until Christmas and we have been busy all morning with organising the children waiting to see Santa. The grotto here is very popular: at its peak, the queue must have been 50 people long. Each child gets a couple of minutes with Santa and a small present. This year all the gifts are small soft toys, about six inches tall. There are three different types, a lion, an elephant, and a polar bear. They are in boxes sealed with a bow. We know which are which based on the colour of the box, yellow, green and red respectively.

One of the jobs of the elves is to keep Santa topped up with a supply of presents to give out. The presents are on forklift pallets out back. We have to stick the bows on and bring them through to the grotto. The bows come separate, as it’s easier to stack the boxes when they don’t have them on.

“OK, that’s the last one,” I tell Santa as the final child leaves. The ‘at lunch’ signs have been put out and Susan has been stopping people trying to join the queue. Santa is being played by Nick Carpenter, a retired employee who used to work in the menswear department. He makes an excellent Santa and even has his own genuine white beard, which is a lot better than the fakes you often see people wearing.

“Are you girls in this afternoon, or will I have different assistants?” he asks as we head through to the staff room.

“We are working till half four when Fiona and Samantha take over,” I reply.

“OK, I will see you after lunch,” Nick states as he dons his thick winter trench coat and hat and heads out the back door. He lives two blocks away in an apartment, so goes home for lunch. Susan and I retrieve our sandwiches from the staff fridge and get coffees from the machine. We make ourselves comfortable in the staff break room, which has several couches, ex-display models that couldn’t be sold. After eating, we both lie back and doze for a little while before we need to return to work. It is tiring constantly being on one’s feet.

Normally we would only do half a day, but the store is short staffed due to illness, so we are working a double shift. We will be relieved mid afternoon and our replacements will work through to when the grotto closes at half seven this evening. The store remains open through to nine pm, but not the grotto.

Santa only visits the store four days a week. He comes in Thursday and Friday afternoons, and all day Saturday and Sunday for five weeks in the run up to Christmas. Tomorrow is the last day that children can come and visit.

We are just finishing our coffee when we hear a loud bang. The windows rattle and car alarms go off. I immediately scan the area with my remote vision to see what’s going on. There has been an explosion in an apartment block nearby. One wall of the four-story building has been blown out, causing brick and concrete to be scattered over the road. Fire is quickly spreading through the upstairs apartments. Looking at the epicentre of the blast, I see the remains of a gas boiler.

Quickly scanning the area, I locate the gas supply valves in the basement and isolate them by projecting myself into the building. I am in viewing range of the fire station and I notice that the fire engines will be here in a few minutes. However, I can see that they may be too late. Two people are trapped on the top floor.

They are cornered by the fire and can’t reach the main staircase. The fire escape on the outside of the building has been blown away by the explosion. The structure is rapidly filling with toxic black smoke. I swiftly project myself into the apartment as my alter ego, Alice the Avenger.

Despite my best efforts to remain low key, Alice is starting to become known round town. She is rapidly becoming an urban legend, a real-life counterpart to Batman, who seeks out and beats up criminals before handing them to the police. The police refuse to comment on her existence, and I think the Center has been leaning on some of the journalists, keeping my superhero-like activities out of the public spotlight.

The Center is still trying to track me down. They haven’t succeeded yet. I am in regular contact with them via email, and they are still trying to persuade me to join them. I told them that I would reconsider once they can tell me my real name. As of yet they only know me as Alice.

My projection of Alice doesn’t look anything like my normal self. I have modelled her after the old Wonder Woman TV series, so I look like a younger version of Lynda Carter. Instead of blue shorts with white stars, I wear full-length blue leggings. As a replacement for the star on the headband, I have a large ‘A’. Admittedly, my choice of appearance does attract attention, but I generally only appear when necessary, usually to scare my opponents. If I am going to be demonstrating my powers, I think it appropriate to dress accordingly.

In reality, I have red hair and freckles, not the thick black hair that I portray as Alice.

In the apartment are Freddy Forrester and his younger brother Felix. Freddy is in my class at school and was an adversary to my former male self. Since my change, I have at least been on speaking terms with him, but I don’t regard him as a friend. Freddy’s fourteen and I think his brother is ten.

“I’m Alice, and I’m going to help you get out of here,” I say to the startled and scared boys as I appear in front of them.

