BRIEF SYNOPSIS - or, PREVIOUSLY ON "A MOTHER'S LOVE",

In London, Steve and Mary are young lovers who meet and marry. Though their love is strong, there are complicating factors. Mary has HIV, contracted from a one night stand she had before she met Steve. She's also given birth to their daughter, who is free of HIV but did inherit the same severe intolerance to cow's milk that Steve has. The obvious answer is breastfeeding, but Mary's HIV+ status (not to mention all of the anti-HIV drugs she's on) makes her a poor candidate for that. So ... Steve volunteers for the duty. He takes hormones to grow his breasts and begin lactation.

All goes well, until ... complications!
**Steve's very prominent breasts and his breastfeeding his daughter produce uncomfortable public circumstances; he begins dressing as a woman for work, which eases the discomfort because he passes pretty well. TOO well ...
**Mary comes down with cancer; she leaves Steve and the children to stay with her mother because she feels she's a burden AND because she doesn't like to see her husband becoming more female; she stops HIV treatment and progresses to full-blown AIDS.
**Steve, who goes by Stephanie when dressed as a woman, meets a new Doctor who then talks to Mary and convinces her to restart treatment for both the AIDS and cancer; the AIDS holds in check and her cancer goes into remission!
**BUT on two or three occasions now, the new Dr. (Jonathan Brown) has kissed Stephanie - sending her into totally unexpected and unsettling throes of infatuation! (Mary is unaware of this)
**Despite all of this, Steve and Mary's life returns to some normalcy; in addition to daughter Bekka, the couple now have a young infant son, so Steve's breastfeeding (and time spent as Stephanie) must continue. Mary announces that Steve needs to wean baby Hugh off breast milk - and that Steve should get a bilateral mastectomy ASAP! Problem: the surgeon REFUSES.

YESTERDAY'S CHAPTER
Mary learns of the surgeon's refusal; blames Steve/Stephanie, and takes off to her mother's with both children in tow. She leaves an ultimatum: return to being a man full time now, or their marriage is essentially over. Steve/Stephanie is broken over this.

Now without further ado, here is today's continuation ...

~o~O~o~

After a restless night spent alone in the house, I awoke and prepared for the workday. I intended initially to go to the office in my male persona, which optimally meant minimizing my bosom; however, I required my nursing bra with extra padding as I was leaking milk from my tight, unsuckled breasts. For some reason I could not find the electric breast pump I used when needing relief from the pressure (or to build up a refrigerated supply of milk for Hugh).

To have a full female shape protruding from a man’s shirt and jacket would be unacceptable in public, I reasoned. Therefore it was Stephanie that stepped out the front door and into the car.

~o~O~o~

“So as you can see, I need to change back to working as Steven, for all of those reasons,” I said.

Susan Williams, the proprietor of Adventure Travel, sat and listened. She appeared stymied. “Let me look at something,” she finally muttered, tapping some keys on her laptop. “Ah, here. You’ve been presenting as Steffi here at the office constantly for almost the past year. In that time, many of our clients came to know you only as a female agent; in fact, two of the women’s groups assigned to you had specifically requested a woman to handle their travel affairs. And now, what you’re asking for may destroy those client relationships.”

“But Susan – you knew that my situation was temporary. That I’d be eventually be returning as Steve.”

“Perhaps in the beginning. But frankly, you’ve remained Stephanie for so long that I almost figured that you had decided to be her from now on.”

“Susan – I have to change back.”

“Are you sure you really want that? Look at you. You’re immensely good looking; haven’t you noticed how some guys in the office will twist their necks to get a gander as you walk by? You are naturally feminine in your speech, your actions, and what we call deportment. The ladies practically consider you a girlfriend, and they let you in on all the juicy gossip. Will you be able to be happy if you’re never Steffi again?”

“I … I …” Why was I struggling to answer? “I … honestly, I don’t know.”

“I won’t oppose your decision, whichever it is. Be advised, this office is under significant financial pressure; agents who lose clients will be at risk. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I sighed, feeling a little more burdened. My move back to Steve full-time was supposed to simplify things, not complicate them.

~o~O~o~

As I parked back at my house that evening, I felt horrid in almost every way. Hopping up the entry steps, my swollen breasts jiggled and reminded me that some of the misery was physical. Thank God I’m home, now Hugh can relieve me -

“Bollocks!” I spat, remembering that of course Hugh was gone with Bekka and Mary at my in-laws. Well, I’ll use the pump then. Wait – I couldn’t find it this morning! Where is it?

I searched the place from stem to stern; no breast pump was found. Did Mary take it with her, to force-wean ME from the breastfeedings as well? Multiple calls and texts to Mary’s number continued to go unanswered.

I tried to express milk using my fingers; it was messy and inefficient – after 10 minutes I experienced no relief. I was now having occasional fleeting sharp pains from the tight mammaries. I cannot go all night this way. Perhaps the chemist?

It was now after 8 pm; there were some late night chemists within driving range, but calls placed to them found that none had a breast pump. The attendant at Lloyd’s was especially helpful, searching the store until he came back on with the news that they’d sold their last one earlier today.

I gently cradled my painful bosom with one arm whilst dialing with my free hand. I do NOT want to visit the A&E … but perhaps they have a spare pump?

A call to the nearest hospital emergency department brought hope. “Yes, love, we have a pump here; can you get to us easily enough?”

“I’ll have to put my top and bra on, but carefully as I’m really hurting.”

“Wait one bit, ma’am; you said your name was Stephanie Jones?”

“Well, I’m registered as Steven Jones with the NHS. It’s a long story.”

“That’s all right, Stephanie – we deal with the transgendered quite often.” The nurse’s voice then suddenly got distant, as if she’d pulled the phone away from her face. I could make out a few words still: “Are you sure … you do know her? …”

I opened my mouth to tell the nurse that I wasn’t transgender; then thought better of it and just sighed. This was no time to quibble; I needed relief.

“Ms. Jones, hang on. One of our staff was leaving his shift, and he’s volunteered to bring the pump by your place. Please verify your address.”

“Oh thank you so much! Will they be by soon?”

“He’s leaving right now. Come out here if this doesn’t help. Goodbye.”

My current state of dress was topless, with a large towel draped over my breasts and lightly pressed against the nipples. I tossed the towel in the dirty hamper and reapplied the nursing bra, pulling a loose button-up sweater on over it; I attached enough buttons to be modest, then sat awaiting the doorbell.

I didn’t wait for long. A ring came through, and I stepped quickly to the entry. “Is this the worker from the A&E? With the pump?” I spoke through the door.

“Well, essentially, yes,” came the answer.

I opened the door. “Please come –“ no further words were spoken, as my tongue was frozen in surprise. I instantly recognized the hospital “staff” person.

“Hello, Stephanie,” smiled Dr. Jonathan Maurice Brown.

~o~O~o~

NOTICE TO READERS:

This is a fan-fiction story continuation of Alys's unfinished story, "A Mother's Love." As I have stated in my blog, Alys has given her permission for this work. This is not meant to alter or detract at all from her superb original story, merely to build upon it and achieve a resolution for these wonderful characters.

The setting of this story is Great Britain, and superstar Big Closet author Angharad graciously consented to help me retain a British "feel" for the narrative and dialogue. She is a godsend/lifesaver. I have now had the privilege of working with multiple stars here to bring my humble little indulgent tales to be published in BC. What a giving, loving community.

If you aren't familiar with Alys's story, I have typed a brief summary to set the stage (see the Brief Synopsis at the top). If you want to read Alys's part of this tale (all chapters are super quick reads and great stories!), then look into:
A Mother's Love - Prequel
A Mother's Love - Volume 1 (11 parts)
A Mother's Love - Volume 3 (2 parts)

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

If you've gotten this far, please leave me a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! Hugz - **Sigh**

Previously on "A Mother's Love":

Mary has suddenly left for her mother's house in Manchester, four hours away (and she's taken the children with her!). Stephanie is trying to return to "Steve" mode full time but is meeting resistance at work. With suddenly no baby to suckle (and unable to find the breast pump), Stephanie is having significant breast pains. The hospital A&E has sent her a pump, delivered by ... Dr. Jonathan Brown, whom Stephanie has had unexpected attraction to in the past!

(for a more extensive recap - all the way back to the beginning - please check out the "Brief Synopsis" at the beginning of Chapter 3.04, posted yesterday)

And now, today's continuation ...

~o~O~o~

“Jonathan?!”

“I have your pump right here,” he said. “I saw the intake nurse write your name down as she was talking to you on the phone. I figured there probably aren’t that many lactating patients in this area named Stephanie Jones.”

“You’re not an A&E physician! You’re a cancer and HIV specialist. What were you doing down in emergency?”

“I had finished all of my inpatient work for the day; as the last task before I left for home, I did an initial consultation on a patient there with newly diagnosed acute leukemia. So I was writing my findings when I overheard the nurse on the phone.” He saw me wince a few times as he talked; this caused him to frown with concern. “You’re really suffering, aren’t you? Is the pain that bad?”

I had been holding back tears, but now let them loose. “Oh, Jonathan. This has been the worst day of my life.” My head hung towards the floor. “My marriage, my job, my children, my future, and now even my gender – it’s all up in the air, coming down for a huge crash. Then tonight there’s this bloody breast pain!”

“Well, much of that I can’t help with – except the last problem. Let’s get this pump assembled and relieve some of that pressure.”

He unboxed the pump with its tubing and suction cups. I was taken with the sight: a respected, learned man who seemed to hurt with every pang of pain I experienced. It seemed he actually, truly cared deeply for me. He removed his coat as he was starting to perspire some; his wiry, lean musculature could now be better seen through his shirt. I began to feel an unusual desire, a need for him to be closer.

This appeared to be his first time putting together this type of machine, as he fumbled with the components and held up the instructions, scanning them quickly with a scowl on his face. “I’m so sorry, Stephanie. I know you’re hurting. I’m doing this as quickly as I can; have you assembled one of these before?”

“Jonathan.” I began to unbutton my sweater. “Can you come over here?”

Jon walked to me, confused as to what I wanted. He stopped about a foot from me; I clasped his shirt collar and pulled his face to mine, delivering a warm soft kiss; after a few seconds, I broke it and pulled away slightly. Tugging the right side of the sweater from my chest, I then unlatched the nursing flap from that breast. The organ was full and tight, slightly leaking a drop of milk from the nipple. I spoke not a word but looked intently in his eyes with a visage that asked him to understand … and invited him to act.

He withdrew a bit and returned my gaze intently. His head tilted, as if incredulous of the request.

“Please,” I whispered between deep, shuddering breaths.

Jonathan looked at my breast, then back into my eyes. He then slowly lowered his head towards the nipple.

“Please. Hurry,” I whispered.

His lips wrapped around my nipple and areola, and he began to suck. Immediately a forceful burst of warm, thick milk hit the back of his throat; he pulled away coughing.

“Jon? Are you okay?”

“Wasn’t prepared for the force of that first squirt. Don’t worry, I’ve got it now.” He reapplied his mouth to the same area and began to suck with more gusto. I leaned my head back and breathed “Oooohh.”

Jonathan continued to nurse, but as he did he put his arms around me and lowered his hands to my skirt, which he pulled on until the hem was up around my hips. His hands now grabbed my buttocks, and he lifted me up off the floor. I hung onto the back of his head to keep from tipping over.

He carried me to the couch, then turned and sat down on it, all the while continuing the suckling. He pulled my legs to where they now rested, flexed, on either side of his torso. I could now feel a warm bulge from Jonathan’s groin pressing into my knickers.

The right breast was reducing in tightness and output. Jonathan came ‘up for air’. “Ready for the left?” he said with a sly grin. I just smiled and nodded my head.

He began to minister to the other side, and I began to get more vocal. At first, my sighs were from the relief of tightness; as time progressed, I began to moan in a more erotic response.

As the last of the milk finally emptied, Jonathan leaned his head back and looked into my eyes.

“Have you ever had a full drink of your breast milk? It’s quite good,” he asked.

“Just a drop or two; never a mouthful, and definitely not a meal’s worth like you just had.”

“Let me give you a taste,” he whispered. Then he brought his lips to mine, and we kissed long and deep. As we did, our hands wandered. He unclasped my bra. I unbuttoned his shirt. Both of us were topless in short order; but as he grasped for my panties, I grabbed his arm.

“I’m only a woman from waist-up. But I would still love to show you my gratitude.” With that, I snaked my arm down the inside of his trousers and began caressing his manhood.

~o~O~o~

Minutes later, we both lay on the couch, our heavy breathing gradually subsiding.

“Is your discomfort gone?” he queried.

“I am feeling no pain.” I pulled herself tighter against his body. “I know this won’t last, but I just want to enjoy it a little longer. Can you continue to lie here with me a while?”

“Your wish is my command, Madame,” he purred. “I wish you knew how long I have dreamed of being with you like this.”

“Me too,” I answered.

“So … all is right with the world, then,” he replied.

As we lay on the settee, he fell asleep. I could not; my mind was in a whirlwind of turmoil contemplating the previous 24 hours, especially the last one.

~o~O~o~

“Jonathan. Wake up.”

The doctor opened his eyes; he was still on the couch, naked from the waist up. I was clothed and sitting on a chair in the living room, holding out a cup towards him.

“It’s lemon herbal tea; if you prefer, I can get you something with caffeine – but it’s only eleven and I didn’t want you to be up all night.”

“Why did you get up? I was hoping to awaken beside you in the morning,” he yawned.

I grasped his hand but stayed in the chair. “Jonathan. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I’ve come to some decisions that we need to talk about.

“Tonight was wonderful. I needed to be held, to be desired. It’s been so long since Mary has really wanted me sexually, due to how female my shape has become. Your loving has renewed my soul.

“And yet at the same time, tonight was horrible. I have cheated on my wife – something I am deeply ashamed of. Even if I make the changes she’s demanded, this one act could torpedo our marriage.”

“But you’re attracted to me,” the doctor replied. “Are you bisexual? Or are you staying in a loveless marriage just for the sake of it?”

I shook my head. “When first we met, I staunchly believed I was 100% male and fully heterosexual, and that I had only developed my breasts for the sole purpose of feeding my infant child. But our first kiss – it shook my whole world. And now it has culminated in what we did tonight. It came so … naturally to me. I’m beginning to think that perhaps my soul is really female. I am at home, at peace, being Stephanie. My Steve persona feels more and more alien.”

“So, then. Perhaps it’s time to make a clean break, and be Stephanie full time. You would lose your wife, but you’d gain me.”

“Jonathan – you aren’t suggesting we start a relationship, are you?” I gasped with alarm.

He hadn’t expected quite this reaction. “Well, um … would that be a problem?”

“Yes! I'm still married! In spite of how Mary's treated me recently, and even with what just happened tonight, it doesn't excuse more infidelity on my part!” I exclaimed. “Not to mention that I don't need to give her another reason to keep Hugh and Bekka from me! Then there’s the problem of your medical license.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Even though you haven’t treated her in nearly two years, you’re still one of Mary’s physicians. And you’ve now had a sexual liaison with the spouse of one of your patients. As I understand it, that could result in you being sanctioned – if news of this got out, that is.”

“Damn,” he cursed, realizing the tangled knot this situation had become.

“So,” I continued, “Here’s what will happen. You’re going to quietly drive home from here. I am going to seek out a gender specialist to confirm what/who I truly am. I will try to come to an agreement with Mary for the children. And you and I will remember tonight fondly – but we won’t repeat it. Agreed?”

“And if I disagree?” he countered.

“Don’t,” I warned.

~o~O~o~

NOTICE TO READERS:

This is a fan-fiction story continuation of Alys's unfinished story, "A Mother's Love." As I have stated in my blog, Alys has given her permission for this work. This is not meant to alter or detract at all from her superb original story, merely to build upon it and achieve a resolution for these wonderful characters.

The setting of this story is Great Britain, and superstar Big Closet author Angharad graciously consented to help me retain a British "feel" for the narrative and dialogue. She is a godsend/lifesaver. I have now had the privilege of working with multiple stars here to bring my humble little indulgent tales to be published in BC. What a giving, loving community.

If you aren't familiar with Alys's story, I have typed a brief summary to set the stage (see the Brief Synopsis at the top). If you want to read Alys's part of this tale (all chapters are super quick reads and great stories!), then look into:
A Mother's Love - Prequel
A Mother's Love - Volume 1 (11 parts)
A Mother's Love - Volume 3 (2 parts)

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

If you've gotten this far, please leave me a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! Hugz - **Sigh**

~o~O~o~

SIX MONTHS LATER

“My goodness.”

I paused after donning my knickers to assess the appearance of my nearly nude form, first from the front, and then turning to see a profile. My DD-cup breasts hung in large teardrop shapes, a genetic gift from my well-endowed mother. My slim waist expanded to modest hips before tapering to lithe legs below. The addition of testosterone blockers and electrolysis to the usual hormone therapy had produced stunning results; indeed, my groin contained the only evidence that I’d been born male.

Amazing. I never was thought of as effeminate when I was Steve; yet as Stephanie, I am near-unreadable, I mused, and shook my head in mild wonderment at my good fortune. A glance at the clock reminded me to return to the task at hand. I went to apply makeup before putting on the rest of the outfit.

~o~O~o~

“Steffie! Aren’t you supposed to be off today? I thought you were headed to Manchester to spend time with your tots?”

“And a proper hello to you too, Susan,” I laughed. “Have no fear; I’m just here to drop off the itineraries I worked on last night at home, then I’m off to Mary’s mother’s house.”

“Well take care of yourself – mentally, emotionally, physically. I worry about you having to interact with your ex-wife – ”

“You mean my eventual ex,” I corrected. “It won’t be official for a while, I’m afraid.”

“Either way, she’s still an ex. She has a knack of stirring the pot with your emotions and even your self-esteem. When that happens, it affects us too.”

“Well, I promise to be on my ‘A’ game when I return to work on Monday.”

“Psh! I’m not worried about that,” Susan snorted. “Ever since you committed to living life exclusively as a woman six months ago, you’ve been more focused and productive than ever, as your top sales status shows. No – what I mean is that I, and all the rest of us here, care for you as a person. Don’t let yourself be abused or manipulated by a vengeful wife.”

I smiled even as my eyes surely betrayed scars of emotional pain. “I appreciate that. But know that I will suffer whatever I have to in order to be in my kid’s lives. I really must be off, now; thank you for the kind words, Susan.” With that, I left the office.

~o~O~o~

To all appearances, I was an attractive young woman in a sleeveless sundress and strappy sandals walking up to the front door of a small house in Manchester. I took a big breath in, then rang the doorbell. My brown shoulder-length hair was parted on the right side, partially obscuring the left eye as it fell across my face. Red lips and a faux pearl necklace framed a nervous smile.

Mary opened the door and greeted me with a grimace. “God. You’re not even trying to hide it anymore, are you? Not even dressing neutrally. Come in, I guess.”

I followed her inside to find our children, Bekka and Hugh, playing on the floor with their maternal grandmother, Andrea James. The older woman smiled. “Hello there! Children – your Auntie Stephanie is here!”

“Auntie Stephanie!” yelled Bekka as she ran to me and latched onto my upper thigh. Hugh screamed as he ran and hugged the opposite leg.

“Oh my darlings, I’ve missed you so much!” I cried. I squatted down and grabbed them – one in each arm – then stood up with an ‘uff!’ and carried them to the sofa where all three of us landed in a laughing, hugging, tickling heap.

After a good hour of play, I took a kitchen break to drink some coffee that Andrea had made. Mary gave me my instructions.

“I want Mum to have the weekend off from the kids. She’s been doing most of their care while I establish at my new job here, and it’s nearly exhausted her. So it’s a good thing you’re here, as Koz and I have had this cycle regatta planned for a few weeks. It would really disappoint him if I had to cancel.”

“Mary – who is this ‘Cause,’ and how long have you known him?”

“That’s Koz, K-O-Z. He’s my boyfriend; we met at a pub here two months ago.”

“What does he do for a living?”

“Is this the Spanish Inquisition? He does on-site car repair and odd jobs. What he prefers to do is motorcycle the country – preferably with me hanging on his back. Is this interrogation over? Let’s change the subject.”

“Okay. Why is Bekka calling me ‘Auntie’? Her name for me was Mum-Stephanie.”

“Because I’M her mum. I’m her only mum! You were her Dad, but clearly you’re not anymore. So you can be an auntie. That’s what I’ve told her to call you.”

“Mary … this time and distance from my kids … it’s killing me. Are you sure there’s no equitable way we can work this out? You could even still seek your divorce from me yet we could live in the same house. I’d even be open to you dating men; we could live as roommates. I just need to be around the kids; and I’d love to still be around you, too.”

“Then you should have stayed a man! That’s what I married – a man named Steve, and he was a pretty good one! But when I look at you I’m reminded of how you rejected that life – you rejected ME – and it all disgusts me. No, it’s over. I’m rebuilding what’s left of my life and moving on, and the kids with me – except for court-ordered visitation, of course.”

The doorbell rang. “Ah. That’s probably him,” smiled Mary. She left to the door, then re-entered the kitchen with a man in tow. This man wore a white T-shirt with a sleeveless denim jacket above his holey jeans and leather boots. Copious tattoos adorned his arms with various skulls and partially naked women. A handlebar moustache seemed to give him a permanent glower; his long hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, quite a contrast to the receding hairline he had on his front scalp.

Mary made the introduction. “Stephanie, this is Koz. Koz, this is my ex.”

Koz’s left eyebrow arched high. “You’re the bloke? Or, rather, used to be?” He shook his head, then turned to Mary. “You ready to blow this burg, babe?”

“Let me get my backpack,” she squeaked eagerly and ran off to her bedroom.

“Where are you two motoring to?” I asked Koz.

“Big biker meeting in the countryside. Spending one or two nights there. Partying and good times.” Koz walked to the refrigerator and procured a beer, which he chugged down quite briskly; he glanced back towards me. “Mary never mentioned how lush you are. Have you taken that bod for a test run with a high-octane stud? ‘Cause I am one, ya know.”

I was gobsmacked. “You know that your girlfriend – my wife – is in the next room? And that I haven’t had surgery? Yet you are flirting with me. You’re either pissed or a pillock.”

“Pfft. Your loss, lass.” Koz now was quaffing his second beer.

“Um, aren’t you about to go on a motorcycle trip? Should you be drinking?” I fretted.

“If I go too long without one, I get the shakes – see?” Koz held out his hand to reveal a mild tremor. “These are my first brews today. I’ll be fine after a couple more.” With that, he started to gulp down another.

I turned and hopped to Mary’s bedroom and knocked on the door, then went in.

“Mary. Did you know that Koz is on his third or fourth beer out of the fridge? And he smells like skunk. Riding with a cyclist who’s drunk and high on marijuana is a bad idea, don’t you think?”

“Koz will be fine. You’d be amazed how well he holds his liquor.”

“Please tell me he doesn’t interact with the kids; he doesn’t smoke pot around them, does he? And why date a guy like him? You can do better; you deserve better.”

Mary suddenly looked furious. “I’m damaged goods! I’m HIV positive, and even though I’m stable on meds, to most guys that’s a deal-breaker. I’m also in remission from cancer – not cured, in remission – meaning there’s a chance it will come back. That makes me a burden to any partner. I can do better? I DID have better – you, while you were still Steve! But no, now you’ve ‘found your true self’ as a woman. So don’t you dare lecture me when you’re the cause of this current situation!” She walked past me in a huff, out to the kitchen.

“Koz, I’m ready. Let’s leave this mess.”

I watched in silence as they mounted the cycle together and sped off.

~o~O~o~

After supper (I made spaghetti with meat sauce for all of them; Hugh still got baby food) I rested with my two tots in the living room.

“Mum-Stephanie – oops, I mean Auntie-Stephanie,” Bekka corrected herself.

“Love, you can call me Mum-Stephanie when it’s just us two here,” I cooed.

“Okay. Why haven’t you visited us more often? I miss you so much; so does Hugh.”

“Well, Mum-Mary and I are having some disagreements about who you should be with and when. But know that I can’t stand being away from you; I would see you every day if I was allowed to.”

“I’m sorry, Mummie. I’m bad sometimes. But I’m trying to be good.”

“Darling! What’s happened between us Mums is NOT your fault! It’s our fault. And … probably mostly mine.” I started to dab my eyes.

“Please stay here with us. Please don’t go away again.”

My heart was breaking into a million little pieces. Nothing – NOTHING – is worth hurting my children like this! If I have to go back to being a man forever, so be it – as long as I can be with them. I need to tell Mary –

Those thoughts were interrupted by a ring of the doorbell.

“It’s nearly nine in the evening. Who could this be?” wondered Andrea as she walked to the entryway. “Hello? Who is it?” she yelled through the door.

“Police, ma’am,” came the answer.

The door swiftly opened, and there were two Bobbies standing there. Both were in uniform, holding their hats in their hands. “Is this the current residence of Mary Jones?” the closest one asked.

“It is; I’m her mother. Whatever is the problem?”

I stood at the back of the entryway, watching the officers interact with my mother-in-law. Suddenly my stomach felt as if weighted down with twenty pounds of lead. “Oh no,” I whispered faintly.

“Ma’am – I regret to tell you some bad news. There’s been an accident …”

~o~O~o~

NOTICE TO READERS:

This is a fan-fiction story continuation of Alys's unfinished story, "A Mother's Love." As I have stated in my blog, Alys has given her permission for this work. This is not meant to alter or detract at all from her superb original story, merely to build upon it and achieve a resolution for these wonderful characters.

The setting of this story is Great Britain, and superstar Big Closet author Angharad graciously consented to help me retain a British "feel" for the narrative and dialogue. She is a godsend/lifesaver. I have now had the privilege of working with multiple stars here to bring my humble little indulgent tales to be published in BC. What a giving, loving community.

If you aren't familiar with Alys's story, I have typed a brief summary to set the stage (see the Brief Synopsis at the top). If you want to read Alys's part of this tale (all chapters are super quick reads and great stories!), then look into:
A Mother's Love - Prequel
A Mother's Love - Volume 1 (11 parts)
A Mother's Love - Volume 3 (2 parts)

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

If you've gotten this far, please leave me a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! Hugz - **Sigh**

NOTICE: FINAL POSTING TODAY

Hi there, reader - Sigh here.
I've been posting the continuation of this story in short bits (between 1K and 2K words per part, as was the original author's habit). However, these last 3 parts are SUPER short, so I've combined them into one post that will wrap up this tale in a neat little bow. One more time, huge kudos to Angharad for her invaluable British phrasing and charm! Kudos to Alys for the original story! And much thanks to anyone who took the time to read this flight of fancy. I owe you all big-time hugz!

~o~O~o~

Chapter 3.07

Bekka gazed into my floor length mirror and smiled. The three-year-old wore a bright red dress with petticoats; they swirled and fluffed as she spun ‘round.

“Mum-Stephanie! Do you like my dress? I think it’s so pretty!”

“It’s gorgeous, honey; YOU’RE gorgeous. I am so proud to call you my daughter. Mum-Mary will love it.”

Bekka frowned. “But how can she see me in my dress if she’s gone to heaven already?”

“I believe she can see you – and all of us – from heaven. And part of her is still with us here on earth; the part of her heart that is always living inside us.”

“Mummie, why aren’t you wearing red like me? Don’t you want us to match?”

“For this occasion, grown-ups wear black. We do it to … show how much we miss Mary.”

Bekka began to sob. “I miss her too. I still love her.” She rubbed her chest as if to ease a pain. “I’m … I’m sorry, Mum-Steph … Stephanie … I can’t stop it …”

“Don’t try to stop it, baby. It’s okay to cry; you’re supposed to. In fact, I’m about to join you,” I said, embracing my youngster and now leaking tears of my own. “I miss her and love her too. I’ve never stopped loving her.”

The service was being held at a crematorium in London, as this is where most of Mary’s friends and acquaintances lived. She had suffered severe head injuries in the crash and died quickly. I’d found a picture of her from before her illness and we included it on the front of the order of service.

At the chapel, I carried Hugh in my right arm while holding Bekka’s hand with the left. A familiar face from the crèche I used made me smile, and I walked to it to hand over my son.

“Janis, thank you so much for being here and agreeing to look after him.”

“You’re welcome, love. I’ll be in the back room where the young mothers take their children. I’m praying for you to get through this.”

I sat through the service; the vicar had encouraging words. My emotions were all over the map. With Mary’s death, she would no longer live another day feeling as if she was damaged goods; and of course, now I had both of my children living with me every day. These thoughts gave me comfort and yet also guilt for being relieved about the situation. There were bittersweet memories too; I had now permanently lost the woman who truly was my soul mate. I remembered our first meeting, our courtship, and early marriage; the loss of that bliss, especially my role in that loss, haunted me. If I only had rejected the idea of me nursing Bekka; she and our marriage might still exist.

The service came to the eulogies, where those who knew Mary were invited to share how Mary had affected their lives. I spoke for about ten minutes, remembering our best times. Andrea spoke highly of her daughter.

“Are there any more recollections?” the vicar asked. To my surprise, a tall man in the back stood up and approached the podium.

Dr. Jonathan Maurice Brown. He leaned towards the microphone and spoke:

“Mary was my patient for a short time. I was privileged to be her oncologist. We got her cancer into remission just 2 years ago. Now, many might shake their heads and remark about what a shame it is to elude death by malignancy only to receive it from a motorcycle accident. I assure you, Mary would disagree. She felt that each day was a gift, and living it fully was a success. Instead of moping that we only bought her two more years, I will rejoice in the fact that this woman got over seven hundred more days to experience her life, and love on those she loved. We who survive her would do well to emulate that attitude: live with what we have, and love who we have, today – while we still have them. God bless you all, and bless Mary’s soul.”

The ceremony was taped so that my children could watch it later when they were old enough to comprehend fully what was said. There was a wake of course, and to my happy surprise, Jonathan was there also. I approached him.

“What nice things you had to say about Mary. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Stephanie. I realize she wasn’t a total saint; but at times like this, one focuses on the positive.”

“I was thinking about the last thing you said – live and love with those we have while we still have them. That wasn’t a veiled message meant for me, was it?”

“That depends. Are you taking it that way, and are you offended if it was?”

“Not offended. Oh, I’m just going to say it. You still intrigue me.” I was beginning to blush.

Jonathan put on his trademark wry smile. “You know, those problems that you had with us pursuing a relationship – what you told me six months ago? It appears those are no longer are an issue. I know you just lost your wife, and you are probably not ready for a new lover –“

“No, I’m not,” I interrupted, “but I could definitely use a new friend. Why don’t we start from there and go ‘low and slow’ for a while? We can see where that takes us.”

~o~O~o~

Chapter 3.08

TWO YEARS LATER

“For the thousandth time, don’t worry! I’ve cared for my grandkids before. Even though this time it will be for a week, they are so well behaved that I think I can handle it. And if I need a break, I’ll use the Child Care Centre to help me for a few hours – as you’ve suggested. Now you go and have a fantastic honeymoon in Bermuda, please!”

Andrea was doing her best to reassure me, but since this was to be the longest time in two years that I’d be separated from my darlings – well, I was worrying. Jonathan came up to me from behind and laid his manly hands on my shoulders.

“Hey there, my sweet. I promise we’ll call back daily to check on Hugh and Bekka. You need to finish packing so we can head to the airport in time.”

I still needed to make sure. “Andrea – I’ve listed you as their carer for this week over at the crèche. Do use them – daily, if you need – so you can get a midday rest. And I’ve left all the emergency numbers –“

“On the refrigerator, yes, you’ve told me three times already. Now scoot to your closet and pack; oh, and one last thing …”

“What’s that?” I fretted.

“DON’T WORRY! That’s all.”

~o~O~o~

I looked out the window of the plane, seeing nothing but a distant ocean below. My previous fears of leaving the children for a week seemed more distant too. I turned to my new husband; he was reading a book, yet his arm was intertwined with mine, betraying our still vibrant infatuation with each other.

“I’m sorry for all the anxiety I had over Hugh and Bekka.”

“I took no offence, my love. Andrea might feel that you lack confidence in her, though.”

“Yes, I can see that. I’ll text her my apology when we land.”

“In the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you so fearful. Why do you think you were?”

“Hmm. Actually, the last time I went more than a day seeing the kids, they were gone for the better part of six months – the last time that Mary took them from me. I think I was having flashbacks to that time. I don’t know why – Andrea has been totally trustworthy.”

“A lot has happened since then. You’ve weaned Hugh off of breast milk completely, then finished your transition, despite the NHS dragging its feet on that. Then you planned and pulled off a most impressive wedding. Were you happy with it?”

“Oh yes. But if I could take a time machine to go back one year, I would beg my then-self to please elope,” I laughed. “It took so much time and energy! Perhaps with the pictures and a little time, I’ll appreciate it more. You’ve been quite busy too, Jonathan. Overseeing the new inpatient wing of the cancer ward, with the expansion of research capabilities? You and I have been burning our candles at both ends.”

“Right now I’m only burning at one end; you’re so sexy, sitting next to me,” he breathed in my ear.

“Soon, my love,” I whispered back. I wish it were sooner! I thought.

~o~O~o~

We had dropped our bags off at our beach condo unit and gone for dinner at a recommended local seafood grill. Now we were unpacked and changed into swimwear to hit the poolside Jacuzzi. Being virtually alone there for the last twenty minutes, we snuggled and made the hot tub a little hotter.

Back in the condo, we showered together. I dried off quickly and hopped out of the bath area, leaving Jonathan to finish towelling himself there. I grabbed one of the cuplets of coffee creamer on the minibar and turned off all the lights, whilst opening the shades to show the moonshine over the waves at the beach below.

My new husband stepped out of the brightly lit loo into the pitch dark of the bedroom, forced to stand still as his eyes adjusted. “Stephanie?”

“Jonathan. I’m over here. I’m having a problem,” I groaned. I now sat up on the side of the bed so that my silhouette was visible against the window.

“What’s the matter, darling?” He hurried to my side, vision already adjusting.

“I didn’t bring my pump. They’re so uncomfortably tight. And I’m leaking,” I said as I lifted one of my breasts into the moon glow. There was a drop of cream glistening on the nipple. “Please,” I breathed, recreating our first sexual escapade from two years prior.

My lover smiled, and then lowered his face to minister unspeakable joy to my bosom.

~o~O~o~

Chapter 3.09

“I’m so nervous. Are there complications? It’s been too long since we’ve heard anything. If she’d allowed me to be in the birthing suite –“

“But she didn’t. She wants us to remain as anonymous as possible. Just relax, Steph. Have you read the letter she wants us to hold on to?” Jonathan, as ever, was being a steady rock for me.

It had always been a goal for Jon to have a child that was naturally his. Of course, I could not provide him with an egg, so we looked into in vitro treatments with the use of a surrogate mother. However, in the preliminary tests Jon was found to have a genetic condition – testicular azoospermia, they called it – that made him untreatably impotent.

He put on a brave front having heard that news; he even said he was glad that I had no cause to feel guilty for an inability to carry his children. I took no such comfort because my husband was clearly devastated by this discovery.

Therefore two months ago Jonathan and I, after much discussion and contemplation, decided to apply for the adoption of a child. Bekka had been hinting at wanting a little sister, and I was hoping for a tot that my husband and I could raise from the start together. To his credit, he (along with me) kept Susan’s memory alive for Hugh and Bekka; yet this emphasized his role with them as more like a step-parent. Anyway, we were hoping for a baby of less than one year old. Then we got a phone call from the agency two weeks ago.

“Stephanie Brown? This is Alice from the adoption bureau. We have a pregnant girl who wants to surrender her child to a worthy couple, and for it to occur just after giving birth. Are you open to this?”

“Of course we are!”

The next we knew, there were papers and processes. We had an ‘audio only’ phone discussion with the girl.

“So, Emily; how did you come to the decision to give this baby up for adoption?” I asked.

“Because I waited too late to abort,” replied the girl. “To be honest, I’ve been stoned and high on heroin and other crap for most of the last year. Somewhere in that time, I got knocked up; it could have been any of a dozen different blokes. Now I’ve been in rehab treatment for six weeks, and have been clean for that time. I finally realised – after the fog lifted – that I needed to deal with this pregnancy, but I was already past 24 weeks, and in the UK they won’t do one this late unless there’s severe deformity (there isn’t – I got tested) or my life is in danger (it’s not). So I want to give her up. I understand that you already have two well-adjusted tykes?”

“Yes, we do. And since I’m now infertile, we can’t have any more naturally.”

“It sounds like I’ve found the folks for my foetus then.”

As we hung up, I looked at Jonathan. “We’re going to be parents of a newborn infant. I need to get in with my endocrinologist now!”

Sixty-three days later we are here in the obstetrical waiting area, and I’m looking for the letter. The letter that Emily wanted us to read, then seal and save to give to our newborn daughter 18 years from now. Ah! I’ve found it. I call my husband over and we start reading.

Hello, daughter.

This is your birth mother. Not your real mother. The real one is the one who’s committed to raising you these last 18 years. I imagine you wonder why I was willing to give you up. You probably think it’s because I didn’t love you.

Wrong. I’m giving you up BECAUSE I love you!

See, my mother was abused, molested, on drugs, and pregnant (with me) at age 16. She could not care for me adequately with all that baggage, and so now here I am, a victim of abuse, rape, hooked on drugs most of my life, and now pregnant with you at age 18. I’m just now getting clean; yet, I feel that to keep you would condemn you to repeat this pattern.

So I’m breaking the cycle. I’m giving you to people who are proven to be good parents, who love each other, and who really, really want a new child. I pray they will be as good as advertised; yet I KNOW they will be better than I would be.

Maybe someday I can pull it together enough to be a good mum for someone. But I am far from that at this point. Since you are an adult – this is to be given to you at your 18th – then if you want to seek me out, I’ll allow it now. I pray that I am clean and still alive. If not, then know that I do love you, and want the best for you. I always will.

Love, Emily

“What a letter!” exclaimed my husband.

“Jonathan. This is a sacred duty for us now. We must prove worthy of Emily’s trust by loving this new little girl just as much as we do Hugh and Bekka. I vow I will, at this moment and from now on,” I swore.

“Mr. and Mrs. Brown? I am proud to announce: here is your new daughter!” The OB nurse entered the room with a crying, swaddled baby.

“Britney. Her name’s Britney,” smiled Jonathan.

“Is she hungry?” I asked, receiving her from the nurse.

“Yes, I imagine – oh! You’ve come prepared, I see; I didn’t know that you were –“

I already had my new baby to my breast; she latched on and had begun feeding without a hitch. “Yes, I am.” My new nursing blouse allowed discretion even in a semi-public area.

“You two have bonded immediately. Impressive,” smiled the nurse.

“God, how I’ve missed this – this intimacy, this sense of connection with my baby,” I emoted. “It’s beyond physical; it’s spiritual.”

“There’s nothing more transcendent than A Mother’s Love,” replied the nurse.

~o~O~o~

NOTICE TO READERS:

This is a fan-fiction story continuation of Alys's unfinished story, "A Mother's Love." As I have stated in my blog, Alys has given her permission for this work. This is not meant to alter or detract at all from her superb original story, merely to build upon it and achieve a resolution for these wonderful characters.

The setting of this story is Great Britain, and superstar Big Closet author Angharad graciously consented to help me retain a British "feel" for the narrative and dialogue. She is a godsend/lifesaver. I have now had the privilege of working with multiple stars here to bring my humble little indulgent tales to be published in BC. What a giving, loving community.

If you aren't familiar with Alys's story, I have typed a brief summary to set the stage (see the Brief Synopsis at the top). If you want to read Alys's part of this tale (all chapters are super quick reads and great stories!), then look into:
A Mother's Love - Prequel
A Mother's Love - Volume 1 (11 parts)
A Mother's Love - Volume 3 (2 parts)

~o~O~o~

If you've gotten this far, please leave me a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! Hugz - **Sigh**

Oh hell! I’m halfway inside this, this horror — it burns my skin like acid and it’s pulling my legs apart as I continue to be drawn in, and now —

NO! NOOOOOO!

“TISH! SOMEBODY! HELP! HELP MEEE! SHELDO-“

With a horrid sucking sound, the mass pulls my head and arms inside it completely.

~o~O~o~

A small band of monsters as well as a horse and a voluptuous blonde woman — me — gathered around a small faerie/pixie as it explained what had all just happened.

“I belong to a worldwide organization known as Sacramento. We’re kind of like self appointed spiritual guardians for the planet, bound to protect it from evil.”

“You mean you’re the Men In Black,” gasped Jocko.

“Well … kind of. We deal with the supernatural, not aliens. I don’t even know if those Men In Black guys really exist. We do, though.”

“Well, missster guardian … you guysss really ssscrewed up your job tonight,” said Medusa/Tish from behind the hood that covered her head.

“Sacramento had Crowzen listed as dangerous years ago, but he’s been so inactive the last decade - he was hardly considered a threat anymore. I’m a low level operative, just barely cleared for fieldwork. Since it’s All Saint’s Eve, I was sent to nose around his new business, just to make sure he was still innocuous. The ‘mandatory Halloween party’ raised a red flag with me; I was trying to bolt out of the office this morning to warn my ‘brothers’ when Crowzen’s crony captured me.”

“So, that guy wasn’t really a security guard then,” I stated.

“Connngrrattulationnns, Ccappttainn Obbbviouss,” gargled Marjorie the Spider Goddess. Good to know she still has a sense of humor.

Sheldon continued. “Crowzen has obviously been super sneaky and patient. He hasn’t set off any alarms or engaged in obvious witchcraft in years — we would have detected it. He must have gotten everything he needed — all of the spells, artifacts, whatever — and carefully compiled them, waiting for tonight. Your company — rather, the company employees — were the last piece of the puzzle, evidently.”

“Hnngh,” grunted Giant Cyclops/Skip. “Why he need us? We not special … not when we still humans.”

“You all were about the right number of people,” the faerie said. “For the completion of the ceremony, which must occur by midnight on Halloween, he needed five mythological beings, a large animal to sacrifice — “

That caused Tom/Peej, the horse, to appear unsettled.

“— And most importantly, you.” Sheldon now pointed at me.

I went numb. “Me? What did he need me for? I definitely am no one special.”

“He needed an adult woman who — “

“NOW, WAIT A MINUTE! The only reason I got a woman’s costume is because that was the only one left! If he needed a female, there was Marjorie or Tish! Why did he need me to be a woman, me specifically, for this stupid ritual?”

“Hayden,” Sheldon wearily replied, “He needs a woman, an adult woman … who is a virgin. True virginity is the most important requirement, and cannot be magically manufactured. Somehow, Crowzen must have found out about your chasteness, and that’s probably when he targeted your company for takeover — and for the ceremony.”

My eyes were tearing up now. “Why didn’t he just raid a convent?”

“Probably because nuns can have significant spiritual strength. I don’t know for sure. I don’t know why he chose this town, this year, or you guys rather than the donut shop down the street. All I know is you all seem to meet the requirements, including the most important one — an adult virgin.”

~o~O~o~

Once again, everyone’s eyes — and judgment, it seemed — were all on me.

I was kind of nerdy growing up. I was in the math club, and the computer science club, but the only really social group I was in was my church’s youth club. And as a part of that club, I was taught that virginity was a virtue to be held close to your heart, all the way up to your wedding night. Girls respected guys who are virgins. Girls prefer to marry virgin guys. That’s what I was taught. That’s what all the girls in the church seemed to agree with.

By the time my views changed, it seemed too late. I was an adult, and dating was nerve wracking to me. My sexual inexperience, rather than being an asset, just made me fear embarrassing myself if I ever was to get intimate with a girl. It was less stressful just to remain eunuch-like. I lost myself in work, and restricted social interaction to that area of my life. I was lonely. But ‘doing it’ with a gal and failing miserably was too horrible to contemplate.

I recently had made up my mind to save up for a trip to Reno, Nevada, and hire a hooker to break the ice with me, to get me over this hang up. That plan — as well as any and all other life plans — seemed so irrelevant now.

Jocko broke my sad contemplation. “Hayden, you sap. If you’d just gotten laid once in your life, none of this would have happened!”

“It would have too, goat boy,” I snapped. “Maybe not with us, but with some other group. And then the world would still be screwed. I’m right, aren’t I, Sheldon? Something that happened back there has brought hell to earth — the whole earth!”

Tish spoke up too. “What issss that black presssenccce that killed Crowzen?”

“What do you think?” Shel moaned.

“Devil. Satan,” Skip said. “He really real, hmmph.”

“Close,” piped TinkerShel. “There are many myths and legends about what the ultimate source of evil in the universe is; ‘the devil’ is most well known. All of those stories contain some inaccuracies. But essentially, that black thing is the source of evil.”

“Wwwhhatttt iis iiitts nnnammme?” our spider goddess insisted.

“I’ve just always called it The Source of Evil,” Sheldon shrugged.

“Evil Incarnate,” whispered Jocko.

“NO. NOT evil incarnate. His form is present, but it is not completely physical. That’s why he’s limited to what he can do here. To get ultimate power over our reality, he needs his evil in a physical form. He needs a child — one with a human mother.” Shel looked at me. “A human, virgin mother.”

I blanched. “What … oh no. No. HELL no!” Now I was shaking. “This can’t be happening! I won’t let it happen! Sheldon — how do we stop this?”

Suddenly Jocko the faun had jumped onto me, knocking me to the ground. His little goat tail was wiggling furiously. “Hayden — let me take your virginity! That way you’ll be no good to the shadow! Besides, you’re sooo sexy! I’ve been drooling over you the last thirty minutes! I can’t wait to make your cherry — “

POP was the next sound heard, caused by Skip’s club knocking Jocko off of me. “Hmmph. Satyrs. Always horny,” the Cyclops grumbled.

The sad pixie was downcast, crying. “Hayden, you heard what brother Cassius told me. It’s too late. We can take your virginity, we can kill ourselves even, but The Evil will still find some unlucky souls to complete the ceremony.

“You guys are right; we were caught horribly off guard. This scenario is worst-case; what we all have feared, and tried to prevent. This is the End of All Good Things. All Is Lost.”

“DAMMIT, Sheldon! There has to be a way! The ceremony has to happen tonight, by midnight, right? There must be some way to interrupt it!”

“If there was, brother Cassius would have known of it. His message confirmed to me that all efforts to stop this would be futile.”

“Shel. Tell me the ceremony, step-by-step. You know what’s gonna happen, right?”

The floating faerie now looked angry. “Fool! The Master’s plan cannot be thwarted!” Then Shel shook his head, throwing off bits of pixie dust. “Oh no. I can feel the Evil One’s presence growing stronger in me … calling me back to the mansion …”

“I — I feel it too. Jussst ssslightly, but growing ever ssstronger,” Tish cried.

I approached TinkerShel with urgency. “The steps of the ceremony. Tell me!”

“First, you are impregnated by the Evil One. Then, after about a one-hour gestation, you deliver the foul offspring. The black presence has the child taste his black essence, turning the child fully evil. Then the animal is sacrificed, as the child’s first full meal. Then the Reign of Terror is officially in full swing.”

“Crosses? Holy Water?”

“They have no effect on the Evil One.”

“What if we all attacked him? You with your pixie dust, Skip with his club, Marj with her webs and venom … could Tish turn him to stone?”

“We all have these powers due to evil magics. They cannot be used directly to attack the Evil One — he has seen to that. I knew a few basic spells that were mine before all this, like the temporary silencing spell I used to get us out of there, but that’s it.”

“Hhhhooopppellesssssss,” choked Marjorie.

I turned to Skip. “Big guy … if there really is no hope … then please kill me. Crush my skull with your club. If we can’t stop it, don’t let me be a part of it.”

“Hmmph! No, no,” uttered the giant.

“I know you care about me and don’t want to hurt me. But please — it will hurt me more to be used in a plot to enslave the Earth.”

“Me no care about you, girl. Me want to kill you, then chew your bones. But Master want you alive for him.” The Cyclops then grabbed me around the waist and hoisted me over his shoulder. He simultaneously brought his club down on my faithful horse, TomPeej, stunning it. He put the stallion over his other shoulder, and then began lumbering back towards the mansion.

“Marjorie! Sheldon! Tish! Someone help me,” I screamed back towards the others.

“Yyyooou’rre ttthhe Mmasstterrr’s cchhattell nnnoww,” burbled the spider goddess, crawling behind us.

The others followed. It was too late. They all had been turned — turned completely evil. You could see it in their eyes, on their faces. Well, all except Tish’s face, covered by her hood, but she followed us nonetheless.

Shel had been right. All really was lost.

~o~O~o~

I was taken back to the mansion, back into the ballroom.

Back to my doom. To be the mother of annihilation.

I was placed back in the center of the pentagram, and some new hoodies that had arrived — I guess the Evil One drew them here just like my friends — they grabbed my dress that Tish had lent me, and poof, I was naked as a damned jaybird again.

They have TomPeej secured with a bridle and ropes that they attached while he was still woozy from the clubbing. He ‘came to’ just in time to kick the hell out of one of the new hoodies that dared walk just behind him. Now he’s struggling and stomping and whinnying, but to no avail.

What I don’t see is … oh, wait. There it is.

The Black Heap with burning red eyes.

“You show … much spirit … much fight … qualities that will … serve me well … in our son,” the Heap laughed. “And now … I will take you … and I warn you … I won’t be … gentle.”

Smoky, inky tendrils extended out from the base of the dark mass and slithered towards me. Fear has conquered me completely; I’m paralyzed by it, and all I can manage is to scream, scream, and scream.

The tentacles have me now, and are dragging me slowly back towards the giant mountain of evil in the room, feet first. As I get closer, I can see the skin of evil through the smoke covering it; it is oily, slimy, and smells of charred refuse. I finally break my body’s stupor and try in vain to wriggle free. As I turn over on my tummy, I dig my nails into the flooring, trying to stop my progress, but only put linear scratches in the wood as I continue to be sucked in. I haven’t stopped screaming.

Oh hell! I’m halfway inside this, this horror — it burns my skin like acid and it’s pulling my legs apart as I continue to be drawn in, and now —

NO! NOOOOOO!

“TISH! SOMEBODY! HELP! HELP MEEE! SHELDO-“

With a horrid sucking sound, the mass pulls my head and arms inside it completely.

~o~O~o~

Why.

Why didn’t it just kill me? Why torture me in unimaginably horrific ways, and leave me to remember them? Why not just end it instead of spitting me back out on the ballroom floor, violated, and covered in some foul mucus?

Oh yeah. I have to deliver the antichrist. That’s why.

That’s also why I’m having terrific pain in my lower belly. In the fifteen minutes since I exited the dark heap, I’m visibly enlarging. It’s like going through nine months of pregnancy in an hour, if it’s anything like Sheldon was saying.

The heap is giving marching orders to the hoodies, and the monsters who used to be my friends and coworkers. It sounds like they are going to be following little Damien into battle to subdue the rest of the people on earth.

Oh man. The little demon’s really growing now. My belly button just turned from an “innie” to an “outie”. I’m lying on my side in a fetal position because that’s the least painful way for me to be.

Seems that the E.O. (that’s short for Evil One) enjoyed taking me. More like he enjoyed seeing me suffer at his hands — or tentacles. So he’s planning on keeping me around as his main concubine. I am terrified.

And I’m angry, too. It’s one thing to use me as an evil tool; quite another to continue to use me just for the pure enjoyment of seeing me suffer. ‘Cause that’s what gets E.O.’s rocks off. Suffering. The sadistic bastard. At least grant me the dignity of death! But, no. I swear, if there is a way to undermine him, I will. But how do you fight evil? With more evil? Won’t that just make him laugh louder?

Aaagh! That … that hurts. It’s like there’s a tumor expanding in me by the minute. Aaah! Now … now my breasts are exploding?! …of course. Female breasts fill up and develop to give milk to feed baby after it’s born. Except my kid is going to be eating evil essence followed by horse meat.

OOH! I’m hemorrhaging between my legs! No, wait, it’s fairly clear fluid. Great. My water just broke.

E.O. is speaking towards me. “Prepare … for the … arrival.”

Now I’m being turned on my back — one hoodie has ahold of my right leg, another has my left, and they’re lifting them up and out. A third one is in between my legs, telling me to push. Okay, I’ll try.

AAAAIIIEEEAAAAGH!! AAAHHH! AAAAAAAAH!

The pain was unbelievable — but the delivery was over in seconds. I’m lying on my side again, panting, gasping, all but forgotten as the hoodies hold the baby up in the air with a triumphant yell; they’ve already tied off and cut his cord.

“Now put … the child down … and come to me.”

Just like that the hoodies put their future master and hero onto the cold hard floor about two yards away from me, and all go to minister to E.O. He’s giving them strict instructions.

“Take the sacred sword … and cut me … to extract my essence … for it’s first taste. Because my child … shall begin it’s life … having tasted only … pure evil.”

His child? It’s my child too, and I’m amazed as I look at it. My little demon baby has horns. And a tail. And an unnatural redness to it’s skin. I should be disgusted by it. But it’s lying on the hard floor, crying just like any baby would. With each cry, my breasts tense more.

“Bring the horse … to me … for when my child … has tasted my evil essence … he must then fill his belly … with bloody meat … I shall slay it … with my own hand.”

The hoodies drag an apoplectic TomPeej to stand right next to E.O.

“Now … cut me … for the essence.”

One of the hoodies shakingly approaches E.O. with this glowing red sword, then stabs it into the smoky oily skin of evil. The big dark heap howls in pain and anger, and a tentacle lashes out and breaks the neck of the stabbing hoodie. His roars dissolve into wicked laughter as a tarry, globby substance drips out of the wound. “Now bring … my son … to taste … my es — WHAT!?”

Everyone had been watching E.O., but now they’re looking at the baby. The demon baby that I’m now holding to my breast as it suckles away on it. As it takes in more and more of my milk, his skin color becomes more and more flesh tone.

“Looks like our son’s first taste will be of his mother’s love,” I yell defiantly. “And his first meal will be my milk — the milk of human kindness, not your evil.” I stroke my baby’s bald head, and kiss it. “I love you, little one. I always will. Never forget that.”

And that, I think, is how you fight evil. With love.

“YOU … FOOL … WHAT HAVE … YOU DONE?” E. O. is roaring, with anger — and with what sounds like panic. And that’s when my horse — my noble stallion, TomPeej — turns it’s rear towards the black blob and gives it a mighty two hooved kick right in the sword wound. The startled hoodies holding his bridle and ropes are knocked off balance, and the steed rockets away from them and away from the vengeful tendrils reaching for it from E.O. The heap looks like it’s actually been hurt.

Meanwhile, I’ve switched my beautiful baby to my other breast. And he’s growing fast — past infant size, past toddler size, to almost adolescent size. He’s so gorgeous. He may have his father’s horns (yuck) but he’s got my eyes. I continue to dote on him and tell him that his purpose in life is to love, not hate; for good, not evil.

E. O. is ticked off, and the tendrils are shooting towards me now. “DIE … WITCH,” he screeches. I get set for the fatal blows I know are coming. Then something cool happens.

My son detaches from me and turns and stands, all in a split second. With amazing strength and agility he intercepts the tentacles, all of them — and with a mighty yank, tears them away from their source. As he throws the severed appendages to the side, he growls at E.O. “Do not hurt my mother.”

“YOU … ARE MY … SON!” the heap screeches.

“I reject your heritage! I claim the heritage of my mother. Because … she loves me. When I was cold and alone, it was her arms that comforted me.”

“THEN I … REJECT YOU! … THRALLS … BRING ME … ANOTHER VIRGIN … FOR I WILL … HAVE MY TRIUMPH … OVER THIS WORLD … AND MY TRAITORIOUS … OFFSPRING!”

“It’s three minutes past midnight, Evil One. The time has come and gone. You have failed.” So said one of the hoodies, one who had been keeping in the background. He took off his hood, revealing a bald head wearing glasses. “I am brother Fidelio of the Sacramento. And I banish you back to the pit! BREAK ENTHRALLMENT!”

Suddenly the monsters were shaking their heads, and I could see in their eyes. They had their minds back again.

“Bonifa facum dispassionata!” Brother Fidelio was attempting to banish E.O., but the black heap wasn’t going quietly. The spectacled monk looked at the rest of us with a little frustration. “A little help here, people?”

In short order a giant club, a glob of web, a shot of pixie dust and a huge wooden table (the latter thrown by my son) were hurtling at the black blob. Each hit with effect, the blob becoming smaller, but still present. Fidelio continued his fervent chanting. Just then, a smaller hoodie shot past us and towards the blob while hissing-

“All you guysss, clossse your eyessss!”

We all obeyed. You don’t cross Medusa.

As our eyes were closed, a terrifying sound, like a sheet of metal being ripped in two, filled the ballroom.

“Okay. Ssssafe to look now.” Tish had replaced her hood around her head.

What was left of E.O. was just a big rock. He’d been turned to stone. Looks like once midnight had passed without the ritual completed, the old heap’s black magic could be used against him. Brother Fidelio banished the rock back to the pit with a simple “begone”.

~o~O~o~

Sheldon was questioning how brother Fidelio had come to be here. “I thought it was all over, and that Sacramento was in retreat. Brother Cassius-”

“Is too quick to give up and run,” smiled Fidelio. “When I heard what had happened, I determined to sneak in as a thrall and see if there was anything I could do. I had no power to interrupt the ritual, so I kept hoping for an opening, a miracle. And it happened, when this glorious girl decided to turn the demon child to good. A master stroke, young lady.”

“It’s Hayden, as in young man Hayden,” I laughed. However, I noticed that my demon boy looked at me with worry when I said it. “Fidelio — what about my friends? Can you make them normal again?”

“I can. With the Evil One’s power broken, it is a simple thing to restore your previous forms.”

“Me firsssst!” cried Medusa-Tish from inside her hood.

In short order, all of the so-called monsters became their normal selves. If you can call Jocko normal, that is. Fidelio at last looked at me, the only one left. “Your turn.”

But as I stepped towards him, my son screamed. “Momma! No! Please don’t leave me!” I looked at him. Physically, even intellectually, he was nearly adult; but his emotions seemed as fragile as any child’s.

“Honey, I’ll never leave you — I’ll just be a daddy instead of a mommy to you, see?” But I could tell — he didn’t see. He had fright and hysteria in his eyes.

And his skin began to turn from pink towards that hellish red hue.

Brother Fidelio frowned with concern. “Hayden,” he spoke, “you may have to make a sacrifice for the greater good.”

~o~O~o~

Ten years later, October 31.

I’m whipping up a good meal for the victory party. Every year that we get through without a recurrence of the Evil One is a victory. We’re not past danger yet, but hey, I’m thinking positive.

I now work for Sacramento. I’m a pretty valuable resource, having been one of the few who’ve come into contact with E.O. and remained alive.

Two years ago was the closest we’ve had to a recurrence. Some shaman in South America attempted the ceremony, but we found out in time and disrupted his plans an hour before he was scheduled to start the incantation.

My son, Daniel, is the superstar here. He’s like a real life Hellboy, only much more handsome. He has this incredible nose for sniffing out trouble, like he can feel worldwide shifts in the supernatural. He’s the one who found out about the shaman in time. And he only works for the good guys.

It took three more years of daily breastfeeding for the devil-red tones to disappear from his skin completely. Now, he can eat regular food, but just to be on the safe side, we avoid feeding him anything with a trace of blood in it — so that means no meat. In fact, he and we are all vegetarians now. And just in case I ever see the redness come back in the future, I had about ten gallons of my breast milk pasteurized and deep frozen in quart size containers.

My job is so easy. Mainly, it’s to make sure that my son is loved. And I do love him, even more than I love my husband, Sheldon. We’re a team, Shel and I. He teaches Daniel toughness, courage, conviction, and how to fight. I teach him courage, love, compassion, and more love.

Being a married woman with a demon-child was not my original plan in life. But I have come to enjoy being Haylee, a mother, wife, and world saver. Much more than I enjoyed Hayden, the lonely I.T. virgin. And speaking of virginity, I have come to enjoy my bedtime with Sheldon. It wasn’t easy, considering my first time was a demonic rape. But counseling and love got me past it, though it took a long time.

Ah. That text was from brother Fidelio. It’s three minutes past midnight. We’ve made it through another year. Let the party begin!

~o~O~o~

THE END

~o~O~o~
Acknowledgements to all the other BC writers, especially Morpheus and Melanie Brown, who have written fantasy adventure stories; your work has been an example and inspiration to me.

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the computer screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks again for reading - Hugz! **Sigh**

"SHUT UP! You got NAKED with me! And you sure don't look like you minded it! Was this your plan all along?"

CHAPTER 4

Jocelyn coughed yet again, as she had off and on all night. This cough woke her up, barely. Over the next few minutes, she became gradually aware that she was awakening in a foreign place. Foreign, yet she wasn’t alarmed. She if anything felt secure. And nice and warm, except for the cold biting her nose, forehead and the upper tips of her ears. She opened her eyes to see brown fabric right near her face. In a minute, she looked up and saw a mild light, like reflected morning glow, off of a wall. A log wall.

I wonder where I am. She also wondered slightly why she wasn’t alarmed, coming to in such a strange place. I feel… safe.

She took a deep breath. Then she heard another breath and felt her chest squeeze with it. But she hadn’t inhaled. She moved her head — and felt the unmistakable rub of skin on skin. Her left ear was scratching against a rough yet soft surface; a cheek with stubble.

Someone’s in bed with me. What did I do last night? Oh God — don’t tell me I got drunk and got with some stranger. That couldn’t have happened; I never go out drinking. I don’t even date. Think. I went home after work, then…no, wait. I drove in the car to pick up that guy to go to Helena…

Then she remembered the drive. And the narrow road. And the bull elk and the crash. And the fall through the ice…

I need to get up and figure this out. If I can do it without waking whomever this is.

She then tried to lift her arm and leg, but couldn’t. She twisted her torso, which was still difficult. Lifting her head, she was able to get a look at the face of her morning companion. He was asleep; an older guy, with a mustache, thinning hair.

Her heart stopped.

Alan!

She still couldn’t mobilize her arms fully, but by rubbing her arms against her chest by shrugging her shoulders she had a shocking realization.

It’s not there!

Alan said groggily, “Hey…you awake?”

“Y-yeah…. um (kaff), did you… undress me last night?”

“Yes. (yawn) You got hypothermic after you fell through the ice. Even delirious. I was afraid I was going to lose you. I had to warm you up with my body heat.”

Joseph considered that news. “Thank you, Alan. I (kaff, kaff) guess I owe you my life.”

“I’m glad you’re alive. Do you know how hard it is to replace a good I.T. guy?”

Joseph didn’t laugh. “Alan… did you remove the wrap I had around my chest?”

“Yes. It was wet. You got soaked through and through.”

He's acting so normal. Maybe he didn't see? How could he not notice? -“When you took it off did you… notice anything?”

“Um… yes.”

OH GOD! OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOOOODDD!!

Joseph panicked. Sudden queasiness and migraine took hold. “Get... get AWAY from me… GOD DAMMIT, GET OFF OF ME!!”

Jocelyn now made no pretense of being male. She writhed and struggled to get out of the cocoon they were in.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on just a minute willya?” Alan reversed the log roll from the night before, but Jocelyn was pushing and yelling, and they rolled too far — off the end of the bed.

THUMP! Went two bodies, one nude and one nearly, on the floor. Jocelyn scooted to the far wall, sitting with her knees to her chest, crossed feet attempting to hide her groin, arms around her knees. She immediately felt the extreme cold hitting her all around, and started to quiver slightly.

Alan stood up and tossed her some blankets. They were still warm from their “burrito”. He then proceeded to put on his outfit from yesterday.

“DANG! I didn’t know clothes could freeze!” Adam got clad quickly and looked at his sleep partner. She was crying, scared, and furious all at the same time. He sat down on the floor and smiled.

“I’m sorry about the being in the buff together. You were dying — really. You were nearly frozen, and I couldn’t get you to speak or respond. I figured you’d be freaked out if you woke up with us like this. I was hoping I might wake up first-”

“You- you stay over there! Stay the hell away from me!”

“Joseph, I’m not going to-”

“SHUT UP! You got NAKED with me! And you sure don’t look like you minded it! Was this your plan all along? To get me somewhere alone with you so you could practically RAPE me? Are you some tranny chasing old pervert who somehow found out about me and decided to carpool with me to get me in bed-”

Jocelyn was now openly wailing and shedding tears, unable to talk further.

Meanwhile, Alan considered his situation carefully. He imagined what his sister Charlene would tell him to do.

"Alan, consider what she’s been through and experienced; try to put yourself in her shoes. Confront anger with gentleness. She's probably been hurt or abused before. She's not a freak; she's a woman in her soul, and trying to make her body conform to that soul. Although the old you - 'Old Alan' - was a bigot, you've changed, you've grown. You're a better man. Be that better man, for her sake."

Okay, Char, here goes nothing…

“Yes. You got me dead to rights. I used my mutant powers of persuasion to make you choose to take that curvy mountain road. I had the Air Force seed the clouds so it would snow heavily. I bribed forest rangers to put that trained big elk in the road, and had the highway patrol calculate the slide down the slope onto the lake. I manipulated you into staying by the car so you’d fall through the ice. I did all of that — just so I could get you into bed.”

“You had your arms wrapped around me!”

“To warm you up.”

“You probably tried to rape me.”

“Do you feel raped?”

Jocelyn squeezed her butt. No soreness. “No.”

“In any other circumstance, waking up like this would be totally inappropriate. But you were going into hypothermic shock. I had to get you warmed up. There was no other way. I am so, so sorry.”

Jocelyn was silent, frozen in confusion as she considered his words. She looked at the floor. Then she turned to Alan again, her face a mix of sorrow and bewilderment. A new tear began to trickle again down her right cheek.

“Why — Why are you being so nice to me? No one who knows about this-” she exposed one arm and motioned to her body “-is nice to me. Every one I’ve told — my family, friends, others — have left me for dead. Except my friend in Helena. So I know how to handle disgust and rejection; I’m used to it. But I can’t figure you out. That’s why I thought you must be a pervert with a fetish. Why don’t you hate me like everyone else?”

Alan raised one hand to explain. “Okay, just hear me out. My sister came out as a lesbian two years ago, and she is one of the finest people in my life. Long story short: she got me to be open-minded regarding gays and transgenders. Is that you? Are you a transgender?”

Jocelyn, tearful and a little suspicious still, nodded hesitantly.

Alan beamed reassuringly. “Then please forgive me, ma’am. We haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Alan Sarkisian, salesman and alleged old guy, and I consider myself to be your friend, even though I don’t know what to call you. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

The woman huddling under the blankets sniffed, then coughed. She wiped her eyes, and then closed them as she said, “Jocelyn O’Donnell”.

~o~O~o~

Jocelyn shivered. The blankets were thick, but she could feel icy air tendrils around her neck and feet. They just weren’t form fitting enough to keep her naked body warm — not like when Alan had been next to her.

Alan came through the door triumphantly. “It took me a while to locate them under all that snow — man, it’s still coming down out there — but I found our bags!” And my belt, thankfully, he mused. “Hopefully you’ve packed some warm stuff you can change into.”

“It’s all female clothing,” said Jocelyn.

“Well I should hope so,” countered Alan. “I’d feel uncomfortable if you tried to dress like a man, Jocelyn. Cross-dressers make me nervous.” There was that toothy grin again.

“Don’t… don’t mock me.”

“I’m not. Look, I'm sorry - I joke a lot. Maybe too much, sometimes. But I’m fine with all…” he pointed at her and her bag, making a circle with his finger… “all this. And you waking up, thinking clearly, with all your fingers and toes still on — man, it’s got me in a good mood that no one can spoil!”

Alan caught himself. Maybe I shouldn’t say “man” so much when speaking to her.

“I really don’t disgust you? You don’t feel that I’m a freak? Or at least, ugly? (kaff, kaff) I’m sorry, I’ve met few people — and NO men — who are as accepting as you’re pretending to be.”

Alan pulled her snowy suitcase over by her and opened it up. “Somebody’s really hurt you over this, haven’t they?”

“A whole bunch of somebodies, actually.”

I need to sell her on the fact that I’m being truthful and accepting. Which shouldn’t be hard, because that’s really how I feel.

“Now it’s my turn to apologize, Jocelyn. I’m sorry for all the men — and boys — who have treated you with disgust. All the ones of my sex who have made you feel ugly. Because I have been one of those “somebodies” most of my life. But in the last two years, I’ve had to challenge most of my basic beliefs about life, and people, even” he sighed, thinking of his failed marriage, “about love.”

He looked off, suddenly wistful. “There is so much that I’ve done that I regret, so much carelessness and harm that I’ve caused to others without even fully realizing it. I’ve been treated badly too, but that’s no excuse for my actions. And I can never undo all of them. But with you — I have a chance to do some good, to maybe atone for some of the crap I caused. I’m trying to do right by you. Will you teach me how?”

There’s that strange feeling again, thought Jocelyn. Like I might be able to… trust him. “So,” she said with a faint smile, “I’m (kaff) just a way for you to relieve your guilt, huh?”

“Yep. I’m only keeping you around until my karma is adjusted, then you’re on your own, kid.”

Jocelyn laughed, as did Alan.

“So, why don’t you get dressed while I take a look around this place and see what we’ve got here.”

“Is there a heater? What about hot water? I could really use a shower — my hair feels grody, and I stink like pond scum. (kaff) It’s going to make me sick if I have to smell myself like this all day.”

“No heat, I checked last night. Let me see about the water, and somehow it feels like there’s cold outside air getting in here. I’ll be right back.”

~o~O~o~

Alan sealed the hole he punched in the window with some duct tape he discovered. That should take care of the air leak. Now he was taking inventory of the cabin. No food to be found except a can of hot chocolate mix and some peanut packets, handouts from one of those economy airlines. Some hurricane lamps, and a few jars of lamp oil. A Coleman 'dual fuel' camping stove gave him a bit of hope — where there’s a stove, there had to be some fuel, right?

Praying had worked yesterday. So he figured he’d try again.

Hey, God. It’s me. Alan. I need to find some fuel for this stove here, and a lighter. I mean, I still think I know how to start a fire, but a lighter sure would be easier. Or if you can arrange for an immediate miraculous rescue, that would be fine instead.

By the way, good job on saving my friend yesterday. That was great work. Thanks a million. Sorry that I’m not saying this stuff right; I’m out of practice talking to you. So… hallelujah and praise thy holiness. A lot. Amen.

Alan looked inside the kitchen oven to find various pots and pans. He pulled them all out in hopes of finding something else, but didn’t.

He then noticed a small door next to the pantry that he had missed. Opening it up, he discovered two whole gallon containers of liquid fuel for the stove. Later, he found a long nosed butane lighter on the fireplace mantle.

God… wow! I should’ve asked you for food too, before I found there wasn’t any. Okay, please, some food for us too. And anything else we might need that I can’t think of right now. Glory to you, and the sun, and the ghosts. Amen.

~o~O~o~

Alan knocked on the bedroom door. “Jocelyn? Are you decent? Can I come in?”

“I’m back on the bed under the blankets, come in (kaff).”

He walked in with the Coleman and lighter and a stew pot from the kitchen filled with snow from the outside. “It’s still coming down out there. I hope we don’t get snowed in. Anyway, good and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“Please — just good news. I can’t handle any more bad.”

“Sorry, you get both. OK, bad news: we don’t appear to have running water. There’s a ground level water tank out there, but no response when I turn on the faucet. The lines are either frozen, or they were disconnected and drained before the owners of this place last left here.”

Jocelyn’s eyes grew wide. “But… how do we wash? How do we flush after… you know?”

“Good news: I think I’ve figured out a way to get you some warm water to bathe with. Mediocre news: It’ll have to be a sponge bath.” With that, he walked into the bathroom. In a minute, he emerged empty handed, closing the door behind him.

“The bathroom’s pretty small, so give it an hour before you go in there. Hopefully it will be warmer — scratch that, let’s say less freezing — in there by then.”

He left to the kitchen area, and then came back with two coffee cups that were steaming.

“Before I set it up in the bathroom, I used that little stove to melt some snow and heat it up for some hot chocolate. I figured-”

“You figured correctly!” said Jocelyn. She tried to work out how she could stay warm under the covers and sit up to drink. Finally she sat up in bed, pulled the covers over her head and around her body with just her face showing through. “Um… I need my hands to keep the covers tight around me. Would you mind…?”

Alan nodded, and brought the cup of brown ambrosia to her lips. She blew on it, and then sipped. “Mm… so warm, and I’m so hungry.”

She drank all of her cup, and half of Alan’s; he offered it to her because he saw she was still cold.

“Oh, thank God. That’s better. And thank you too, Alan.”

“Think nothing of it, ma’am.”

She eyed him quizzically. “You know, I had you pegged as an older, schmoozy guy who rubbed shoulders with all of the other ‘good old boys’. I mean, I was pleasantly surprised with our talking on the drive — at least the latter part.” She stopped to cough a few times. “But there is no way on earth that I would have expected you to act so casual, so — normal — after learning my “secret”. How did you get so accepting of the transgendered?”

Alan smiled. “That voice you’re using today is higher. Very feminine. Is that your natural voice?”

“Oh. Thank you. It’s the voice of my true self, but it’s not really natural to me yet; I still have to concentrate a little while speaking this way.”

“Well. To answer your question. You remember I told you about my sister?”

“Just that she’s a lesbian.”

“Yeah. Charlene came out and made that announcement to Mom two years ago last August. So Mom calls me to go over to Seattle to talk some sense into her. I was supposed to cure her of temporary insanity — that was my attitude, anyway. I thought that she was just going through a man-hating phase.

“When I get there, she’s more fulfilled and peaceful than I’ve ever seen her. She asked me to hear her out fully. So I did, and at the end of a few hours I had decided that I’d prefer my sister to be happy than to be the depressed, angry person I’d known since childhood. Instead of just a phase, I found she’d been feeling attracted to women for most of her life.

“I also learned a little empathy for what she’d been going through. She’d been treated like dirt by some of her previously closest friends. It especially hurt when she told me that in the past, whenever I had told a joke about 'dykes' or 'lezbos', that it ripped her up inside. I still feel horrible about that. I'd never been a militant 'fag hater' - but I definitely wasn't sensitive to the plight and struggles of gays and lesbians. I had to face the fact that I was a bigot, even if a 'soft' one. Anyway, I swore to change, apologized to Charlene, and since then I've tried to be more open minded.

"Then my sister tells me about transsexuals, and how they face more crap and stigma and discrimination than anybody. Sooo… I made a vow that if I ever met a transgender, I was going to respect her and treat her like the lady she really was. Unless the transgender was a female to male, then I would treat her like the man she really was. I mean, treat him like the man he really was. Or is. Now. You know what I mean. I mean, do you know what I mean?”

A wide-eyed Jocelyn stared back at him. “Yes, except maybe for the last four sentences.”

“OK. And then last night happened, where I saw your… assets, and as I’m trying to warm you up, I think back to how many of your features and actions and speech are really more feminine than I’ve noticed before, and realized that you were probably transgender, and that here’s a chance for me to put my vow into practice. And that brings us to right now.”

“Wow… wow. I owe you a huge apology. Thank God for your sister, and thank you for your attitude with me. If you were someone else, I could be beaten up or even dead now.”

“Don’t thank me yet. If we’re snowed in all winter, I’ll probably have to eat you to survive.”

Jocelyn’s eyes got even wider.

Alan flashed his pearly whites at her. “KIDDING! I’m kidding.” He checked the bathroom. “Hey — this is probably as warm as it’s gonna get. If you’re to bathe, you might want to get started.”

“Thank you. Could you hand me those green sweat pants and top that are just inside my suitcase, and some socks too?”

~o~O~o~

Alan walked outside. He had crawled out the window because the snowdrifts forming all around the cabin blocked the doorway. The snow had come down all night, and was still doing so. He looked at the grey sky.

If someone even realizes we’re missing yet, they probably aren’t going to send out a search party while it’s snowing so heavily. And I’ve got to find a way to keep us from being trapped inside. Okay, God. I need some help again. Send a search party to RIGHT HERE, please. And I need a snow shovel. Please, our father Art in heaven, hello to thy name. Amen.

As he waded through the powder to the back of the cabin, he saw a small building.

A tool shed. With a padlock. I’ll bet these keys that were hanging in the kitchen unlock it. You really must be up there, Big Guy.

~o~O~o~

Jocelyn was in the bathroom. The stove had melted the ice in the pot to warm liquid, and the small area was a little warmer than the bedroom. She’d already done a quick washcloth bath with soap and water; she now squirted her shampoo into her hands while dipping her hair in the pot.

After finishing and wrapping up her hair in a towel, she looked at her face in the mirror using the dim stove fire glow. Let’s see if I can use some makeup in this dim light and not look like a clown.

Later, checking her work with her compact mirror while using the daylight at the window, she felt gratified. Not bad. I’m getting better at this.

She then got out panties, a bra, an extra sweat suit, t-shirts, 2 socks, a camisole, 2 pair of leggings, a sweater, 2 thick scarfs, her faux fur hat with the ear flaps and her big floor length padded coat, and put them all under the blankets on the bed. She then crawled in there with them and began dressing.

~o~O~o~

Alan came in the front door, heart pounding, face flushed, and gasping. He’d forgotten how exhausting it could be when shoveling snow. He’d had a snow blower at home. Now it was Lacy’s.

He rested for a few minutes, then began filling up the hurricane lamps with lamp oil.

“How’s (kaff) it going in here?” Jocelyn came in from the bedroom.

“Okay. Hey! You look pretty.”

“Pretty covered up, you mean. I feel almost Iranian — all you can see is my eyes.” She had thick scarves wrapping her low neck up to her nose.

“Don’t be culturally insensitive. I’m a secret operative for the PC police. I’ll have you prosecuted for hate speech.”

He then examined her face more closely. The eyelids were a smoky lavender hue, descending into lilting lashes. “Your eyes… they’re beautiful. Is the rest of your face made up too?”

She nodded yes.

“Could you take the hat and scarves off so I can see the whole effect?”

Jocelyn blushed some at this suggestion. “My hair’s not the greatest. It’s still damp, and I have no way to fix it without electricity.” She exposed her lower face and removed her head covering.

Alan was amazed. Although he knew this face belonged to the Joseph he knew yesterday, there was no ‘guy in drag’appearance. This visage belonged to a woman. Pink glistening lips were in a nervous smile. With her long straight darkish hair and small chin and slightly thin face, she appeared to resemble one of his childhood crushes — Cher Bono. Not the multiple facelifted tabloid queen of this century, but the Cher of the 70’s, the sleek goddess on TV that wowed the nation in her Bob Mackie gowns week after week.

She's smiling. I'd forgotten how good it feels to have a pretty girl smile at me. She's really quite fetching... Alan, stop. You know where infatuation leads to - attraction, then love, then pain and yelling and abuse. Never again. Remember - you're living a monk's life from now on.

Jocelyn's smile grew more nervous. He's just staring at me with an open mouth. "Well, what do you think?" Are you amazed? Disgusted? Disappointed? Having a stroke? Say something!

“Wow. You’re gorgeous. Stunning.” Alan caught himself — Was I staring? Yes. I only hope I wasn’t drooling. Time to change the subject. “Ah… I see you have another heavy coat, thank God.”

“Yes. Like it? This color is called creamy chiffon. I brought it to be fashionable; turns out it might be a life saver.”

“A pineapple lifesaver. Yum, my favorite.”

She blushed. Was he being… flirty? “By the way, Alan… did you just say ‘thank God’? I thought you said he didn’t exist.”

“Well… let’s just say, in our current situation, I’m looking for all the help I can get. And believe it or not, I think I’m getting some.”

He looked around. “We’ve got that camping stove with fuel here, but no food. At least it’s a heat source. But I’m going to try to start a fire in the fireplace. There are only a few pieces of wood in here, but it’s enough for maybe six hours of burn. And — check out the custom-made fireplace tools! They’re not flimsy like most; looks like they were specially welded. The poker’s the most impressive; it’s so thick and solid, it’s almost like a weapon.”

“That’s… nice.” Jocelyn wanted to direct the conversation to a more useful discussion. “Do you think smoke from the chimney will be a clue for any rescue team? Or would they be expecting people to be in here this time of year?”

“Smoke wouldn’t hurt. Hopefully your girlfriend — your friend who’s a girl — has alerted the authorities that you’re missing.”

“Yes, she should have. She worries about me. But I told her our route would be along the two interstates, and I failed to call her when we changed plans. Blast it — that’s not like me.”

“Speaking of phones, mine is still in the car, at the bottom of the pond. Yours?”

“Mine too. I keep it on the dashboard. It’s not like we’d get good reception up here anyway.” Jocelyn’s eyes got watery. “Are we going to make it out of here? Please tell me yes (kaff).”

Alan smiled and put his gloved hand on Jocelyn’s scarfed cheek. “Ma’am, I promise you, we’ll get back to normal boring Missoula life before you know it.”

Behind his brave front, he pondered. That was the diciest sales pitch I’ve delivered in a long time. God, back me up on this, please. I don’t need her to think I don’t keep my promises, okay?

~o~O~o~
CHAPTER 5

Alan arranged the chopped logs in the fireplace. “This is all the wood I can see here. At least it looks good and ready to burn.” He crumpled up pages from an Edgar Allan Poe book he found nearby. “We don’t need any horror stories right now, anyway.” Placing them under the wood, he got the lighter out. “Well, here goes nothing.”

“Heat. Glorious heat. I can’t wait,” tittered Jocelyn.

Alan lit the pages. They caught well, and Alan stuffed more in with the huge thick fireplace poker. The wood eventually started to catch fire. “Oh yeah, baby. Make Papa some Fahrenheit!”

“Alan…”

“Look at that! Ain’t it beautiful?”

“Alan-”

“Almost as beautiful as your eyes, Jocelyn.”

“ALAN!”

What, she didn’t like the compliment?

“ALAN, THE SMOKE!”

Alan looked up. He had been focusing on stoking the base of the fire. Now he saw that all of the smoke, instead of going up the chimney, was billowing out into the room.

Immediately he realized - he’d forgotten to open the damper.

He tried to reach his hand in, but the fire was too intense by now. Grabbing the poker, he jabbed it in, but he couldn’t see the latch, and didn’t seem to be able to find it by passing back and forth. Meanwhile, smoke was really filling the room now; the top of the arched ceiling wasn’t visible anymore. He was going to need to put out the fire. How? Looking around frantically for an extinguisher, he began to panic.

FWOOSH!

A pot of fresh snow had been thrown on the fire. Jocelyn had a second potful in her other hand, and threw it on too. She ran back out the door to get more. It turned out the first two had done the trick.

Alan watched her, impressed and feeling sheepish.

“Alan (kaff, kaff), could you get up in the loft and open some windows up there to let this smoke out?”

“Sure… OK. But it’s going to get colder in here as a consequence. So you might want to get some blankets back over you, even with how you’re dressed.”

He climbed up the ladder on the side of the room to reach the upper level. The windows were opened just long enough to clear the majority of the smoke. Closing them and descending to the main floor, he noticed how much more frigid it had become.

“Jocelyn?” Where had she gone?

Then from under a mass of blankets on the couch, he saw a little gloved hand stick up and wave.

He sat down on the couch. “Are you okay in there? How are you breathing?”

“By inhaling (kaff) and exhaling,” came the muffled reply.

“Ha, ha. You’re a laugh riot.” Alan smiled weakly. His mistake had made things worse, not better. And all their firewood was wet.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mumbled.

“Hey! I know I’m not (kaff) as funny as you are (kaff)…”

“What? No, I mean myself. My stupidity just screwed things up. Sorry.”

“Your bravery saved my life yesterday, Eagle Scout. I thought you said (kaff) you didn’t remember any of that stuff?”

“I didn’t — at least not until we wrecked. Then at times, exactly when I needed it, I remembered the instructions from my handbook and the accessory handouts I got from the survival training. I mean, the words on the pages actually appeared in my brain. I’m amazed. Maybe it’s a God thing. You know I prayed to him for you not to die, and you didn’t? Plus he helped me find the stove fuel. Maybe he’s been putting all those scouting lessons in my head. Then again, maybe not. I sure couldn’t figure out how to put out a fire just now.”

“Or,” said the blanket pile, “maybe he provided someone to help you so you don’t have to try to save us by yourself.”

“Ah. So in Webelos, you were trained to put out fires with snow?”

“Sure. (kaff). Got my ‘cabin-fireplace-fire-putter-outer’ badge.”

Alan chuckled. He reached over and patted one of the lumps of the blanket, hoping that it was the head lump and not a breast lump.

~o~O~o~

The camping stove lit without the drama that had occurred in the fireplace. Alan took a plastic end table from the far side of the couch and placed it before his blanketed companion. He then placed the stove there.

“Careful — I’ve got the Coleman right in front of you. It’s on.”

As Jocelyn peeked out from her self made bunker, Alan went to try to open the damper. The handle was easy to find, but after multiple mighty tugs he couldn’t get it to budge. Saying “open, sesame” with a flourish was of course futile. He looked in with his penlight, but didn’t see a blockage or lock. Lying on his back and kicking it a number of good thwacks still produced nothing.