“The door is jammed, I think the floor is sagging twisting the frame,” Freddy replies.

I project an axe into my hand and proceed to smash a hole in the door big enough for them to crawl through. Once in the hall I project a large fire blanket over the three of us and we swiftly move through the building towards the exit. Using the blanket for protection, we are able to walk through the flames blocking our path.

I am met on the sidewalk by several fire fighters. They have cleared the bottom two floors of occupants and were then going to make their way up. I scan the building, but there are no other people at home. I let the fire crew know that there is nobody else to evacuate.

There are now several ambulances on scene with paramedics treating people injured in the blast. The majority of the building was unoccupied, most of the tenants being out shopping or at work.

It is then I notice who is being lifted onto a stretcher and loaded in an ambulance. Nick Carpenter has been hit by flying debris. His face is bruised and bleeding, his neck has been braced, and his arm is in a splint.

I run over to where he’s being treated. A police officer tries to stop me as I approach, but I ghost myself and walk straight through him.

“Nick! Are you OK? Speak to me!” I anxiously ask him. He groans and mumbles something before passing out.

I end my projection and return to my body in the staff room. I immediately jump to my feet and run out onto the shop floor. Susan chases after me. I spot Mr Plattern and Uncle Richard talking in a corner and rush over to them.

“We have a problem,” I announce, “Nick’s been injured on his way back to work. I have just seen him being put into an ambulance. He was caught in the gas explosion on Baker Street.”

“Crap, I better go phone his wife. The grotto is due to open in five minutes, we will have to shut it down. That’s not going to go down well with the customers.”

“I think there may be a spare Santa costume in the cupboard, and Jim can cover my area,” Uncle Richards states.

“OK, do what you can, try to keep the kids happy, the parents spend more money that way,” Mr Plattern replies before dashing off.

The three of us head into the grotto, out of sight of the rest of the staff and customers.

“Jenny, I have a big favour to ask,” my uncle says.

“There isn’t a spare costume is there?” I reply sighing.

“Um, no there isn’t. Can you project as Santa? At least for this afternoon,” he asks.

“Alright, but you will have to fill my place on crowd control out front,” I answer before finding a hiding place from which I can project. I end up sitting behind a fake wall at the back of the grotto. It’s a wooden wall with a window looking out at a fake north pole.

I visualise the traditional Santa and appear on the throne ready to receive the children. Susan goes to work keeping me supplied with presents and showing the children and parents in and out. Her father keeps the queue moving out front.

I spend the next five hours trying not to strangle any of the clients. I am fed up with the crying, whinging, temper tantrums, and immature behaviour, and that’s just from the adults. I am not sure which is worse, the snotty nosed brats, or their snotty parents. I am sure half the kids couldn’t care less about seeing me. They are only doing it because their parents drag them here and insist upon it.

You may be wondering why I am even volunteering for working here If I dislike kids so much. I came to work here last year as David as I knew that they only had girl elf costumes. It was an excuse to wear a dress and pretend to be a girl while seeming to help others. As an assistant, you don’t spend all your time in the grotto. You have to keep going back to the store to put the bows on the presents and bring them out front.

The costume consists of a predominantly red patchwork dress that comes down to mid thigh, under which we wear stockings and knee length boots. There is an overcoat outlined in fur, similar to the one Santa wears. On our heads, we have snow-white wigs, pointy ears, and small floppy hats with a bobble on top. Very girly and very cute, there is no way a boy would ever consider wearing such an outfit, unless he’s a CD or T*.

I enjoyed it last year, mainly from the thrill of pretending to be a girl. Now that I am a girl for real, it’s not as much fun, especially as I now have to pretend to be male again. In addition, this weekend just happens to be my time of the month. I am still getting used to my new hormones and it’s making me extra cranky. I do genuinely enjoy seeing the small kids who are in awe of Santa and actually want to give him their list. It’s a pity that these are the minority. It is a good job I am not responsible for ordering the presents to go in the parcels, otherwise half the kids would be going home with boxes of coal.

When I finally get home, I’m exhausted. Projecting as a large fat man takes more energy than projecting as a thin person. I have already made it clear that they need to find another Santa tomorrow. I am not doing that again.

I spend Sunday relaxing and recovering.