“Dammit!”

“S’okay, Alan. We don’t have anymore fresh firewood anyway.”

“I know, but I could have taken apart the couch, or broken some of the dining area chairs and used them to make a fire. Not if the flue’s blocked, though.”

“This stove here is helping me some.” She had her gloves off and was warming her hands over the burner.

“Here,” Alan brought over the peanut packs. “Getting some calories in you will warm you up a little.”

“I thought you said we had no food.”

“This isn’t food. It’s a small snack. Still, it’s calories. Now, Mama’s souvlaki, with some tiropita, hummus and stuffed grape leaves. That’s food.”

“Alan, split the nuts with me. I know you’re hungry.”

“Look at this,” he said, patting his belly. “I’m not gonna starve for another five months. Now please, ma’am. Eat them. I’ll feel guiltier if you don’t. Remember your job as my ‘guilt easer’.”

We could be stuck here for days, even weeks. She needs — we need — something more substantial. There were fishing supplies in the back closet. I could ice fish back at that lake and see if I could catch us something. If I only had some bait.

Another page appeared. “There are four types of ice fishing bait: grubs, minnows, lures, and meat.”

Okay — none of which I have. WAIT!

He pulled off a glove and reached in his inner pocket on his winter coat. There was the beef jerky he had bought at the gas station yesterday.

Don’t know if this qualifies as bait, but it’s what I’ve got. Alan rushed over to the back closet, emerging with a pole, lines, tackle box, and even an ice auger to drill a hole with. God, if this is you doing this, then please take it all the way — in other words, get me some fish, please. Hail Mary, Phil and Grace. Amen.

“Alan — where are you going?”

“Off to work, honey. Someone’s got to bring home the bacon. Or trout, or sturgeon. Sorry I can’t go with you to little Johnny’s parent-teacher night. Enjoy your junior league meeting. I’ll be back by or before sundown.”

Jocelyn shook her head, half smiling as she watched him leave. This guy is certifiably nuts. I like it, she thought.

~o~O~o~

It had taken nearly to dusk to get a bite, but when one came, it was a winner. A large trout, about five pounds, Alan figured. He wrestled it out of the hole, and then laid on his back in exhaustion for a few minutes while the fish flopped furiously on the ice. All of the physical activity from yesterday and today was catching up to him. He didn’t even regularly exercise, normally. Adrenaline and urgency had been powering him so far, but now it was time for his muscles to pay the piper, and they were aching. Especially after drilling that ice hole with the auger. He had packed some ibuprofen; he thought he’d better take some when back at the cabin.

“Luuu-cyyy, I’m hoo-ooome!”

“Oh, thank heaven. I was getting worried- OH! MY GOD! What a huge fish!”

“Bring the stove over to the sink so I can have some light. I’ll clean this sucker and then cook him up so we can have a little more on our stomachs.”

There were salt, pepper, and various seasonings in the cabinet by the kitchen oven. Alan cooked all the trout save for a portion set aside to use as future ice fishing bait. Both he and Jocelyn were extremely hungry after smelling the fresh fish cooking. They sat on the couch, huddled together under blankets, eating by hurricane lamp light.

“That was the best fish I’ve eaten in my life,” she said.

“It’s the ambience. The firelight, the sub-zero weather, the threat of death staring you in the face... makes the food taste better.” He took his last bite. “Mm. The company’s pretty awesome too.”

“Alan?”

“Mm-hm?”

“Merry Christmas.”

He looked at her and saw that she was starting to cry. He sat quietly by her, not knowing what to do as she began sobbing out loud. Eventually he carefully reached his arm around her shoulders, and she buried her face in his chest as she gushed more tears.

“…Merry Christmas, Jocelyn.”

They sat that way as the lamp fire flickered on.

After a while, Jocelyn was all cried out, and continued to rest on Alan’s chest. His eyes grew heavy, and he began to nod off to sleep. She raised a gloved hand and tickled his chin to wake him.

“You’re exhausted. Let’s get you lying down so you can get some proper rest.”

“Not yet. You get in bed now, so you can get warm. I’ll gather up the dinner mess. When I do lie down I feel like I’ll sleep for a month.”

~o~O~o~

The lamp Jocelyn had placed in the bedroom gave it enough light to walk around with, but was dim enough to allow sleep. When Alan finally came there, she had brushed her teeth and was already in bed, completely covered head to toe once more in blankets.

“Hellooo, in there. Are you warm enough?”

“I’ll live. I still have two pairs of sweats and socks on.”

“You know, I’ll bring the stove in here. We need to not use up the all the fuel, but if you get too cold, light it up.”

He looked at her form under the insulation. Should I even bring it up? Oh, well. Here goes. “You know, if you needed to use my body heat again, you could. This time it could be with our clothes on.”

She peeked out from under the covers. “Thank you… I’m just not ready to, yet. Thinking about how we were last night is still really embarrassing to me.”

“Okay. No pressure.”

“I’m sorry. You probably think I’m so hateful and ungrateful. I will be forever in your debt for all you’ve done. But I want to sleep alone tonight.”

“Did I do the wrong thing putting my arm around you earlier?”

“No! No, that was fine. I appreciated that. But I was awake. When I’m asleep, I’ll be… vulnerable. It’s just my stupid trust issues. But I’m asking you to please humor me.”

“Okay, but promise me something. If you need anything, please wake me up. I mean anything.”

“Deal.”

“Goodnight, Jocelyn.”

“Goodnight, Alan.”

~o~O~o~

Jocelyn awoke shivering. The room was severely cold, and very dark. Did the lamp already burn out? I didn’t check the oil level in it. I’m freezing, even under all these covers. She heard Alan cough - from the next room. Is he sleeping on the couch?

She reached for and found the stove and lighter. Firing it up, she lifted it and used the light to walk into the big room.

Alan was asleep in all his clothes and coat. Lying on the couch, he exhaled vapor with every breath. Is he cold? He doesn’t act or look like he is. Should I wake him and ask him to… warm me up?

After considering for a while, she decided against it. She took the stove into the small bathroom, balanced it on the sink and turned it up as high as it would go. Sitting on the toilet top swaddled in her blankets, she warmed her hands.

~o~O~o~

CHAPTER 6

Alan awoke gradually. He sensed he was sore all over. It was day, though only a pale glow came through the windows instead of bright sunlight. His body felt relatively lukewarm except for his feet — the cold was biting through his shoes and socks — and his face. He put his gloved hands to his mouth and directed his breath steam to his nose and cheeks.

Sheesh! If my schnozz were any colder, it’d fall off.

Stretching his arms and legs — OW, ow ow ow — he willed himself into a sitting position.

“Hoo boy. I’ll have a large coffee and a plate of ibuprofen, Rosie. What? No coffee, just hot chocolate? I gotta find a new diner.”

Looking now up at the windows, he faced an unwelcome sight.

It’s STILL snowing? Not good. That’ll slow any search effort.

“Jocelyn? You up?” There was no answer. If I’m feeling a little cold, she might be freezing. I left her with all the blankets, though.

Slowly, he forced himself to stand, then to start walking. As he got to the bedroom, he saw that the bed was empty. Maybe she was using the toilet. Speaking of which, my bladder’s pretty full.

He gently knocked on the closed bathroom door.

“Are you in there? You okay?” he asked in a low voice. No answer. Suddenly worried, he turned the doorknob and spoke louder. “Hey, if you’re in there, tell me and I won’t come in. But say something at least, to let me know you’re alright.” No answer.

“Okay — I’m coming in.” If you’re there, please be dressed. Or at least don’t think I’m trying to be a pervert.

An unusual scene greeted him. The camping stove was on the sink, the last vestiges of flame anemically licking the burner. It was somewhat less cold in here than the rest of the cabin, he noticed. On the floor, lying on top of and under a mess of covers, was a still sleeping Jocelyn. Her face was lying next to the base of the commode.

Waking up with your head next to the head. That’ll be unpleasant. He felt simultaneously sympathetic and amused. Until he realized that he’d either have to wake her, or pee outside.

If my pecker freezes off, I’ll give her such a guilt trip, he thought as he readied to go out in the weather. Hell, she might even be jealous of me at that point. She’s the one who wants a dickectomy.

“Shut up, ‘Old Alan’. Go back in your mental cave,” he muttered through gritted teeth while he made amber snow.

~o~O~o~

Jocelyn shuffled bleary-eyed into the big room, covers draped on her shoulders, and plopped on the couch beside Alan. He glanced at her.

“How did you sleep last night, ma’am?”

“Oh, it was… ROTTEN. I stayed cold, and I’m so achy right now.”

“That’s what sleeping on tile and porcelain will do to you.”

She looked at him meekly. “You saw.”

“We’re a couple of sad sacks, you know? Big king size bed in this place, and neither of us use it,” he shook his head and snickered.

“I saw you last night on the couch. I’ll bet you didn’t sleep good either.”

“My whole body is just one big ache. But I think it’s mostly from being so physically active. Most of my life I’m either on my butt in my car or standing around giving a pitch. Are you up for some hot chocolate?”

“Can you just make me a tub full and let me stay in it all day?” shivered Jocelyn.

“Bathing in chocolate. Hm. NOW who’s the fetishist?” shouted Alan as he got the stove from the bathroom.

“Watch it, mister. Don’t mess with a woman when she’s got PFS.”

“PFS?”

“Post-freezing syndrome (kaff, kaff).”

Alan laughed at the joke while simultaneously becoming concerned. “I thought that cough had resolved itself.”

“It’s almost gone. It’s getting better. I’m fine.”

“Okay. If you say so.” Why am I not convinced, he suspected.

~o~O~o~

After fixing multiple cups of hot chocolate from melted snow, Alan went outside. He shoveled the front doorway clean again, then contemplated as he caught his breath.

How can I signal to show someone that we’re here? The continued snowfall is a big problem. Makes it difficult to achieve a good outdoor fire, and if I laid that big red blanket out as a signal — I could cut a white cross out of the middle of it — the flurry would cover it up in minutes. Surely someone is out looking for us. But can a spotter plane fly in all this snow? I need some ‘words on a page’ for this situation, God. Help me out, here.

He waited for an answer.

…..okay…. any minute now would be fine…

After what he was sure was ten minutes, he still had nothing.

“Don’t tell me I was just imagining that I was getting supernatural help the last two days,” he grumbled.

He walked back in the cabin. Jocelyn perked up at his entrance.

“How’s Mr. Eagle Scout Hero?”

“Not feeling too heroic, sorry. I thought I’d try to catch some more fish.”

“I tried opening the damper myself. It’s really stuck.”

Alan grabbed the auger, fishing materials and the leftover raw trout to use as bait. “Wish me luck.”

“I feel so useless. Can I help you? If we had two people fishing in two different holes, wouldn’t that be better?”

“No, no. You’re already constantly chilled as it is, and believe you me, it’s much colder outside. I don’t want you getting frostbite, or for that cough to get worse. If something happened to you… I just need you to stay here and try to keep warm. Please.”

Jocelyn was worried. Alan seemed preoccupied, distant; not jovial and joking like usual. I wonder if I’m irritating him in some way. Maybe he’s having second thoughts about accepting a transsexual. At the very least, I’m a burden to him right now. “Alan… is something wrong?”

Alan flashed his best imitation smile. “Absolutely not, dear lady. I’ll be back.” He trudged off towards the lake.

~o~O~o~

Since he had the fish flesh to use as bait now, Alan chewed the rest of the beef jerky for sustenance and warmth. The fishing so far wasn’t going as well this time. He had to take a while clearing snow off of the ice. With all the buildup he couldn’t find the hole he drilled yesterday, so he used his sore limbs to drill another. Now an hour into actual fishing, there was nary a bite. He pulled up his hook to find it stripped clean of bait.

“Danged sneaky sons of fishes,” he quipped. He pulled out the trout meat to bait the hook once more. Even with gloves, he had difficulty feeling his fingertips and it was hard to manipulate the flesh to pull off a piece. When it finally came apart, it did so suddenly, and the hook he was holding inadvertently jabbed into his finger.

“AGH!” he yelled, letting go of the hook — and the bait meat. Following Murphy’s law, it fell on the ice and bounced into the hole, vanishing.

Alan stood stunned for a second. Then he dropped to his knees and stuck his arm in to see if by chance he could save it. He pulled up nothing but icy water.

Leaning back on his heels, he slumped his head and shoulders down in shocking defeat. He ground his teeth together. All of the crap and frustration of the last two days and more bubbled to the surface as he slung his face skyward and screamed.

“fffFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU…….”

~o~O~o~

Jocelyn finished bundling up and grabbed the mug of hot chocolate she had made for Alan. She wanted to do something to help. He might not like her disobeying his wish for her to stay indoors, but she didn’t like the thought of him freezing his behind off out there with nothing to warm him up.

She stepped out of the doorway and started off in the direction she had seen him leave. But after about twenty steps, she heard his voice. She stopped and looked up.

Alan had his back to her, leaning against a pine tree, cradling his arms around his head.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID! You damned fucking idiot! You’re nothing but a worthless, spineless piece of shit! Fucking failure! It’s always this way — whatever you do may start out good, but it usually ends as a pool of piss! This is why you’ll never amount to anything worthwhile… you’re an embarrassment to the human race!”

The raw emotion — and the severe language — rattled Jocelyn. She suddenly became very afraid, and quietly retreated back to the cabin.

A few minutes later, Alan walked back in through the door. His eyes were red, and cast down towards the floor.

“Hey. I’m back. No fish. Not now, or ever.”

He didn’t wait for a response as he flopped face down on the couch. Jocelyn didn’t want to give one. She was huddled in the corner of the big room by the fireplace, brandishing the thick poker in her hands to protect herself.

As Alan began weeping into the couch cushion, Jocelyn’s head and heart began an argument inside of her.

What have you done? You’ve allowed an unstable maniac into your life. All of the acceptance, the happy nature… it had to be too good to be true. First he screams at the tree; next he’ll be screaming — and beating — on you, warned her head.

Her heart countered. Look at him. See anything familiar? Maybe not with the yelling, but with the grief? Some of what he said outside has been said to you before, and it’s taken years of therapy to get you to just start not to believe it yourself. He’s suffering. Be brave, and try to help him.

Jocelyn swallowed hard, and decided to follow her heart. She laid down the poker and walked slowly to the couch. Kneeling by his head, she put her hand on his shoulder.

He pushed it away, face still in the cushion. “Leave me alone. I screw up everything, and I’ll screw your life up too,” he sniveled.

Her head warned that this might be a threat rather than self-pity, but Jocelyn stayed put. “Alan… who’s been saying this?”

He remained limp without moving. “Who’s been saying what?”

“This stuff about you. This evil stuff. That you screw up everything, that you’re worthless, spineless, a failure — all what you were saying to the pine tree out there.”

He lifted his head from the couch to look at her. “You heard what I was saying earlier? I thought I was far enough away from… Oh man. I’m sorry you had to listen to that.”

“I know those hateful words didn’t originate from you. I know they didn’t. Someone has been telling you a bunch of lies. Who is it?”

Alan’s face began to screw into a knot. He sunk it back into the couch and began to weep violently. Jocelyn threw her arms across his back and rested her head on him, while starting to tear up herself.

***************************
TO BE CONTINUED 11/30
***************************

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of these characters to any actual person living or dead is coincidental.

Thanks to Sephrena Lynn Miller for a quick first read!

Thanks to all the "BCTS Closeteers" - especially Jana - for help with the pic!

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment! (Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!)

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

"Wait! Did you just say... you love me?"

CHAPTER SEVEN

Eventually Alan’s blubbering deteriorated into deep breathing with intermittent snuffles. Jocelyn stroked the back of his head. After a minute, she tapped his shoulder.

“Hey, big guy. Sit up for me.”

He slowly pushed himself upright to where he was sitting in the middle of the couch. He was slumped forward, head and arms hanging down as if limp. Jocelyn climbed up beside him and sat down. She slid her arm inside his, and her gloved hands grasped his near arm.

“Talk to me,” she whispered.

The man next to her didn’t raise his gaze from the floor; he just shook his head slowly. “You don’t deserve to be bored by my crap.”

She leaned her head on his sagging shoulder. She breathed her words out quietly. “I want to hear it.”

He shook his head again, and remained silent.

She stroked the back of his glove. “Was it… your father?”

His head rose, and he looked at her with bloodshot eyes. “You mean, was it Dad who yelled at me? No. No, absolutely not. Not Mom either. They were great. I had an awesome childhood. Although you’d never guess it, with how screwed up I am now.”

Alan took a piece of cloth he’d packed for the fishing out of his coat pocket. He blew a bucket of snot out of his nose, then glanced, mortified, at Jocelyn. “Sorry — excuse me a minute.” He walked to the kitchen area and disposed of the cloth, then washed his hands sparingly with some leftover melted snow and dish soap there.

“When you’re dried, come sit next to me again,” she requested.

“Really, Jocelyn… I’m sorry I did this… this breakdown. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Please come sit by me. I’m getting cold being here by myself.” She rubbed her arms and made a shivering motion to emphasize her point.

The appeal to his chivalry hit the target. He came back to the couch and sat, but still stared forward, off into the distance. However, he picked up where he’d left off.

“At least, it was a great childhood until I was sixteen. Dad died that year in a highway accident with a truck. I was devastated. See, every night for as long as I could remember, I prayed to God before going to bed. You know, thanks for this, help me with that. And I always asked for protection for my family and me.

“When Dad died, I figured that God was a liar; or more likely, a fraud. I became an atheist, much to the chagrin of my Mom and Charlene. But they both still loved me, and treated me with kindness and respect — even when I left college after my junior year to take a full time sales position at an auto dealership.”

“I thought you were always a pharmaceutical sales rep.”

“Not at first. I sold cars during the summers between semesters. I was so good at it they begged me to do it year-round. The money was pretty terrific, so I did.”

Jocelyn tilted her head at him. “So if it wasn’t your family, then who…?”

Alan looked at her. “Jocelyn, I’ve already been more of a screw-up than a help to you today. You don’t want to know the bull I’ve had to live with. It’ll just depress us both more.”

“Alan … you’re not the only one, you know.”

“The only one … what?”

“The only one in the room here that’s lived with abuse. I… I’m going to…(sigh)… Alan, l-let me tell you more about myself.”

~o~O~o~

Jocelyn’s head screamed at her. Don’t open up your life to him! He’ll hurt you, just like everyone else!

Everyone except Cynthia, her heart countered. And so far, he’s proven as trustworthy as her. If you open yourself up, it may give him the courage to talk. And when a problem can be talked about, it can be dealt with.

“You said your childhood was great. Mine wasn’t. My Dad was an alcoholic and a drug addict, although a ‘high functioning’ one, at least for all the years I was living at home. He headed up his own business of dry cleaning stores, and franchised them regionally. And then at home he would get drunk and/or high. Sometimes under the influence he’d be happy and even manic; once he called the local paper and proposed to buy their whole operation just because my name ‘wasn’t printed large enough’ when they reported the usual list of honor students. Other times, he’d be depressed, and get out his revolver and stick it in his mouth — or at Mom — and wonder why it wasn’t loaded. We made sure every day before he came home that we hid all of his bullets.

“Basically, if you live with a substance abuser you get sick too. Emotionally, socially, relationally. So even though I’ve never taken drugs or overused alcohol, I was caught up in the sickness of it all. At school I was a great student, and an all-region pitcher for the baseball team. But at home I became the introvert, the ‘lost child’, the one who would come straight home and lose myself in my CD’s and fantasy paperbacks. I didn’t have friends come over, because they might find out our big secret. Heck it was easier just to have no friends. I was so wrapped up in that pathology, any gender issues took a back seat.

“When Dad was sober, he was a great father. Drunk, he’d get pretty violent, verbally. Funny… he never raised his fist against Mom or me; just threaten to shoot with the gun on occasion. But believe me, the words he spoke cut deep enough. Even knowing it was the booze and drugs talking, when the venom came out of his lips, it scarred permanently.

“Now he’s actually been clean and sober for the last eight years. He hasn’t spoken harshly to me anymore. He and Mom just won’t have anything to do with me because they so disagree with me changing genders. He’s called me a disappointment; that’s about as bad as it’s gotten from him, lately.”

“That’s bad enough, in my opinion,” said Alan.

“Oh, that’s nothing compared to what I’ve gotten from ‘friends’ and acquaintances the last few years. It’s been horrible.”

He spoke softly and with empathy. “What… have they said to you?”

Jocelyn covered her face with her hands. A half minute later, she sniffled moistly.

“Disgusting … ugly … mentally ill … faggot … gay … homo … pervert. An embarrassment to my family and community, not to mention mankind in general. A quitter, a failed man. Shit licking … ass fucked … cock … suck-” she wrapped her arms around her head and started to weep. “And I’ve never been promiscuous. I’ve never even been with a guy, yet!”

Alan placed his arm around her as she shed more and more tears.

~o~O~o~

Eventually Jocelyn calmed. She patted the arm that was across her back. “Thank you for the support, Alan.”

“Jocelyn, none of that crap they said about you is true.”

“Oh, I know. Therapy has really helped me to reject it. The memories still hurt, though.” She looked at him. “So… who told you your lies?”

“Guess.”

“Lacy.”

“We have a winner,” Alan muttered, nodding his head.

~o~O~o~

“Lacy’s my second wife. I got married at age 25 to Dana, a girl who worked at a car dealership in Anaheim. We met at a sales conference; I lived in San Diego at the time. We’d drive towards each other on Sundays and meet in Escondido, about midway between us. We talked every night; my long distance phone bills were killer.

“Then we married. Living together every day — what a day-and-night difference. It seemed everything I did irritated her greatly, from occasional chest and back hairs left on the shower floor to the way I ate salad; she especially hated the fact that I didn’t put the knives in the knife drawer back in the exact correct order after dishwashing. She also was constantly accusing me of infidelity; if I sold a car to a woman under the age of sixty, Dana was sure that I’d seduced the sale. Then she left me within a year for a guy back in Anaheim that she’d been maintaining contact with during our whole damn relationship.

“Okay. Three years later. I now was in pharmaceutical sales, and more successful than ever, pulling in 120K a year, not bad in ’89. I met Lacy, and we started dating. She wondered if I was ever going to pop the question because I waited two years to do it. I was gonna be sure I really knew the next woman I married; I didn’t want another Dana. Lacy was beautiful, and seemed sweet. She had three kids from her previous husband, but I loved them and was sure I could treat them as if they were mine.”

Jocelyn was surprised. “Two years of courtship. Did she show any sign of being abusive during that time?”

“Unbelievably, no. Or if she did, I was blind to it. In fact, after we got married, things went okay the first few years, and we had the twins. But problems were there, and got bigger. I couldn’t seem to keep her on a budget. She’d take out new credit cards in her name and I wouldn’t know it. We got $80,000 in credit card debt before she showed me the actual bills.

“On top of that, I soon learned she was ashamed to be the wife of a salesman. She avoided social functions with me and urged me to go back to SDSU to get a ‘respectable’ career. Yeah, like I can stop and go to school when we were putting the older 3 kids through college and had the 80k card debt. And she was a stay-at-home mom.”

“Alan, did she offer to go to work to help out?”

“No - and I didn’t mind her being a housewife, what with five kids to raise. But she didn’t do much besides watch them. She’d hire a cleaning service to keep the house up, and she only cooked on rare occasions. Most of the time when I came home for supper, she’d have ordered pizza or take out … all on credit cards. I was working extra to make ends meet. Then she’d accuse me of not being there as a husband and father.”

Jocelyn found herself getting a little angry with this woman. “That would be hard to live with.”

“That’s not even close to the worst of it,” shuddered Alan. “What damaged me the most was the manipulation and verbal abuse. When I tried to put my foot down, she’d threaten me with divorce and taking the twins. Over the simplest things, like what level of cable TV service to get! I wanted marriage counseling; she refused. How crazy is that — you usually hear of the husband being the one to avoid counseling.

“When I would stand my ground on a quarrel, she’d fight dirty. If she didn’t have a good logical position, she’d begin character assassination. Or bring up old wounds, or cut down my side of the family, or call me names — and swear at me. In public. And in front of the kids. Her screaming and yelling got bad. I even tried to go ‘toe to toe’ with her on it one time, but her lungpower was amazing. Finally I saw that the only way I’d have peace in my home was if I conceded every argument, every decision to her.

“I guess I heard all the crud coming out of her for so long that I started to believe it myself. I mean, I couldn’t have made a mistake and married a second woman who hated my guts, right? No, it really must mean that I was that rotten a person.

“Oh, Alan. I’m so sorry.”

“Work became my only escape, the only place where I seemed to do well and get respect and praise. So I spent more and more time there and less time at home. I got a lot of sales accomplished, but I was putting in 70-hour workweeks. If I came home when she was in bed and left before she woke, she couldn’t hurt me as much.
“The last straw was at last year’s Christmas party for Marcam. It was the first work party she had been with to me in eight years, because of her shame with my profession. Anyway, we’re at the table with the big brass, the owner-“

“Mr. Leibowicz?”

“Yep, the man himself. We’re all talking, and I tell a joke — maybe a little corny, but clean — and everyone at the table laughs, except Lacy, who’s shaking her head. She then yells that ‘it’s bad enough that you have to drag me to these stupid get-togethers with lousy food and boring people, but do you have to go and make a jackass out of yourself too?’ Everyone at the table got quiet; I apologized and excused us from the party, pulling Lacy with me, her hissing at me all the way.

“I didn’t know that happened.”

“You always leave the parties early, remember? Anyway, something inside me broke that night. I had sworn I would never ever get a second divorce, but at that point I didn’t care. I moved out, and Lacy got to play the role of the poor jilted spouse with all of our friends, except the few who saw her at that party.”

Jocelyn felt brokenhearted for Alan. “What do your twin girls think of all this?”

“The twins enter college this summer, but for the rest of this school year she has primary custody. I call them, but they won’t talk to me. I think they catch too much hell from her if they express any affection about me openly. Maybe once they graduate I can see them more than every other Saturday.

"And I’ve promised myself to stay out of romance from here on out. I get extremely lonely at times, but I can’t afford to even take a chance of going through that emotional and mental hell again. I mean, I know there must be non-abusive women out there — but it sure doesn’t seem like I pick that kind. I’d rather live single forever than risk it again."
He began to cry again. “I thought that leaving would get rid of the abuse — but I listened to her for nineteen years, and I can’t get her damned screaming out of my head! I don’t know how much of it is true and how much of it is lies. I don’t have the money for counseling, between debt and alimony. That’s why I have to leave Missoula. Maybe I can heal with more distance between me and her.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, and — Oh God. No one’s supposed to know that. It won’t happen anyway; the job interview in Helena was supposed to be today.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. Do you still hear Lacy’s voice in your head right now?”

“Ohhh, yeah. It’s always there on some level. It harps at me at day, and whispers accusations at night. When things don’t go right — like today — it’s louder than a jet engine.” Alan was now leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and gripping his skull. “This is killing me. I literally feel sometimes like it’s killing me on the inside. I’d never consider suicide… but sometimes, I wouldn’t mind if my life was over. At least I wouldn’t have to listen to this…”

Jocelyn held tight to Alan’s arm. She watched as tears started to dribble down his cheeks. His face was bright red as he tried to hold in his emotion. She contemplated what to do, how to help. Once more, her heart was her guide.

“Are your muscles sore, big guy?”

He continued to stare straight ahead, but nodded.

She got up and walked to the back of the couch, directly behind him. She pulled his coat to just off of his shoulders, and began massaging his neck, his trapezius muscles. She pushed deep, as there was a lot of tissue and flesh on this man.

“Jocelyn, you don’t have to… ohhh, that… that’s… that’s nice…”

As she rubbed, she bent down and whispered in his ear. “Alan Sarkisian… is one of the finest human beings on the planet.”

“That’s a laugh -”

“Shhhh. Just get quiet, and listen to me. Close your eyes. Relax.”

She pressed her palms on either side of his spine, and slowly moved them down the length of his back.

Another whisper. “Alan is smart, and funny. He gives people hope.”

He stayed quiet, as requested. Now with his coat off, she draped one of his arms over her shoulder and began working on his biceps and triceps.

“At almost fifty years of age, Alan did an amazing thing: he took a long, hard look at himself, and started to reach out to people different from him.”

She went to the front of the couch. Her fingers kneaded his calves, his thighs. “He’s an Eagle Scout, and he still remembers his training just when he needs to.”

She climbed behind him on the couch, and had him turn to the side slightly. She then lay down on the couch cushions, pulling his back to her chest so they spooned. She then pulled his coat over both of their bodies.

Alan felt her embrace him as he relaxed into her. Her gloved hands gently stroked his head, his cheeks, his hair. He felt her lay her cheek on his bald spot. Like the Sahara absorbing a rare rain, he soaked up the affection. He heard her voice continue in a soft, barely-there tone.

“The best sautéed fish in the history of the world was made by Alan.

“Alan saved my life. He saved my life! He is a bona fide hero.

“He has an unselfish, giving spirit. Alan’s smile is so bright, it lights up the deepest corners of the darkest soul. He is quick to forgive when someone treats him like a jerk. Alan is…”

On and on she talked. As she did, Lacy’s voice became just a little weaker in Alan’s head as the strong, loving voice of Jocelyn competed for space there.

~o~O~o~

CHAPTER EIGHT

They lay together on the couch all afternoon. Alan became so serene from Jocelyn’s ministrations that he fell into a deep sleep.

Jocelyn noticed something happen in herself while she spoke the affirmations to him. She saw that he needed her, that she was a help to him; she was of value to him. It was a nice feeling, to know that one has value. While combing her mind for all the positive virtues he possessed, she realized that all of them were true. She hadn’t needed to make any of them up. That led her to a conclusion.

This guy is a special guy. I’ve never known anyone else like him. So many great qualities — the best one, to me, is that he accepts me as a woman. Not only that, he has suffered some of the ways I have. I almost feel like… like he “gets” me.

Am I feeling attracted? Affectionate — that’s a better way of saying it. I’m beginning to feel affection for him. Maybe my “chooser” isn’t broken after all.

After a while, Alan opened his eyes. Jocelyn looked down into them from above, appearing upside down to him.

“Hello, handsome. Feel any better?”

“Like a trillion bucks worth.” He paused. “Did you mean even half of what you said to me?”

“I meant every word of it. It’s all true.”

“Make that a gazillion bucks, then.”

Alan sat up, then stood. “Hope I didn’t squish you flat, lying on you all that time.”

Jocelyn laughed. “I’m fine. WHOO-!”

She whooped in surprise as Alan grabbed both her hands and pulled her quickly to a standing position — and to him.

“That was one of the kindest, most loving things anyone has ever — ever — done for me.” His eyes were moist as he then kissed her on the cheek and embraced her in an all-encompassing, prolonged bear hug.

“Now I’m squished,” she giggled as he released her. “That was radical. I won’t need a chiropractic appointment for months.”

“I know you’re hungry,” he said with disappointment. “I lost the rest of the bait. There’s no way to catch a fish now.”

“I hear they’re having a hot chocolate special tonight at Chez O’Donnell. And the company’s pretty awesome, they say. Shall we?” She wrapped her gloved hands around the crook of his elbow.

A slow grin started to trickle across Alan’s lips. Finally he showed those high beam choppers Jocelyn had come to expect from him.

“There he is! Alan’s back,” she cheered.

~o~O~o~

They had three cups each and stopped. The mix in the can was getting low. Alan went out to get some snow to melt so they could have a pot to “flush” the toilet with after they were both finished in the bathroom tonight. Meanwhile Jocelyn went to brush her teeth and remove the modicum of makeup she had applied that morning. She then let Alan use the room.

Jocelyn was already under her covers in her sweats when Alan emerged from the bathroom.

“Hopefully all that hot chocolate will keep you warmer than last night. I took some ibuprofen, so I’m going to the couch. Goodnight, Jocelyn, and thank you, again. Thank you so much.”

“Will you be warm enough, Alan?”

“I’ll keep everything on, even my coat. I want you to have all the blankets — you’ll need them.”

“You shouldn’t sleep in that fishy coat. It’s fine for daytime, but it’ll be too stinky to wake up in.”

“Huh. I don’t notice it.” He looked down at the coat. “I mean, I know the trout brushed against me a few times while I brought it in, and then today I kept the bait in the pocket, but…”

“I could smell it when we were on the couch together.”

He was puzzled. “But tonight you’ll be in here. I’ll be on the couch, and if it doesn’t bother me, then why…?”

“What I mean,” she said meekly, “is it’ll be too smelly to wear it while lying with me.”

Alan was pleasantly shocked.

Jocelyn was blushing deep red. “So — unless you’re uncomfortable with it — I’m asking you to take off that coat, and your shoes, and bring that warm body of yours and get next to me.”

Alan grinned widely. “It would be the most thermal solution for both of us. Purely from a practical standpoint.”

“Uh-huh. Get over here.”

As Alan went under the covers, he put his arm around Jocelyn’s back and pulled her to him. She nestled her chin at the base of his neck and they pulled the blankets over and under them.

Jocelyn exhaled, and relaxed. She recalled how she had felt on first awakening the previous morning.

Safe.

~o~O~o~

As she had done on Christmas morning, Jocelyn awoke first.

She was aware of where she was. In bed, wrapped around Alan and he around her. Snug and toasty, with only a hint of cold air leaking through one of the edges of the blankets. She felt his chest rise and fall with each breath, sometimes accompanied with a slight snore on exhaling. His inhalations pushed into her breasts with a slight pleasant sensation. She comforted in his broad shoulders and big arms.

We’re stranded in a cabin on a mountain in a snowstorm. Nobody knows we’re here. No obvious car wreck for people to spot. No readily available food, no heat, no phone. Just me and my coworker, who has found out about my most guarded secret by accident. We’ll likely die here.

I wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world.

She nodded off back to sleep, a contented look on her face.

Alan awoke. He took a minute to get his bearings, and then remembered where he was. And who he was with.

Technically, I’m sleeping next to a man. That’s what most of the world would say. And that’s what I had her pegged as for the last four years. But she makes much more sense as a woman. Her gentle nature, her melodic voice, her way of walking and moving. She was born for this role. It’s hard to see her as anything else but female.

Maybe she could be “read”. Hands and feet aren’t big, but aren’t petite; but her breasts. Yes, those are very nice. And her soul sure can’t be read. Hell, she’s more feminine than many natural women I know.

And so far, she appreciates me. God, how I have longed for appreciation. Lacy always was disappointed with me. Right now, Jocelyn needs me. It’s nice to be needed. I sure need her right now. Her survival is what’s driving me to survive.

Jocelyn stirred.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

“Good morning, kind sir.”

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“Just a minute.” She adjusted herself to pull even tighter into his body. “Better.”

One of her legs was pushing into the crease between his two legs, against his groin. This plus a full bladder caused a reaction that had been a rarity these days for Alan.

She felt his erection against her leg.

Oh, she thought.

Oh no, he thought.

He pulled away from her. “I — I’m sorry,” he muttered.

She placed her head to face his. “I’m not,” she whispered barely audibly.

He looked in her eyes. Their faces were so close. With tantalizing slowness, he moved closer.

Jocelyn’s heart was beating like a bumblebee’s wings. She closed her eyes just before their lips made contact. When they did, she experienced a falling sensation, weightlessness. Every nerve ending in her skin tingled to life, and she felt transported to another world, one where time has no meaning and the only things in existence were the two of them and this kiss.

She felt his tongue lick her lips, and she opened her mouth. Her tongue touching his sent her to an even higher plane. Her nipples tingled and her skin felt flushed. He had a sour morning taste to his mouth. It was the most wonderful, awful taste in the world.

They finally broke, both breathing heavily.

“Sorry about our morning breath,” he whispered.

“Speak for yourself, trout mouth,” she giggled.

As she did, tears formed in her eyes. She eventually started to cry slightly and buried her face on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he cooed in her ear.

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s so right…”

The crying continued as he held her close. Ah. So that’s what they mean by ‘happy tears’, he thought.

Eventually, she quieted, and they lay in close embrace, each with eyes closed. Alan eventually stirred.

“Hey, gorgeous. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

“What is it, Alan?”

“I really, really have to pee.”

~o~O~o~

CHAPTER NINE

Alan returned from the bathroom. “I’ll melt some snow down later on the stove to flush it.”

“There’s some hand sanitizer that’s in my suitcase — use it if you’d like. Aaand… there’s some Tic-Tacs there too, if you don’t mind, for both of us. ”

“Thanks.” Alan rubbed the alcohol gel in and began to shiver. “DANG - it’s freezing this morning!”

“Well, get back under the covers with me then, mister.”

The snuggling resumed.

“I’d love to know more about you,” said Alan. “I know you have trouble opening up, and trusting. But I’d like a chance to prove worthy of your trust.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Your hopes and dreams. Where you see yourself in twenty years. The one place in the world you would go if you had one wish for it. What makes you tick. The good and bad things that have happened to make you who you are. I want to know more about what you’ve had to endure, you know, the “stuff” that’s happened that you mentioned on the drive. I want to know what made you take the incredibly brave step of changing — what do they call it…”

“What made me decide to transition?”

“That’s the word.”

She got quiet.

“Jocelyn? Are you okay? …Look, maybe that was a bad suggestion. I’m sorry, you don’t have-”

“I’m scared.”

Alan kissed her and whispered, “What are you scared of?”

“What if, after you find out more about me, you change your mind and decide that you’re disgusted with me?”

“Let’s see… do you like me, Jocelyn?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you learned that just two years ago I was a gender bigot?”

“You’ve changed. I like you for who you are right now.”

“Back atcha. I don’t care if you were a warthog with an odor problem…

“Boy, do you have a way with words.”

“…I love you for who you’ve become, who you are right now.”

Jocelyn’s heart jumped. “Wait! Did you just say… you love me?”

Alan looked away, his voice suddenly faltering a bit. “This scares me nearly to death. My two marriages left me gutted emotionally. I planned to never fall in love with anyone ever again. But… the way you spoke to me yesterday… your words… I have to have them… having experienced them now, I don't think I can live without them.

“I’ve been attracted to you since you first smiled at me with your makeup on. But when you whispered to me on the couch — I realized I’ve been hoping for, searching for, needing a woman who would love me with her words and actions the way you did. You fulfilled me in a way that even no sexual act ever has. And though the thought of another possible doomed relationship frightens the hell out of me — I’m afraid I’m hooked on you.”

Jocelyn’s head shouted. He barely knows you! It’s just the stress of the situation talking. He’s too old for you. He’s too good for you. He’ll hurt you. You’ll hurt him. This can’t work. Tell him. “Alan — have you thought about this? Saying those 3 powerful words? You don’t feel like you’re acting too hastily, do you?

“Hey, woman. I’m fifty-one years old. I can’t afford to hesitate. I love you. God help me, I’ve fallen for you hard.”

Jocelyn’s heart screamed: LOVE! He loves you! Love, with a man who accepts you and risked his life for yours! This chance may never come again! So if you love him too — TELL HIM!

Now she was giving him a bear hug, although it was more of a python squeeze around the neck. “Oh, Alan. I love you too! I love you, I love you IloveyouIloveyouIlooooove you!”

She couldn’t stop kissing his face, his nose, his eyes, his ears, and of course his lips and tongue. She wanted his kisses. She now wanted his body next to hers, naked, as it was on Christmas morning. She started to unbutton his shirt, taking a deep delicious breath while doing so. It made her cough.

She then began coughing uncontrollably.

Long, hard prolonged barking spasms that weren’t bringing any mucus up. Alan, alarmed, started to pat her back firmly with his palm, thinking maybe it would loosen any offending phlegm. So severe was this spell that she couldn’t get a word out edgewise.

Finally, in a few minutes, it calmed some. Alan had already gotten out of bed to quickly fix her something warm to drink; he thought maybe it would help.

~o~O~o~

“Ready for some hot chocolate?” Alan brought in two smoking cups with rapidity.

“Mm, yes.” Jocelyn took it and began sipping. “You made yourself one too, right?”

“Actually, it took the last of the powder mix to make yours. But don’t worry about me, I made myself some decoff coffee.”

“We had coffee? And don’t you mean decaf?”

“No. Decoff.” He meekly showed her his cup. “It’s just hot water. But it will warm me up.”

He refused to drink any of her cocoa even against her protests. “Jocelyn, what the heck do you think that coughing fit was from? I was worried a little earlier when you had a small cough, but then I haven’t heard you do it again until just now. You told me it was almost gone earlier.”

“It was! I’m not hiding anything from you, I swear. The first day after falling through the ice, I coughed a lot, but last night and today had been better. I’ve had no fever; I’m not bringing up mucus or anything. And I feel a lot better having sipped on the warm cocoa. I think it was Murph, again.”

“Who?”

“Murphy’s law. The more romantic the moment, the more likely a blasted interruption. Get back under the covers with me, Alan.”

“Careful… I might get the impression that you want to spend the whole day in bed.”

“Mm… sounds dreamy. Besides, I’m going to do what you asked. I’m going to tell you about my transition. But I need just a wee bit more courage… can you tell me you love me again?”

“Jocelyn O’Donnell, I am madly, truly, deeply in love with you.”

She closed her eyes and luxuriated in those words, letting them bounce around inside her brain. Eventually she looked at Alan and kissed him again, long and hard. Then, laying her head on his chest, she spoke.

“Once I got into college, I opened up to my assigned mentor and he directed me to Al-Anon, the group for people who lived with alkies. Boy, did they help me deal with the crud from my home life. But even with that assistance, I became further depressed and didn’t know why.

“I went to a psychiatrist — again, recommended by my mentor — and she administered a huge written screening test. When she told me the results, she asked, “Are you transgendered?” — that’s the first time I considered that as being my issue. I thought I was just screwed up being the kid of an alcoholic, that maybe I dreamed of being a girl just because I wanted to be someone else, and somewhere else, besides home.

“I didn’t want to be transgendered. I ran from that issue for years. All I could see is that it would take me into a new kind of abuse and suffering. But I started suffering even more the longer I tried to ignore it. I was nearly suicidal, at one point. So two years ago, with my therapist and doctor’s support, I decided to transition. I started hormones and medicines to block my testosterone. I also got facial, neck and chest electrolysis. The idea was for me to start living as a woman full time, the real life test; and then eventually have SRS.”

“SRS? Super Rack Supplements? They worked.”

“No, wise guy. Thanks for the compliment, though. Sex reassignment. The operation down there.”

“So, that was two years ago. How long do you have to wait before you can start living female all the time?”