My latest exploits as Alice are the talk of the school on Monday morning. Freddy has been telling everybody who will listen about the beautiful girl who saved his life on Saturday, although luckily he is leaving out some of the details. I used to call him Thicky, but he does have enough sense not to talk about my rather unusual abilities, probably thinking that nobody would believe him. He is in love with a capital ‘L’. Susan and Tracy are most amused. Personally, I find the whole idea rather revolting.

Thankfully, this is a short week. We only have four days school and have Friday off. As I come out of the last lesson on Thursday, I switch on my cell phone and check for messages. I have a text saying that my uncle will be collecting Susan and I. He is waiting outside when we leave the building. Getting into his van, we head into town. I wonder where we are going until I see the familiar office building of Mr Turner come into view.

Robert Turner works for the District Attorney’s office. Inside we find him and Police Chief Tom Millward. It appears they have a favour to ask of me, or more precisely, Alice. I start to get worried when Tom, Robert and my uncle all get down on their knees to grovel.

“Please will you play Santa for the kids’ Christmas party,” Robert begs.

“The replacement Santa Mr Plattern found has been arrested on child molestation charges,” Tom states.

“We are desperate for somebody to present gifts at tomorrow’s charity event,” Robert adds.

“If you don’t do it then one of us will have to done the costume and we are nowhere near as good as you. We all look too young and fake. Please think of the children,” Uncle Richard says, “All the kids invited have been through tough times lately and need cheering up.”

Each year our local Rotary Club organises a Christmas party for disadvantaged young children. Local businesses provide gifts to kids who are in difficult circumstances. These usually include families that are on the breadline, and those who have been affected by illness or tragedy. Felix Forrester has been given a last minute invite due to being made homeless and losing all his possessions.

I sigh and reply, “OK, as you have asked nicely I will just once, but it will only be a quick visit. Santa is very busy this close to Christmas so can’t hang round for long, just enough time to hand out some presents and that’s it.”

We sit and discuss arrangements for the next hour. All three men are Rotarians and form the organising committee for this year’s party.

The venue is a local community hall belonging jointly to the local Scout and Girl Guide brigades. It’s a large log cabin to the north of town surrounded by woodland. The main room is a large open plan area that stretches upward into the high-pitched roof. The interior is almost churchlike with thick wooden arches supporting the ceiling. The end of the room is dominated by a large stone fireplace. Either side of this are large glass windows looking out into the woodland. Off the main room is an entrance hall, which gives access to the bathrooms and kitchen area. The kitchen opens into the main hall via a serving hatch.

A small staircase leads up to an office and storeroom that sit in the roof space above the kitchen, foyer and bathrooms. I will be hiding upstairs in the storeroom on a sun lounger.

Both Susan and I will be dressed again in our elf costumes and using the character names of ‘Patch’ and ‘Sugarplum’, that we have been using while assisting Santa.

We arrive at the venue shortly after one pm in a Plattern’s van driven by my uncle. In the back, we have the sack of presents that we picked up earlier from the shop storeroom. We take it into the kitchen where Robert Turner and his wife, Janet, are laying out the party food. The guests are due to arrive at around two, with Santa making a brief appearance at three. The party will continue to half four.

Janet and Susan stand in the entrance hall greeting the children and their escorts as they arrive. They send the kids into the hall to play games, while their escorts are sent to see Robert who takes notes and confirms the child’s details. We have a system arranged whereby he has a clipboard of information, and will turn to the relevant page when Santa talks to each kid. Using my remote vision I can read the data and therefore make Santa appear omniscient without me having to memorise loads of facts.

In total, we are expecting eighteen special guests plus escorts. Every child is escorted either by a parent, an elder sibling, or in some cases a baby sitter. Tom Millward has brought a number of the guests in a minibus where they don’t have their own transport.

Using my remote vision, I can see the guests approaching down the road before they arrive. I am alarmed by the occupants of one of the approaching vehicles, and I quickly dash upstairs to my hiding place before they come in the front door. Escorting a pair of twins who have recently been orphaned are two teenagers from the Center.

Brian is a telekinetic who I met earlier this year. With him is a girl who I have previously witnessed shooting lightning. Looking outside I can see several additional vehicles parked down the street. A teenage boy with green hair is taking up position in a tree opposite the main entrance.

I consider doing a runner. However, I don’t want Santa to be a non-show. I don’t know if they are here for me. It’s possible one of the other teenagers could be an emergent. I decide to stick to plan.

I project myself as Santa and descend the stairs. Tom hands me the present sack from the kitchen and I make my entrance into the main hall shouting “Ho, Ho, Ho.”

I am soon surrounded by young excited children. Having regained order I make them sit on the floor in front of the chair that has been positioned for my benefit. Once seated, I speak to each child and hand out presents.

Some of the kids are overcoming depression, and are being quiet and reflective. I do my best to cheer them up and encourage their involvement. One of the children is particularly reluctant to participate. Katie, a seven-year-old girl, is sitting off to one side with her arms crossed trying to ignore everybody. I try to get her to come and join the others but this only seems to annoy her.

“You are nothing but a big fat phony!” Katie yells at me. The other kids look on in anticipation, a few of the younger ones scared by the temper tantrum.

Katie turns and picks up a big bowl of jello off the buffet table and throws it at me. I am so surprised by her actions that I fail to duck, and I’m hit full in the face. The plastic bowl clatters to the floor and I’m left with lumps of the strawberry flavoured dessert covering my face and beard. There is a stunned silence as I slowly wipe the jello from my eyes.

“Katherine Gertrude Braithwaite!” the girl’s mother shouts, “How dare you. Apologise this instant!”

“Go rot in hell!” the young girl shouts back.

The mother and daughter stand staring at each other. I think the mother is shocked by the child’s outburst and open defiance.

“Young lady,” I say slowly and deliberately, “you have just earned top spot on my naughty list. You won’t be receiving any gifts from me this year.”

“I don’t care! All I want is my sister back!” Katie shouts angrily, tears running down her face, her fists clenched at her sides.

I turn to Robert. He scribbles a note on his pad. ‘Sister: Bethany Braithwaite died in a car crash six months ago, aged 16.’

“Not even Santa can bring back lost loved ones Katie,” I say softly, “I wish I could, but it’s not possible.”

“She isn’t dead. There was no body. Adults are liars. They lie all the time. They say everything will be all right and it isn’t. Bethany said she would come back and she didn’t,” Katie sobs while still venting her frustration at me. “You aren’t Santa; you’re just some bloke dressed up in a red suit, another lie!”

Some of the smaller children are now very upset and are crying. I will probably regret this later, especially with Brian and friend here, but I can’t let this scene go on spoiling the atmosphere for the rest of the partygoers.

“Fine, in that case I will leave. You don’t have to believe in me, and I know its tradition for me to leave coal in naughty kids’ stockings, but in your case, I won’t bother making the effort. The rest of you will find your presents as usual. Goodbye,” I say walking over to the stone fireplace. Turning to face the watching children, I tap my nose three times and turn into a ball of light. I hover in front of the fire for a couple of seconds before disappearing up the chimney.

Brian turns and leaves the room, followed by his companion. Once in the corridor he bursts into tears himself. Wondering what happened I appear beside him. This time I project the form that he last saw before I left him on the truck, my usual self, but with green eyes, black hair, and no freckles.

“What’s the matter Brian?” I ask concerned.

He doesn’t answer, instead his friend asks, “Alice I presume? I’m Kris. Do I take it that you were playing Santa?”

“Yes, the man who was going to play the part was injured in a gas explosion last week. I was called in as a replacement,” I explain, “When I saw you come in I assumed that you were here to trap me, however I get the feeling you must be here for a different reason.”

“I’m Bethany,” Brian says softly, crying into his friends shoulder.

“One of our precogs had a premonition. They saw a young girl being chased from this lodge by a group of teenagers, Brian and I were in pursuit after them. She falls off a cliff, and is caught by Santa in his sleigh,” the young woman explains, “The premonitions are usually accurate, but we couldn’t see how until just now.”

We are interrupted as Susan bursts through the door shouting “Jennifer!” She stops dead when she sees me talking with our guests.

“Alice! Thank god you’re here,” Susan quickly recovers, “Katie has just bolted out the fire escape and is running off through the woods, and we need all the help we can get.”

I don’t hesitate. Using my remote vision, I locate the running child and point in her direction. “That way,” I shout as I vanish. They quickly head in the direction I pointed. There are already several teens in pursuit of the child, with a couple of adults trying to keep up. The others are looking after the other children in the hall.