“That’s… the sticking point. I’ve tried to gradually accomplish it — first go part time, then take the plunge — but the reactions I’ve gotten have… inhibited me. I came out to my Mom and Dad, and that went bad. Real bad. Basically, we haven’t talked in two years. They’re ashamed of me, especially Mom. I had only a few friends, and all of them dropped me like a hot potato when I told them. All except Cynthia, my girlfriend in Helena. I did try to say screw it all, and go full time anyway, but…”

“But?”

“Sorry. Th-this is the hard part for me. I went to Mr. Leibowicz and told him I’d like to transition at work. Showed him the letters from my therapist and psychiatrist, gave him printouts on how to manage transsexualism in the workplace, and so on. He did not agree with it. He felt like if I did, it would foster a ‘hostile work environment’ and lead to poor productivity. So, basically, it was stay as Joseph or be out of my job.”

“But that’s discrimination! Jocelyn, a half decent lawyer could have his head on a platter and a huge settlement for you.”

“I know. I know! But I… I don’t want to be a gender crusader. Leibowicz and Marcam are beloved figures in Missoula, and I would be the evil freak witch who destroyed them. With all the resentment I think I’d cause, I’d be a virtual leper. Even a new employer would be hesitant to take on a rabble-rouser. And right now, work is all I’ve got. It’s the only thing in my life I draw enjoyment out of, the only thing that fulfills me.”

She hugged him. “Well… it WAS the only thing.

“So, I was going to use the holidays to stay with Cyn and live as me, and look for a new job in Helena as Jocelyn … in a town where almost no one knows Joseph. So see, I had a hidden agenda for this trip too.”

Alan pondered. “So you and I both were going to Helena to start over, basically. A fresh life. For each of us. And maybe, now… together?”

He sat up in bed. “Dammit, we are NOT going to die here! We are getting out! I - we both - now have something not just to run from, but also to run towards! We are going to survive, you hear me? I’ve got to find us some food, and somehow signal for a rescue!”

“Alan… I’ve been thinking… this sounds really gross, but I may have something you could eat.”

He looked at her, befuddled. “Why is that gross?”

“Because… it’s dog food.”

She jumped out of the covers, and pulled a gift-wrapped box from her suitcase.

“These are dog treats. They were to be Sissy’s Christmas present. Cyn has a shih tzu.”

Alan unwrapped it. “Hm. Not a lot of them here, but it would be something…”

“Something for you, maybe. I don’t think I could keep them down. But I got the cocoa this morning, and you didn’t.”

Alan was reading the label. “Hey… these treats are meat-based! ‘Made from real cuts of beef’!”

“That’s good, right? You need some protein.”

He grabbed Jocelyn and spun her around, laughing. “Baby — you just got me some new fishing bait!”

*******************************
TO BE CONTINUED ON 12/03
*******************************

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of these characters to any actual person living or dead is coincidental.

Thanks to Sephrena Lynn Miller for a quick first read!

Thanks to Holly H. Hart for beta reading and editing!

Thanks to the "BCTS Closeteers" - expecially Jana - for help with the pic!

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Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

"JOCELYN! COVER YOUR NECK! I'M COMING!"

CHAPTER 10

It was still snowing intermittently, more “on” than “off”. Alan re-shoveled the front door, but the piles of snow all around the cabin were getting higher. The lower floor windows were becoming mostly covered. The sky remained overcast with grey haze.

Alan rested when done, puffing deeply. He pointed to the clouds. “Go ahead! Do your worst! It won’t matter — come hell or high drifts, we will live, and we will get out!

He walked to the pine tree he had verbally abused yesterday and shoveled powder away from the base; he eventually found the fishing supplies he had thrown there in disgust.

I was talking to the clouds, God, not you, he prayed. He didn’t want to offend his only other source of help. We sure could use a rescue. Until it comes, we sure could use a fish. You know, I gave up on you — on everything — yesterday. And then, you sent an angel into my life. She had to come from you, from heaven, because she gave me a spiritual healing like I never had. I now want to live — and I want her to live — more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Thank you for her. Thank you for giving me a reason to live.

Oh, and thanks for this bait too. May the force be with you. Amen.

He waded through the deepening snow towards the lake.

~o~O~o~

After a few hours of fishing, Alan was getting chilled more than usual. The lack of food not only kept him from producing heat from digestion, but he was chewing up body fat. Any other time in his life he would have welcomed that, but now he needed the insulation.

“Hey there!” chirped a familiar voice.

Alan turned. “Jocelyn?! What are you doing out here? It’s cold even for me, so you must be freezing!”

“Not as much as you’d think. Open your coat.”

He did so, still confused as to what was going on. She came up to him, bumping her chest against his. Then she unbuttoned her creamy chiffon coat, and transferred a plastic garbage bag filled with — something? — to him.

“Now button your coat around that.”

As he did so, he felt warmth come from the lump against his torso. “Wow — what…?”

“A big towel, dipped in hot water, inside a tied garbage bag. Poor college student’s hot water bottle. Now I’ve got to run back before I get shivery.”

He watched in thankful amazement as she hopped away. Yep. An angel. My snow angel.

~o~O~o~

Jocelyn ran through the cabin door and shut it quickly. “BRRRrrrrr!” She clicked on the camping stove and warmed her hands, then melted some snow for some hot water to sip. Finally warming up some, she explored the cabin. She felt she had more motivation to survive now too, and if she could find a way to help, then that would improve their chances.

Most of the search was futile. Alan had already combed the cabin the first morning there. Climbing up to the loft, she looked in some boxes, and a closet. Nothing useful. Then she saw a large box shoved to the back of the top closet shelf. Once opened, it revealed over two hundred tea light candles. They were small aluminum cups of wax with wicks, probably no more than four to five hours worth of tiny flame apiece. Not really a heat source, but good for a nightlight.

An hour later she had found nothing more, so she was a little discouraged. She flounced on the bed. She decided to do something she rarely did. She prayed.

God, I know that I have ignored you for the longest time. I’ve never been an atheist like Alan is — or was — but I guess I’ve been hurt by too many people who claim that they are your followers. I do believe that you’re there, and I never thought that you were as spiteful as many of your “people” have been. And Alan says you’ve been helping him. So I’m asking you. Please help us. Please get us out of here, healthy and intact. Please keep Alan warm and give him good luck fishing. And show me what I can do to help him, to support him. I feel like I’m useless, sitting here, but I don’t know what else to do. Thank you for listening. Love, Jocelyn.

As she ended her plea, a thought popped in Jocelyn’s mind: Look under the bed. She did. There was nothing there — except, one of the floorboards was obviously not sitting flush with the rest.

She pushed the bed away enough to access the board. Sure enough, it was loose — and she pulled it away. Deep down in a hole, going into the dirt underneath the cabin, was a medium size lockbox. It was too deep for her to reach; but using the fireplace poker, she was able to snag the handle on the box and pull it out.

She was thrilled. Could it be food? A radio? So her disappointment was understandable when all it held were two small wine bottles, one a quarter full, one empty.

More useless stuff, she sighed. Then an idea took hold in her mind. A way to be of service to Alan. She got up, replaced the board and bed. There was a lot to get done.

~o~O~o~

“SUCCESS!” Alan came in the door with two 3 pounders. He didn’t see Jocelyn in the big room.

“Hallelujah!” she said, sticking her head out the bedroom door. “I’m busy with something in here. Why don’t you clean those and start frying them up?” She pulled her head back in and closed the door.

Alan had hoped for a hug and a kiss. Then he remembered his odorous coat, now more fishy than ever. She might be avoiding this smelly thing. Trout is good food, but it’s taking a toll on my love life. He pulled out a knife, fired up the stove, and got cooking.

The sun was going down when he put the fish on the skillet. Jocelyn came up beside him in her coat, hat, and scarves to where only her eyes were visible. “Why don’t you go clean up for supper and I’ll finish your frying for you.”

Alan smiled while looking sideways at her. “Clean up?”

“Go in the bathroom and take off your clothes. I’ve got a pot of warm water and a washcloth in there for you to bathe with, and I laid out a set of clean clothes from your suitcase. You’ve been wearing these for-”

“For the last 2 days, yeah. It’s bound to be cold in there, though. Remember, I used the stove to heat it up when you last bathed on Christmas day.”

“Actually, I last bathed an hour ago. And I did fine. Go. You’ll see.”

Alan walked into the bedroom, and gasped. There were scores of little candles lit. They were mostly gathered on the plastic end tables brought in from the big room, kept away from the walls and any fabrics. He went into the bathroom and there was the promised pot of warm water, vapor arising from it. In the bathtub, there were multiple lit tea light candles, almost filling the whole floor of the tub. With all of these little flames, it definitely felt less chilly.

He undressed and bathed with the washcloth and soap in front of the sink. His razor and toothbrush with paste had been placed on the sink, so he had a quick shave and cleaned his mouth. He then used the balance of the water to wash his hair. After towel drying and cleaning the wet floor, he picked up the folded clothes she had laid out for him on the toilet. On top of the clothes lay his deodorant and cologne from his shave kit.

He emerged from the bathroom dressed, dapper, and smelling good. “Man… I feel great.” Even the bedroom was noticeably less frigid with all the candles burning.

Before he could walk out of the bedroom, Jocelyn came walking in with two plates of cooked fish. She had taken her coat, hat, and scarves off. Her face was freshly and fully made up, with soft eyelids, long eyelashes and liner; light blush on her cheeks with shimmering cherry lips. Large red and black polished stone earrings framed her face, with matching necklace draping across her sweater. The bright red Merino turtleneck had an interlacing diamond knit patterning, and matched the bright red polish that made her nails a brilliant contrast to her pale hands. A hint of leggings at the knees peeked between her black satin colored business length skirt and black leather go-go boots. Alan gazed at her, mouth agape. He could smell her perfume. Her hair was clean and straight, and her smile and sparkling eyes lit up his soul.

“Ready for dinner?” she crooned.

“Yes — but I think I’ll want some dessert,” he growled mischievously.

“Down, boy!” she laughed.

Alan, for once, was at a loss for words. He ate the fish hungrily, but could not take his eyes off the pretty vision sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. As he finished, Jocelyn reached under the pillow and produced the wine bottle with a little left in it, and two wine glasses.

“I found these while searching this place today.”

There was just enough wine for a few sips worth in each glass.

“Sorry, it’s red. I don’t think that goes with fish,” she said.

“But I do think it goes with hot fox,” said he.

“And beefcake,” she whispered back.

Suddenly Alan lifted his head, as if having an epiphany. He put his plate and glass down on the ground near the wall, and stood up. He walked over to the closet where he had folded his dirty clothes earlier. Reaching into the pants pocket, he pulled out a tiny mp3 player and a pair of ear buds.

“I’d forgotten about this. I’m still not in the habit of using this little thing,” he said as he pulled up “70’s mix” and scrolled to a song. He then slipped the mp3 into his shirt pocket and extended his arm to Jocelyn.

“May I have this dance, Madame?”

Jocelyn took his hand and stood, not sure where this was going. Then Alan put one of the ear buds in his right ear, and the other in her left ear. “This song is me speaking to you,” he whispered to her as he pressed a button on the player.

She heard a piano playing, followed by Joe Cocker’s voice.

“You are so beautiful… to me…”

She looked into his eyes as her own got waterlogged. As she lay her head on his shoulder, he grasped one of her hands and put his other arm around her waist. They swayed slowly in the light of a hundred little flickering flames.

When they stopped, they kissed sweet and long.

“Come to bed with me, Eagle Scout. Let’s make some fire.”

She then disrobed. How I wish I could do this slowly and seductively, but it’s still a little too chilly to be exposed too long. In less than a minute, she was down to a red lace teddy. Alan drooled.

“Sweet ever-lovin’ heaven! You’re hot! …but you’re gonna be freezing in seconds, even under the covers. You should-”

As if in anticipation, Jocelyn lifted the bedcovers to expose some ‘poor college student hot water bottles’. Pulling them onto the floor, she hopped under the blankets. “Mm-mm-mm, toasty. Needs more meat, though.”

Alan had his clothes off in twenty seconds.

As he pulled in beside her, she whispered “Let me take care of you down there. I’m not comfortable yet doing anything below my waist until SRS.”

“Jocelyn, I love you. But I might not be able to do this.”

Her face fell. “I-I’m sorry. This is too much too fast, isn’t it? And with me still having my… this was a bad idea. Forget-”

“Jocelyn! No! I’m… I’m impotent.”

She had her mouth agape now. “But… this morning… I felt you.”

“Look, - God, this is embarrassing — I can very occasionally get an erection. But for the last four years, they’ve been lasting shorter, and sometimes won’t come at all. This is one of the many things that Lacy said I was a failure at.”

He looked away. “What you really need is some younger guy who can satisfy you, not an old has been like me.”

“Be quiet, Lacy’s voice. Alan, have you seen a doctor?”

“Yes. He saw no medical issue. No disease, testosterone level fine. Even the pills didn’t help much. He said it might be mental or emotional. But I wasn’t ready to see a shrink.”

“Have you… been with a woman since Lacy?”

“After my last two marriages? Remember, I was gonna be a monk for the rest of my life. Until you came along.”

Jocelyn kissed him. “Alan, do you remember that old show ‘Married With Children’?”

“Yeah. Al Bundy?”

“That’s the one. Did you think that Al’s wife, Peggy, was physically attractive?”

“Absolutely.”

“Yet Al was always avoiding having sex with her. Why do you think that was?”

“Probably because she was a ditzy lady who took all his money and continually ridiculed him.”

“Sound familiar?”

Alan thought. “Huh. And my name’s even Al. Are you saying that my problems getting it up might have something to do with Lacy cutting me down all the time?”

“Maybe. I’m no doctor. And I love you whether you can or can’t ‘get there’. But I wonder what would happen if we tried some positive reinforcement.”

“Positive…?”

“Shhhhh. Just listen to me. Alan is a great provider. He’s a sexy man who knows just the right song to pick to slow dance to. He’s so romantic. He is a hard worker, and brave enough to get out on the ice that I fell through to get us food. I love his big broad shoulders. They make me feel so safe. Alan’s a good man, a type of good man that’s hard to find…”

He pulled her close and she felt a familiar bulge pressing into her hip.

“…and it’s good to find that he’s still a hard man.”

~o~O~o~

CHAPTER 11

They lay entwined.

Alan after the best sexual level he’d performed at in at least eight years. Jocelyn after her first intimate experience as a woman.

“You were great,” she kissed into his ear. “And twice!”

“My God, woman, you turn me on so much. First a hand job, then the best blow job ever. I never thought I’d experience that level of intensity ever again. I wish you could have felt the same.”

“Oh, I did. Did I ever. I arrived.”

“What? How? I didn’t really touch you down there.”

“Those vacuum treatments you performed on my breasts? They did the trick. God! That was heavenly.”

“Huh. I’m saying ‘God’ — and talking TO God — more than I have in decades, lately.”

“I know. I even prayed today, for the first time in a long time.”

“I think God’s okay with what just happened. I’ve heard God is love.”

“Yes. That’s what I think too.”

“You know, I’d love to make you orgasm when you get your vagina. When do you go to get that?”

“I’ll need about a year of living as a woman before they’ll approve it. Unless I go to Thailand. But either way, it’ll take money, and that may take the longest to build up.”

“I’m a patient man. I can wait.”

Jocelyn pulled back some so she could see his face. “Alan — I know that you told me you love me — but are you implying that you want a long term relationship?”

“Yes.”

“Like… permanent?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Are you sure? You know what they say about relationships begun under intense, life-and-death circumstances.”

“That the sex rocks?”

“Well… I’ll bet they do say that. But they also say that those relationships tend to fail over time.”

“Jos, yes, I’ve heard that. By the way, do you mind me calling you Jos?”

“Ah… no, actually. Jos is cute.”

“Anyway, I’ve heard about Christie Brinkley and the guy she met at that helicopter crash. Their marriage plopped in under a year. And then there’s Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reaves. They were so great together in ‘Speed’, but broke up before ‘Speed 2’.”

“I never saw ‘Speed 2’.”

“Yeah, like most of America.”

“Alan — they weren’t dating in real life.”

“Exactly. It was just a movie.”

“So… what point are you trying to make, again?”

“Listen, I know the odds are a romance that starts like this will tank. That doesn’t mean that it always happens, and it doesn’t mean it would happen to us. I just know that I have never met a woman who has loved me with her words the way you do. When you say that stuff, it’s like concentrated life force to me. Not to mention that I love your face, your breasts, your shape, your voice, your smarts, your heart… I know that we still barely know each other; I just don’t want you to slip through my fingers.”

Jocelyn looked at him with an intense glare. She was afraid to breathe too loudly. “Alan…what exactly are you saying?” Oh God. I don’t believe this. It’s too good to be true… that’s why I can’t trust it to be real.

“Just this. I want to have you as my wife. If you’ll have a guy almost old enough to be your father. Jocelyn O’Donnell… will you marry me?”

She covered her face with her hands and began to sniffle.

“Yes.”

He pulled her to himself. There are the happy tears again, he thought.

He was wrong.

~o~O~o~

They both had started to get cold, so they changed into layers of clothing again and got back in bed together. Pretty soon, sleep overtook Alan. Jocelyn remained awake, in deep contemplation. She had Alan’s head against her breasts. He was lightly snoring every third breath or so. She looked down, and kissed his forehead.

“Alan?” she whispered. “Are you awake?”

She received no reply, just the occasional snore. She asked again, a little louder. Still no response.

She relaxed and began to talk, still under her breath.

“Alan, these last four days have been the most horrible and most wonderful of my life. I gladly accept the horrors that have occurred, since without them I would never have come to know you and your love the way I do now. You are so special. Did you know that? I really don’t think you do. God, what that woman did to your soul, to your head.

“I would love to be your wife. Even knowing the odds of a relationship starting out this way. I know that I could treat you better than Dana and Lacy did. See, there are very few men — good quality men, that is — that would be interested in a transgirl like me. I would never take that for granted. A man like you — you really are a dream.

“And that’s the problem. This love we share, I’m afraid it’s just that. A dream. A pipe dream. A man of your quality — your caliber — really deserves more than what I can give you. See, I knew — at least in part — what trouble I was getting into when I decided to transition. I knew that was part of the deal. You, on the other hand, kind of fell into this relationship when we got stranded here. If you are with me, you will suffer. With your family, work, any other acquaintances. Marrying me would make you a social outcast, which is the kiss of death in your profession. I can’t let you do that to yourself. It would destroy me to know that I had ruined your life. That’s why we really cannot be a couple.

“It may be a moot point anyway. The chances of both of us making it out of here alive get slimmer every day. And while you might could survive a long walk back down to highway 12, I absolutely wouldn’t. I’m weighing you down.

“I actually kind of hope I don’t make it out of here. I don’t think I’ll ever match this kind of bliss — the heaven of loving you — again. The rest of life would be a disappointment. Best to “go out on top”, as they say. And it would crush me to see you with someone else. Although I’d know that you would be happier with a good quality genetic girl than someone like me; that would be the only consolation. You’d be better off with some five-foot-two blond blue-eyed D cup girl than a former male who will not pass perfectly ever.

“I know you would fight me if I said all this while you’re awake. So I’m speaking to your subconscious, and I hope it will make your conscious self see my reasoning. At the very least, I’m getting some practice in for when I do have to tell your awakened self.

“But know this, Alan: I love you. Just like you said, truly, madly, deeply. I will always love you, more than anything else in my life. And you have blessed this life of mine these last four days, these days of paradise. You’ve stolen my heart, and you may gladly keep it. I love you, Alan…
…Goodbye.”

She worked to stifle her sobs so she wouldn’t wake him, as Alan continued to softly snore.

~o~O~o~

Jocelyn awoke. It was dark. The candles had all burnt out. And she was alone in the bed. Alan… no! Don’t go away yet, I’m not ready! Just one more kiss…

She jumped out, and ran to the bathroom. He wasn’t there. Running to the big main room, she saw it was empty too.

The room… didn’t look right. It looked like daytime, but night too. What was happening?

“ALAN!” she screamed, shaking with dread.

The front door opened, with Alan coming through, snow shovel in hand. “Jocelyn? What the… what’s wrong, baby?”

She virtually tackled him, wailing. “I… I thought you’d already left me!”

He held her tight and kissed her over and over. “I’m right here. Right here. All I did was go to shovel the doorway. Hang onto me. I’m never going to leave you.”

She still shook. “Wh-why does the light look so weird in here?”

“It’s the snow. It’s slowed, but still coming down. It has all the ground floor windows totally covered now. But light still is coming in through the loft windows.”

“We’re almost snowed in completely. We’re not going to make it.”

“HEY! Hey, none of that talk now! We will make it out of here. We WILL. You just see. I — and God — are not gonna let either of us die out here.”

He held her and rocked her until her shaking stopped.

~o~O~o~

“Well, wish me luck. I’m off to catch trout.”

“Why are you taking the fireplace poker with you?”

“I need a tool. Yesterday, I hooked a huge one — I’m guessing twelve, fifteen pounds? — but he fought so hard, the line snapped once I had him halfway out of the hole. If I get him today, as soon as his gills are out, I’m gonna spear him. And then, my dear, maybe we’ll finally have enough fish for a couple of meals.”

Jocelyn looked concerned. “I… I feel like the cabin’s going to cave in… it’s claustrophobic, not being able to see out the windows.”

“Hm. Follow me.” Alan climbed the ladder to the loft. She did the same. “See, you still have a great view out of the loft windows. In fact, you can kind of see where I’ll be fishing, through those trees, down at the lake.” He pulled out the mp3 player and buds. “Listen to some good music. And they have a few paperbacks up here… a Louis L’amour, a Tom Clancy, and — oh, here we go. Romance novels!”

“Thank you. It does feel better up here,” Jocelyn agreed. At least not like I’m suffocating.

She stayed in the loft while Alan went out to fish. Looking at the books, she tossed away the romance novels. The last thing I want to do is read about ‘true love’ when mine is doomed. She read through the mp3 playlist. Forget it; too many love songs. Lying on her back on the floor of the loft, her eyes started to leak. She couldn’t remember another five-day span where she had wept so much.

Her tears stopped eventually, not so much from achieving relief, but because further crying seemed futile. She felt dull and lifeless, except for the acute ache in her chest, the cramp in her throat, and her old friends queasy belly and pounding skull. It all sucks. Everything sucks. Love. Life. Why did I have to fall for him?

She got to her knees and dusted her full length creamy chiffon coat off with disappointment. I’ve had to live in this day and night, and it’s getting ruined. Standing, she walked to the window to see if she could see Alan out at the lake from there. He wasn’t readily visible in the area where he told her he’d be.

Then, she saw him. He was only about a hundred feet away from the cabin! He wasn’t at the lake yet, but still heading towards it - crawling on his hands and knees. What had happened?

Suddenly extremely alarmed, Jocelyn quickly unlatched one of the loft windows and pulled it open part way.

“Alan! What’s wrong?” she yelled, cupping her gloved hands around the outline of her mouth.

He stopped and looked back at her just for a second before going on.

Jocelyn’s blood froze with panic. She’d been mistaken.

That wasn’t Alan.

~o~O~o~

CHAPTER 12

Jocelyn was frantic. Alan was in deep trouble, dead if they decided to attack him. She didn’t know what to do.

“God, help!” she choked out, fear stemming her speech. “There’s no hope, I’m helpless and useless to him, my God it can’t end this way, he can’t die he CAN’T DIE-“

“Stop it.”

She halted, and went quiet in her mouth and head. She’d heard that voice before internally, although this time it came so loudly she could have sworn it was spoken out loud. It was her strong inner dilemma-solving persona, used in her information technology job. It spoke again:

“This is just a problem. All problems have solutions. A solution exists for you. Think. What’s the problem?”

“Alan’s about to be dead meat!” she yelled impatiently.

“No. Focus. That’s not the problem; it’s the outcome, if the problem is not addressed. What do you need to change the outcome?”

“I… I need a gun.”

“None available. Restate the problem.”

“I need a weapon. A big one.”

“THAT’S the problem. Look around the room. Find a solution.”

She scanned the room quickly, analytically. Couch, 2 wood chairs, fireplace shovel/broom, 2 wine bottles, pots, pans, long nose lighter, dishrags, camping stove, 2 hurricane lamps, lamp oil, funnel for stove fuel, liquid stove fuel-

And she had her solution.

~o~O~o~

Alan finally caught the monster. The biggest trout he’d ever seen or even heard of. When it hit, it pulled so hard that he was sure it was the same whopper that he’d lost yesterday. It fought like a demon, but when he finally coaxed it out of the hole it received the big poker through the gills, just like Alan had planned. It was still flapping more than an F. Scott Fitzgerald socialite until he speared it through the brain.

He caught his breath; that had been quite a struggle. Then he whooped. “WAA-HOO! A fanny-slapping blue ribbon pinch-me-I-must-be-dreaming trophy fish! Boy, what I wouldn’t give for a camera!”

He stopped, and then added, “-accompanied by a quick warm ride for us out of here.”

Pausing again with a smirk, “And, as long as I’m wishing - Jos, naked, in a tub of hot chocolate.” Don't blame me, God. She's the one who wanted that.

He picked up his gear and his catch, and began the trek back to the cabin. He’d walked it enough this week that he knew the distance, roughly: 140 yards, more or less. An hour or so of daylight left. I could fish a little more, but I’d best not push my luck. Don’t want anything to jinx this day-

As if on cue, his concern materialized into reality. There, trotting towards him from the trees into the tiny clearing he was in.

A wolf. A huge wolf.

It slowed down and began to show its teeth as its eyes locked with Alan’s. Alan immediately looked slightly away. His scout survival manual was shouting at him.

“Avoid direct eye contact with the wolf as it will be interpreted as a challenge.”

He quickly stuffed the trout down the front neck of his coat. I’ve got the poker. I can keep him at bay. Dammit, one wild pooch is NOT gonna get Jocelyn’s food.

“A lone wolf will not threaten a full grown human, unless rabid. Packs of wolves will do so, rarely. Wolves hunt in packs of four to seven.”

That’s when he noticed the others trickling out of the trees. Four more, all between him and the cabin.

They began to spread out slowly, and then with more speed began to encircle him. The first wolf was the biggest, and was the chief aggressor, approaching him with fangs bared and beginning to snarl. Alan responded by slowly backing away, poker drawn, arms and shoulders spread out to increase his size to them. He had no other instruction about how to deal with five wolves.

As they flanked him, he darted his head back and forth in a desperate effort to keep track of each. Retreating, he noticed a tree to his right, about ten feet away. Maybe I should dart to the tree and climb it — if for nothing else than to buy time. He glanced to his left and then prepared to break for the pine. But as he looked back right, he saw the big one — he must be the leader, the alpha wolf — had seemingly anticipated his thoughts. It was standing right next to the trunk, effectively blocking his plan. What now — what do I — God help me —

Suddenly there was a small crash of glass on the tree trunk. A fireball exploded above the wolf as liquid fire rained down on it. It’s coat was now aflame, and it yelped/screamed as it jumped forward, rightward, then in a circle and then helter-skelter in a zigzag off through the woods, howling in pain and fright. The others now looked a little tenuous, almost spooked, yet they held their ground. Alan thought for a second, fire from heaven?

He was nearly correct. Jocelyn, his angel, stepped out into the clearing. She had no gloves on as she pulled the second small wine bottle from her coat. Using the lighter, she flared up the rag stuffed in the opening, secured with the bottle cork. Alan’s resolve sparked back to life along with it. With her in his corner, he felt he could fight off a pride of lions. He glanced back at his rear quadrant to see where the wolves now stood-

They were gone. Had they all tucked tail and left?

Then turning to the front, he saw the horrifying answer. They were doing what wolves do, attacking the smallest and weakest available prey. Jocelyn.

She backed up, quickly realizing how the tables had turned; she’d hoped the others would have run with the first explosion. Throwing her last firebomb at the closest wolf, she saw it sink into the snow unexploded as the carnivore nimbly dodged the missile. It jumped for her neck and she blocked it with her forearm, nearly being knocked off balance. But it now had ahold of the sleeve of her creamy chiffon coat, as a second wolf clamped down on the lower hem in a futile attempt to bite her leg. She saw the other two wolves closing fast. They jumped towards her torso, and confusingly only got mouthfuls of polyester.

Jocelyn had ducked down and slid out of the bottom of her coat. In her sweater and sweats, she broke in a run for the cabin.

The pack quickly recovered and took off towards her. As they did, the second wine bottle, fuse still burning, hit a tree in front of the last two trailing wolves. A line of flame four feet across suddenly blocked their path. The face of one of them was now on fire, and it screeched as it ran away. The wolf next to it was startled enough that it ran too. Alan ran up to and over the fire line as fast as his legs would pump.

Jocelyn screamed as the remaining two creatures caught up to her.

“JOS! COVER YOUR NECK! I’M COMING,” yelled Alan.

As the wolves jumped her back, she fell forward into the deep snow, now guarding the back of her neck with her arms as instructed. One bit deep into her right forearm and attempted to pull it away. The other dug its teeth into her left leg just above her knee. They now attempted to tug in opposite directions, as if trying to split her like a wishbone.

Poker in his left hand, Alan ran towards the closest beast. It kept pulling on Jocelyn’s arm but had her rescuer in the corner of its eye. Alan pulled the huge trout out of his coat and launched it just to the right of the animal, causing it to instinctively jump to it’s left. Which sealed its doom.

Alan had already left his feet, jumping towards his target’s anticipated arrival spot. He landed on the wolf like a pole-vaulter, impaling it through the chest with the poker. It’s ribs cracked and snapped as the steel spike with the big man behind it bisected its heart.

Alan jumped back up as his victim took its rapid, agonal last breaths. The last one still had ahold of Jocelyn’s leg. Her blood was staining the snow red in two spots. The wolf was hungry, and with the taste of hemoglobin it was not willing to give in, despite the fate of its friends.

“HYEAAAH” yelled Alan, waving his arms threateningly as he bounded towards the remaining canine. It released Jos’ leg but would not run, snarling and growling at the impatient man approaching it. Dammit, run off. I don’t have time to fight you. I’ve got to stop her from bleeding to death.

“If you have food, throw it to the wolf. It may be distracted enough to leave you alone.”

Alan sidestepped to grab the trout. It was bloody from the head wound he’d given it. Throwing it just over the head of the wolf, it landed three feet behind the furry tail.

The red-mouthed animal glanced back at the fish, then back at Jocelyn, with Alan standing over her in a protective pose. It stared at Alan for a few seconds, and then lowered its head in a deferential motion. The huge catch was in its jaws seconds later as it trotted out of sight.

Alan ran like a man possessed to the cabin, with his limp lover in his arms.

~o~O~o~

He burst through the door of the cabin, already honed in on his next task. He had to be successful. Failure would assuredly mean death for her.

He entered the bedroom and laid her gently but quickly on the bed. He grabbed one of the few unworn shirts from his suitcase — his white long sleeved dress shirt he’d packed for the interview — and with his hands assisted by his teeth, tore a few wide strips of cloth from it. He stripped off her sweats down to her t-shirt and underwear and rapidly scanned her body for other wounds. Only finding the two on her arm and leg, he looked quickly. Her leg was oozing blood fairly steadily, but not with a pulsing motion. Her forearm was also just oozing, and not as severely; combined, however, she’d likely lost a lot, Alan figured. Using thick strips of shirt cloth and some butter knives from the kitchen, he fashioned tourniquets and applied them on both limbs, placing them between the wounds and her heart. Then quickly covered her with blankets.

“Alan… that hurts…”

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I’ve got to stop your bleeding, if it works I’ll release them in just a little bit,” he blurted out rapidly. He wasn’t near done. He folded up what little clean fabric he had left and stuffed them into the wounds, then wrapped them tightly with more strips, making modified “pressure dressings”. He then elevated the wounds, packed snow around them to help stop the bleeding, and pressed hard on the leg wound to try to help it coagulate. I’ve never heard of using all of these techniques together, but hey, I’m trying to save a life, here.

Unable to think of anything more to do, he stayed beside her and held pressure on her leg. He looked at her face. Jocelyn’s eyes were shut, and she was grimacing from pain constantly, although the expression was more intense some moments than others. She was so pale. And she was taking deep heaving breaths, like she couldn’t get enough air.

“Baby, are you having any trouble breathing? Do you feel weak?”

“Yes… to both… nnngh,” she grunted through clenched teeth. “And… it hurts.”

He checked his watch. Twenty minutes since the tourniquets were applied. If they stayed on too long, she could have limb loss; he wasn’t sure how long “too long” was. He let the arm one loose, then the leg. Now the trick was to wait and watch to see if blood oozed into or around the dressings. Waiting. I hate this part. I need to be DOING something for her, not just sitting here.

“Alan…”

“Yeah, honey? Don’t be moving yet. Just be still. You can’t start bleeding again.”

“I feel… so cold… “

He got rid of the snow packing. That was probably a stupid thing to do. Stupid, stupid…

“Alan… you are not stupid…”

Oh God — I said that out loud?

“You saved my life… again. My hero, my Eagle Scout. You were… so awesome out there… I’m so proud of you…”

“No.” He was crying now. “Baby, I don’t deserve that. God, if I had just stayed here instead of trying to catch a rotten fish… you actually saved my life. I’d be shredded to bits if you hadn’t come along. You’re a life saver.”

“A… pineapple lifesaver?” She curled her right lip into a mild grin.

“Nope. Not today. Lime,” he smiled through his tears. “With those light green sweats you had on.”

“They’re… ‘Sweet Chartreuse’…”

“I swear I’ll never understand girl colors.”

“It’s part… of the feminine mystique…”

“So where did you learn to make Molotov cocktails? Don’t tell me Webelos.”

“Got my… anarchy badge,” she grinned, eyes closed.

Alan laughed while his heart broke. She was in trouble. And it was dark now. God. I’ve done all I know to do. She’s in your hands right now. Please don’t let us down.

********************************
TO BE CONCLUDED ON 12/05
********************************

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of these characters to any actual person living or dead is coincidental

Thanks to Sephrena Lynn Miller for a quick first read!

Thanks to the "BCTS Closeteers" - especially Jana - for help with the pic!

Thanks to Tels for special help!

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment! (Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!)

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

"I'm a laughable failure. Now my screw up has doomed Jocelyn. I've killed her, as good as if I'd shot her..."

CHAPTER 13

Night had fallen. Alan held a bedside vigil, constantly listening to make sure Jocelyn was breathing regularly.

At one-fifteen a.m. she awoke. “Alan… “

“What is it, love. Are you hurting?”

“Less. Alan… I can't leave you.”

“Huh?”

“I thought I could be strong enough… but I’m not. I’m not able to stand… a minute apart from you… even if it’s for your own good... please don't leave.”

“Baby, I’m never leaving. Never. I think you’re having a bad dream. Just know I’ve been right here by you all the time.” He lightly kissed her on the lips, the cheeks, the forehead, and repeated all multiple times, as she weakly wept.

Feeling her pulse become thready, he figured her blood pressure was low. He heated up some snow and had her drink as much as she could tolerate.

~o~O~o~

Four forty-two a.m. She whispered, “Alan.” Her breathing was more labored.

“HUH. Unnph. Ah, I’m awake… yes. What, darling.”

“Alan… please listen. I think… I’m dying… and,”

“Sh-sh-sh, babe. No. No you’re not. I won’t let you. I won’t let it happen. Please stop talking like that.”

“Please, Alan… just listen… to me. Please?”

He gritted his molars to keep from sobbing. “N’kay.”

“Alan… if I die… please leave me… and live… don’t stay here… and die too… promise me.”

He stayed quiet, shoulders moving up and down in spasms of slow, rhythmic jerks. Then, in a quavering voice through tight teeth, “I’m… nvr… lving… yu.”

“Promise me… Alan.”

“Nu.”

“Alan…” she was weeping now, “please… promise me!”

He broke into open wailing, holding his face in his hands.

“Please… Alan…”

He couldn’t answer verbally. He continued to cover his face and bawl, but he nodded his head.

“Thank you… Alan… I love you… my whole life… of hell was… worth it… for these past days… with you…”

He choked back some tears, and whispered, “Pleeease… don’t leave, Jos… please don’t leave me… please, fight…” and then, his wailing resumed.

~o~O~o~

Alan checked his watch. Six fifty-nine a.m.

Jocelyn was still breathing, but he had not been able to get her to speak for the last half hour or so. She’d still open her eyes and look at him for a second, but then they’d close again. She was dying. And he didn’t want to continue to live without her.

Why did I agree to try to live after she was gone? Now I have to honor that. But I don’t want to. My life is unlivable without her. What the hell will I have to live for?

He turned his red, now angry eyes skyward as he began a silent prayer. God! Why let her die now? Why not let us both die in the crash, at the bottom of the lake? Why allow her — and me — all this pain? I think I still believe that you’re really there, but I’m guessing that you’re a sadistic bastard. You heard me. Letting me get hope — not just for our rescue, but also for our future life — just to snatch it away. Helping me with the little requests, like for fish bait and stove fuel, but not sending a rescue? Hey, how many times have I asked for that now? I’m giving you one more chance to prove you’re not an ass. KEEP JOS ALIVE — SAVE HER, AND SEND HELP NOW. Or are you too busy snowing us in further?

He laid his head down on the bed next to Jocelyn, stroking her unbitten arm. He listened to her breathing, the only noise in this silent place. Except for the faint hum.

Alan’s head shot up. A hum?

He jumped to his feet. What was it — a snowmobile? A sick bird, or a sick joke from God, again? As he leapt into the big room, he noticed the rays of light streaming in the loft windows, the first bright sunbeams he’d seen since they’d been stuck here. He flew up the ladder to the loft, as the humming got suddenly louder. He opened up a window, and knew what was causing the noise.

Plane!

It suddenly appeared straight overhead, maybe only thirty feet from the roof, and flew away from Alan and the window. He now only saw the rear tail becoming more distant with each second. His body was nearly completely over the ledge, with arms waving wildly.

“HEY! HEEEEYYYY!”

Gone, dammit! He had to be Search and Rescue. He was flying low to look for signs of us — or someone.

His heart sank. Who knows when the plane would come over again, or if it would at all? He was probably combing a vast area, since no one knows exactly where we traveled. And I had no signal of any kind out ‘cause I thought it was still snowing. I’m a laughable failure. Now my screw up has doomed Jocelyn. I’ve killed her, as good as if I’d shot her through-

Be quiet, Lacy.

He heard Jocelyn’s strong, loving voice. Drowning out Lacy’s, and all others.

Alan, no matter what happens, you are a success, a hero. And I know that while I am still breathing, you will try with all of your might to save me — to save us. Because that’s who you really are. You never give up. You never quit. I can always count on you to fight as long as there’s hope. That’s the Alan I know.

Hearing her voice — in his soul, it came as clear as if she was talking into his ear — did something to Alan. Despite his lack of sleep, his achy muscles, the seeming hopelessness of the situation, he felt as if he had touched a live light socket. Thoughts began racing through his mind as his body straightened and vision became laser focused.

I need a signal. One he’ll see from miles away, if he doesn’t fly right by here again.

More words from a page came — the exact ones he needed.

He knew what to do. But first, the stuck damper needed to get open.

Fireplace is the only reliable spot. There’s too much deep snow outside to build one there. So, damper — you WILL become unstuck, and NOW.

He grabbed the handle at the top of the fireplace inside the burn area. Pulling with more might than he’d pulled anything in recent years, there was no budge. He reached into the hearth, then after pulling out the wood grate, crouched into it. Using his legs and back, he pushed up on the stuck metal plate of the old damper. Nothing happened. He squatted low, then exploded into the plate with his shoulders and shoulder blades. His legs burned as he pushed. He was sure his face was crimson as he exerted every muscle he knew he had, and a few he’d just become aware of, to put pressure on the stuck device.

“NNNNGGHH… MOVE, DAMMIT… OPEN, SAYS ME!”

CRACK!

The sound was so loud that for a second Alan wondered if his back had broken. Then the damper fell apart all around him, and clanged at his feet in a couple of broken metal plates plus a handle.

Works for me. Flue’s open.

He used the axe he’d brought in from the woodshed to cut up the wooden dining room chairs in one minute. He piled the pieces into the fireplace; then set more quickly ripped out book pages under the wood, and doused it all lightly with liquid camping stove fuel for good measure. The fire immediately caught. It produced heat, but he needed thicker smoke. He put the somewhat wet wood logs from the first aborted fire attempt days ago on too; now there was some white smoke. A dash outside to get some fresh pine branches with needles (shaking the snow off first of course) proved to do the trick. Once the branches went on the fire, plenty of white smoke was going up the chimney.

A quick check of Jocelyn showed she was still breathing. Hang in there, baby.

~o~O~o~

The A-frame house wasn’t as visible from the outside as usual. That’s because of the snow that had built up this week — the first floor was covered in drifts. The only two windows visible were the ones at the front on the second level, looking out from the loft. And now one of the windows was opening.

Alan climbed out onto the ledge, a drawstring from the first floor curtains tied around his waist and leading back inside the windowsill. Standing on the sill, he could almost just reach the metal roof of the A-frame with his fingertips. He squatted slightly, then jumped. Grabbing ahold of the roof ledge now, he grunted as he pulled himself up onto the structure, defiantly undeterred by the snow buildup. Now straddling the rooftop with one foot on each steeply pitched side, he started reeling in the curtain drawstring. Coming through the window now were two blankets rolled together, with the other end of the drawstring tied around them.

~o~O~o~

Cyrus “Hawkeye” Thatchett flew low and solo over the trees, scanning for any sign of human life, especially distress. This was his thirty-sixth year of working with Montana Search and Rescue, and this routine was old hat to him. He didn’t hold out much hope for this search though. Looking for two men, both reported to have left Missoula for Helena on December 24th, five days ago. The HiPat search along the interstate route had been fruitless. So now in his trusty single engine Cessna Skylane, he was flying over the smattering of little winding high altitude roads connecting highway 12 to Helena in alternate routes. Five days was a long time to be stranded in the snow. And still be alive, that is. So much had piled up recently; they could be covered in feet of it. If they were really in these hills and mountains, their bodies might not be found ‘til spring.

“Eagle base to two three foxtrot, can you read me, over,” came a monotone voice. It was Richard, the new director of MS&R for this region. He was an import from the east coast. Cyrus hadn’t warmed to him yet, to put it diplomatically.

“Eagle, this is 23 Foxtrot.”

“23 Foxtrot, we may have you abort this search for a fresher one north of here. A man drove off into the night after getting drunk and fighting with his wife early this morning. Have you had any luck with current search yet, over.”

“No luck yet, Eagle.”

Richard Sponn, new director of Eagle base operations, sighed. When were these country hicks going to learn to speak correctly with aviation language? Cyrus hadn’t ended with an ‘over’. “23 Foxtrot, how’s your fuel, over.”

“Eagle base: pretty good. At least 3 hours left… over,” then releasing the com so he wouldn’t be heard, “you just can’t stand me not saying ‘over’ every time, can you, y’ greenhorn.” Cy wore a passive-aggressive sneer.

“23 Foxtrot, stand by while we arrange new mission parameters, over.”

Cyrus sighed. He understood the reasoning for abandoning the current search; he just didn’t like giving up on anyone. When he had to turn north, he’d fly over some of the terrain he’d already covered one last time.

Something caught the corner of his eye. He pulled out his binoculars. Sure enough, there was a smoke trail, originating in one of the multiple small valleys. That could mean any number of things, most of them unremarkable-

He held his breath. The smoke was no longer in a continuous flume near the ground line. There now appeared big interrupted puffs…

“23 Foxtrot to Eagle base. Mobilize rescue to just north of Red Mountain. We have a distress signal coming from there. Will get you exact GPS coordinates in a minute, over.”

Richard’s response sounded skeptical. “Foxtrot, Base here. Please confirm with visual first. What type of distress signal, over.”

“Smoke, Eagle.”

There’s no way I’m ringing the bell for a wild goose chase over someone’s campfire, thought Richard. Now if Cy saw other signs of distress, then fine. “Foxtrot, confirm visually please, over.”

I’m visualizin’ the smoke, dagnabbit, fumed Cy. “Eagle base. MOBILIZE THE RESPONSE TEAM. The smoke is coming in three definite puffs followed by a prolonged stream, then is being repeated. It’s smoke signal for mayday, OVER.”

Richard was getting irritated. He was about to — civilly — read Cyrus the riot act. Then he noticed the stares of three of the base personnel. “Boss… that’s the Boy Scout / Native American S.O.S. - three puffs,” said Brian, Richard’s #2 man.

“Eagle base to 23 Foxtrot. We are mobilizing the team. Please respond with GPS coordinates ASAP. Over.”

“THANK you,” spat Cyrus, then picked the com back up and said “Roger that.” Three puffs. Any cub scout worth his salt would know that.

~o~O~o~

Please, God. Let him see. Let someone see, prayed Alan, working the chimney smoke with his brown blanket.

Then, he heard the plane again. Looking behind him, he saw it making a beeline for the cabin.

“HEEEEYYY!” - He said, flailing. He then motioned wildly towards the red blanket he had cut in half, folded into a pattern and laid on the roof.

~o~O~o~

Cyrus saw a man on the roof of a cabin, standing next to the smoking chimney. He was gesticulating about something-

“What in tarnation... !” He grabbed the com.

“Eagle base. Recommend we send the AirEvac ‘copter. I have made visual contact with a man on a roof; he’s laid out cloth in the shape of a red cross, and he looks like he’s havin’ a conniption fit. Strongly suspect a medical emergency. If these are the two we’re looking for, I don’t see the other one. Over.”

~o~O~o~

For a second, Alan was terrified as it seemed the plane was beginning to dip it’s right wing to bank away. But no, it started alternately dipping both its wings. It looked like it was waving at him. It then passed directly over him and through the white plume, making swirly smoke rings in the air.

He saw. He saw! OK, God. This isn’t over yet. You’re still in the doghouse with me until Jocelyn lives, and recovers intact. Thanks, though. Alan made his way to hop back inside the window.

~o~O~o~

The rescue helicopter had made a textbook deep snow landing in a small clearing near the cabin. It was now yawing towards its nose, but was steady and stable. Alan had run out at the noise and motioned wildly to the cabin entrance. Jocelyn’s breathing had been getting shallower. The EMTs were thankful that the front door entrance had been kept relatively shoveled — it was much easier and faster to transport their patient out that way than try to feed the stretcher through one of the loft windows.

“Is she going to be OK?” Alan shouted, following them as they rushed her to the ‘copter.

They gave no answer, intently evaluating the pale woman they were loading through the side door. There was enough room for Alan, so he boarded too. He warned the crew about Jocelyn’s transitioning status. The warning part was actually to emphasize that although they were to look up her old records and insurance info under the name Joseph O’Donnell, they were to refer to her as a woman named Jocelyn. Alan found himself wishing that they would show some reaction — any kind — to that news; the fact that it seemed to not faze them as they tried to save her emphasized how serious her condition had become.

As the airship took off for Helena, the two EMTs began to work even more furiously on her. One of them slipped a breathing tube down her throat as the other one prepared to do chest compressions. Alan could only watch terrified as they performed CPR on his reason for living.

~o~O~o~

CHAPTER 14

Darkness.

Tied down. Imprisoned.

I'm being... held captive... no, tortured... experimented on...

"Take a deep breath, sir. Now hold it, now blow it out."

Jocelyn coughed, and the cough startled her to consciousness. She was gradually aware of awakening in a foreign place. And unlike Christmas morning with Alan, she did NOT feel safe. She was trapped.

She was unable to talk. A gag was in her mouth, and stuffed down her throat. Her arms and legs were tied down at the wrists and ankles. There were tubes and wires and beeping monitors all around. She wasn’t at home, or in the cabin, but in… a laboratory of some sort? Was she part of some science fiction/horror experiment? She started to writhe around in a desperate attempt to get free.

“Hey there, buddy. Relax. Just breathe,” said a detached voice. Jocelyn turned her neck — ow! That scraped my throat to do that — and saw a man in maroon scrubs, patting her on the shoulder, but watching a monitor. He didn’t care about her; he was just doing the dirty deeds for whichever mad scientist ran this place.

“Max! I told you to alert me when you started to do this!” A blonde woman in blue scrubs and a stethoscope around her neck sped into the room. “Hey there, honey. My name is Sasha. I’m your nurse; you’re in the hospital, and in the intensive care unit. Max here is the respiratory therapist, and he’s testing your lung strength so we can see if we can finally take you off of the ventilator.”

“He’s got good inspiratory force,” yawned Max. “Should be OK to extubate.”

Sasha walked over and grabbed his arm, pulling him to the side. “Didn’t you get the full report on this patient when you came on duty? She’s to be called her female name and referred to as ‘she’.”

“But it’s a guy.”

Sasha’s nails dug into his bicep, and he winced. “SHE is not an ‘IT’. Dr. Rast gave specific instructions regarding this. Shall I tell him you don’t want to comply?”

Max shook his head. He liked his butt. He didn’t need Rast biting it off. “I-I’m sorry, miss. I haven’t had my coffee yet this morning. I’ll call Dr. Ingram — he’s your pulmonologist-”

“That’s lung specialist, hon,” explained Sasha.

“- and if he wants, I’ll be back to pull that tube out. Then you’ll be able to talk.”

Sasha stayed with Jocelyn, holding her hand and telling her what had been going on. It was January 4th. She was starting her 6th consecutive day in the ICU at St. Peter’s hospital in Helena, arriving there via Montana Search and Rescue. There were two episodes where her heart stopped due to critical blood loss— one en route, and one just after arrival. She’d developed fluid in her lungs and has a mild pneumonia, necessitating the ventilator. Not to mention the six pints of blood transfusions, two operations to repair her wounds as well as beginning a series of rabies shots. It was a miracle that she was alive.

Sasha searched Jocelyn’s face for signs of comprehension. They had no way of knowing yet if she had suffered brain damage from the cardiac arrests, and if so, how much. Her patient seemed to nod her head appropriately as she talked. That’s encouraging, she hoped.

Jocelyn made a writing-with-pen-like motion with her right hand. Sasha smiled brightly. She wanted to write a note! That’s super encouraging. The nurse brought a notepad with a big pencil, and untied Jocelyn’s wrist restraints. She scribbled out a fast message and showed it to Sasha.

“Why haven’t I been awake for any of this until now?”

“Oh! Sorry honey, I forgot to tell you. You had such pain, and you were fighting the ventilator so much, that your docs thought it would be best to keep you sedated with medicine until you healed enough. And today, they thought you had. I turned off your sedatives about fifteen minutes before Max did his stuff with you this morning.”

Jocelyn wrote more. “Alan…?”

“Aahhh… your special friend,” Sasha said with twinkly eyes. “He caused quite a ruckus here. Insisted on staying with you around the clock, and we have strict visiting hours. He went toe-to-toe with Dr. Rast about it, brave soul. We finally agreed for him to stay in the ICU waiting area and even sleep there. We’ve rarely allowed that. He’s probably out there now, waiting for us to get your tube out so we can let him back in here.

“Or, possibly, he could be at work. Did you know that he went and interviewed for a job here in Helena two days ago, and got it? I tell you, he seems like an impressive guy. You are one lucky girl.”

Jocelyn was already thinking otherwise. He’s started his job. Getting on with his life. As he should. He deserves the best out of life. And I… I am not the best. She looked at Sasha. Her nurse was gorgeous. Long wavy blonde hair, pixie face, under 5’6”, curvy and huge breasts that would be cannons if she wore the right bra. And no ring on her left hand.

Jocelyn wrote again. “Do you like him? You and he would make a good couple.”

Sasha read this with confusion and a little dismay. Then, raising one eyebrow, she smiled slightly. She came towards Jocelyn’s face and whispered in her ear.

“Sorry… I like girls, hon.”

Jocelyn now wore the look of dismay. Darn. She would have been so right for him. Yay!... calm down, Jos. Remember: this love was a pipe dream. A pipe dream.

“Okay, we’re ready to take your breathing tube out.” Max had returned. The procedure was mercifully quick. She was given breathing medicine in a mist right after, and put on an oxygen mask, which they were quickly able to convert to a small two pronged nose tube. Thankfully, the foot restraints were also taken off.

Sasha was standing by. “Now, missy. Can you try talking some?”

“I — kkk!” Jocelyn grabbed her neck and grimaced in discomfort.

“Oooo-kay… sometimes after having that tube in for a while your vocal chords are really sore. Don’t talk and hurt yourself. Sipping some hot fluid and giving your voice a rest will be best. You’ll probably be lots better tomorrow. Let’s just use the pad and pencil until then.”

“Well, hello there, sleeping beauty!” The booming welcome came from a portly man in the room. He was mostly bald with wisps of gray hair, a wide smile framed with a white handlebar mustache plus short white beard, and small glasses perched on his nose. The name on his crisp buttoned white coat said “B.J. RAST, M.D., SURGERY”. Behind him stood another doctor, this one thin, clean-shaven and appearing more reserved than the big one, but still smiling. His ID tag said “Ingram, M.D.”.

Both doctors walked to the bed. Rast continued to talk. “About time you healed up enough to wake up. Usually all it takes is one kiss from Prince Charming to do the trick. Your prince has been lavishing you with smooches multiple times every day… he’s got a thing or two to learn about breaking spells, I guess. How are you feeling?”

Jocelyn wrote on her pad while Sasha pointed to her throat and shook her head. Dr. Ingram grunted, and nodded his. Jos turned the pad to Dr. Rast. “A little sore in the throat, otherwise OK.”

Both docs examined her and asked questions, including questions meant to test her brain function. She passed with flying colors according to Dr. Rast. They also answered her questions to them regarding her physical condition.

“I like how things are looking. Don’t get me wrong; you’re not out of the woods yet. But at least you’re out of the quicksand,” chuckled Rast.

“Thank you, Santa,” wrote Jocelyn, smiling and tearing with appreciation.

“I get that a lot, miss,” returned Rast. “By the way, your boyfriend was very insistent that you be referred to in the female gender. You have a real keeper there, if you ask me.” The two doctors then left.

All of this activity after nearly a week of bedrest left Jocelyn exhausted, and Sasha let her sleep. In 30 minutes, she awoke again, this time to two voices just outside her door.

“She can’t talk just yet, Mr. S, but she can write notes.” “Okay.”

Sasha, and… Alan!

Oh God, no. I’m not ready to see him yet. I’m going to have to tell him that we’re through. I just can’t do it now, especially not being able to talk. And especially since I can’t bear the thought of living without him. Maybe if he thinks I’m still asleep he’ll leave.

Alan and Sasha walked in. “Oh, she’s still snoozing. If you want to go out in the waiting area, I can call you as soon as she wakes, Mr. S.” whispered the nurse.

“Can’t I just stay in here quietly and be with her?” he breathed back.

“Sure. Just be aware she needs her rest.” Jocelyn heard the soft falls of Sasha’s footsteps leaving the room.

Jocelyn lay motionless. She could hear Alan breathe on occasion. In a minute, she heard his chair scoot on the floor, pulling up to her bed. Then she felt that he was grasping her hand gently. And heard him start to whisper.

“Jocelyn. I’m so happy that you’re recovering. If you had died, I don’t know what I would have done. I’ve wanted to talk to you so badly; I just can’t wait any longer. So I hope you can hear me on some level, maybe even in your soul.

“We had an intense experience together. I will always treasure it — except the ‘you almost dying’ part. And I know that I asked you to marry me. After getting back to real life, I can say that I was wrong to do that; I acted too hastily. I’m so sorry, baby. You see, I… I just can’t marry you.”

He then paused. Jocelyn felt as if she was starting to die all over again. But I can’t cry; I can’t let on I hear him. That would destroy me even more. God, Alan, get it over with and leave so I can suffer alone.

But he stayed, and began whispering again. “The main reason is because even though to me you’re all woman, your documents still have you listed as male, and two men marrying still isn’t legal in Montana. So until that law — or your documents — change, we’re just going to have to shack up together. I've been looking in the paper for an apartment for us. Besides, I’ve already tried the five-two, blond blue-eyed D-cup genetic girl. Or have you never seen a picture of Lacy?”

Jocelyn’s eyes opened as big as saucers. She raised her head to look at Alan, who was sporting his glorious toothy smile with just a hint of devilishness in his eyes.

“And baby, I’m way, way better at faking being asleep than you are.”

Jocelyn was pouring tears of relief, joy, and release. She sat up and reached for Alan.

“Watch your right forearm, Jos. It’s still pretty fresh from surgery.”

Like she could care. She wrapped her right arm around him as best she could, and grabbed him in a tight squeeze around his shoulders with her left. They hugged and rocked for what seemed like twenty minutes. Alan whispered into her ear.

“I love you. I love you so much. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you back for what you’ve done for me. I know I will face judgment and hate and discrimination, but it’s worth it to me, as long as I get to be with you. I want to stand beside you and be strong for you when others try to treat you — us — with disgust. So see — I am going into this eyes wide open. It’s my choice.

“And as soon as it’s feasible, I will marry you; again, if you’ll have an old guy like me.” Jocelyn nodded as vigorously as she could so he would understand. They kissed each other’s necks, cheeks, foreheads; Jocelyn avoided open mouth, until Alan thoughtfully produced some Tic-Tacs. After she’d had five of them, she allowed their tongues to mingle.

Eventually, they broke, and Alan turned serious. “I’m not going to have this romance fail. I’d like us both to start counseling, both as a couple and individually, as soon as you get out of here. I know I’ll have to scrimp and save to do so, and we may have to pool our resources. But we don’t need our past emotional baggage screwing this up. Would you be okay with that?” He got two ‘thumbs up’ from his mute sweetheart, followed by another long kiss.

When their osculation paused, Jocelyn wrote on her pad. “So you heard everything I whispered to you that night in the cabin? You weren’t asleep?”

“I’ll have to say, when I heard you saying that stuff, I wanted to tell you how wrong you were. You were trying to be sneaky there, ‘speaking to my subconscious’ and all. So I wanted to get you back in a sneaky but loving way. I was going to do it the next night, then the wolves and everything happened. But this was a pretty sweet revenge, wouldn’t you say?” He was grinning again.

She looked lovingly into his eyes. Then she began unbuttoning his shirt, a fog of sudden lust on her face. Alan whispered, “Honey, we’re here in the hospital…” as she reached inside to stroke his bare chest.

She then found his nipple and pinched the hell out of it.

“OW OW OW- okay, okay, are we even now?” he whimpered.

~o~O~o~

CHAPTER 15

Jocelyn looked in the mirror.

Her wedding dress sparkled in the reflection. Her long, waist length hair had been dyed to look it’s full sleek natural black again, rather than showing the gray that had crept in the last few years. Cynthia — her best friend and maid of honor — and Alan’s sister Charlene were fussing over her, helping perfect her makeup and getting everything in order. The ceremony was ten minutes away.

“I can’t believe this is happening. It’s like a dream come true,” she whispered.

“About time, too. You’re forty-four, Alan’s sixty-two and your Dad is seventy,” Cynthia muttered. “What took him so long?”

“Cyn, you can bring up all the negatives you want,” Jos sang. “Nothing can spoil the joy of this day for me.”

A knock came on the door. “All you hens decent in there?” It was Jocelyn’s father.

“As long as the groom’s not with you, come in.”

“Hi there, daughter. Got a surprise for ya.” Her father walked in followed by an unexpected figure.

“Mom?... MOM! Oh my God! I thought…”

“Hello… ah… ‘Jocelyn’.” She blushed as she said her daughter’s name. “Goodness me, you really look lovely.”

Seamus O’Donnell hugged his wife. “This is still a hard thing for her. But a big part of her wants to have you in her life again. I’ve been telling her what an impressive child you are. And she finally read the book.”

The book. Is there no end to the good that it will accomplish? Jocelyn thought.

“Mom… thank you so much for coming.”

Katie O’Donnell stammered. “Honey… can I call you “JoJo” like your father does? I think that would be easiest for me…”

“Absolutely.” Jocelyn smiled. She knew “JoJo” was similar to the “Joe” she had despised for so long. But “JoJo” was feminine, and fine. Especially if it meant being a part of her parent’s lives again.

“Mom… can I have a hug?”

Both women embraced and began to weep. Everyone in the room wept.

Cyn dialed a number on her cell phone. “Tell that organist to keep playing hymns for at least ten minutes more (sniff). Major makeup damage control is about to commence.”

Finally the group arrived into the church foyer.

“Mom, the usher will seat you at the front. Let’s talk more at the reception, OK? I love you so much.”

“I love you too, JoJo. And… your father has another surprise for you, I think.”

Jocelyn turned to the man whose arm she held. “Dad?”

He looked at his daughter’s eyes. “Why don’t you call me… Daddy.”

Cyn mouthed to the front of the sanctuary, “MORE ORGAN HYMNS!”

~o~O~o~

Seventeen minutes late, the ceremony began. Charlene was one of the bridesmaids, as was young Haley O’Donnell, all sixteen years of her. Aleisha and Alexis, Alan's twins, were also in the procession. Jake O’Donnell was a little old for the classic ring bearer role at nine, but he was so unfocused at times that it was wisely decided that he wouldn’t be a young groomsman. A mostly bald Alan Sarkisian stood at the front of the room with the minister. As the wedding march started to play, old Seamus O’Donnell escorted a vision in white lace and satin down the aisle.

An angel, thought Alan. My snow angel.

When the music stopped, the minister spoke. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate…

“…the tenth anniversary of Alan and Jocelyn Sarkisian, with a renewal of their vows, and a recreation of their ceremony, except this time with the actual father of the bride giving away his daughter.”

The ceremony was fairly similar to their marriage ten years ago. Jocelyn still fit perfectly into her original wedding gown. However, Seamus did get to say “her mother and I” when the question “who gives this woman’s hand in marriage?” was stated. And when the “bride” and “groom” said their vows, they embellished it with “I truly, madly, deeply do”. By the end, there was nary a dry eye in the place (except for Jake, who was counting the seconds until they could get to the food).

Finally Alan and Jocelyn walked down the aisle as a commemoration of their 10 years as man and wife. Then pictures were taken — getting Jake to smile while simultaneously keeping Haley from sending/reading texts was a challenge — and the whole group left for the reception hall.

~o~O~o~

Jocelyn got the two children together. “Are you two really wanting to do this? You know you don’t have to. Dad and I love both of you whether you do or not.”

Haley said, “Mom — I want to. I’ve practiced this, I want to be part of this.”

“If she gets to then I get to!” spouted Jake.

Dingdingdingdingding, rang a glass at the head table of the reception.

Alan’s “best man”, his business partner at Jocelyn marketing consultants, gave a speech. So did various others. But the most anticipated speakers were saved till last.

Beginning with Jason Alambrus Barney, the area LGBT champion.

“Jocelyn and I have not always been friends. I approached her in hopes that she would help us with our activism her after her and Alan’s story hit the news. Her response to me was classic Jocelyn: ‘I don’t want to be a gender crusader.’ So I filed her under ‘lacks the courage to influence change’. Oh, how wrong I was.

“Jocelyn’s style has never been to be part of a march, or filing a lawsuit, or doing TV interviews. She just wanted to be a woman… a full expression of womanhood. A woman who visited her neighbors down the block when they were hospitalized, and made sure their mail and papers were picked up, and their pets taken care of. One who volunteered at the women’s shelter, and made regular visits to the local retirement centers to help them deal with the digital age. She has made service part of her everyday life, while not shying from the fact that she is a transgendered female. As a result, she has reached people that I would never be able to reach, softening their hearts towards the rest of us.

“She will tell you that her courage to love ferociously comes from the love and support of her husband, the man she calls her hero. He has supported her emotionally and morally, and is a place of refuge she can run to when life gets tough. The funny thing is, when you talk to him, that’s what he says about her — she’s his angel, and she transformed his life, by helping him overcome verbal abuse that just about did him in. To first hear her talk, she sounds like the antithesis of the modern liberated woman; she idolizes her husband. Yet what has happened is their love for each other liberated each of them from their own personal prisons.

“Then there’s their story, the book “Cruiser Lake”. Not only did it spend a little time on the NYT bestseller list, but also many credit this book as one of the catalysts that led to the Boy Scouts of America dropping their policies against LGBT members and leaders early this year.

“One of the most unique ways they have served my community is their aggressive search for and adoption of children who are not only without a family, but are transgendered or intersexed. I understand that the kids will be speaking later, so I won’t steal their thunder.

“Just one more thing: we all need to say a big “thank you” to Alan’s sister Charlene, who turned his heart to be open to our people. Without her, Alan and Jocelyn never would have happened.”

“I just planted the seed, Alan kept it nurtured and Jocelyn added moisture and nutrition,” Charlene yelled.

“Are you saying I gave Alan a load of manure?” Jocelyn laughed, and everyone else did too.

Then, Seamus O’Donnell spoke.

“Well, hello everyone. Thanks for giving an old goat a chance to bleat.

“I was very angry and disappointed to hear about Joseph’s decision to change sex. I blamed it on a lot of things. On his mother, for babying him too much as a child. On new-fangled new-age perversion. And of course, I blamed myself for being a drunkard instead of a proper father. Nevertheless, my wife and I considered Joseph dead to us when he told us he was changing into a girl. (That’s what I called what he was doin’.)

“Then one day, I got a phone call from this salesman who wants to take me out to a steak dinner. Well, I never met a piece of dead cow I didn’t like. He meets with me and tells me who he is, and that he’s marrying my Joseph, who now goes by Jocelyn. Well, I almost walked out on him then and there. But Alan, blast it, has this smile that would make a Jew eat bacon. He tells me he wants nothing of me but a chance to take me out to a great restaurant every two months or so. I shouldn’t have agreed to it. But he could sell ice to Eskimos, this guy.

“Then I get a copy of this book, this “Cruiser Lake”. It tells the tale of Alan and JoJo and how they got started. A great story. Those of you who were invited to this exclusive night got a complimentary copy, and if you didn’t read it yet, shame on you. Well, I read it. I laughed at the part where Alan’s pants fell down in the snow because he had no belt.”

Alan smiled and shook his head. I can’t believe I included that part in the book.

“And although it took years — and a lot of great steak dinners — my heart started to melt from its deep freeze. It took a while; too long, dang it. Nine months ago I finally agree to meet JoJo. I didn’t want to love her. She took my Joe away from me. But I couldn’t help to fall in love with her. And now my wife — JoJo’s mother — is reconciling to our daughter too. I told JoJo that I was sorry I wasn’t there for her for so long, even made a comment about how I wish I could have given her away to Alan. And from that comment, here we all are.

“I offered to use some of my dry cleaning riches to bless them. I found the owner of that cabin up by Red Mountain, and proposed to JoJo and Alan that I buy it and give it to them as a gift — you know, so they can go there whenever they want to and reminisce. I’ll let them tell you their answer.”

Both Alan and Jocelyn cupped their palms to frame their lips and yelled, “Hell no!” Laughter filled the hall.

“Lastly, Alan, JoJo: I want to thank you for the gifts of Haley and Jake. We had only one child; with that child being female now and taking on Alan’s name, our dream of grandchildren — and someone to carry on the family name — seemed lost. With their adoption, we have grandkids. With their adopted name of O’Donnell, we continue to have a legacy…” At this point, Seamus had to stop and compose himself.

Haley’s was short and sweet. “My name is Haley O’Donnell. I am a transgender female. I am proud of who I am, and I know my Mom and Dad will always love me and always be proud of me. Thank you all for accepting me and my family.”

Jake’s was even shorter. “I’m Jake O’Donnell. I’m inter… intersix? But I’m all boy, and I like baseball and sausage pizza and the Colorado Rockies. Go Rockies!”

Then the dancing started. Jocelyn cried when her father danced with her. Alan swept Katie O’Donnell off her feet. And the anniversary couple danced to their signature song: Joe Cocker’s “You Are So Beautiful”.

~o~O~o~

The deejay continued to play songs, and people continued to dance. Alan and Jocelyn were now sitting down in a warped circle of chairs, surrounded by family members. Many significant conversations occurred simultaneously….

~o~O~o~

Katie O’ Donnell watched Seamus dance with Haley. She then felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Mrs. O’Donnell? Jocelyn’s mother? I’m Phoebe Sarkisian, Alan’s mother.”

“Oh! Pleased to meet you, Phoebe! Seamus has told me so much about Alan. And I feel like I know him so much, reading ‘Cruiser Lake’. You did a good job of raising that young man; you’re obviously a good mother. I’m hoping to get to know him better; I’m kind of the ‘last straggler’ to come around and join the family.”

“How’s that going for you, by the way?” Phoebe never was one to mince words.

“It’s… oh… I’m sorry. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me, dear. I’ll bet we have more in common than you think.”

“Oh… it’s…” She sighed. “Everyone here treats all of this so normal, as if they’re not bothered by it at all. They all know JoJo used to be a man. It’s as if her now being female is the most natural thing.”

“They only asked people who are accepting of them. This whole shindig is an ‘invitation only’ affair.”

“Why can’t I feel the same way? I want a relationship with her… why does my heart still ache about this?”

“Just because you gained a fantastic daughter doesn’t mean that you didn’t lose a son. You sound like you’re still grieving.”

“I think I’ve still been holding on to hope that one day Joseph will ‘see the light’ and come to his senses… this ceremony kind of seals it for me; that day will never happen.”

Phoebe smiled. “Is that really such a bad thing? Look how happy she is. I know my Alan has never been happier; definitely not with Zelda and Brunhilda.”

“Who…?”

“The two witches he was married to previously.”

Katie laughed. “I know my child is happier than she’s ever been. I know it. And there’s no way I would magically make her male again if it meant being as unhappy as he was then. It’s just… sex changing goes against what I’ve been taught, what I believe.”

“Are you a Christian? I am.”

“Yes. ….You are? How did you deal with this? Does your church believe that homosexuality and transsexualism is okay with God?”

“No. They don’t. And believe you me, when I go to church every week there’s always someone who’s praying that my son will “repent” and avoid hell.”

“That’s what scares me to death,” Katie shook. “I’m afraid Joseph — JoJo — will go to hell if she stays this way. That’s what my pastor teaches.”

“Hm. I’ve done some reading of the good book, and I’ve drawn a different conclusion. Do you ever sin, Katie?”

“Every day, Phoebe. If getting angry, or getting fearful, or oversleeping is sin — and often they are, I believe — then I do daily. But I pray for God to forgive me.”

“Gluttony is a sin, per the Bible. Yet, despite my repeated trials to avoid it, here I am, a fatso at eighty-four. And I pray for forgiveness daily, and for grace. Yet still this is so. So are we going to hell?”

“No! The whole deal with forgiveness is that we all need it! There’s only one sin that I’ve heard is unforgivable — the ‘blaspheming of the Spirit’, whatever that is.”

“That’s where you take something God did, and say the devil did it. That’s not what Jocelyn’s done. And both she and Alan have been daily praying people since that frozen lake episode. Is changing your sex sinning? I don’t think so, not anymore. But even if it is, since it’s not ‘unforgivable’, then I think JoJo’s graveyard elevator is going up, not down. It’s not our job to police our kid’s virtues and sins, anyway. Our job, ‘ccording to the book, is to love. Love thy neighbor as thyself. So that’s what I do with Alan and Jocelyn and my grandkids.”

“I… I think I could do that! I could look at it that way! I can just love her, no matter what I’ve believed about her ‘condition’. Love her - unconditionally, as they say.”

“You sure are your daughter’s Momma, ‘as they say’,” Phoebe laughed. “My job is to love. And I do love my job, especially when I get to take care of Haley and Jake, like I’m doing this week.”

“I would love to start being a part of their lives,” yearned Katie.

“Hmm… I have a proposal,” twinkled Phoebe.

~o~O~o~

“Mom,” Haley gloomed, “I think Marco’s gonna break up with me. Ashley just texted me that he was with another girl at the theater tonight.”

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry,” cooed Jocelyn. “Are you worried that he’s leaving because of your past?”

“You mean, me being born a boy? No. I think it’s because I… I wouldn’t…”

“…You wouldn’t give him a blow job?”

“MOM!... Yeah. Something like that.”

“Haley. You deserve better than a guy who would drop you just because you won’t ‘put out’. I’m proud of you for standing your ground there.”

“Mom, I don’t think I’ll ever find the right guy. I don’t know if guys like Dad exist anymore. I hear all the things you say about him, and they’re all true. You are so lucky.”

“Oh honey. At sixteen, every thing seems so earth-shatteringly important and final. You know I didn’t find love until I was thirty-three. And you’re right, your Dad is all those things I say… and part of the reason he is, is because I say them.”

“Huh?”

“Haley, your Dad lives and dies with the words told to him. That’s why I’m so insistent that you and Jake speak only with respect to him. When I tell him how good he is, it gives him the strength to actually be that good. That’s why I do so every day, whether I feel like it or not. Words of caring and affirmation are his ‘love language’ — how I can best show my love to him. And you know what? When I take care of that need for him, he more than takes care of my needs.”

“So… the best way for me to fall in love is to talk to guys about how good they are?”

“Um, no. But it may be a way you can keep a guy who you find is ‘the one’. But everyone has a different love language. Don’t worry about what to do to attract a boyfriend. Focus on being loving, giving, kind, and compassionate — and happy, in spite of not having a steady. You should attract more boys — quality ones — than sugar does ants.”

~o~O~o~

Jake stomped over to his father and plopped on the chair next to him, arms folded, scowling-faced. Alan had seen this before.

“What’s gotten under your skin, sport?”

“Dad… WHY didn’t you take that cabin from Grandpa Seamus? We could ‘a gone ice fishing, and wolf killin’, like you and Mom did!”

“Jake… your Mom almost died in that cabin, twice. No thanks, that’s a memory I won’t return to. But… now that we have our own scout troop, I see no reason why we can’t arrange a winter ice fishing trip; maybe even a survival course, when you’re older.”

“REALLY? Cool! When do we leave?”

“Whoa there, young Jeremiah Johnson! First things first. How are you on your knots?”

“Oh. Um… I need lots more practice.”

“First things first. Get your knots down.”

~o~O~o~

Haley was sitting alone, still upset about Marco. Mom sure is encouraging ... but I don't think she knows how kids are, or how dating is, right now in the modern world.

"Hey there, lil' sis" two voices rang in unison.

"Alexis! Aleisha! I thought you guys had already left!"

"Nope," smiled Aleisha. "We kinda heard that our young step-sister was being mistreated by a boy, so we went into 'crisis recovery' mode."

"Boys are our specialty. We've both been through good and bad relationships. You want to talk about it? We got an extra large caramel frozen latte; your favorite, right? And three straws," chirped Alexis.

Haley's spirits started to rise a little. "That ... sounds exactly like what I need right now."

~o~O~o~

“Jocelyn, Alan,” announced Phoebe Sarkisian, “with your permission, I’m going to have Seamus and Katie over for a few days, during the week I’m taking care of Haley and Jake. That way they can start a grandparent — grandchild relationship together. It was Katie’s idea.”

The anniversary couple looked at each other with surprise. “Sure. Both the kids have been eager, yet nervous, about getting to know them,” said Jocelyn.

“I’ll be there to make sure it goes smoothly. There’s plenty of room in the old house for all of us.”

“We’ll run it by Jake and Haley, but I’m betting there will be no problem. Mom — thanks. You’re my favorite mother, did you know that?” Alan smiled the famous Sarkisian smile.

“You only say that because you like my stuffed grape leaves and souvlaki, you little rascal,” Phoebe beamed back.

~o~O~o~

Towards the end of the evening, when most of the guests had left, Alan and Jocelyn talked with their kids before leaving them with Seamus, Katie and Phoebe.

“Jake, you behave at Grandma’s, OK? We’ll be back in seven days.”

“Okaaay, Mom.”

“Jake, now, I mean it! Obey each of your grandparents, or there will be punishment when we get back!”

“Like, I’ll have ta chop firewood?” Jake would love that. Anything outdoors.

“No. I was thinking more along the lines of… book reports.”

“WHAT? Like, on top of my school stuff?”

“Yes. And if it’s not good, you’ll read another, and do another report, until it’s satisfactory.”

“No way! I promise I’ll be good!”

“We’ll see. I love you, my little man.”

Five feet away:

“Haley, you honor your grandparents like you honor us, got it?”

“Yea, Dad. No problem.”

“No talking back, and pay attention to them; don’t be rude and read your texts when they’re talking to you.”

“I don’t do that anyway.”

“Honey… yes you do.”

“Dad, that’s just the way girls my age are.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve been considering dropping texting from your phone plan.”

“WHA… no. You wouldn’t!”

“I will. Unless your grandparents say that you obeyed them and always — ALWAYS — listened to them when they talked to you.”

“Dad… maybe we better put up my phone while you’re gone. I don’t think I’m strong enough.”

“Not a bad idea, kiddo. Remember I love you so much, okay?”

~o~O~o~

Alan and Jocelyn finally got back up to their suite at the Marriott.

“Oh GOD, Alan! What a dream of a day!”

“It was pretty great, wasn’t it? Your dad did so well in his speech.”

“You mean Daddy.” She sighed. “He let me call him Daddy.” She took off her dress.

“Wow. Big step for him. Big dream come true for you, huh?” He untied his shoes.

“Alan, of all the big sales awards you’ve won, of all the accounts you’ve landed, winning my father over is the most impressive — and most meaningful to me — job you’ve ever done,” as she removed her makeup.

“You are the key to my success. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I hear your voice encouraging me, reminding me of what I’ve done, of who I can be, and that you love me no matter what. Do you know that your words are still like concentrated life to me?”

“Well for my part, I still find myself amazed at the man who loved me when all others rejected me… and who risked his life for mine,” she yelled from the bathroom.

“Honey, face it. We were made for each other.” He took off his cummerbund and tie, and started to unbutton his shirt.

She walked back in to the bedroom in the white bathrobe supplied by the hotel. “If we’re going to make it on the flight to Cancun in the morning, we better get to sleep.”

“Aw,” he replied. “I know we’re both tired, but I was still kinda hoping…”

“See, that’s the problem, Alan. Today was so exciting for me I won’t be able to get to sleep. Not without something to… relax me…” she slid the bathrobe off, showing all of her glorious post-op womanhood, wearing nothing but a little perfume. “Come to bed with me, my Eagle Scout hero. Let’s start a fire.”

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of these characters to any actual person living or dead is coincidental.

Thanks to Sephrena Lynn Miller for a quick first read!

Thanks to the "BCTS Closeteers" - especially Jana - for help with the pic!

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment! (Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!)

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

My entry in the Reader Retention contest.

~o~O~o~

Meghan sat at an empty table in Pizzagogo, her second favorite Italian joint. It was Derek’s first favorite, so meeting here was a concession to him, something to make him more comfortable. And she needed him to be comfortable for this date

At least, he would probably think of it as a date. She was sure he had no idea of the blow she was about to give him. Would it be a blow? People were more open minded and forward thinking these days. Perhaps there was more than a distant chance he would shrug his shoulders, smile, let the news roll away like water off a duck’s back, then say “I only love you more now.”

Riiiiight, Meghan thought, sipping on her cola and gripping her cell phone like a sprinter’s baton. I halfway believed my little fantasy there until I imagined he ‘said’ that. Don’t get your hopes up, Meg; in fact, the plan is to anticipate the worst scenario, remember? Then you can never be let down, and in fact you might even be pleasantly surprised.

She closed her eyes. Please, please let me be pleasantly surprised.

“Hey, Meggie! Are you falling asleep? Don’t tell me you got bored while waiting for me – I’m only 3 minutes late.” This statement came from a pair of lips that then kissed Meghan on the cheek.

Meg’s eyes opened and lit up with joy mixed with a little dread. Her lips, though, burst into an unconflicted beaming smile. “Derek! Hey there, lover!”

Simultaneously, at the Pizzagogo bar - 15 feet from Meg’s table - sat a large man. He was bulky and wide, especially at the shoulders, overweight but not obese . He sipped on a club soda; it was his Tuesday lunch break, so alcohol was a no-go. Besides, he needed to be alert and vigilant. As stealthily as he could, he glanced repeatedly at Meg and Derek. He couldn’t hear their conversation; instead he was monitoring their body language, especially Meg’s eyes. His silenced cell phone was in his left hand; he gripped it tight, so as to not miss any vibration.

A waiter promptly brought Derek a hot slice of double pepperoni Neapolitan pie. “I ordered for you so it’d be ready when you came in. That’s what you always get anyway,” Meg said.

“You amaze me as always, Meggie. So giving, and you anticipate my every need. I have never known a girl with the combinations of love, intelligence, and sexiness like I see in you.” Derek blew on his steaming lunch slice, then took a amall bite before continuing. “That’s why I asked if you could go with me to Shreveport this weekend. Speaking of which, are you able to go?”

Meghan took a deep breath. “You mean go there – to meet your parents.” Her face now took on a clearly anguished, uncertain look. “You know, Derek, that’s what a guy does with a girl when he’s thinking about marriage. Is that how serious you see us getting?”

“Well … yeah. Don’t you?”

Meg shook her head, then stopped, then slowly nodded. “Yes. God help me, yes I do. But it wasn’t supposed to get this far. I mean, we started as an exclusively sexual relationship. That’s all I wanted, someone to –“

“Fuck your brains out,” Derek whispered with a sly grin.

“Yeah,” Meg half smiled (she couldn’t help it). “I came to the club that night hunting for Big Stud Game and you were there – the biggest stud in the room. I walked right up to you and said …”

“If I don’t have you in my bed in the next 20 minutes I will die. Please save my life,” he finished. He laughed devilishly at the memory.

“That was so corny of me,” she blushed.

“But effective!” he replied. “Yeah, you were – you ARE – a wet dream come true. Always ready for sex! But after a while I began to want you with me outside the bedroom. So I asked you to the movies, to that jazz concert –“

“I remembered how pleasantly surprised I was to see you were a refined, cultured soul,” Meg sighed.

Derek went on – “the day at the lake, and camping that night under the stars. I’m in love with you, Meggie. I have never wanted to spend my life with any other girl; you are the fulfillment of my search for completeness. Yes, I was going to propose if Shreveport went well. So there goes that surprise. But I can tell by the way you look that you aren’t happy with all of this. What’s wrong?”

Meghan didn’t reply immediately. She was lost in rapt appreciation of this man she’d fallen in love with. He was gorgeous – 6 foot 1 inch high, his arm muscles all ripply and defined as was the rest of his body. A sexy, sparse amount of golden chest hair peeked through his partially unbuttoned work shirt. Clean shaven face, with an honest-to-goodness Kirk Douglas dimple on his chin. Piercing blue eyes. Blonde hair in a stylish undercut - short on the sides, long and combed back on the top. These were all the qualities that made her choose him as her sexual conquest three months ago in that club. And god, did he ever deliver in bed. He was the pinnacle of erotic desire. Except now she’d also fallen for his companionship, his soul, his personality, his tenderness, his sense of humor, his –

“Uhh … Earth to Meggie, come in Meggie,” Derek whispered. He looked quizzically at his date. She jumped slightly at being jolted out of her reverie; then, her face fell into a frown as she realized it was time to put it all on the table.

“Derek. Baby. We need to have a serious talk. So I need you to just listen to me for a few minutes, without interruption. Is that okay?”

Derek’s countenance became very serious. “Meggie - wouldn’t this be more appropriate where we have more privacy, like my place? The lunch crowd here is going to be deafening in a few minutes.”

“No. I need to do this in a public place. I’m afraid of your possible reaction; I’m afraid you’ll be so angry that you could even get… violent.”

Derek sat agape, his jaw hitting the floor. He had never threatened her – or any girl he’d been with.

“Honey,” she continued, “do you remember how I told you explicitly many times that I just wanted a physical relationship? The reason for that is I wouldn’t have to bring up my past. My past … well, most guys would feel it’s a deal-breaker for any potential relationship. I can’t believe I let myself fall in love with you, because now I must have this discussion that I never wanted to have with you.”

“Babe, “ he interrupted despite her earlier admonition, “it doesn’t matter. I don’t care what happened in your past. If you’re a convicted felon, or were a hooker, or a drug addict or axe murderer – none of that matters, because you aren’t any of those things now. ”

“It’s none of those things. It’s … worse. Not to me, and not to a lot of people, especially these days. But it will be with you, I’m afraid.”

“What could be worse than being an axe murderer?” Derek laughed. “I mean, are you an alien from Mars here with orders to abduct me? Even that would be okay as long as you were my personal abductor.”

Meghan was quiet, pursing her lips, waiting for his mental gears to grind more.

He continued to laugh. “I know you aren’t a transsexual. I’ve known some trannies; I can read all of ‘em – Adam’s apple, big shoulders, tall – maybe except for those Thai or Brazilian freaks that they start on hormones when they’re kids. I’ve seen every inch of your body, and you are an all natural born bona fide woman.”

Meghan remained still, silent and staring at Derek. Her brow furrowed. Her lip started to quiver. A tear ran down her cheek.

Her beau saw this, and ever so slowly his mood turned from jovial to shocked. Ever so slightly, his eyes narrowed in a clearly wounded appearance.