I project myself in front of Katie and try to grab her, but she dodges me and carries on through the woods. Cursing, I try again, this time making myself invisible so that she can’t see me to dodge. We are only a few yards away from the cliff and I won’t get another opportunity. She runs straight into me and I grab hold of her. Unfortunately, her momentum knocks my projected form over and we both tumble and roll down the slight incline leading to the cliff. Keeping a tight hold of the child in one hand, I grab a branch as we pass and bring us both to a stop just before we reach the edge of the sheer drop.

Katie grabs the branch and clings to it, wrapping herself around the wood. Seeing that she is safe for the moment, I project myself to the top of the slope to stop anybody else running off it. I shout for them to stop, and the pursuers come to a halt. Brian pushes his way to the front of the gathering crowd.

“She’s safe for the moment,” I say. Although my back is to her, I am watching Katie closely with my remote vision. “She’s near the edge, but clinging tightly to a tree. We just need to bring her carefully up. I can project a rope and repel down to her.”

I hear the sound of snapping wood and spin round to see the branch holding Katie break. Brian stretches out his hand towards the child and instead of falling, she appears to be hovering in mid air, the wood she has in her hands no longer attached to the ground.

“I can’t hold her long, Alice, the branch is too heavy. Fulfil the prophecy,” he instructs.

Realising that the premonition is coming true, despite our best efforts, I do as instructed. I project myself back as Santa, but this time project a small sleigh pulled by a single reindeer. This is the smallest projection I can think of that meets the earlier description. The larger the projection, the more energy it takes. This will be the largest projection I have ever tried. While my projections have defied physics before, I’m usually in ghost form. This will be the first time I have done so when carrying a weight. I quickly move underneath the child, as she drops into the seat beside me.

The seat is solid enough to support her and carry her into the air. I was worried that she was going to fall straight through my projection, but so far, it appears to be working. I realise that I won’t be able to keep this up for long so swiftly steer the sleigh towards safe ground. The only clear landing spot is back at the lodge. I crash-land the sleigh as the rest of the adults and children come running out to meet me.

The party from the cliff is in hot pursuit and arrive just in time to see Santa and his sleigh vanish from sight. Katie is left in mid air as the seat under her disappears and she falls to the ground. Exhausted, I can’t maintain the projection any longer and let the blackness of unconsciousness overcome me.

I suddenly feel a warm tingly feeling and I find myself floating, looking down at my body. A girl I don’t recognise is holding my hand. Kris is stood nearby with Susan, looking on worried.

“How is she doing Liz,” Kris asks.

“Fine mom,” the girl holding my hand replies, “she has slipped into a hypoglycaemic coma. It seems that using her talent has drained all the sugar from her body.”

“This has happened before,” Susan says, “it occurs when she overexerts herself.”

I focus on returning to my body and slowly wake up. I can feel the energy flowing into me from where my hand is being held. The teenage girl seems to somehow be recharging and healing me. I guess that she is another emerged, and that this is her talent.

“Thanks, I needed that,” I say.

“Sorry Alice, but you collapsed again, I didn’t know what to do,” Susan states, tears falling down her face, “I was about to call for an ambulance when these people offered to help.” Turning to the other people in the room she asks, “I take it you are from the Center?”

“Yes, how much do you know?” Kris asks Susan.

“Only what Brian told me,” I say, looking across to Susan. “She is a close friend and one of the few people who know my secret identity.”

Susan is nervous, realising keeping my identity secret now is becoming increasingly hard. They only have to ask the partygoers who we are, most of them know our names. Once the Center has that, then I am at their mercy.

At least both Susan and I are wearing wigs and over the top makeup, so our normal appearance is somewhat hidden. Everybody has been calling Susan ‘Patch’ since before the guests arrived, so hopefully they won’t have her name.

“What happens now?” I ask.

“Usual procedure is for you to accompany us to the Center and for one of my team to erase the memories of everybody here,” Kris states. “But I can’t do it. I can’t bring myself to wipe what is obviously the most joyful memory these kids have. You have brought these children the best present they could ever have, belief in Santa Claus and in the Christmas spirit. However, I don’t see any other option.”

“There is always another option,” I say, “I think I can convince everybody to keep quiet about what has happened here. Santa can ask the kids not to say anything. Once I explain that nobody will believe them and they might be picked on, I am sure they will remain silent. As for the teens and adults, well they will meet my alter ego, Alice the Avenger. I have directly saved the lives of several people in there. My existence is starting to become common knowledge.”