“Derek,” Megan choked out, “I have always been female in the places it really counts to me – my head and my heart. And for the last half-year, I’ve been female in all the places it should count to you. I’m one of the lucky ones – I pass without question, even though I’m Irish and not Thai or Brazilian. I know I could be a great wife to you, better than a lot of ‘natural born bona fide’ women. All you have to do is accept me, baby.”

Derek now looked sad yet irritated, shaking his head emphatically. “Meggie … if you want to break up with me, just tell me. Don’t give me a lie to make me leave you. I know you absolutely aren’t a tranny. I’ve seen you, every bit of you. You’re not full of silicone and implants; your voice is high and feminine. You’re 5’6” or something thereabouts, for Pete’s sake. Why are you wanting to split up?”

Meghan hung her head and shook it emphatically. “I don’t want to break up with you, Derek! I want to stay with you – and yes, I want to marry you! But I am a transgender woman – born with male parts, but female in my heart and mind!” She reached into her purse and pulled out her smartphone. “I thought this might be hard for you to accept. So – God, how I’m dreading this – here are some photos of myself before I started living full time as Meghan. These are from when I was living as a boy named Milton.”

The stunned beau flipped through the photos on her phone, his jaw rapidly dropping,

The bulky man at the bar held his breath. Derek’s face was turned away from him, but the young man’s body language obviously changed – arms and legs tense, torso arched backwards. The watcher’s body tensed also, readying.

Derek was now clearly angry. “You … lied … to me!”

“I didn’t tell you the truth about me. We were just supposed to have sex, then move on. I should have told you about me by the second date, at least.”

“You should have told me that first night before we left the club! I would have dropped you like a hot potato. Now I’ve lost three months of my life and you’ve torn my heart out!”

“Baby – let’s take 48 hours apart, and then connect by phone. Just please calm down, and think about this with a cooler head – “

“You think that will protect you, freak? In fact, do you still think that being in a public pizza joint will prevent me from slapping the hell out of you?” He raised his right hand and stood up suddenly, leaning across the table at Meghan. His right arm surged with power to give a stunning blow – yet the limb failed to move.

“Whoa there, buddy.” The voice came from behind Derek, as a large hand now held onto Derek’s wrist, rendering it ineffective. A second large hand gripped Derek’s left shoulder, and pushed down with strength, forcing him back into his seat. The angry auto mechanic twisted his neck around to see how many were restraining him.

It was only one guy, a big-shouldered refrigerator of a man. He continued to hold Derek captive in his chair. “I’ll let you go if you promise to control yourself.”

“Let the f*** go of me and mind your own f***ing business! I have an issue with this fag–” Derek pointed towards Meghan, but her seat was now empty.

“She’s gone, buddy. Did you a favor. Assault and battery ain’t chump change.” The big stranger leaned over and whispered in Derek’s ear. “For what it’s worth, you have a right to be angry. She didn’t intend to deceive you, but deceive you she did. So be angry. But leave her alone, or you’ll have me to deal with. Got it?”

Derek was still mad but a little more in control. “What, are you friends with that piece of sh-“

“GOT IT? … I require an answer to my question, bub,” the bigger man growled lowly while simultaneously squeezing his grips to the point of pain.

“Ow! Shit! Okay, okay, I got it! Now lemme go!”

In a remarkably quick motion for someone of his size, the stranger released Derek while simultaneously pulling a chair up next to him. He sat and faced his thinner companion. “Deep breaths. That’s it. Yes, I’m Meg’s friend, but I want the best for you too – and that means helping you keep your cool.”

Derek glared at him in a sideways glance. “So you obviously know what she – or what HE, what IT – is. Are you a lover she’s kept on the side? Or maybe a pimp? Or just a bleeding heart snowflake that thinks she ought to have her own special pronouns and piss in whatever public bathroom she wants? Meggie’s a freak, and so are you for protecting her.”

The big stranger sat there with calmness, patiently listening as Derek spewed his insults. Then he replied. “Yes, I know she is a transgender woman. No, I’m not a lover or a pimp or a snowflake. I’m just a friend. I’ve known Meg since junior high, when she was a pre-teen boy. She was unhappy as a boy even back then, but couldn’t get her folks to help her in any way.

“She’s a high quality, amazing human being who screwed up by not trusting you with her past from the start. So take some days or weeks to cool off and think it through. If you find you want her in spite of her past, go tell her and renew the special thing you guys had. If not, drop it, let her go and both of you get on with your lives separately.”

Derek shook his head in confusion. “She looks so real. How old was she when she started to change her body? I would guess - way before puberty, right?”

“Nope. She started her official transition 2-and-a-half years ago. Got her sex change surgery 6 months ago.”

“No way! I don’t believe you. She was an adult male? There is no way. Her body is too authentic! I know plastic surgery can do wonders, but not …!”

“The best I can explain it is that Meghan’s lucky. There are a few guys out there who, if they wanted to, would make great women physically. Most of those guys aren’t transgendered. I’m talking like, Elijah Wood – you know, Frodo. From the Lord of the Rings. Guys that are short and look like tweenagers when they’re really young adults. That was Meg’s blessing. And when she started hormones, her body just blossomed into the sexy knockout you know her as.”

Derek shook his head. “She’s not sexy to me anymore. You obviously think she is. You can have her.”

“Sorry, buddy. I’m happily married. She’s just a friend; I was here today to prevent her being beaten, in case you decided to get angry and physical. Which you did, unfortunately. So I had to step in.

“Now as far as bathrooms go, she obviously should go to the women’s room, right? But I feel you on the pronouns; I stick with he, she, them. The others confuse me, and I know I’ll mess it up if I try to use ‘em. By the way …”

The stranger extended his hand to a calmer, cooler Derek –

“- my name’s Rick. Good to meet you. Are you copascetic with my suggestions?”

Derek tilted his head. “What suggestions?”

Rick’s voice became subtly deeper. “Cool off for a few days or weeks. Then get back with her, or let her go. No stalking. No revenge.. Be angry all you want, but take it out on your pillow at home. No trolling on social media. Or else …”

“Or else I’ll have to deal with you, right?”

Rick smiled. “Glad we understand each other. Have a nice day now.”

With that, both men got up and left the joint, headed in separate directions.

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the computer screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading!

My entry in the Reader Retention contest.

~o~O~o~

Rick stood at the apartment door, checking his phone to make sure he had the right unit number. He then knocked as he had been instructed to prior; four rapid beats, repeated two times.

Meghan opened the door. She nervously looked past the big man – not an easy feat – and then quickly motioned him to come in. “Did he follow you?” she whispered.

Now Rick’s left eyebrow rose. “Uh, Meg – he knows where you live, right? He doesn’t have to follow me. Still, I like the fact that you’re cautious – you’ll need to be that way for a while, I’m betting.”

“Oh Rick,” Meghan choked. She burst into hard sobs and buried her face in her hands. Her friend placed a big arm around her and produced a clean hanky, which she grabbed feebly.

Men are often uncomfortable around women experiencing intense sorrow; Rick was no exception in this situation.

“Hey,” he whispered, “do you have any girlfriends I could call to come be with you right now? I’m sure they could do a better job helping you.” And I didn’t tell Beth I was going to be here, and I need to be back to work in 17 minutes, he thought.

“Macie and I are on the outs right now. She didn’t like me leading Derek on either, even though she doesn’t know him from Adam,” Meg sniffed. “And all the other girls in our social group have sided with her. So I’m alone right now. This is so horrible; I almost wish …” She looked up at Rick with a needy, puppy-dog face. “Can you stay a little longer – wait. No. You need to go. I’ll be fine.”

Rick’s eyebrow rose higher. “You said you wish … what? Meg ... are you feeling like you wished you were dead?” he whispered.

Meghan hung her head and plopped down on the couch behind her. She whispered her answer to Rick without looking towards him. “Yes. Exactly. Right now I wish I was dead.”

“How would you accomplish that?”

“Getting dead?” She lifted her face as she rolled her eyes. “The car. I have an old vacuum hose in the closet that’s perfect. Slip it on the exhaust, funnel it into the inside, start the motor, come back inside, close the doors and lay back and go to sleep. No more pain.” Her weeping began to intensify.

Rick now was dialing a number on his phone. Then he put it to his ear and said “Hello. I need you guys to evaluate my friend. I’m afraid she’s considering killing herself.”

Meghan gasped and hissed at her friend. “What the hell – WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

He turned to the shocked girl. “You’re right, Meg. I do need to go. But first, the Suicide Hotline folks need to evaluate you.” He then gave the person on his phone a quick synopsis of the situation as Meg sat still, feeling perplexed and a little betrayed.

Rick turned and extended his phone to her. “She wants to talk to you.” Meg shook her head. “Look,” he sighed, “it’s either this or I take you to the emergency room.”

He now listened to his friend talk to the counselor. It sounded like she was open and honest about her feelings and plans; then, suddenly, Meg handed the phone back to him. “They want to talk to you again,” she said.

“Hmm. Yeah, I can do that. OK, I’ll call if there’s any trouble.” Rick hung up. “Well, Meghan, they feel okay letting you check in with a counselor by phone a few more times today and tonight, then seeing one in person tomorrow AM. And … I’m gonna need to take that hose. And you’re also gonna promise me - on a stack o’ bibles - that you will not hurt yourself. Not in any way. At least to tomorrow noon, when I’ll check on you again. Kapeesh?”

“I’m trying to get mad at you about this, Rick,” sniffed Meghan. “But somehow I feel really cared for. Thank you – I guess – for looking out for me.” She walked to the coat closet. “Here’s the hose. Take it.”

Rick did so, and smiled. “Now all we need are a stack o’ bibles.”

“Here,” Meghan said. “A couple of mini-bibles, well … tracts, really. I don’t know why I keep them around. They are the closest I have to the real thing.”

~o~O~o~

Rick opened her front door and turned to her. “Keep that promise. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay. I gotta get back to work now, so-“

“Rick. Thank you so much for coming today. I’m at a bad point, socially, in my life. No one else would help me.”

“So, you called me last? I’m so honored,” he smiled.

“I would have been interacting with you all along, except I thought your wife would be against it. I don’t want to give you trouble in your home. Is she going to be mad at you for helping me?”

“Not if she doesn’t know about it. Our relationship right now is … complicated. We’re still committed to each other, but – um – separated. I’m living in an apartment for now.”

Meg’s jaw dropped. “Oh Rick. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. It sucks. Whatever. I really gotta go. Check on you by phone tomorrow, ‘kay?”

~o~O~o~

Rick closed Megan’s door and turned to walk down the hallway of her apartment complex - and suddenly was face to face with someone else he knew.

“Ricky!? Hey, do you live here now?”

“Oh – hey there. It’s Lizzie, right?” Eliza Farner was one of his wife’s close friends ; Beth and she shared the same hair stylist. Rick had met her a few times casually, usually hanging out with his spouse after a girl’s night out – or that’s how Lizzie and Beth described their times together. “Is it Liz or Lizzie?”

“Either one’s OK, Ricky. I’m here attending my niece’s 1st birthday party. Had to step out in the hall for a sec – with all of us chicks in there, it’s like a perfume bomb went off. I was afraid we’d explode when striking the match for the cake candles.”

“Ha-ha! I love your sense of humor, Lizzie. Beth always seems happier after spending a little time with you; I can see why.”

“Speaking of Beth …” Lizzie’s face turned serious suddenly. “I know about the sitch. Just know I’m praying for both of you. She told me you had moved out to an apartment. Is this your place now?” she asked, pointing to the door he’d just exited.

“Ah, no,” he grumbled. Now the fact that he was in a strange place was going to get back to Beth. Oh well. Might as well as be honest. “My new place is five miles away, off Thomason road. I’m here visiting with an old friend from back in middle school – helping him out with a situation.” That’s honest enough; after all, back in middle school Meg was a “he”. Not a lie, technically.

Rick’s mistake was forgetting one of the universe’s basic rules: Murphy’s law. For just as he finished that sentence, Meghan opened her door and stepped out in that sexy black sheath dress she had worn for the meeting with Derek. She waved a cell phone at Rick. “Hey big guy – you forgot this!”

Rick saw Lizzie’s face go pale. She pointed to Meghan – “Your middle school friend – is that ‘him’??”

Meg’s face now fell, and scrunched up in pain at being called ‘him’. “Rick! You, of all people – outing me to a random stranger??”

“I’m no random stranger. I’m the best friend of his wife!” Lizzie snarled. “She has no idea that her husband is hanging out with” – she gave an angry glance towards Rick, as if to imply I’m too polite to say 'fucking' – “a piece of dung like you!”

Meghan still had the impression she was being shamed for her trans history. “Listen, missy – I’m damn proud of who and what I am. And small minded people like you had better get used to me and my kind, or –“

“STOP!” barked the large man in the center of this verbal melee. “Both of you.” Now his voice dropped back to indoor volume. “Neither of you are going to believe what I’m about to say, but just for the record, you both have mistaken ideas about what just happened and what is happening now. Liz, I am not cheating on my wife. Meg is my middle school friend. And she indeed used to be a he, a male. She transitioned to female as an adult.”

“Rick!” protested Meghan.

“Aw, Meg – you were already mad at me ‘cause you thought I outed you earlier. Which I did NOT do, until just now.”

“Then why did she call me ‘him’?”

“See? I said you wouldn’t believe me. If I could do this over, I’d change what I said – but not what actions I’ve taken.” He then turned to his wife’s friend. “Lizzie, I love Beth. We are separated legally, but we both have agreed to remain monogamous, faithful to each other, as we work things out. Now today, Meghan asked me essentially to be her bodyguard as she broke up with her boyfriend. He tried to hit her when she found out about her trans history.”

Rick looked quickly back and forth at the two women flanking him. Both wore doubting smirks with narrowed eyes. But Lizzie then looked at Meg with a more relaxed visage. “So you’re a trans woman? God, you’re beautiful. I wouldn’t have guessed in a million years.”

“Yes,” said Meg with a slightly bowed head. “It’s a little embarrassing to admit.”

“Why? You just got through saying that you were proud of who you are. And frankly, if I could have your body, I might want to switch places with you.”

“No, your situation is better. You won’t have men rejecting you because you were born anatomically male. And you can give your man a child.”

“That’s probably the only advantage to having a uterus. The rest of the time, my reproductive system is a major pain. Every month since age 12-and-a-half. I only keep my womb around for the eventual prospect of children. After I’ve had mine, I plan to get the damn thing yanked out.”

Meghan smiled slightly. “What’s your name?”

“My friends call me Liz. Big clumsy lugs like this guy call me Lizzie.” She winked at Rick and elbowed him in the ribs as she said that.

“Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee, Liz? I’m Meghan, by the way; you can call me Meg, like my non-lover male friend here does.”

“Let me get a few selfies of me and my niece – it’s her birthday. But after that, I’ll knock on your door, OK?”

Rick exhaled, finally. He’d been holding his breath for the last two minutes. “Ladies, I’m late in getting back to work. I have to go. It was a pleasure.” Now THAT was a lie. He jogged to his car.

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading!

My entry in the Reader Retention contest.

~o~O~o~

Rick was driving back to work, talking hands-free on the phone with his boss. “Thanks, Jerry. I appreciate it, and I’ll stay an hour after closing to make sure I’m all caught up. You’re the best.” He hung up, and whistled with relief. Another bullet dodged.

Only one last thing bugged him. Beth, his wife. She would surely now hear that he had been over to Meghan’s apartment. Though he was fairly confident that Lizzie would assure Beth that his visit was innocent, he still needed to be the first to tell her about what he did for Meg today. Then he could apologize for not letting her know what he was about to do beforehand. This would be best done in person, not over the phone and definitely not via text. Maybe he was being over-cautious; but with his marriage being on some thin ice, he needed to be as open and careful as possible. His house – where Beth lived by herself, now – was 2 blocks off of his current route back to his work. He pointed his Ford Expedition in that direction.

Beth’s Toyota Supra was in the right driveway – per usual, as she worked only the mornings on Wednesdays. But the Mercedes convertible in the left drive was an unexpected sight for Rick. This had an innocent explanation, he was sure. He kept telling himself that as a knot formed in his gut. Approaching the front door, he quietly entered the unlock code into the keypad. He turned the knob carefully and stealthily entered. An empty foyer greeted him, but no voices or noise was audible. The living room and kitchen were equally silent.

He now stood in the doorway to his bedroom, watching two post-coital lovers sleeping in each other’s arms. Beth’s head and long hair lay on the chest of some guy from her work, a supervisor or something-or-other. Someone Rick seemed to remember from Beth’s company Christmas party last year. For the first time since the night they agreed to separate, Rick began to cry. He took a few pictures of the scene, capturing their snoozing and state of undress; The both of their torsos were open to air, and it appeared the thin coversheet was the only thing adorning their lower bodies. Rick quietly left as they continued their illicit slumber.

Rick was lousy at work that afternoon – distracted, and obviously suffering and despondent. Boss Jerry noticed, and gave him the rest of the day off after 2:30. Rick drove to his apartment. I'm gonna find my booze and get ... As he put his car in park, his cell rang.

It was Beth.

Rick punched the answer icon. “Hey,” he choked out.

“Hi. I see you came over at about 1:03. The doorbell camera caught you. I know you saw me and Michael.”

“So tha’s his name,” Rick said through clenched teeth. “What ‘bout, you know, you an’ me, monogamous?”

“Rick. You know why this happened. We’ve talked about it. Your … problem. The fact that you can’t give me that thing I really, really need.”

“I can give you ev’ry othr dam thng!” he spurted out in locked-jaw speech.

“And that’s why I said everything would be fine if you just agreed to let me have another man to satisfy my needs from time to time! If you could allow that, we wouldn’t have had to change a thing!”

“Th’ counsel’r – he told you not to –“

“Screw the counselor. Or maybe I should? He’s only 5 foot 10, but I bet he doesn’t have your problem.”

“So yu fckd Mike. Do yu feel any regret? Was it worth it, baby?”

“Rick … this is going to hurt you, but I’m being totally honest here. My only regret is that I didn’t sleep with him sooner. It was – God, it was magnificent. I never want to be without it. And because you can’t handle that, it probably means I need to start divorce proceedings. I’m so, so sorry to hurt you this way. But if we go back to the way we were going, it will hurt you even more in the long run. Not to mention I’ll be miserable too.”

She listened for a response, but heard only repressed sobs. Finally –

“Beth. Do yu still love me?”

“I … I have a love for you, Rick. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Um … ‘kay. Go ‘head. File for the d’vorce. I’ll get a lawyr. God help me. Someone help me, help me God.”

“Rick. You’re worrying me.”

“G’bye, Beth.”

Rick hung up.

~o~O~o~

Rick unlocked his dark little apartment, took two steps in – and stopped.

He stood like stone, every muscle in his body tensing as he tried to fight off the tears. Don’t lose it, man. Don’t … But his strong, mountain like shadow began to shake. Those tree trunk legs of his began to buckle. He fell forward on his knees and began to cry and roar in emotional torment.

The sobbing continued off and on for the rest of the afternoon. Now it was just past 9:30 pm. He’d had nothing to eat or drink, save more than half of the bottle of bourbon he’d pulled from the pantry. All the effort I put into my marriage - for nothin’. She told me it wouldn’t matter, that she’d love me and stay with me in spite of it. I was so careful to pick someone who’d love me unconditionally – and she couldn’t do it. If Beth couldn’t, then no woman will.

Rick looked around the apartment from his vantage point on the living room couch. Despite the bourbon the pain was unrelenting, and everything was getting darker. Everything. The lights in the place, the lights outside, his mood, his future. That future was dead – killed by the one person he had invested his all - time, heart, energy, trust, love – in. Not to mention that damned quack of a doctor back in ’93. He desperately searched his mental files for hope, but found absolutely none. Now, a foreign thought crept into his mind.

I wish I were dead.

Immediately the devilish idea sprouted. Pistol in my bedside drawer. One shot, in the mouth, aiming towards the base of the skull at the back. No note or explanation needed; anyone could figure out why. Just stop the pain. Stop the horrible pain.

He looked at the door to his bedroom. A countering thought emerged in his brain – Hypocrite! You just prevented your friend Meg from taking this way out earlier today! – but he brushed that off. One more reason for me to end this. The world will have one less hypocrite. He stood, and readied himself to walk to where he kept the gun. As he took his first step -

A knock at his front door.

Rick frowned as he glanced at the wall clock. Fifteen 'til ten. Who - ?

The knock came again, this time a loud, fast prolonged rapping.

He cleared his throat as he approached the door. All he saw through the peephole was the opposite was the hallway, and two tufts of hair – one red, the other blonde. “Who is it? You’ve got the wrong apartment. Go away,” he barked.

But no response came, save the same urgent, rapid knocking.

“No solicitations!” Rick growled. But the knocking was constant now, not taking any breaks.

He looked in the living room mirror. He was a mess – drunk, disheveled, with bloodshot eyes and puffy lids, a bourbon stained dress shirt. Oh well. When I answer the door, this mess – and me – will scare ‘em off. Then I can get back to .... He went to the door and unlocked the bolt. Grabbing the knob, he yanked the door open. “What??” he roared.

Standing there were two short women – Lizzie and Meghan – in jeans and sneakers. Meghan had on a knit top; Lizzie wore a T-shirt, and carried a thick heavy steel briefcase. Meg returned Rick’s gaze, and her eyes filled with tears. She reached around his trunk and began to squeeze him. “Oh Rick. My buddy, my friend. I’m so sorry this has happened.”

“I called Beth to let her know I ran into you today,” Lizzie said. “She ended up admitting to me everything that took place. She said she was worried about you. Not enough to come over and check on you herself, mind you. I never knew she could be such a heartless witch. So I called Meghan – we became fast friends over coffee today – and we came to check on you.”

“Hey, uh, thanks,” he replied. “But I’ll be okay.”

“Ahem,” said Meghan. “We’re not asking you to let us in. We’re coming in.”

And just like that, Rick was walked back to his couch and sat down between the two women. He tried – weakly - to get them to leave him alone.

“I’ll really be … ah … OK,” he whispered.

His statement was ignored. “I’m so thankful for you Rick. You saved my life today,” whispered Meg as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. “You showed me more love – true, sacrificial love – than any one ever has. I love you, like a sister loves her older hero brother. And I think you need some appreciation, and loving words and hugs.”

“Doctor Lizzie here. That’s my prescription for you, bubba. Hugs and loving words, applied constantly, for at least the next few hours – longer, if necessary. To be administered by Nurse Meg.”

“Rick,” whispered Meg. “Tell me the truth. Have you wished you were dead at any time today?”

The big man sighed. Busted. “Yes. I planned to use my gun in my bedside drawer.”

“Be right back,” said Lizzie as she hopped towards Rick’s bedroom with her heavy briefcase .

“Beth told Liz you owned a gun,” Meg said. “I had a hunch you might be this desperate. Lizzie brought her portable safe, just in case; I’ll bet she’s locking your piece in there now. And I brought my stack o’ bibles – my little pamphlets – for you to swear on. So agree to swear on them that you won’t hurt yourself. Or should I dial the hotline? Let’s see, 1-800-S-U-“ – she tapped out numbers on her phone.

“Give me the pamphlets. I’ll swear to it … as long as … as … “ Rick started to choke up.

“As long as what, Rick?” Meghan breathed ever so quietly.

“God … this sounds like a line … but I don’t think I can stand to be alone right now, Meg. Things just got so … so dark …”

“Are things dark right now?”

“Not as bad as before.” Rick looked into Meghan’s face and half smiled. “Not with you here.”

“Then I’m here,” Meghan said. “I’m here as long as you need me.”

She laid her head on his chest as she stroked his shirt, then his neck, as Rick laid his right hand on the stack o’ pamphlets and promised he wouldn’t harm himself.

~o~O~o~

Rick lifted up his head. Where am I? Then he quickly realized: he had fallen asleep on the couch. The lights were all off except for a small lamp, and it gave off adequate light for him to see the wall clock. 2:36 am.. I need to get to my bed, and hit the bathroom along the way. Wonder why –

Then he remembered. Beth and “Michael”. He sat up, and felt some arms from behind him fall away as he did so.

“Hey, sleepyhead! You finally got some Z’s in,” Meghan’s voice came from behind him. “I need you to change out of your duds into the sweats we placed at your bathroom sink. Lizzie and I raided your closet. And swish some Listerine for your gums and teeth. Then come back into this living room.”

“Where’s Lizzie?” mumbled the big guy.

“I sent her home; I think we got this, you and I. Now get changed and get back here, cowboy.”

Rick did as ordered. He was in no mood to argue. Here was someone who wanted to give him affection and appreciation, and he desperately needed both.

On arriving back in the living room, he noticed a bed sheet had been laid across the leather couch, with 2 pillows from the master bedroom placed at one end. Meghan had taken off her shoes, but still had her socks/jeans/shirt on.

“We’ll stay on the couch. To avoid even the appearance of impropriety,” said Meghan.

“Like sex isn’t possible on a couch,” Rick weakly smirked.

Meg got on the sofa on her side, her back snug against the back cushion. “Lie down on your side in front of me.”

As Rick did so, he felt Meg’s arms once again wrap around his neck and shoulders. “You’re like a huge, huggable bear,” he heard whispered into his ear. “A protecting bear, and yet a squeezy teddy bear. Big Bear – that’s my new nickname for you. Honorable, noble, protective – yet tender enough to be vulnerable. And some bad ol’ she-cougar ripped you open in your tender belly. We need to heal that with the balm of loving truth. And the truth is, is that she doesn’t deserve you.

“You are an amazing man, a great human being. You will survive this. Don’t give up. Don’t you dare give up. You are loved. I’m proud of who you are. You have people who love you, who cherish you. There’s no reason to be ashamed. I don't know why Beth left; but somewhere out there is the woman who will cherish you as you deserve. And some day you will find each other. And on that day I will jump and cheer as you seal your wedding vows to live as you should, happily ever after.”

Meg began to choke back a tear again.

“Tell me you’re not going to give up, Rick. Say it out loud for me.”

Meg heard nothing but a peaceful, slight snore from the man she held to.

“That’ll do. Sleep tight, Big Bear.”

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

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My entry in the Reader Retention contest.

~o~O~o~

Internist Hitesh Choi M.D. knit his brow with concern as he looked directly into his patient’s eyes. “Have you ever considered doing something like this at any prior time in your life, Richard?”

“No, Doc. It was a bad, bad day – one of the worst I can ever remember having. Okay, actually, it WAS the worst day in my life. I guess the booze didn’t help my mood either. But I ended up not going through with it, so things are OK, right?”

“Because a couple of angels showed up and took the gun away as an option. Thank god for them. I think I’m more worried about this than you appear to be.” The physician rubbed the sparse goatee on his chin as his eyes arched upward while he thought. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he suddenly rose and left the exam room.

Rick sighed, and glanced at the pretty redheaded woman seated to his side. She had not gotten farther than 30 feet from him since she showed up at his door last night. Her green eyes looked up at his. “Thanks for letting me be in here during your visit, Rick.”

“I’m having second thoughts about agreeing to that, Meg. The way you described me to him almost made me sound like a nuthouse candidate. There’s no way I looked that desperate.”

Meg smirked and pursed her lips. “Typical guy. You don’t like doctors, and tend to underplay any symptoms and problems. I just told what I saw, plain and simple. I’ll let him make the diagnosis. But he needed an accurate picture of how you were last night.”

“And I appreciate having all the information I can about my patients, ma’am,” said Dr. Choi, having walked back into the room. “ I wish more patients would bring their spouses or friends to give me a full picture of the problem. Now, Rick. Let’s talk frankly.”

“OK, Doc. Shoot.”

“I think you had a major depressive episode. It all seems exogenous – meaning due to the extreme trauma you experienced – but I’m worried that you could still be at risk for self-harm, especially if you get alone. I’m giving you two options: inpatient treatment at the local psychiatric facility –“

“WHAT?!”

“- Hang on, Rick – OR you can go visit a psychiatrist, today at 2 - that’s in 30 minutes - with Dr. Ramanathan. I called and worked you in.”

Rick stood up. “No, thanks. I don’t want to see a shrink. We’re done here.”

Choi stood also, and set his jaw. He was half the size of his huge patient, but his white coat allowed him to pull rank. “Richard. If you refuse either of these, I will notify the county mental health department, and they will send an evaluator quickly over to where you are–“

Rick’s shoulders slumped, and he grit his jaw. He looked down at Meg with tears in his eyes. “See, Meg? I’m being treated like a lunatic. I hope you’re happy.” Then turning to Choi, “OK, Doc. I’ll see the shrink. But I’m doing so under protest.”

~o~O~o~

Meghan sat in the psychiatrist’s waiting room. Unlike the visit at Dr. Choi’s, Rick had refused to allow her to be present while this specialist evaluated him. That’s why she was surprised when, after about an hour, the receptionist told her that she was now needed in the consultation room.

“It was my understanding that Rick – the patient – didn’t want me back there,” Meg stammered.

“It’s the doctor that’s asking for you, ma’am,” replied the receptionist.

Meg now knocked on the door of the room she’d been led to. “Come in,” a male voice with a foreign accent said.

She entered and saw her friend with the psychiatrist; both pointed to an open seat for her to take. “Rick – are you sure you’re OK with me being here? I thought –“

“It’s fine, Meg. This experience has been so much better than I thought it would be. He’s gonna let me go home; since you are the one who’s looking after me, he just wants to talk with you a bit.”

“Wow, that’s great! Did he make you make a promise not to hurt yourself, like the suicide counselor made me do?”

The doctor had been writing on his pad computer, but he lifted his head – and his right eyebrow – when Meghan said that. He said nothing, however.

“Yeah, this is Dr Ramanathan – he says call him Dr. Rama for short. He did make me sign an agreement that I wouldn’t harm myself, and is starting me on some high powered antidepressant. I have to stay on it at least 6 months, then he’ll consider weaning it off. He’s also called my work and had them excuse me for the rest of the week. Evidently he thinks I need therapy with a counselor and group meetings pretty intensely for the next few days.

“I would normally be fighting this, but this shrink is a prince of a guy – he really cares. He’s not a weird ‘Sigmund Freud’ type, he’s more like a regular guy. Told me I wasn’t weird for feeling this way. Evidently males commit suicide more than females, and use guns more too. So he was glad that I came in. He wants to personally tell you thank you for … for …” Rick suddenly appeared choked up.

“For what, Rick?” said Meghan.

“For coming to his rescue,” Dr. Rama inserted. “When you and your friend confiscated his gun, you saved him, I’m sure of it. I wish you had called the suicide hotline for him last night, but that’s the only thing I would have done differently. “

Rick’s tears made him sputter as he spoke. “You told me last night that I’d saved your life. It took you less than a day to return the favor. Thank you, Meg. Thanks for saving my life.”

Meghan reached over and squeezed his hand. “I owed you, Big Bear. It’s all going to be okay now.”

Doctor Rama addressed Meghan. “Ma’am, you said something earlier that intrigues me. Have you called a suicide counselor for yourself recently?”

Meg was surprised, and suddenly wary. “Yes … but I’m not here as your patient, so why are you asking?”

“I’m asking as Rick’s doctor. You are committed to overseeing him for the next few days, I understand?”

“Yes. I made some calls and adjusted my work schedule. My new friend Lizzie will cover the late afternoons and evenings, and I’ll be there the rest of the time.”

Dr. Rama’s brow was now knit with concern. “Can you tell me when and why you called the hotline for yourself?”

“Actually,” Meg said, “Rick called them for me. Yesterday early afternoon.” She then quickly recounted the lunch meeting with Derek, and Rick’s actions at her apartment just after.

Dr. Rama took all of this in. When Meg finished, he seemed in deep thought; then he pointed to both of them as he asked: “Is there any romantic attraction between you two?”

“Doc, I’m still in love with my wife,” Rick protested.

“And I’m not over Derek yet either!” Meg replied

“I believe both of you; yet, it’s possible for all that to be true and still be desirable to each other.” The doctor looked at Rick and pointed towards Meg. “Are you telling me that you are not attracted in any way to this beautiful woman here?”

Rick started to flatly deny the charge, but his eyes met Meg’s. He took in the lovely vision of his friend sitting there in the leather chair. Long wavy auburn hair that flowed waterfall-like from her head to her breasts. Those breasts were large and complemented her curvy butt. Not model thin, but not overweight. She was in a black tube top with a green jacket, and painted-on green capri pants.

Rick suddenly became aware of where his eyes had wandered, and forced them to gaze at her face. At her pretty green eyes and pale, porcelain skin. His mind now drifted to the past. Before yesterday, it had been nearly 2 years since he’d last seen her. She was 23 years old then, and just beginning her full time transition to a female life. Though at that time just starting hormone therapy and “pre-op everything”, she still was a very passable woman. Now she’s unreadable; more than that - immaculately sexy, thought the big man. He was aware that he was getting turned on.

“Rick – did you hear my question?” Dr. Rama spoke and interrupted the big man’s reverie.

Rick’s cheeks, already slightly flushed, became beet red. “Doc – if I’m honest, I have to admit that she’s one of the sexiest women I’ve ever known.”

Now Meghan’s face was flushed, and she began to perspire slightly. This admission from her friend not only shocked her; it brought an eruption of conflicting emotions in her chest. Both hands covered her mouth.

“And you, ma’am,” Dr. Rama spoke to her, “Do you feel attracted to Rick?”

“Ah … um …” she quavered, and pointed an open hand towards her friend. “Just look at him.” Meg now did just that. This man was massive and strong, and stood somewhere north of 6’1”. His wavy black hair was only just beginning to recede at the forehead. He had no beard or mustache, but always appeared to have a stubble shadow even after his daily smooth shave. His dark eyes and deep voice made her weak in the pit of her stomach.

Meg turned towards the psychiatrist. “Doc - he’s a man’s man – a big, fantastic hunk of masculinity. What woman wouldn’t be infatuated?”

The doc shook his head. “Okay. I have serious concerns about you two looking after each other. Both of you are emotionally fragile and recently suicidal. Rick, especially with the problem you disclosed to me, you can’t risk a romantic relationship right now. Neither of you can, in my opinion. You need to find someone else – preferably a male relative or friend – to watch over you while you get the counseling and medication you need. Either that, or I need to admit you to Passages, the local psychiatric inpatient center.”

“Nope.” Rick shook his head. “That’s not gonna happen. I’ll find someone else besides Meg. It has to be a guy, huh?”

“I could accept another woman, such as your mother or sister. But not your friend here. I need you to assure me that you will comply with my order on this, Rick.”

“I promise, Doc. I promise.” Rick stood up. “Am I done here?”

~o~O~o~

“Okay, I liked that doctor until he got the impression that we were going to have a sex orgy as soon as we got out of there,” Meghan grumbled as she drove Rick back to his apartment. “After all, we spent last night together and all that happened was therapeutic snuggling.” But I had no idea he thought I was sexy, she silently thought. One of the sexiest he's ever known. That's what he said. Meg could feel her heart start to race.

“I don’t have many male friends. Only one that I think I could trust to be discreet about all this – Phil, from work - and he’s on vacation in Florida ‘til the end of the week,” Rick fretted.

“Rick, what about your mom or sis-“

“NOPE. No. I am not involving my family in this. You should know why, Meg – the ‘family business’ is why I moved from New Jersey.”

Meg frowned. “Lizzie’s got the rest of today with you, but she can’t stay overnight. Who can we get to be with you then? The doc didn’t want you alone.”

“Just let me be alone, Meg. We don’t need to tell the doc about it. My buddy may be back from Fort Lauderdale in two days.”

“Now it’s my turn to say NOPE, Rick,” Meg stated. “If we’re going to disobey the doc’s orders, then we’ll do it by me staying with you tonight. You being alone sounds like the worst option. So I’ll stay, we’ll interact as just friends, and tomorrow you start your counseling. And tonight you start your antidepressant,” she said as she pulled into the drive-through window at Rick’s pharmacy.

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the computer screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading!

My entry in the Reader Retention contest.

~o~O~o~

Rick was now back at his apartment with Meghan. He had barely relaxed onto the couch when the doorbell rang. “Right on time,” chirped Meg as she hopped to the door. It was Lizzie. She still wore her work clothes, a power skirt and blazer with a pink blouse; her blonde hair cascaded in ringlets around her shoulders.

“I was able to take off early, as we discussed. Most of my accounts are up to date, and I came in early this morning to do paperwork so it was no problem. Tag me,” she said to Meg. Both women tapped palms together like a wrestling team changing turns in the ring, right in front of Rick.

Meghan turned to him. “Now I have to go work. I got my schedule adjusted this week to where I can be here during the day, and Lizzie can be here for the evening. Then I’ll be back for the late night until Liz comes back tomorrow. We’ll do this until you’re safe being alone.”

Rick fretted. “So basically I’m being a huge burden on you guys.”

“You don’t have anyone else to do this, right? You told me that your family was not an option,” Meg replied. “And shush with that ‘being a burden’ talk. I’m happy to be of help. I know Lizzie feels the same way.”

“You’ll be getting a huge bill from me when you’re better, though,” Liz cracked. “Just kidding!” she then smiled

Meg looked at the time on her phone. “Sorry – I really have to go and change before I show up at the restaurant. Love you, Lizzie – and you too, Big Bear.” She then sped out the door.

~o~O~o~

“I brought some stuff for dinner. Let me whip it up for you. I chose food that I thought you’d like.” said Lizzie.

“A nice steak and baked potato?” Rick said, hopeful.

“Romaine salad with turkey, walnuts and cranberries it is, then.” Lizzie laughed. “I should clarify: I chose food I thought you’d like off of a Foods that Fight Depression article on the internet.”

“Lizzie – I don’t really feel worthy of all this loving attention you guys are giving me.”

“Hey, big guy – anyone in your sitch deserves TLC. Now don’t mention that again. You’ve got more self-esteem than that. Give me 10 minutes and our meal will be ready.”

~o~O~o~

“That really was tasty. Thanks, Liz. You sure have been a friend to me through this. Don’t want to think about what would’ve happened without you and Meg.”

“Glad to help. And glad you liked the salad. Did you get full enough?”

Rick smiled. “It takes a lot to fill me up. But this was fine. I need to cut back and lose a few pounds, anyway.” His countenance then turned more sober. “Have you talked with Beth since … since the ‘intervention’ last night? Does she know what you and Meg have been doing?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Your wife called me during my lunch hour today. I told her how devastated you were, and what Meg and I were doing. Her response? “You ought to have them put him in the psych hospital; don’t get in trouble with your work trying to take care of him.” I was flabbergasted, I tell you. This doesn’t seem like the same ‘bestie’ I’ve known for the last year and a half. I can’t fathom why she is so cold to you. What happened between you two? This can’t be just a simple one-off affair.”

Rick shook his head and gazed at the ground. “This is my fault. I can’t give her what she needs.”

“So – you’re not beating her, or abusing in any way?”

“NO! No way, not ever. Would you even be here alone with me if you thought that was a possibility?”

Lizzie pulled a small black box out of her purse. “Didn’t think so. But I always carry Sparky here with me just in case.” She pressed a button on the box and produced a visible crackle of electricity between 2 small metal points on the front.

Lizzie replaced the device in her purse and looked back at Rick with concern. “Now what do you mean – you can’t give her what she needs? She never mentioned anything like this to me.”

“That’s because she was respecting my wishes – I didn’t want her discussing this with anybody. And sorry, Liz – I don’t feel comfortable talking about it with you. Just suffice to say that I have a problem that caused the death of my marriage. And it’s the reason why I basically need to avoid sex for the rest of my life now. I’ve already said too much. Let’s change the subject, please.”

“Okay – we won’t talk about sex. Let’s talk about love in general. A new romance. I usually think “rebound “ relationships are a bad idea – but a new lady in your life who loves you might really help you through this. Maybe not. I’m no psychologist. But love is available to you, right now. In fact, I can’t believe you can’t see it.”

Rick’s eyes got wide. “Liz – let me get this straight – are you coming on to me?”

Lizzie slapped her forehead. “No, no. I mean, not that you aren’t a catch-and-a-half. And I am single, and you’re a big handsome … “ She shook her head as if to clear it. “NO. Besides, I don’t move in on a girlfriend’s guy.”

Rick sighed. “She’s filing for divorce. I don’t think she considers me her guy.”

Lizzie laughed. “I’m not talking about Beth, doofus. I’m talking about Meg.”

“Meg?!” Rick was nonplussed.

“Yes. Meg. She loves you like a sister, she says – but anyone can see she’s infatuated. Sure, she just broke up with that other guy – Derek, I think his name is? – but her eyes light up when she’s around you. I’m just saying, you guys already have a long history of friendship; maybe this is the universe’s way of working things out for the best.”

“The psychiatrist disagrees. He thinks I’m too emotionally fragile to have a romance now – especially with Meg. He’s ordered –” Wait a minute, Rick thought. I don’t need Lizzie knowing that Meg’s not supposed to be here tonight. – “Ahh … ordered me not to get in a new relationship now.” So Meg’s infatuated with me, he mused

Eliza looked flustered, then walked to the refrigerator. She looked in the freezer, and then pulled out a pint of premium chocolate almond ice cream. “Okay, he’s a shrink, not a cardiologist,” she yelled from the kitchen. “I know he didn’t forbid you to indulge in Haagen-Dazs!”

~o~O~o~

Rick fell asleep on the couch at 10:30 pm, with Liz watching him while she did some make up work on her computer from the dining table. When he woke up there in the morning, he could feel a softness pressing into his front. He looked down and saw a head of auburn hair underneath his chin. Meg, he knew.

Meghan had “tagged” back in at midnight, and changed into her pink sweats and carefully spooned into Rick from the front, trying not to wake him. But she did not have a restful night. Her head was filled with dreams – wet ones. Specifically, in her mind, she and Rick made love all night.

Now, she sighed and slowly squirmed, pressing her butt into Rick’s groin. He felt arousal beginning all over his body. Still sleepy, he put an arm around Meg’s waist and squeezed her tighter to his torso. She smiled and sighed, fully in dreamland.

“MMmmmm … like that,” she sighed.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Rick said

“Don’t … don’ stop,” she mumbled

Rick took a deep breath. “Meg. We need to...”

At that moment his hug-partner rolled over to face him. She pressed her ample bosom into his chest, and wrapped her left leg around his right. “Need … you …”

Rick had planned on telling Meghan to disengage from him, but in the face of the physical stimulation he lost all focus. His right arm had been ready to gently push her away, but now it grabbed ahold of her buttock and squeezed.

“Mmmm,” she sighed. Her face was now at his Adam’s apple. She still was only barely waking up, and did what felt natural for her – she kissed his neck. Just as she dreamed she’d been doing all night. Something nagged at her conscience – isn’t this wrong? No, no – how can it be? It feels so good.