I project myself back into the room as Santa, “at least let me try, you can still have the memories erased if it goes wrong.”

Reluctantly Kris agrees to my suggestion. She instructs Liz to remain with my now sleeping body. Susan also stays with me. Kris and my projection of Santa head out of the storeroom and back to the main hall. On the way out, Kris orders a man dressed in a business suit to join Liz. I recognise him from my last encounter with the Center. He was previously dressed in military uniform. It is obvious that they have brought some soldiers with them, but this time they are dressed in civvies.

I will have to work out a way of escaping from this lot without endangering any of my friends. I think Susan must have realised what is going on, and warned Robert and Uncle Richard not to say anything, as they are not acknowledging my presence.

As we enter the main room, I notice Tom is in the corner talking to Brian. They obviously recognize who he is, and they know I assist the police through him. Using my remote senses, I can hear Tom explaining how he arranged for me to assist by playing Santa and that I brought Patch along as an assistant. He’s telling Brian that he’s the only person here who knows about me and that nobody knows Susan’s identity.

As soon as Santa walks into the room, he is surrounded by the young children. After sitting them all down, I carefully explain that they shouldn’t talk about what they have seen in case they are bullied by nonbelievers.

Katie is sat to one side, dejected. After I have finished talking to the other children, I go over to her.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, “I know everybody is trying to protect me, but nobody will tell me anything and I’m fed up of being lied too. I may be a kid, but I’m not stupid.”

“I can tell you the truth, what is really going on here, but are you sure you want to know?” I ask, “You would have to keep it secret and that is one of the hardest tasks.”

“Please,” she begs. I glance over to Kris and Brian, who are now standing to one side watching.

“This is totally against policy. However, Alice has proved that the policy isn’t always appropriate in all cases. If you want to have contact with your sister then I will permit it, if successful then we may be able to consider changing procedure. It’s your call Brian, do you trust your sister, and can she cope?” Kris whispers to him.

“Yes, and yes,” he whispers back, looking at me. I nod at him and wink.

“Are you familiar with the x-men comics and films?” I whisper into Katie’s ear. She nods. “Those characters aren’t real, but there are people out there that have weird and wonderful abilities. I am one of those people, and so is your sister. Their existence is kept secret so not to scare or panic everybody. My talent is I can appear as whomever I want. You’re right, I’m not really Santa Claus. Bethany can make things float in the air. She stopped you from falling when the tree broke.”

“She’s here? She’s alive?” Katie whispers back excitedly.

“Yes, and yes, but when we get our powers, we undergo a drastic physical transformation, completely changing appearance. Bethany had to disappear because nobody would recognise her or believe who she is. Your sister is now working for the government helping others like her,” I say to Katie quietly so nobody else can hear.

I notice that Katie’s mother has been distracted by Kris, who has taken her out of the room. I hear Brian whisper, “Follow me.”

I stand up and take Katie’s hand, leading her out of the main hall and upstairs to the office where her mother, Brian, Kris and another teenage girl are waiting. Katie’s mother is asleep in a chair.

“Sorry sis, but I don’t think mom can cope with the new me,” Brian says. In his hand is a small origami elephant, which floats up in the air and lands in Katie’s hands. As the intricately folded paper floats through the air Brian starts to recite a poem, “It was six men of Indostan, to learning much inclined, who went to see the Elephant, though all of them were blind, that each by observation, might satisfy his mind.”

“And so these men of Indostan, disputed loud and long, each in his own opinion, exceeding stiff and strong, though each was partly in the right and all were in the wrong!” Katie replies as she flings herself at Brian and envelops him in a hug. I guess that this poem must be special to the two of them.

Kris and I leave the room, leaving the reunited siblings to talk. I have one more duty to perform. Standing in the hallway outside the main hall, I change my appearance into Alice the Avenger. I ask Kris to bring two of the people from the main hall while I wait out of sight in the foyer. She goes to fetch Fred and Tom. Freddy is here escorting his younger brother to the party.

“Alice! It’s good to see you again, I never got to thank you for rescuing me,” Freddy states as he enters the room.

“That’s okay, Freddy,” I reply, “I need a favour, from both you and Tom here. You have both seen me in action, so know that I can make things appear and disappear, and that I can walk through walls. I can also change appearance, this isn’t how I normally look. I was playing Santa in there earlier.”

“I did wonder,” declares Freddy, “I saw Nick Carpenter being taken away in the ambulance and knew he was originally due to play Santa. I saw your concern over his injuries, and when weird things started to happen earlier, I sort of put two and two together.”

“I need you to explain to the other teens and parents how the scenes earlier were possible. Several of the others have seen me in action in various guises. If my existence becomes public knowledge then I will have difficulty in operating and will have to go into hiding. I don’t want to put my friends and family at risk,” I explain.

“No problem, I think we can manage that,” Tom answers.

“I understand. Don’t worry, you can count on me, I will make sure the events here remain secret,” Freddy adds. I kiss him on the cheek and disappear in a puff of smoke. Freddy and Tom turn and walk back into the main hall to pass the word around.

Kris heads back towards the room from where I have been projecting. Entering the room she finds Liz missing and the soldier bound and gagged on the floor. Liz runs back into the room as Kris unties the guard.

“What happened?” Kris asks.

“You came back and told me Ray was injured having fallen out of his tree. I went to help him. The thing is he had only just fallen when I got there, so we realised that you couldn’t have sent me. I healed him as fast as I could and came back here,” Liz replies. I have been spying with my remote senses and listened in on some of the radio chatter between the Center operatives. I was able to learn the name of the green haired guy in the tree.

I project myself back into the room as Bugs Bunny, uttering the immortal “Eeeh, whatz up doc?” while munching on a carrot. The sight of a six-foot tall anthropogenic lagomorph standing in the room surprises Kris and she discharges a lightning bolt in my direction. I respond in true Looney Tunes fashion by turning my head and ears soot black. The charred remains of the carrot dissolve into dust.

Liz is trying very hard not to burst out laughing. I turn my projection into my Alice the Avenger persona.

“Sorry about the deception, but I needed to remove my body to safety,” I say calmly, “I can’t believe you actually fell for the oldest trick in the book.”

While Kris momentarily left me alone to fetch Freddy and Tom, I had projected myself as her to order Liz out of the way. The soldier was carrying a tazer, and it only took a second to steal his weapon and use it upon him. I dealt with Ray by invisibly pushing him out the tree. This had two benefits, it meant nobody was watching the window and it also kept Liz occupied fixing Ray’s broken leg.

I then left Susan to tie up the tazered soldier and escape with my unconscious body out of the window. Uncle Richard was waiting for us outside, having sneaked out of the side door from the kitchen. While I kept Kris and Freddy busy talking, they lowered me to the ground. The two of them were loading me into the back of the van when I returned to my body and woke up. I quickly changed the plan. I had spotted an access to the under floor crawl space hidden behind a large bin. Susan and I crawled through the hole while my Uncle drove off in the van as a decoy. By the time Kris had made it upstairs, I was successfully hidden.

“With my body safely hidden, I can now unleash whatever projections I deem appropriate to project myself, my friends, and my family, from harm. I realise you now have more clues to my identity, and it’s only a matter of time before you identify me, but it won’t be today,” I state. “You are going to collect your friends and leave immediately. Brian may stay behind if he wishes to have more time with his sister, but he will do so alone. Remember I can see and hear everything that is going on, and if I see any of you trying to question anybody here about me or my friend’s identity, I will use violence.”

Mid-sentence I disappear and reappear instantaneously next to Kris holding a large knife, the point a hair’s width from her neck.

“OK, you win this round, Alice,” Kris coldly states. “You have achieved what the rest of us can never have, acceptance by your friends and family and the ability to carry on with your life like nothing has happened. I can understand and respect your desire to protect that. However, if you use your talents irresponsibly, I will hunt you down.”

Kris turns and leaves the room. The other two follow her out. All the Center personnel gather and return to their vehicles when signalled by Kris. They wait in their cars while Brian says farewell to his sister, before they all drive off.

I remotely follow the Center vehicles until they are out of range. We follow them in Robert’s car, positioning ourselves halfway between the lodge and their vehicles as they leave town. Given my two-mile range, I am able to keep my eye on both the lodge and the motorcade until they are four miles apart.

Exhausted, we head home for a well-earned rest, to enjoy a traditional family Christmas, hopefully in peace.

Merry Christmas

---

http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Blindmen_and_the_Elephant