Rick’s drowsy mind was now disengaged, and his lust was in control. He craned his head down and pulled Meg’s face up to his, planting a wet kiss there. Their tongues intermingled, and his hands were now inside her sweats, caressing her back and butt.

She was in rapturous bliss; half-awake but in full heat. She pulled her sweatshirt off in a quick motion, and pressed her unadorned breasts into Rick. In that moment, she suddenly remembered Dr. Rama’s warning.

Meghan’s eyes grew wide as she was now fully awake. “Rick! We can’t - ” Just as she said this, Rick lifted her right breast up to his mouth, and he began tonguing the nipple and areola. Meg gasped, and a visible shiver encompassed her whole body – otherwise, she was frozen in place by his oral ministrations. He began alternating from right to left breast and back, sucking and licking, as her shivers progressed to shaking tremors with moans and squeals.

Rick paused, his face buried between her two breasts. He now remembered Rama’s order – but he was so turned on. “The doc,” he croaked.

“Screw him,” Meghan groaned. Screw me, she thought.

Rick then took two fingers on his right hand and placed them in his mouth, lubricating them with saliva. Then he took his thumb and reached down; he slid Meg’s sweat pants down to her mid thighs, exposing her lilac panty. His hand dipped inside the front of the panty, searching for the groove he knew was there.

Meghan moaned and kissed his face as he began working his fingers. She seemed to enjoy this, though the shudders had stopped. So he paused long enough to pull her panty off and shift his position, putting his face at her groin level.

“Ohhhhh baby,” Meg moaned as the shivering returned. Rick’s tongue was doing somersaults in her vagina, and she began to spasm, pushing her pelvis against his face as he continued to lick.

She suddenly sat up. “I can’t stand it – I have to have you in me!” Meghan pushed Rick’s face away from her crotch and she began to tug his pants down. But Rick pulled away completely and stood up straight.

“What did you just say, Meg?”

“I have to have you in me, Rick! Please fuck me, now!”

Rick’s face fell. “No, Meg. God knows I want it. But you can’t have me. Not the way you need. It was the same with Beth. I’m sorry, Meg - I shouldn't have allowed us to get this far. But I can’t give you what you want.” He then walked down the hall into the bathroom and shut the door.

Meghan sat naked on the couch, her mind a jumble of surprise, hurt and rejection.

~o~O~o~

She remained that way for nearly a full minute – then she became concerned for Rick. Pulling her sweats back on, she ran to the bathroom and knocked hard. “Rick? What are you doing in there? I don’t hear any water running. Are you okay?”

“Leave me alone, Meg. You can’t help me. No one can help me.”

“What are you doing??” She twisted the doorknob, but it was locked.

“That’s no concern of yours. It’s only my problem. And it needs to be ended.”

“Rick. You open this door right now!” Meghan shouted.

He didn’t respond.

She grabbed her phone and dialed 911.

~o~O~o~

When the police arrived, they kicked the bathroom door in. Inside they found Rick, sitting on the toilet, looking down at an opened pocket knife he held in both hands. There was no blood or obvious injury – yet.

“Drop it!” yelled a young officer, pistol drawn.

“You could help me out,” mumbled Rick. “A bullet would be a lot more effective than a cut. Right here.” – he pointed to his forehead.

“Jenkins, let me handle this,” said an older cop whose nametag said MILLER. “Go get a statement from the lady.” Officer Miller holstered his weapon and squatted so as to be at eye level with the knife man. “Talk to me, Rick. That’s your name, right?”

The cop and the big man talked in the bathroom for twenty minutes until finally an empty-handed Rick emerged followed by Officer Miller. The EMT’s had arrived, and they put Rick in restrictive constraints and took him to the hospital emergency room. Soon after that, he was transported to Passages psychiatric hospital.

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

If you've mede it this far, please leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the computer screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading!

My entry in the Reader Retention contest.

~o~O~o~

Meghan arrived at Passages at the start of afternoon visiting hours. Dr. Rama stepped out of the locked unit doors to greet her. “I have some questions about what happened last night,” he said to her. Meg swallowed hard and confessed to her role in what happened.

“Thank you for being honest and open, Ms. Meghan. I have to ask you: have your previous thoughts of suicide returned, considering all the problems that happened this morning?”

“Umm … maybe a little. I was stupid and selfish; I put Rick’s life in danger by disobeying your order.”

“Would you mind if one of our counselors spoke with you right now to insure your safety?”

“Sure. Why not, I guess.” Then a thought hit Meghan. “Hey, doc. Are you saying I might need to be in here too? If – if I was admitted to Passages, could I get treatment along with Rick, side-by-side, so to speak?”

Rama frowned. “No. In fact, if you do need a psychiatric inpatient stay, I’m going to recommend St. Francis, in the next county. You and Rick are not to be together for now.” A nurse stepped in and gave Dr. Rama a packet of papers as he spoke.

“I can’t even visit him while he’s in here?” Meg moaned.

Dr. Rama glanced at the papers, then offered them to Meg. “For you.”

She took the packet. “What is this?”

“It’s a restraining order. You are not to get within 500 feet of Rick until I deem it safe to do so. Judge DeShanna Jefferson is a friend of mine, and she put a rush on this at my request.”

“You think I’m a threat to him – that I would harm him? I mean … “ she began to produce tears. “Oh God … I have harmed him, haven’t I? Can … can he recover from what I’ve done?”

“I’m not letting Rick off the hook; he disobeyed my order along with you. So in my opinion, you both hurt each other. Yet, recovery is absolutely possible. But to get well - both of you - you must be separated for now. Ah, here’s the counselor I called for. He’ll take you to a consultation room and check you out.”

~o~O~o~

Although the counselor did feel that Meghan was clinically depressed, there was no obvious suicide threat. Meg feared – correctly – that any harm she brought on herself would hurt Rick more, and she could not allow that to happen. Outpatient counseling was set up for her; daily for the rest of the week, and then adjusted depending on her progress. An antidepressant was prescribed.

Meghan went to Eliza’s house that evening; she told her new friend about the last 24 eventful hours – in between sobs and bawls.

“God, I’m a horrible person. I can’t believe how bad I screwed up,” sniffled Meg.

“Honey, I agree with the last part,” said Lizzie as she fed tissues to her pal. “You really messed up royally. If I had known the doc ordered you to be apart, there’s no way I would have let you stay the night. I could have done that; I’d have put him to his bed while I crashed on the couch, then taken work off for the next day. Or I could’ve hired my older brother Sammy to sit with him; he’s level-headed and in need of cash.

“But you need to shush that talk about how horrible you are. You have a great soul, and you’re really sorry about what happened. I still think you have a heart of gold. You just needed to follow orders.”

“At least Rick’s getting the help he needs,” Meg sighed. “Lizzie, I’m so bad at love. I should have told Derek about me on day one. And now I’ve lost Rick, due to disobedience and stupidity.”

“You’re still learning, girl. And that’s the key. LEARN from your mistakes. You got a late start on love as a woman – you’re in your mid-twenties. I did most of my stupid ass mistakes during my teenage dating years.”

“Rick has some sort of sex secret, something he’s desperately ashamed of,” Meg wondered. “Maybe ED? But people aren’t so embarrassed to talk about that these days – and the treatments they have are pretty effective, I’ve heard. What could it be?”

“Damned if I know,” replied Lizzie. “Yesterday he told me that Beth left him over it, and he was gonna have to give up on sex – and maybe love altogether – because of it. But he refused to elaborate further.”

“It hurts, Lizzie. Right here,” Meg placed a hand over her breastbone. “Make it stop, please.”

“Just cry it out, honey. I’ve got you,” Liz responded with a hug and a forehead kiss. And if that doesn’t work, I’m consulting Dr. Haagen-Dazs.

~o~O~o~

Meghan was in better spirits as she left Lizzie’s house. Oh, she was still down, but did not feel totally forlorn. There was at least one person who still loved her in spite of her mess: Lizzie. As long as she had just one friend, there was hope. She entered her apartment, which seemed a little cold and stale. Maybe I should have asked Liz if I could stay the night with her.

She closed the front door behind her as she stepped inside. Five seconds later the doorbell rang. What!? Who… ? Meg looked through the peephole.

Derek?!

She opened the door. Her original beau stood there with a bouquet of roses.

“Hi, Meggie. I’ve missed you. Here’s a peace offering,” he said, extending the flowers to her. “Can I come in – to talk?”

“Oh, ye-“ Meghan halted her response as she remembered his attempt to slap her their last time together. “Um … I’ll take these; but let’s talk at Pizzagogo. I’ll meet you there in 15 minutes.”

~o~O~o~

There they sat, at the same table they’d been at earlier in the week. Derek munched on a double pepperoni slice as Meg nibbled on a breadstick. This evening there was live music; on the makeshift stage, a lone guitarist played oldies from the 90’s.

“I see the big guy’s not around this time,” said Derek, scanning the room.

“No,” Meg replied. “You’re not planning on hitting me, are you?”

“Oh, Meggie,” he said as he hung his head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that I had that anger in me – or rather, that I would ever use it against you. Please forgive me. I promise it will never happen again.”

“Are you harboring any more resentment towards me?”

“No, I’m not. I fell in love with what I thought was a woman; and I’ve come to realize that you are a woman. You’re a better woman – in looks, in personality, in your heart – than most real women out there.”

“Uh, Derek … I consider myself a real woman.”

“I’m sorry! You know what I mean, though, right? I can get over the part about you not being able to bear my children. What I can’t get over is being apart from you.

“Also, I think I know why I reacted the way I did. I’ve never told you about my cousin Denny. He and I were so close over the years, best buds whenever our families got together. He announced last year that he had always wished he’d been a girl, and started on medicines to make him curvy. I felt pretty betrayed, and begged him to reconsider; his family and friends did too. Now he’s living as a woman full time, but he’s obviously not a natural one. Tall, square jaw, deep voice. All I can see when I’m around him-“

“Her,” Meghan corrected. “When you’re around HER.”

“Okay. HER,” Derek mumbled. “All I can see is a shadow of the buddy I lost. She wants to be friends with me, but I’m nervous just being around her. So that frustration may have fed into how I acted the other day. Whatever. I’ve come to terms with your reality, though, and I realize I’m madly in love with you; I plan on making you my wife one day soon.”

Meghan’s heart skipped a beat; she still had feelings for this man. “Tell me, lover. Tell me what you love about me.”

“Your eyes. Green like a field of Ireland grass. Your sexy body – I’m not going to elaborate much on that, or I won’t be able to walk out of here without a hard-on limp. Your femininity. Your long red hair and the way it smells of flowers. The fact that you’re completely passable, and know how to keep a secret.”

“Hmm?” Meg’s eyes narrowed. “What secret?”

“You know,” Derek whispered, leaning over to speak into her ear. “That you’re a transsexual.”

“I’d need to keep that a secret from…”

“From everyone!” he breathed. “Or you’ll be an outcast; I’ll be an outcast too! None of my family and friends would have anything to do with us. But you’re so completely female in your looks; no one will ever suspect. All we need to do is keep it that way.”

“So you’re ashamed of my … trans status.”

“Well I’m definitely not proud of it! It’s not something to be proud of.”

“Derek. Your family will find out eventually. My parents know.”

“Well, we just have to make sure that your parents and mine never meet.”

She put her breadstick down, and swallowed hard. Water welled in her eyes as she spoke: “Goodbye, Derek.” She stood up.

“Wait – wait, wait Meggie!” Derek hissed, his face flushing. “Okay, okay; maybe I can learn to live with people knowing about you. Just – just bear with me, okay? Give me a chance, alright?”

Meg looked up at the guitar player, who was just ending his current song. Gazing back at Derek now, she said “Okay. Here’s your chance.” She walked up to the stage where the musician was, and told him “excuse me” as she grabbed the microphone.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, ladies and gentlemen. I have an important announcement to make.”

Meg could see Derek’s face from the stage; it was now white as a sheet.

She continued. “I am a girl, but I was born a boy. I am a transgender woman. Anyone who wants to be my friend should not be ashamed of me, or afraid of what others think. Thank you.”

There was one “get off the stage” – but many more positive, like “You go girl” and “Hey beautiful, what’s your number?” As she stepped back down to the restaurant floor, she looked for Derek again. But he was long gone.

“And that, mister, was your chance. Your last one,” she muttered quietly.

~o~O~o~

Rick was undergoing intense therapy at Passages. On the fourth day of his stay, Dr. Rama approached him with news.

“Rick, there’s someone who has called and asked for permission to visit you. Your wife, Beth.”

Rick had been sitting in one of the communal room high backed chairs, eyes closed. This news snapped him to full attention. “What – what does she want?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask her. If I feel that she intends to harm you verbally, I won’t allow it. But your divorce is just barely filed, and you are going to have to interact with her eventually. If the meeting occurs here, then we can manage any bad reaction you may have.”

The next day, Rick sat facing Beth in a small meeting room. The main nurse station had a security camera view to monitor the interaction by video but not audio.

Both spouses sat silently, waiting for the other to begin. Finally one spoke.

“Hello, Rick.”

“Beth.”

“Are you okay, now? Still want to kill yourself?”

Rick sighed and ran his fingers through his thick hair. “Why are you here, Beth? Did you come to mock me? To give me an update on ‘Michael’? Maybe to gloat about how many times he’s fu-“

“That’s over, Rick. As soon as he hit me – for not wanting to get into bondage and domination play. It’s taking a lot of makeup to hide the bruise he gave me.”

“That’s too bad. He was so good in bed; what a waste,” Rick sneered.

“Yeah, he was… “ Beth squinted her eyes and shook her head. “No, dammit – I’m not here to talk about him. I was worried about you. I figured you’d be down when I left, but I had no idea you’d go suicidal. Now I feel guilty; I should have softened the blow somehow.”

“Beth. I walked in on you two in bed. How were you gonna soften that?”

“Rick. I need to get back together with you. I feel scared; that hit from Michael has me worried he’s going to come and try to do worse. He won’t if you’re around. I’ve lost my best friend over this – Lizzie resents me for breaking up with you. I feel so alone. It would be a comfort to have you back – once you get out of here, of course.”

“So you need my presence and protection. What do I get out of it?”

“Why, you get me, Rick. I’m your wife. I know you still love me. I can kiss you and hug you, and love you as best I can.”

“As best you can?” Rick’s eyes narrowed. “Yes I still love you, Beth. I think I always will. Do you love me? Are you in love with me?”

“I … sure. Yes. Yes I am.”

“As long as I allow you to get dick somewhere, right?”

Beth had a pained expression on her face. “Please, Rick. It would only be a once in a while thing.. “

“Beth. File for the divorce. I’ll be generous. You can use the money to buy you a bodyguard. But I’ll never be yours – ever again. Goodbye to you, now and forever. Now get out of my sight,” he said as tears began to pour from his eyes.

~o~O~o~

The declaration Meg made at Pizzagogo seemed to do wonders for her resolve, and her psyche. Her counselor noted her new attitude, which showed more strength and less fear. The antidepressants may have been helping some, but they hadn’t had time to fully kick in; Lizzie took note of her personal growth too.

At work, Meghan “came out” to her boss for the first time. It went well. She then informed the office staff. Though her counselor had said this disclosure was not necessary, Meg felt the need to address the issue and take pride in who she was, who she’d become – a rite of passage, a conquering of her fears.

Then one day she received a phone call from an unknown number. “Hello?” she answered.

“Hello, Miss Meghan. This is Dr. Rama from Passages hospital. How are you today?”

“Doctor Rama! Is Rick okay? It’s been a week since he was put in there!”

“Yes – he’s shown quite a lot of improvement. I need for you to come down here so he can talk to you; he has some things to tell you. Can you come this afternoon?”

“I’m at work and won’t get off until 6 pm – I can come right over at that time!”

“No; I need you to come during full staffing hours. Is tomorrow morning possible?”

“Yes. Ah … does this mean the restraining order is cancelled?”

“No, it’s still in effect; I’m suspending it for this meeting, because it is necessary for Rick’s recovery. That’s all I’m prepared to tell you; he’ll get into the rest. Be here at 9 am promptly, please.”

~o~O~o~

Meghan parked her car in the Passages parking lot at 8:39 am. She walked briskly through the main entrance into the lobby, then straight into the women’s bathroom there.

She checked her appearance in the mirror. Most of her outfits, even for work, emphasized her considerable assets, especially her breasts and legs. The ensemble she had on today purposely did not do that. A loose fitting white blouse covered by a sweater jacket; black slacks and flats. This was especially to show Dr. Rama that she wasn’t here to try to stimulate Rick.

Satisfied with her look, she walked out to the reception desk. “Hi. I’m Meghan McConnell. Dr. Rama is expecting me?”

The woman at the desk made a quick call then put the phone down. “They’re almost ready for you. Dr. Rama will come and escort you to the meeting room in a few minutes. Feel free to have a seat.”

Meg turned to pick out a chair, but suddenly heard behind her “Hello, Miss Meghan.” It was the doctor. “I appreciate your being here on time – even a little early. We’re all ready, so follow me please.” He held open the locking door to the inpatient area.

~o~O~o~

The meeting room was well appointed with framed art, soft furniture and plenty of boxes of tissues. Meghan entered to see Rick sitting in a big chair; he wore a blue T-shirt and gray sweat pants. His face looked a little weathered; he smiled slightly at Meg, yet she thought she could see pain in his eyes as she sat down. Dr. Rama took a seat also, and cleared his throat.

“I’m going to be here to make sure the conversation stays therapeutic; otherwise, I’ll be silent. You may proceed, Rick.”

Rick coughed, then smiled. “Hello, Meg. You look great.”

She blushed. “It’s so good to see you again Rick. I’ve been praying for you multiple times a day while you’ve been here. It’s my fault you’re in here anyway.”

He shook his head. “No, both of us –“

“This was all my fault!” she cried, grabbing a tissue box. “I wasn’t supposed to get physical with you. I should have told Lizzie about Dr. Rama’s order. At the very least I should have slept on the floor; should've realized we’d be vulnerable if we were lying together. Because of me you felt like killing yourself. Now you’ve been locked up here for a week. Because of me.” She buried her head in her Kleenex-filled hands and began to sob uncontrollably. “I’m so … so sor- … sorry!!”

Rick sat silently. He wanted to go and embrace his friend, reassure her that all was okay. But Dr. Rama had forbidden physical contact in today’s meeting. So words would have to do.

“Meg. I forgive you. I screwed up too. And you’re still my friend – my best friend, right now.”

“I … *sob* … don’t deserve your friendship, Rick.”

“Well that’s just tough because I need your friendship, Meg. I need all the friends I can find. So I’m not letting go of you. Also, I haven’t been ‘locked up’ here for the last 3 days; I’ve stayed here voluntarily at doc’s request, to get intensive therapy. I really feel it’s helping me.”

Meghan’s tears had slowed some. “Dr. Rama said that you had ... something you wanted to discuss with me?”

“Yeah.” Now Rick looked uncomfortable. “You need to know why I pushed you away and locked myself in the bathroom that morning. The same reason Beth left me. The reason why I’m no good for any girl. I promised myself after Beth that I’d never tell another woman about this; but the doc thinks I need to open up to you.”

Meghan’s eyes grew wide as she realized the importance of the moment.

Rick looked away from her as he started to talk. “God, this is such a horror story. I’m dreading how you’re gonna react.”

Meghan’s eyes were drying as she wanted to show courage for her friend. “Rick. I love you. There, I’ve said it. I love you with every fiber of my being. I promise never again to hurt you; and I will never, ever reject you. Tell me this secret that seems too horrible to talk about. Because if you tell me about it, then you – we – can start to deal with it. If you don’t, it will get even worse as time goes on.”

Rick sighed. “Sounds like you’ve been watching too much Dr. Phil.”

“Actually, it was Mr. Rogers who said that. I’ll take his advice over Dr. Phil’s any day.”

Rick smiled at his friend. "So you love me, huh?"

Meg smiled back. "This much, Bear," she spread her arms as wide as they could go.

Rick kept smiling, but his face otherwise turned sad. "Before you commit to saying that, you better hear me out." Rick looked out the window. "Okay, here goes," he whispered. Meghan quieted her breathing so as to not miss a word.

“When I was born, it was in a rural New Jersey hospital. The delivery went fine; then, my parents requested the obstetrician perform a circumcision. The doc decided to use an electric cautery to do it. I found out later that technique had been discredited and was no longer approved for circumcision; but the doc had continued to do them that way for years. Well, the voltage may have been turned up too high, or maybe the electricity arc got away from him; in any event, half of my penis ended up black and charred.”

“Oh my god,” Meg exclaimed as she covered her mouth with both hands.

Rick continued to speak in a low volume monotone. “The head of my dick is still mostly, there, and still has sensation. But half of the shaft – especially the parts that balloon up and make a ‘hard on’ – were mostly destroyed. The pee canal got scarred some; I have to see the urologist 2 or 3 times a year to get it dilated.with probes so I can still pass urine. But although I can feel turned on by rubbing my dick, I can’t use it for intercourse.

“My dick is scarred, and pulls to the right really abnormally. Most of the skin on it is tight from the scarring, not loose and stretchy like most guys’ dicks. And it’s really, really small; I have to grasp it using only two fingers. There’s not much more to handle.

“I’ve had multiple surgical procedures since, most of them to keep my pee-hole open; if that closes up, I’m in major trouble. There’s nothing they could do to save my dick for sex, though. I’ve been left with what they call a nonfunctioning micropenis – meaning I can’t accomplish an erection. Man, the desire is there – my testicles are still functional and healthy – but nothing happens. I can achieve a climax if I rub and press deeply enough, but it takes a lot of rubbing to get me there.”

Meghan was dabbing away tears once more. She felt she could feel his anguish. Dr Rama stayed silent, closely observing both friends as Rick continued.

“That means when it comes to love, I can’t give a woman the feel of a real penis in her vagina. And I can’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that she made her man come. Beth told me before we married that her love for me would overcome my shortcomings, and we tried so many things – dildos, oral, anal - but two years later she had to admit that she needed more. She wanted an open marriage; I said no, and then all this separation and adultery happened.

“I know, now ... most all women have to feel a real, warm, thick human dick inside them. No matter what else they say. Beth taught me that.

“Rick … my heart aches so badly for you right now,” Meg moaned. “My god, this is a burden you’ve been carrying all of your life! Why didn’t you tell me when we were friends back in middle school? Were you afraid I was going to reject you as a friend? I opened my soul to you then about me being trans. Your support during that time kept me going even when I felt like giving up.”

“Maybe it would have helped me if I’d told you, Meg; maybe not. Opening up wouldn’t have changed the fact that I’m damaged goods. I went to extreme lengths to hide my defect; I changed clothes for gym in the bathroom stall, not in the general locker areas.”

“What about after gym? I remember – we had one open communal shower room.”

Rick half smiled for the first time this morning. “My folks always arranged my schedule with the schools so I had gym as last class of the day. That way I could bike home and shower there. So I found ways to hide this.”

“Did your family help you bear this burden?”

“Meg. You remember me talking about my family, don’t you?”

“Just that you didn’t want to work with them.”

“Think about it. My name, Rick Russo – that’s Italian. I’m from Jersey. I got a family that does shady business. Put 2 and 2 together.”

Meg’s mind finally clicked. “You mean … ?” She mouthed the word “Mafia”.

“Pretty much. In any event, the Doc who disfigured me wasn’t sued because he ‘went missing’ in the months after my injury, and hasn’t been heard from since. Since than my family’s told me to “be tough and don’t complain about your problem”. Once I was 18 they tried to get me to join the family biz as an enforcer. They said I should take any anger I had towards the doc who scarred me and use it to deal with ‘problem people’.

“I never did want to be a ‘goodfella’ though – my plan was to move away as soon as I turned adult age, and get a legit career. I came to Baton Rouge to take a courier job, and was able to work up to middle management.”

Meghan smiled. “And I moved here for college, and to transition without my family giving me grief. What a surprise when I was reading our high school alumni newsletter and found you now lived here too!” Her face now turned serious again. “Your family - do they know about Beth leaving?”

“NO. And they don’t need to! I don’t need her ‘disappearing ‘ like that doc did 25 years ago. My folks could do it, then use that to try to draw me into their web of criminal activity.

“But I am still left with the fact that I’m about as useful to a woman as a eunuch. And I can’t take the possibility of my heart being ripped out again because my girl can’t be fulfilled by me. I think that’s the reason I got so severely depressed – I not only lost Beth, but I feel I don’t have any chance for love in the future. Then when you told me you had to have me inside you, I realized I would even fail you completely. And that, to make a long story longer, is what happened that morning.”

Meghan rose and stood in front of Rick’s face, to look him straight in his eyes. “So you didn’t reject me because I used to be a boy?”

“Absolutely not, Meg. To me you are a woman, period, end of story. Not only that, you are a true friend. You came to my rescue, and showed me true love in my desperate need. In fact, I was falling in love with you, Meg. But I can’t let that happen. I talked with Derek after you left us at Pizzagogo. He remarked about how much you enjoy making love. And I know that getting penis is probably a big part of that for you. So we’d better keep things at the ‘just friends’ level before our hearts get too involved.”

Meghan sat back down. Both of them remained silent for the a few seconds.

Finally, Meghan cleared her throat. “You know, I’m damaged goods too. I can never bear children. And I’m transgender, which in many people’s eyes still makes me an unnatural freak. So these are burdens I will carry the rest of my life. If we ever considered being more than ‘just friends’, then we could help each other with those burdens.” She turned to Dr. Rama. “Unless the doctor feels that we are bad for each other.”

Rama smiled. “I only forbade you two having intimate contact during this critical time. I am impressed with the maturity and care you have given each other during this sensitive discussion. So Rick, once you're discharged, I see no problem with a healthy romance - so long as you keep it non-physical. No sexual stimulation for at least the next sixty days.”

“And the restraining order?” Meghan inquired, hopeful.

“I’m cancelling it,” smiled Rama.

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

If you've mede it this far, please leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the computer screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading!

My entry in the Reader Retention contest.

~o~O~o~

Dr. Rama discharged Rick from Passages two days later.. He still was to return for counseling on a less intense scale. Now Rick was waiting for Meghan to pick him up and take him home.

“Your ride is here, Mr. Russo,” the intake nurse said. He picked up his bags and headed towards the doors. Dr. Rama intercepted him.

“Let me walk with you, Rick. I’ll officially hand you off to your friend. I don’t always do this, but you’ve been an exceptional patient. I want to see you two leaving here together, like a ‘happily ever after’ scene in a movie. Just remember, unlike romance films, a lot of work is necessary to have successful happiness.”

“Got it, doc,” Rick replied. “Don’t worry. I know I’m better, but I’m not so cocky as to think I’m finished healing. I’ll keep the appointment with you on Friday.” He then smiled wide; Rama noticed

“I can’t wait to see Meg again, even though we’ll just be shaking hands for now,” the big man said. Rama punched the unlock code for the facility doors, and they walked through. But Meghan wasn’t there.

“Surprise, big guy” said a wavy haired blonde girl in a skirted power suit; Lizzie. “Meg had to work the full day, and she was already on shaky ground with her boss over the schedule changes and a missed shift or two. So you got me taking you home. I borrowed my brother Sammy’s truck; my little Miata wasn’t built for giants.”

“Lizzie – this is Dr. Rama,” Rick said. “He’s been my shrin – uh, psychiatrist - here.”

Liz’s eyes narrowed. “You’re Dr. Ramanathan? You’re nothing like your picture. I did a search on your name and Passages … and the impression I got was of a middle aged, chunky guy. But you … “ Liz stared at the doc. He was trim, fit, dark skinned, and had a hint of stylish stubble on his face. Early thirties, Lizzie guessed. No ring on left hand.

“Ah. I’ll bet you pulled up my cousin," the doc answered. "He’s also a Dr. Ramanathan – psychiatrist, same as me – and he heads up the Passages hospital in Kissimmee, Florida. In fact, his recommendation helped me get the position at this Passages facility.”

“I hope you’ve been doing right by my friends Rick and Meg. If not, I’ll have to come and teach you a thing or two,” Lizzie said with a slight grin.

“Ah … “ Dr. Rama looked suddenly flustered “Well, If you feel you have to, I wouldn’t mind.” He then glanced down to this right holding his gaze maybe a little too long.

Omigod. He just did a wedding ring check on me! Liz thought. She pulled out a business card and wrote on the back of it. She then handed it to Rama. “if you need any help with investments, please contact me. It was really nice to meet you.” She and Rick then walked out to the truck.

“Didja write your cell number on the back?” said Rick as they got in.

“Yes,” Liz smiled. “Along with two words.”

Rick grinned and nodded. “CALL ME. Right?”

~o~O~o~

Meg tasted the pasta dish she’d whipped up. “Perfect,” she said, smacking her lips. “Tasty, but not too filling. Leaving plenty of energy for later.” She removed her apron and walked into the living area to view how she looked. Her low cut green spaghetti strap blouse needed something; she put on the petite gold jacket she’d pulled out. “There we go.” The black miniskirt with dark hose and green pumps were the perfect complement. Her red hair was in an attractive “up-do” to keep it out of the way while she cooked … and for another reason too. She reviewed her mental checklist: “Candles lit … lights dim … soft guitar music … wine – wait, WINE? Omigod, don’t tell me I forgot the wine!”

The doorbell rang. Too late to get wine now, dammit. Oh well. She hopped eagerly to the door and opened it.

There stood Rick in a jacket and tie. His eyes lit up upon seeing Meg, and he broke into a huge smile. “Wow. Just … wow,” he said. He extended a bouquet of huge red roses to her. “I tried to get some blooms that would match your beauty, but that’s just impossible; these were the closest I could come. I also brought the vino, as promised.” He produced a bottle of Sauvignon blanc in his other hand.

“Whew!” Meghan exhaled. “That’s right, you said you’d bring the booze. Pretty classy booze, too.”

“Are you impressed?”

“You’re doing good, buster. Keep it up!” she laughed. “Are you ready for dinner? Because it’s ready for us.”

~o~O~o~

“MMmmm, Meg. Are you sure you’re Irish? Because you can cook a great Italian supper.”

“This is my 3rd and best attempt at it. I’ve been practicing all week. Be thankful you didn’t have to eat my first go-round with that recipe. How was work today?”

“You’re interested in my work?”

“I’m interested in YOU. I want to be a part of your life – ah, I mean, since we’re dating now, I want to experience every aspect of you – the mundane and the exciting, the ups and the downs. I want to be the best friend I can to you, Rick.”

“I see. What about being more than just friends?”

“Well … you know what today is, right?”

“Oh yes. How could I forget?”

“Almost nine weeks ago, we promised Dr. Rama we’d have no intimate contact for sixty days. And we kept our promise this time. I’m so proud of us!”

Rick lifted his wine glass. “A toast, to completion of the 60 days.”

Meg clinked her glass to his. “And a toast to us.”

~o~O~o~

Now Rick was sitting on the couch in the den, sipping the remaining drops of his glass of wine. Meg had excused herself to use the restroom. She now entered the den.

“I felt a little stuffy so I took my jacket off. Can I take yours from you?”

Rick complied. Meg reached for his Windsor knot, and loosened his tie. “Let’s get you comfy.” She then pulled the pins from her hair, and it cascaded sexily down her shoulders as Rick watched. She slid onto the couch, snuggling up under his right arm and pressing her bosom into his chest. He ran his fingers through her flowing auburn locks as she lay her head on his shoulder. Gently, he lifted her chin with his left arm, and met her face with a warm, open-mouthed kiss. They continued kissing for many minutes.

Now Rick’s shirt was mostly unbuttoned, with Meg’s right arm massaging his hairy chest. His right hand massaged her breast, then her butt.

“Are you ready to move into the bedroom?” she breathed.

“I am. Still worried about disappointing you.”

“Don’t you be. I’m halfway about to orgasm just right now. I know you can make me come without penetration; you did that when we got intimate that first time.”

“Yeah. But I can’t get you that filled-up sensation.”

“If I need that, we can use the brand new sex toy I showed you. I’m worried about you getting satisfied, though.”

“Well, about that. Why don’t we try you sucking on me. If that doesn’t work, well. I’ve been researching that ‘prostate stimulation’ technique you told me about … and … I might be open to you trying that. Just take it slow, okay?”

“Really! Oh, I’m excited to try it. You know, Rick – I think we’re going to be fine. OOOH!”

Meg gasped in surprise as the big man stood up and hoisted her in his arms like a groom taking his wife across the threshold.. He then proceeded to the bedroom.

~o~O~o~

Hours later:

The couple lay naked in bed, entwined together.

“How are you doing, Rick? Emotionally? Are you upset or disappointed at all?” Meghan queried, afraid to outright ask about the S word – suicide.

“Meg – I’m feeling great. Don’t worry. No despair, no hopelessness, nothing anywhere near the state I was in when the Doc committed me.”

“Good. Because I’m still floating in the stratosphere. This was the best lovemaking I’ve ever had.”

Rick craned his neck to look at her. “The best? Come on – I know Derek and you had a pretty physical connection, and his dick –“

“Lovemaking to a woman is more than just penis, Big Bear – and you did all the right things. Foreplay, loving sexy words, rubbing and squeezing and assuring me that you’re super attracted to me. You put my needs first, and you trusted me to put yours first. “

“Meg … I could tell you were putting my needs as your priority. Thank you so much for that. It was amazing,” whispered Rick. “Better than I ever hoped. I came with more intensity than I ever have. You’re a miracle, baby.”

“I lost count of how many times I came! Six … seven? God,” Meghan sighed. “Your magic fingers and mouth - you played me like a violin. I love how you started off gentle and caressing, and then progressed to a hard pounding fuck with the tool. Every sex fantasy I ever had – you made them come true.”

Rick fretted. “How are our future lovemaking sessions ever going to match up to this one?”

“Hahaha! Don’t worry, I won’t expect this intensity every time. But it’s thrilling to know this bliss is possible for us.”

“Meg.”

“Yes, Big Bear?”

“I love you. You are the best friend – and now the best lover – I’ve ever had.”

“I feel the same way, Rick. Every day with you is a dream come true.”

“So … would you be opposed to making this permanent?”

“Um … what are you –“ Meg sat up as Rick moved off the bed. Reaching into the pocket of his pants hung on the bedroom chair, he turned to her and dropped to one knee, presenting her a small box. He opened it, saying “Save my life one more time, Meg. Please marry me.”

She squeaked and screamed as he put the ring on her finger. Then she tackled him to the floor and smothered him with kisses.

~o~O~o~

One year later.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Russo. Richard and Meghan, correct? I’m Dr Ivanovich. Your urologist referred you here, right? I’m sorry, we can’t find the referral form he faxed to my office. We’re having them re-fax it now. Can you tell me why he sent you to me?"

Rick sighed. “I’m here because I promised my new urologist – Dr. Sawyer – I’d see you once. I always follow doctor’s orders; I learned that the hard way.”

Dr. Ivanovich furrowed his brow. “You know, I’m a plastic surgeon who specializes in transgender confirmation surgery, especially female-to-male cases. Are you a male who was born female?”

Ricks face twisted in confusion, as did Meghan’s.

“Doctor, I’m a transgender female, and I’m married to Rick, a genetic male. Neither of us wants to change our current gender. There must be a mistake?!”

Rick spoke. “My urologist said I might need removal of the rest of my penis. It was severely injured during a botched circumcision when I was a baby, and I had a bad motorcycle accident last month that damaged it further. The pee-tunnel is having trouble staying open, and it will lead to bladder and kidney damage unless we remove the obstructed part of my dick.

“I’m not looking forward to having it amputated totally. I guess I felt like I at least had a dick, even if it was deformed. My old urologist – Dr. Hill – always told me nothing could be done to help it.”

The plastic surgeon now was nodding. “Oh, okay. I think I understand. I’ve heard of Dr. Hill; he retired at what, 85? That may explain a lot. Sometimes as we docs get older, we don’t keep up with new developments. Your new urologist – Sawyer – is at state-of-the-art surgeon; I've worked with him on many cases.”

Rick and Meghan looked at each other, then back at Dr. Ivanovich. “Are you saying that Rick wasn’t getting the most up to date advice from his previous urologist?”

Ivanovich sidestepped Meg’s question by asking one of his own. “What about sensation and function in your penis – as in, erections and stimulation?”

“I can’t get anything like a hard-on. The head of my penis can still feel, though, and I get a lot of pleasure when Meg pays attention to it.”

Meghan nodded, with just a hint of blushing. Discussing their sex life with doctors – especially a new one – was still a little uncomfortable.

The doctor examined Rick’s groin area, then sat down to talk to the couple again.

“Have you been disappointed in your lack of a fully functional penis, Rick?”

“I – um – nearly killed myself over it. But I got help from a good psychiatrist. And the unconditional love and affection of my wife here has made life and sex enjoyable in spite of my defect. I just worry that it’ll be even harder for me to get an orgasm if it’s totally cut off.”

“Well, you absolutely must be able to empty your bladder; if it’s getting obstructed from scarring, that’s a problem. But tell me – have you ever heard of phalloplasty?”

Rick shook his head.

“It’s the creation of a functional penis – one that you can pee through and have intercourse with – in a person who doesn’t have one. I create them for transgender males, and for men with penises amputated due to trauma or cancer. I’ve developed new techniques that can salvage any stimulatory tissue and use it to give yourself pleasure as well as your partner. It’s not as good as a natural penis, but I’ll bet I can give you more than you’ve ever had. Interested?”

Rick looked at Meghan with an inquisitive face.

She replied “I’m going to love you – and make love to you – penis or not, Bear. I’ll stand by whatever you choose.”

Rick turned back to the doctor. “Hell yes. I’m interested!”

~o~O~o~

THE END

~o~O~o~

If you've made it this far, please leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the computer screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading!

A story based in the real world. For some reason, a high school boy named J.J. went to sleep and didn't wake up for nearly 3 years. Someone else was awake in his place ...

~o~O~o~

Jacoby Jesse Evarist woke up.

It was a strange awakening, this. Not the fact that it appeared to be a gradual lifting of the night’s fog; after all, he could not expect to spring suddenly out of bed to full fresh consciousness every dawn. It was another thing – no, actually multiple other things this morning. Beginning with the fact that it didn’t appear to be morning. The bright sunbeams were coming in through the windows nearly straight down onto the floor … that would be more in keeping with noontime, right?

Huh. That’s odd. I never oversleep this badly. When did I get to bed last night? J.J. tried to concentrate, but last night seemed blank to him. Weird. I’m only 14 years old; that’s way too young to start getting memory loss, right?

The next oddity was the room. As his vision cleared, it became obvious that he wasn’t in his bedroom. The walls were darkly stained natural wood, accented with shelves of books with names like Jungian Thought in the 21st century. The book next to that one had print too small on the spine to read, but the next one said DSM 5TH EDITION. After that was Dr. Seuss’ One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.

That’s a funny sequence, J.J. thought, and smiled. The smile vanished when he realized Wait a minute – I’m waking up at noon, in a strange room, and I’m not looking at the ceiling. I usually am when I first open my-

That’s when J.J. realized he wasn’t in a bed: he was sitting upright. Bolt upright. He leaned back, slower than he intended – sheesh, it’s like my body is in slow motion – and felt a thin cushion over a hard immovable surface as if he was in a high backed chair. He then proceeded to try to stand – but he couldn’t move his feet. Nor his arms. The thought came that he was tangled up in his blanket, but then reasoned he wouldn’t be in a blanket while sitting. He weakly tried a few more times to move his limbs; nothing.

He wondered about calling for assistance, and then realized: there were other voices in the room already talking. In low volumes, but they were there. J.J. held his breath as he tried to hear the discussion.

A stocky man with glasses and a suit was sitting in a shadowed part of the room; only his silhouette was discernable. J.J. had not noticed him until the man just now spoke. “Ma’am. I need your patience. The injection is in him, working; as soon as the sedation wears off, we’ll see if he returns to us. Don’t give up. I know how horrible this must-“

“Shut up. No. No you don’t. You DON’T know,” wailed a woman’s pained voice. “Unless you’ve been in my position – our position – you have NO idea about what we are feeling. And we’re not even the main victims here! Jacoby – my sweet J.J. – God, what horrors he’s gone through! I’m sorry; forgive my rudeness, doctor –“

A third voice, gruff, male, interrupted. “Don’t apologize to the quack. He doesn’t deserve it.”

J.J.’s eyes shifted to the right edge of the room, towards the latter voices. There they were, a man and woman together on a settee. The woman was leaning forward, elbows on her knees, face buried in her open palms. She occasionally shook and sniffled. The man was hugely obese, and the little couch seemed to strain to hold their combined weight. He had his big heavy arm across her back, alternately petting and rubbing it.

J.J. squinted his half-awake eyes. Somehow, in a strange way, he knew these people. They were familiar yet alien at the same time. The woman had a small crude flower tattoo on her left wrist. Just like the one Aunt Faye gave to Mom when they were kids. But this woman was not his mother. Mom was always bright, positive and joyous; and this woman’s hands and voice indicated she was years older than Becky Evarist. And this balding fat man must be her husband; J.J. was quite sure he’d never seen him before. My mom would have my athletic, svelte father near her, not this big blob.

The woman cleared her throat. “Doctor … I must have J.J. back. I need my son.” While saying this, she raised up her sad, haggard face. J.J.’s soul froze.

Mom!? What … what-what-what-what-WHAT THE HECK’S HAPPENED??!! MY GOD is that REALLY HER? And can that – that man really be Dad?’

J.J.’s mother continued. “Bob needs him too. We are living in hell right now, with J.J. being so close that we can touch him, yet this – this girl –“

“This IMPOSTER,” inserted the fat man –

Omigod. That voice. It’s Dad. The speech tone had changed, with a slightly muffled quality; but there was now no mistaking that this was his father.

His mom resumed her plea to the bespectacled man. “This stranger has taken over, and I don’t know her, and she refuses to leave! Doctor, put yourself in our position and tell us that we shouldn’t be hurting and fearful and angry and – and -” She stopped as she broke into tears.

Jacoby was now fully alert, not to mention confused and near panic. The strange surroundings, his changed parents, the nonsense conversation – he had to get answers. He attempted again to stand, putting all of his might into it. Still, nothing budged. He was – tied down?!
A glance downward showed his torso, arms, and legs, all secured with heavy-duty cotton garments that had thick straps at intervals pulled across and buckled. Like a straitjacket, except this covered his whole body. J.J. now mightily heaved his whole body in an effort to break free. He remained bound; all he accomplished was just to shift the chair he was in, and it rasped loudly as the legs scraped across the hard wood floor.

This produced a temporary scowl on J.J.’s face – until he realized that now, all three adults in the room now sat gaping at him.

J.J. looked at the woman; he felt suddenly awkward and at a loss for any words. That rarely happened; he was known as a chatterbox. Rebecca – his mom – was staring back with wary intensity, holding her breath.

“J.J.?” she finally squeaked.

“M-Mom? What’s going on?”

“WAIT,” shouted the father, springing to his feet. “She’s trying to trick us!”

The mother looked wary again. “What’s your full name, child?”

J.J. was incredulous. “You know my name, Mom! Jacoby Jesse Evarist! And your full name is Rebecca Evarist! What’s happened to you? You look so –“

His speech was interrupted by a flying tackle and bear hug from his mother. “My son! My boy! My BOY, my baby boy who remembers me! My child, my best friend! Oh God, I’d just about given up hope! I love you I love you I LOVE YOU and I’m never ever letting you go!”

Dad was dumbfounded. “J.J. – Jake? Buddy, is it really you?”

The boy in the belted chair nodded his head. “Dad – why am I tied down?”

“Not for long!” sang Mom as she furiously worked on unbuckling the shackles. This was more like the mother J.J. was used to, all smiles and joy.

The bespectacled man in the suit held his hand up. “I need to ask him some questions quickly, or he may forget what happened to him.”

“You will get to, Doctor,” stated J.J.’s mom. “I want to find out too. But I’m getting this damn restraining suit off him NOW. And I am not leaving his side. Not ever again.”

“Jacoby, I am Dr. Ramanathan,” said the physician; he rolled his desk chair out to where the sunlight made his appearance clearer. “You have a million questions, I’ll bet. I will answer all of them to the best of my ability. But first, I must ask you some; just a few, then we can get to yours.”

“Wait. What kind of doctor are you?” ventured J.J.

“My specialty is psychiatry.”

“OH. A doc for loonie-toonies . Hey - I’m not crazy. At least I hope not. I feel normal right now; I mean, outside of the fact I don’t know where I am or how I got here or why Mom and Dad are so … different … oh God. Something really bad has happened to me, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, it has. Exactly what, we don’t completely know. That’s what we’re all here to find out, honey,” cooed J.J.’s mom as she stroked his hair.

The doctor cleared his throat. “Jacoby. I need you to think hard for me. What is the last thing you remember happening – the last place you can remember being – before waking up just now?”

The boy, now free from his restraints and clothed in a hospital gown, tried to think. He had to close his eyes. After a minute, his brow began to furrow. “I – I’m having trouble remembering exactly what happened last night!”

His parents looked at each other with that. “Son,” rumbled his father, “you’ve been asleep for longer than one night.”

“I’m sorry, I must resume questioning Jacoby,” interrupted the doc. “Do you remember the last football game you attended at your high school?”

“Of course I do; I’m the freshman boy on the cheer squad. It was – homecoming! Yeah, we beat Armstrong High School 24 – 21 with a last second field goal! That’s the last – wait, no, I remember going to the homecoming dance after that! Missy and I were the hit of the dance – we had some ballroom moves we’d been practicing and boy, did we ever steal the spotlight!“

“Do you remember anything AFTER the dance, Jacoby?” The doctor had turned on a voice recorder.

“Yeah. Umm.” J.J.’s face turned red.

“No condemnation, son. We need your complete honesty. Tell me everything that happened. No matter how bad it was,” reassured his mother.

“Oh, it wasn’t bad. It was … GREAT,” sighed J.J. with a sudden far-off look. “Missy was … so perfect.” He lifted his head towards his parents. “Mom and Dad. I’m sorry. I broke a house rule; I brought Missy inside while you guys were gone. And, well, she was so beautiful – things just got out of hand. I could have had her back at her house before you got home; but I’m assuming – we fell asleep and you caught us, or…?” He wrinkled his face and closed his eyes, as if his memory were now failing.

The doctor spoke. “J.J. – this is really important – what do you remember next?”

J.J. sat still. He closed his eyes again. After a half minute, he opened them. “Nothing. Heck, I don’t remember even getting up to use the bathroom. So, I’ve been asleep – for more than one night? How long have I –” and J.J. suddenly stopped talking. His head had inadvertently turned to the far right, and now it was fixed in that position, staring at the structure affixed to the wall. His mouth slowly began to open in a gape, until his chin was nearly on his chest.

His mother became concerned. “J.J.?”

The father glanced around and figured out what was happening. “Doc, he sees himself! In your damned mirror!” The couple had hardly noticed the huge mirror on the side of the office wall before; its presence seemed inconsequential until now.

“Blast!” muttered the doctor as he flew to the mirror. He grabbed it with the intent to take it off the wall and turn it away.

“STOP! DON’T TAKE IT DOWN!” yelled the boy. “What … WHAT’S HAPPENED TO ME??”

Rebecca became the haggard, sorrow filled woman from minutes earlier, crying as she held her child’s head against her. “Son,” she whispered, “there is no easy way to say this. So get ready; this is some shocking, bad news.”

J.J. grabbed his mom’s waist and held on for dear life, even as his father came up and placed his rock steady hands on his son’s shoulders.

“Yes, Momma?” the boy whispered.

“Your body … is no longer a boy’s body. Someone changed you into a girl – with the body of one, fully. You have girl parts in your undershorts. You have the bones and breasts of a girl. You even became one in your mind. It’s like the boy ‘you’ – the REAL ‘you’ – went to sleep, and this girl took your place in your head. That’s the way it was until just now, when you woke up and came back to us.”

The room was silent for minutes, save for the sound of parents squeezing and kissing a bewildered, weeping child.

J.J. muttered something barely audible.

“What’s that, son?’ proffered his father.

“How long have I been … gone?”

The doctor gave the reply. “As best as I can tell, you – Jacoby – have been ‘asleep’ for two years and eight months. Roughly. It is now August of what should have been the summer before your senior year in high school. You turn seventeen years old in two weeks. It appears your memories as J.J. have been on ‘pause’ since age fourteen. And –"

“Stop,” chided Rebecca. “He’s fainted.”

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual person or situation is purely coincidental.

Thanks to cyclist, whose advise and editorial skills have elevated this tale to 100x better than it was when I submitted it to her. She is one of the shining stars of our community!

Thanks to JenaJumbled for the awesome picture.

If you've gotten this far, leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

A story based in the real world. For some reason, a high school boy named J.J. went to sleep and didn't wake up for nearly 3 years. Someone else was awake in his place ...

~o~O~o~

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

“Holy sheep-dip! Finny, come look at what the feed popped up!”

Marcus Finlandt smirked and rolled his eyes as he sat at his desk. “Sheep-dip? Tom, just say ‘shit’ like any other person not living in the 1800’s.” He then realized his assistant was trying to tell him about urgent information. “What feed are you talking about?”

“The parallel feed for Interpol. It’s a positive fingerprint match on a youth they processed as part of a roundup after a nightclub fight. Looks like they’ve found the Evarist kid … and he’s living in Rio.”

“Rio de Janeiro?” Marcus needed to know exactly. “And – are the authorities still holding him?”

Tom shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it. This info just – I mean just – came through this minute. And knowing the Policia Federal down there, this fugitive won’t be at the top of their ‘most wanted’ list. He’s not done anything to get in big trouble down there, that we know of. It’s just the U.S. that wants extradition. We may have 24 – 48 hours to get him before they do.”

“Do we have a positive photo ID?”

“No pic available right now on the feed. Got a name, though; Luisa Blanco.”

Marcus – “Finny”, to those who worked with him – raised an eyebrow. “But we’re looking for a boy named J.J. Are we sure it’s a match?”

His partner/employee shrugged. “The prints are perfect - I mean a completely exact duplicate. Age reported seems in the ballpark too. Finger analysis is not as foolproof as we used to believe, but these prints are the same on all fingers and in every detail. They compared them to the baseline ones we have here in the States.”

“Thank God for school safety and security programs; every kid in America ought to have prints on file.” Finny gave a low whistle. “Luisa, huh? Wow. This kid went to a lot of trouble to avoid justice.”

“Finny. We don’t know if the kid is guilty. He’s not convicted; he’s just a fugitive. His folks are sure he’s innocent. For all we know he got abducted instead of running away.”

“Yeah, sure. Innocent ‘til proven guilty. A bounty hunter like me has to reverse that thinking to do my job well.” Finny scowled as he looked at the computer. “I am stunned that he goes by a girl’s name. You know … Brazil IS the trans capital of South America; do you think he made any … physical changes? With help, he could have; he looked pretty sweet for a 14 year old boy ...”

Finny ceased talking and seemed lost in thought for a second, as if formulating a plan. He then looked up at Tom. “You’d best switch off this feed tap before we get traced. Interpol will look for any info leaks when they can’t find him. We’re gonna go and pick him up before they get a chance to. Do we have clear weather?”

“Checking …” Tom was now on his iPad. It was an essential flying tool, the tablet computer.

“Mr. Evarist?” Finny was on the phone. “Brace yourself for good and bad news. The good is, we think we found Jacob. Brazil. Bad news is, the police know where he is too; if we’re going to do an extraction, it has to be NOW. My partner’s jet is what we’ll take. So, just to confirm, you will owe your final amount immediately upon my return with your son. Cash, yes, just like the deposit. I need to hear you tell me the amount we agreed to. Now, please.”

Finny knew he had to be a hardass when it came to being paid in this case. This op was not technically legal, and no written contracts would be used; he had to be prepared to not deliver the kid if his father didn’t ante up.

“One last time, sir, to confirm: do you want us to go through with this? Because if you still do, we need to get in the air.”

Tom the pilot finished his flight plan online. He then turned to his boss/partner with a raised eyebrow that silently asked the obvious question.

Finny smiled. “He says he’s mobilizing the funds now. Can we be in the airborne in the next 45 minutes?”

~o~O~o~

12 hours later, Finny was walking through a very seedy part of Rio; a run down, red light district. This is where being a tough guy really paid off, especially looking the part. A big jet-black handlebar mustache framed his stubbled chin and square jaw; his thick, coarse mane was in a low ponytail. Letting it fly free would look more dangerous, but he wanted to blend in at least some with his surroundings. Dark sunglasses, steel toed boots, jeans, a gray sleeveless t-shirt with a leather vest and a “don’t mess with this” sneer mostly completed the look. What pushed it over the top was a slight noticeable bulge under his vest; he was packing heat.

All he’d been able to pin down before he left the States was a general neighborhood where his target lived. So he had taken the provided car and parked it just outside of the bad district he was about to enter; now he looked for a place to get information.

A dive bar. Cliché, but it will do, he thought as he approached a hole in the wall with a ‘cerveza’ painted sign to the side.

His Portuguese was rusty, but sufficient for the job at hand. He couldn’t believe his luck; the bartender pointed to a derelict figure in the corner of the bar, a man named Eusto, short for Eustaquio. And Eusto sang like a bird when presented with cash. Yes, he knew Luisa Blanco, the prettiest young travesti in the neighborhood, though there was speculation that she had recently become fully transexual. She mostly kept to herself; she lived with Sabio, an adult man in his 20’s.

Finny asked about Sabio’s status – boyfriend, or pimp?

Eusto shrugged. But then added he’d heard she would sleep with a man for enough “dollars – MUCHO dollars”, as he rubbed his fingers together. That gesture may have seemed to refer to ‘trick’ money, but Eusto was mainly eyeing the five $20 bills Finny was unrolling for his payment.

Shit, that went well. It’s barely noon and I’ve located her address. Let’s hope she’s home.

~o~O~o~

There were indeed people at home in the small shack Finny sought out. Voices were coming from inside, audible not because of yelling but due to the hut having multiple cracks and gaps. The hunter planted a tiny remote microphone into one of the cracks, and then sat down in an alley using a pile of rubbish for cover. His earpiece was in, and he hoped for just a little more info confirming he was indeed about to grab the right person. The voices spoke in a Portuguese a little, but mostly in English. Finny felt that was a good sign.

“Nova – I’m telling you, no one from your past knows you are here. They don’t even know to look for a chica. The policia let you go. Why are you so preacupado with this?” spoke a male voice.

“Sabio. They got my fingerprints. If those get out, I can be tracked down. And yes, even from North America,” said a young and unmistakeably female voice.

Nova? wondered Finny. I wonder if that’s another alias. I’m looking for a J.J. or a Luisa.

The male voice inside the shack sighed. “We can not run all of your life.”

Now the girl turned snappy. “I’m NOT going to keep running my whole life! When I turn 18, I can’t be forced to do anything! But I’m still just 16 right now. And I would rather die at age 16 than go back to the hell hole I lived in back in Kissimmee.”

JACKPOT! SHE’S GOT TO BE THE EVARIST KID! 16, KISSIMMEE, AND FINGERPRINTS VERIFIED ON INTERPOL! screamed Finny internally. He arose carefully and texted Tom – “arriving with target in 15 or less. Be ready for immediate takeoff.” He then began a jog back to his car.

Quietly parking in the back alley behind the shack, Finny exited leaving the engine off but the trunk and driver’s door slightly ajar. He moved silently to the front and knocked on the door. The voices inside went silent. Finny put his mouth near to the biggest crack in the door.

The English translation of what Finny said was this: He was looking for a pretty girl to have a good time with, preferably a tranny. Was Luisa in?

The door opened just wide enough to reveal the face of an angry young Brazilian man staring back. “She no longer does that! Go away!” he yelled in Portuguese. Stepping into view behind him was a young, pale girl with blonde hair … whose face went from disgust to suspicion, then suddenly to panic.

“Sabio – close the door! CLOSE IT!” The girl jumped back. Before Sabio could take half a breath, Finny had reached in with a Cobratek stun gun and shocked the young man into a moaning heap on the floor. As the girl turned to run, the bounty hunter lunged, grabbing her by the ankle. She began to scream, so he stunned her, and chased that with a quick shot of high dose valium into her upper thigh.

“For your own good, kid,” he mumbled.

She was still moaning but not fighting as he ran out the back door with his quarry carried over his shoulder. He dumped her unceremoniously into the trunk; Finny was in a hurry, as there were a few male neighbors running out into the alley to check out the fuss. One of them had a baseball bat. Finny jumped into the driver’s seat, started then gunned the engine, and threatened another type of gunning with his left hand – it held the Glock pistol he’d pulled out of his “belly band” concealed/carry garment covered by his shirt. As he pointed the weapon out of his window at the bat wielder, the latter suddenly lost interest and dropped the wood. The car kicked up dust as it left the alleyway.

“Last call for Bodysnatcher Airlines flight 101 from Rio to Orlando,” joked Tom as Finny pulled up the car to the edge of the jet. The off-the-grid airstrip they were at required no customs or passports, just lots of cash to the proprietor for the privilege of surreptitious arrival and departure, as well as a car to ‘borrow’ (it couldn’t rightly be called a formal ‘rental’).

Finney kept lookout as Tom carefully and nonchalantly loaded a sedated teenager into the jet. What a great team we make thought the bounty hunter; Tom was an airman and a tech whiz, but looked externally like a pasty-faced balding middle school math teacher. He certainly didn’t give off any vibe of being a jet pilot, much less a people smuggler. Which was great for staying inconspicuous.

“Are you up for another 10 hours of flying, buddy?” fretted Finny. “I found the kid so fast you didn’t get to nap at all, I’ll bet.”

Tom held up his thermos. “Brazilian coffee. Best drowsiness cure on the planet. Now buckle up,” he yelled as he taxied down the runway.

“Screw that,” replied his partner. “I thought I heard sirens in the distance, and I’m not through securing her yet. Get us out of here!”

Finny did the quickest restraint job he’d ever done, then slid into a seat just as the plane left the ground. He perused his catch, lying in the reclined seat next to him.

Got her on the foam overlay; head’s supported on 3 sides; arms to sides; legs at heart level. The girl’s safe, secure, and snoozing.

He looked at her through squinted eyes.

The girl. Girl. I’ve been looking for a male for the last year. But this is their kid, the Evarist kid. We’re sure of it. I’m sure of it.

I’m sure of it.

DAMMIT. I DO HAVE THE RIGHT KID. RIGHT? RIGHT?? OH GOD.

Tom was still in the cockpit climbing the jet to cruising altitude when he noticed something in the corner of his vision – his partner’s hand dipping into the flight briefcase and snatching the IPad. “Hey, buddy – I’m going to need that in a few minutes!” yelled the pilot.

“Just need it for TWO DAMNED SECONDS, ASSHOLE.” Finny was stressed. He pulled up the file on J.J. Evarist, with the color portrait pic he’d had in the 8th grade. Finny’s left thumb carefully peeled back the child’s left eyelid.

“Yeah, same deep blue eyes …”

Then he saw the bridge of the nose. Two freckle like marks on the J.J. photo. This girl didn’t have them.

OH SHIT! Wait - is she wearing concealer there? She doesn’t have much of any face paint at all on, but maybe …

He pulled a wet wipe out of his own briefcase and began to rub the girl’s nose. It wasn’t the greatest of makeup remover tools, but it did uncover two marks – unmistakeably identical to the photo.

Finny put the IPad next to the girl’s face for a side-to-side comparison.

This is the same face. A little more rounded – feminine – now, but this is J.J. Evarist. WHEW!

He fell to his knees in sudden relief. After some deep breaths, he took in the total picture of the former boy.

Because she was definitely female now. The outfit she had on left nothing to the imagination - hip hugger shorts and a tank top, no bra - and disclosed no "falsies" anywhere of any kind.Her hair was blonde and hung down to collarbone level; it was in fairly good condition for someone living in a shack. The face - her eyes had gotten bigger and doe-like, but the chin had stayed small. The hips were definitely flared, and the waist naturally drew in.. The breasts - they looked B or C from his view - rippled with every bump of turbulence the plane encountered.

I've seen enough tits in my lifetime - natural, implants, and fake - to know these look like the real deal, he internally bragged.

Finny finally joined Tom up in the cockpit, dropping into the co-pilot’s seat – to talk, not to help operate the airship. That was definitely not his department.

“Got him/her all tied up?” asked Tom.

“Yep. She’s still asleep, thankfully. She was NOT a willing rescue. I sure hope I’m doing the right thing here, Tom. When I was confirming the ID I overheard her say that Kissimmee was a hellhole.”

Tom wrinkled his face. “What the hoo-hah does she mean by that? Kissimmee is a slice of paradise. Heck, the whole state of Florida is.”

“Unless the people you live with are devils; then, even paradise can be hell,” mused Finny. “What if her parents were abusing her? Shit, what if the father did the murder? They aren’t planning on notifying the law when we get her back there; we were told that was for the kid’s protection. What if it’s to protect daddy instead? I think we need to keep an eye on them after this return goes down.”

“Holy horse hockey, Finny. I’ve never ever seen you so conflicted about a case. This op went so smooth, I figured you’d be thrilled.”

“Well, this family reunion we’re about to enable is gonna be hairy. For one, they’re still expecting a teenage boy. And from all appearances, they’re getting a girl – or a transvestite with really impressive prosthetics.”

“Have you checked her thoroughly head to toe to see if they are prosthetics or not?”

Finny tilted his head at Tom. “NO. That would be disrespectful and perverted. How is it that you can’t use a curse word but can think of something that wrong?”

Tom took offense to that. “Hey, I wasn’t saying to undress the kid!”

“How do you propose I check for prosthetics then, Tom?”

“Well, you could touch her groin and squeeze her brea … er …”

Finny’s eyebrows raised high. He spoke slow and clear. “PER. VER. TED.”

“Yeah, yeah. Yes, it was. Sorry. Son of a biscuit-eater! Where in my head did those thoughts come from?”

Finny smirked once more. “Everybody produces mental shit. I expel mine by using foul language. You refuse to talk that way, so the shit constipates in your brain and produces evil babies. You keep this up and you’ll be a serial killer one day, with me having to hunt you down.”

“Ha ha ha, Finny. You’re so humorous. NOT.”

“Come on, Tom. You can do this. Let’s start with the mild stuff. Say ‘crap’. I know you can.”

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual person or situation is purely coincidental.

Thanks to cyclist, whose advise and editorial skills have elevated this tale to 100x better than it was when I submitted it to her. She is one of the shining stars of our community!

Thanks to JenaJumbled for the awesome picture.

If you've gotten this far, leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

A story based in the real world. For some reason, a high school boy named J.J. went to sleep and didn't wake up for nearly 3 years. Someone else was awake in his place ...

~o~O~o~

“So that’s the skinny. We’re as sure as we can be that this teenager who appears female is really your son, Jacob.”

Robert and Rebecca Evarist sat in stunned disbelief at the info coming through the speakerphone. Neither could muster a word through their shock.

“Uh … are you guys still there?”

“Yeah, still here, Finlandt,” Robert finally croaked out. “I … I paid you a lot of money to fetch my son. And you’re bringing back a girl? Are you crazy? Or do you think I’m that stupid? There’s no way – I mean no way – Jake would dress like a girl. He wouldn’t let anyone else do it to him, either! My God, do you know what you’ve done to us – raised our hopes, and now ripping them to – “

“Mr. E. – I’m texting you his face. Look at it.”

The parents looked at the face, bereft of any make up.

“That’s not him,” muttered Robert. “I mean, there are similarities, but this is obviously a girl.”

Rebecca gasped. “Oh my God, Bobby. Look at the bridge of the nose! Those two closely spaced spots! It IS him! Yes, the eyebrows are plucked – but this is J.J.!”

“We’ll see,” growled the father, still clinging fitfully to denial. “When’s your ETA to our house, Finlandt?”

~o~O~o~

“Damn. Damn and hell. How … what happened to him?”

“Don’t know, Mr. E. You paid me to find and return him, not for a detailed history of the last 2 ½ years. I’ve told you everything I know, and everything that happened from the Interpol report ‘til now. Sorry.” Finny was sympathetic towards the father’s plight; he looked forlorn, lost. Even being hugely obese, this man usually looked ‘together’, in control. Not so much now.

Bob stared off through the window as he stood in the hall outside the bedroom, where J.J. now continued her drug-induced sleep. Finny leaned against the wall, listening to the big guy.

"Our son had suddenly disappeared - off the face of the earth, almost. Searching for him to be more difficult than any of us anticipated. But I could wrap my head around that simple premise - find him, get him back. This? I - I don't even know where to start. Do I be angry? Sad? Quiet and accepting? Or just support him and Becky as they muddle through this? Those two have always had a special bond; like they were joined at the soul and welded together at the heart.

"Jake's never shown any hint of being interested in girly things. Toys, friends, clothes - he was 'all boy'. The only reason he was a cheerleader instead of on the football team is that he was so small, he was afraid he'd just ride the bench all game. You know, he refused to be ridiculed about cheering; "while you dudes are getting sweaty with each other on the field, I'll be picking up the prettiest girls in school" - that was his comeback, and boy was it effective."

Finny looked through the door of the bedroom they were next to, at J.J. "Is this the room where Missy Renquist was found murdered?"

"NO," said Bob. "I moved all of J.J.'s stuff into this room, and got a new bed for him as well. None of us know what exactly happened that night; but I don't want my son in his original bedroom again. That's where our lives got derailed. I use it for old storage, nothing else."

Mrs. Evarist emerged from a bedroom to confront her husband as well as Finlandt and Tom. “J.J. is still asleep like a log. When will that shot wear off?”

“It probably will last anywhere from 2 – 8 hours more, ma’am,” replied Finny. “Even then, it may take a full 24 hours for all of it to leave his system. Depends. Different for each person.”

Rebecca Evarist frowned. “I hope it’s sooner rather than later. She needs to start drinking fluids; I don’t want her getting dehydrated.”

“Becky,” interjected Robert Evarist. “It’s HIM. We don’t want HIM getting dehydrated. This is still our son, no matter what clothes and appliances he has on.”

“No, Bob,” Becky whispered. “I undressed our child and did a head to toe look. Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have, now – I’m the mother, and I’ve seen J.J. naked from day one. And what I saw now … oh God, Bobby. He’s no longer a ‘he’, not in any way. Those breasts are real; not even any implants, and they’re a small C cup. And down below … “ -she paused as she choked up.

“What, baby. Tell me,” whispered her husband.

She shook her head as the tears flowed. “No penis, no testicles, no nothing except a vagina. It looks almost totally natural – almost.”

Bobby shook his head. “No. This can’t be our son. This is all a huge mista-“

“His two groin scars, from his right and left hernia repairs he had when he was 3? They’re there. Remember the doctor told us that girls almost never get hernias there, especially on both sides. Boys do because of the weak spots left when the testicles are descending. Plus, the appendix scar is there. The eyes are absolutely J.J.’s. This IS our child. Except she’s our daughter now. If this was her wish, then we should support her; if it was done to her against her will, we’ll love her and help her in any way we still can.”

She cleared her throat and continued. “It no longer matters to me what happened. Whatever has, we’ll deal with it. We have our child back. And I’m never losing her again. Will you stand with me on this, Bobby? Because I’m going to stand, with or without you.”

A moan came from the bedroom. Becky jumped, turned, and sped back through the door. In the next second, she yelled out “Bob! She’s waking up! Bring some cool water! Get cold water from the fridge and mix it with a non-refrigerated one, remember her sensitive molar! – J.J., Momma’s here baby …”

“I know how to make water,” Bob mumbled. He waddled from the kitchen to the bedroom with a glass and a straw. He then stuck his head back out in the hallway to address Finlandt and Tom. “You guys have your money. We should be square. Give me just a minute and I’ll walk you to the door.”

“No need. We’ll let ourselves out, and activate your electronic door lock as we leave. If you need us you know how to get us. Good luck,” replied Tom. He turned to look at his partner, expecting a wave and a “ditto” at least. But Finny was already gone. Tom found him outside, on the side of the house. He was pulling on something – a thin, tiny string? – at one of the exterior windows.

His covert ops friend was obviously operating on something covertly, and likely illegally. Tom scanned the area quickly for cameras or passersby, and found none. “I thought we were through here,” he whispered.

“Planted my tiniest remote unit on the inside, just at the top corner of this window,” breathed Finny. “Drilled a gnat-hole through the glass while they were fussing over the kid waking up. This is … the power cord.”

He pulled the tiny wire coming out of that pinpoint window hole and began using super glue to tack it to the house bricks. The electricity meter was located just next to this window, and was unlocked. “Hot-wiring into the meter as a power source. They won’t find it unless they are looking for it, or lucky. But we’ve got video and to a lesser extent, sound. That main hallway should carry voices from the bedrooms and living areas,” Finny whispered. “Done. Let’s boogie out of here.”

“Tell me how we’re gonna get paid for that,” mumbled Tom.

“You? You won’t. I’ll get paid every morning, when I have to face myself in the mirror. Something doesn’t add up. That kid’s in danger. I can feel it.”

~o~O~o~

The teenage girl lying in J.J.’s bed was gradually rousing from her drug-induced slumber. At first, her eyelids opened into little slits, and she stared straight ahead. Then after a while her eyes started roaming, slowly absorbing her surroundings, though she remained silent and still, just a hint of drool dripping from the corner of her mouth.

Becky Evarist sat on the bed beside the girl, stroking her hair, rubbing her shoulder, and singing songs that she’d sung to Jacoby when he was a baby. She recounted her favorite memories with him, such as the time he cried all day for “keemwee” and she finally realized he wanted Cream of Wheat. She had kept J.J.’s room the same as it was just before he disappeared; she had never given up hope that he’d be back.

This moment in time; if I could freeze it, I would. My youngest, letting me love on him – well, her – like I haven’t been able to for a decade and a half. This will pass as soon as she wakes up, I’m sure; so I’ll enjoy it while I can.

J.J. suddenly said “Huh. Huhhh. Huh?” and awkwardly pushed her body up to where she was halfway propped up by her arms. She forced her eyes open more, and with a wobbly head spanned her surroundings. Then she looked at Becky, who smiled.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Well, I guess it’s good middle-of-the-night really; it’s 1:30 am now. Remember me, your mommy? How are you feeling, honey?”

The girl’s eyes squinted. Finally she spoke. “Mmm … Mmmuhh?”

“Yes, dear. It’s Mom. You're back with us in Kissimmee. What’s do you call yourself now? J.J., or is it Luisa Blanco?”

The girl glanced around the room. “I’m … back?”

“Yes you are, back home. Back safe with Mom and Dad.”

“I’m, I’m in Kissimmee?? I’m IN KISSIMMEE!! God – NO!”

Robert walked in with a fresh water glass and straw. “Hey, you’re awake! Welcome back, kiddo!”

The teen snapped her head towards Bob’s voice, and more confusion with some new panic filled her face. “Who are you – you aren’t – “

“Yeah, I’m Dad. I look a lot different - gained about 130 pounds since you last saw me.”

The girl’s eyes popped open as round as saucers as a scream exploded from her lungs. “GET AWAY FROM ME! DON’T YOU TOUCH ME YOU FUCKING RAPIST PIECE OF SHIT! GET OUT! GET OUT!”

Becky was agape. “J.J. – what?!”

Bobby stepped back. “Kiddo! What the hell-“

“GET OUT!” The girl had jumped to the far side of the room, which placed the bed between her and her father. She began grabbing anything she could – the alarm clock, books off the bookshelf, a signed baseball – and heaved them in rapid succession at the large man.

“GEEEEEETTT OOOOOOOUUTTTT!”

The bewildered father shielded his head against the onslaught.

“Bobby! Go out in the hall!” Becky urged as she saw multiple projectiles bouncing off of her husband. Something about his presence was agitating J.J. She’s still disoriented from the rescue, and from that damned sedative. I’ll calm her.

“Shhh, baby. It’s OK. He’s gone. I’m here. Just hang on to me-“

“DON’T touch me, bitch,” sneered the girl.

“J.J.! Don’t speak to me that way! I’m your mother! Don’t you recognize me?”

“Oh, I know who you are, lady. And you may have been a mother to the other guy, but you are NOT my mother. And what you let happen to him – you don’t deserve to be anyone’s mother. You evil, evil slut! You STAYED with that rapist pervert, after knowing what he did!”

Becky Evarist was in shock. What was she talking about? Why was she so angry? And who was she, this alien in her son’s transformed body? J.J. was never remotely like this, in action or speech.

The girl’s eyes were now on the floor, looking at an object there. She turned her head towards Becky. “That’s your purse?”

The mother, still stunned, nodded her head.

In a flash, the girl grabbed the bag and bolted out into the hall. Becky alarmed out of her daze and yelled “BOB! STOP HER! SHE’S RUNNING AWAY!”

The teen ran down the hall and out into a living area. This was not totally familiar to her – and yet it was? She stopped for a few hair-raising seconds, trying to decide where to go to get out the front. She turned into one hall – no, that led to a kitchen – then turned down another hall and ran directly into the bulk of Bob Evarist. He grabbed her arm as she attempted to pull away; she began to scream.

“No! No no no no no no NOOOO! NOT AGAIN! RAPE! RAAAAAPE!”

Bob held tight to her, but he was obviously shocked, upset. Becky ran in, her face showing the same condition.

The girl started crying now, and blubbering. “Please – please. Please don’t hurt me again. I’m sorry for yelling. I’ll be good; I’ll do whatever you want just please, please don’t hurt me …” and broke down into sobs.

“Bobby – what is she talking about?” queried Becky, with just a hint of doubt emerging about her husband.

“Honey – I have absolutely no idea. I don’t know where these accusations are coming from. I can guarantee you they are not true, though.”

“Well, she certainly made some false accusations towards me, too. Bob! What are we going to do? If we take our eyes off her, she’ll run away! We can’t let that happen, not after just finding our child again!”

Bob thought. “Actually, we can’t let it happen because she’s 16, and we’re legally responsible for her, and she – CLEARLY – is mentally ill. She needs to be taken to a psychiatric hospital for evaluation.”

“We can’t do that! There’s still a warrant out for J.J.’s arrest! If the hospital clears her, she’ll go to jail! Nobody else besides us needs to know she’s here!”

Both parents were shedding tears now. Bob choked his own back long enough to reply. “Honey. I can see no other way. If J.J. goes to trial for murder, we’ll fight it with the best lawyers we can afford. But our kid is sick, and needs help. Please – PLEASE – let me send her to the hospital.”

Becky buried her face in her hands, gushing more tears as Bob used his free hand to pull out his smartphone. “I don’t think we can control her adequately to drive her there ourselves. I’m calling 911.”

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

If the Sheep-dip in the title of this chapter seems totally random, read the first 4-5 sentences in chapter 2. ;)

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual person or situation is purely coincidental.

Thanks to cyclist, whose advise and editorial skills have elevated this tale to 100x better than it was when I submitted it to her. She is one of the shining stars of our community!

Thanks to JenaJumbled for the awesome picture.

If you've gotten this far, leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

A story based in the real world. For some reason, a high school boy named J.J. went to sleep and didn't wake up for nearly 3 years. Someone else was awake in his place ...

~o~O~o~

Robert and Rebecca Evarist sat on two chairs in a rather large office / consultation room at Passages Psychiatric Hospital located just outside of Orlando, Florida. Their night had been lousy; J.J. didn’t get fully checked in until 6 a.m., and after that they went home and slept. Even with their extreme tiredness the sleep was not restful, especially for Becky. Now it was 4 p.m., and they were to meet with the doctor who had evaluated their child.

They were so absorbed in distressed thoughts that they barely noticed the physician enter. “Ahem,” said the doc; both parents raised their heads and immediately stood up.

“I’m Dr. Kapil Ramamurthy, Chief Medical Director of this facility,” said the Hindu man in a fairly thick accent. He wore glasses, and was slightly overweight. “Many call me Dr. Rama as it’s easier to say. You’re the Evarists? – I hope I pronounced that correctly.”

“Yes,” said the mother. “I’m Rebecca – you may call me Becky. This is Bob.”

“Unless she’s angry; then I’m Robert,” teased the father.

Dr. Rama smiled back at him. “Is there a reason for her to be angry with you today?”

That question took both parents by surprise. Bob thought Oh no, one of these analysts that reads deep hidden meaning into every little thing you say. Forget any joking around, then.

Becky's response was verbal. “No! I have no reason to be angry with him – not that I’m aware of – I mean, J.J. said some things …” She paused and squinted her eyes and gritted her teeth. “Did … did you find a reason that I SHOULD be angry with my husband?”

“No ma’am – but I am nowhere near through evaluating your daughter.”

“Son,” interjected Bob. “Or at least that’s who he was until he disappeared nearly 3 years ago.”

“Right. Before I go any further, I need to ask you two some questions.”

The questions were many, and somewhat confusing. About any history of mental disease prior to now (“No”), and about any drastic personality changes seen in youth (“No”), and any traumatic experiences.

The mother sighed. “Trauma - yes, but we don’t know exactly what happened.” She looked at her husband; both seemed unsure about how to start.

“I’m listening,” encouraged Dr. Rama.

Bob responded. “Two and a half years ago, our son was an honor student, a freshman cheerleader. The night of the homecoming football game that year, he was set to cheer for the team and was going to attend the after-game homecoming dance with his girlfriend Missy Renquist. The plan was, after the dance J.J. would walk Missy home – she lived just 3 blocks from the school gym, and only one street away from our house - then he’d walk back home alone. With that understanding, Becky and I went to the game, and afterwards I took her to a late dinner and even later movie.”

Mrs. Evarist took the story from there. “I was the one who walked in on the scene. Missy was lying dead in J.J.’s bed, totally naked and with multiple stab wounds. Blood was everywhere. And J.J. was gone, without any hint of where he’d left to. They found his semen inside Missy. The police put out an APB and did the biggest manhunt of the last 5 years – but J.J. was nowhere to be found. He didn’t contact anyone – not us, not his school friends, not his favorite aunt June nor Grandpa E. Not even his brother Dustin.”

“So he has a brother. Any other siblings? Does Dustin still live at home?”

“Nope,” replied Bob. “He lives in Tampa; he’s a truck driver, and works all the time. We’re lucky to even see him on holidays. J.J. always talked to him on the phone, though – just like he did with his aunt and grandpa. ”

Dr. Rama clicked his retractable pen as was his habit when in deep thought. “So, Mom and Dad. The police, I assume, are still looking for J.J. And now he is here. Do you feel he committed this murder?”

“We don’t know what to think,” emoted Becky. “All of the evidence seems to indicate he’s at fault. But he’d never shown any sign of cruelty or temper! His only flaw was that he tended to be a procrastinator. And he adored Missy – he was head over heels for her. J.J. was one of the most happy, positive, well-adjusted humans alive. Even with all the appearance of guilt, I cannot see him committing this crime.”

Now Bob cut in. “After a year and a half, I decided to hire a detective – bounty hunter, really – to try to find our son. And they did find him – living as a woman, in a shack in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. I, too, want to believe J.J. is innocent; but it sure appears that he went to extremes to avoid being found. That doesn’t prove he’s guilty, but you have to admit it makes it look that way.”

The couple went on to describe the events of the last 24 hours to the doctor.

“Well, this has been informative,” said Dr. Rama finally. “I can now tell you what I think. My opinion, I warn you, may be a shock for you – so get ready.”

The couple grabbed each other’s hands.

“Have either of you ever heard of - Dissociative Identity Disorder? We call it D.I.D. ... previously known as Multiple Personality Disorder. That’s what J.J. appears to have. It turns out ‘Luisa Blanco’ was a cover name that she used to hide herself from the authorities. The person who threw a fit in your house calls herself Nova Liberte’. This Nova is a separate consciousness from the personality you knew as your son.”

The couple did indeed appear shocked. After a pause, the doctor continued. “I don’t know if this condition has been there since birth, with Nova – and perhaps even other personalities we aren’t aware of – just being hidden until now, or if “J.J.” was the complete personality, and something just fractured it. The theory is, sometimes a huge trauma can lead to a split of the psyche. And this homecoming date murder certainly would qualify.”

“My J.J. is not a murderer! That case is still officially unsolved!” snapped Becky.

“Wait … I didn’t say he murdered that girl. I’m not even saying another personality of his did this. I did use the word ‘murder’ because it sounded like no matter who did it, someone killed her. Whatever what happened back then, our challenge now is to try to ‘re-integrate’ the Nova personality – and any others – back into one personality.”

“How do we do that, doc?” queried Bob.

“Well … it will be a difficult task. We can try drug therapy, though that alone will likely not work. We can also try intense psychoanalysis. And understanding what happened that homecoming night will be essential. But it will be easier said than done. I wish I could guarantee you success – but frankly, many D.I.D. patients never get back to a normal life.”

“Why does this ‘Nova’ personality hate us so much?” asked Becky.

“That’s another unfortunate twist here,” sighed the psychiatrist. “Nova is claiming she was raped, and… um … puts the blame on you, Bob.”

“So. She continues to say I actually raped her. My son says I raped him.” Bob shook his head.

“It’s actually more complicated than that. I questioned Nova very carefully. When we get right down to it, she knows somehow she was raped by you, but cannot remember the actual act happening. She just knows it happened, and for some reason is sure you did it – or maybe allowed it. That’s as specific as I’ve gotten so far. Still, Mr. Evarist, I need to ask you the question,” – the doctor looked deadly serious now.

“No. I did not rape my son. Or ‘Nova’. I did not rape or even inappropriately touch my child, nor his brother, nor his cousins, nor the neighborhood kids or old ladies or the next-door neighbor’s dog! I’ve never raped or molested anyone in my life, and the thought of doing so would disgust me!” Bobby was obviously distressed that this even needed to be in question.

“Can we see her? If she won’t meet with Bob, what about just me seeing her?” proposed Becky.

“I don’t recommend it. She has very negative reactions to both of you. She’s going to need some intense therapy; and it needs to be inpatient, since she’s a flight risk. In other words, I need to keep her here in the locked unit for now. She’ll have interaction with the staff and be free to roam around the unit – but she won’t be able to leave, of course. I would consider her a danger to herself, and perhaps to others.
I’ll also let the law authorities know she’s here -“

“Doctor – must you? Can’t we keep her here confidentially?” pled the mother.

“Yes ma’am, I must report this. I risk forfeiting my license if I don’t. But I will recommend against jail, or prison, or even a trial right now; her treatment is essential to her, and will even be essential to figuring out her guilt or innocence in that girl’s death. And Mr. Evarist, I’m also required to report her accusations against you. So be prepared for a police visit soon, for questioning.”

The couple left the doctors office with the promise of an in-person update in four days, and phone call updates daily until then. Even those assurances could not lift their mood.

Halfway to the car, Becky stopped and buried her face in Bob’s big chest. “I had him back. For an hour. I got to love on my son for one stinking hour. And now he’s ripped from me again.” She bawled and pounded her fist softly into her husband.

~o~O~o~

Three days later, Dr. Rama sat in his office, sipping a bottle of cold water from his mini-refrigerator. He was sweating slightly, as he’d just come inside out of the humid hot day; there was another reason to perspire, also.

Two p.m. already. My, the morning went by quickly. I can tell I’m apprehensive about Nova finally interacting with one of her parents.

Nova had been somewhat tight-lipped during multiple attempted interviews with the Doctor so far. He hoped that getting the mother in the room would at least make the girl talk more in some way, even if just out of anger. Rama reviewed the ground he wanted to cover today, and made sure the office was set just right. He called out to his assistant, who ushered Rebecca Evarist in.

“Are you nervous, Becky?” asked the physician.

She forced a grin back as she furrowed her brow, confirming Rama’s guess.

“I’m afraid that I’m going to want to run over to her and hug her, which might upset her.”

Becky was making a point to refer to her child as female, as the doctor had said that the ‘Nova’ alter was still in control, and insisting that people address her as a woman. ‘Alter’ was a new word the Evarists had learned; it was short for ‘alternate personality’.

An orderly brought in a young woman dressed in a drab set of cotton pants and shirt. Even with no makeup or fashion, it was clear that this person was 100% female. Not just in her obvious post pubertal body development, either; her walk, the slight sway of her hips, the muted swing of her arms at the elbows showed a feminine lilt. Her face was more than just feminine, however; it was clearly angry. Wary. Defiant. The girl sat down in the chair offered to her; she made no sound other than breathing, and gave Becky an icy stare.

“Nova, right?” Becky said, smiling with obvious nervousness. “I’ve been counting the minutes until I got to see you again.”

Nova looked away, but answered. “I’m here against my will.”

The mother persisted. “I, uh, I’m told that you don’t like me. “

“Really? What gave you that impression, bitch?”

“Nova. Speak as we discussed, or don’t speak at all,” admonished Dr. Rama.

“That’s the way you feel, Nova. Thank you for being honest with me,” Becky replied. “I’d like a chance to change your opinion – or at least understand why.”

Nova continued to look to the side, at the plate glass window that showed the beautiful garden on the hospital grounds. The second floor office had quite a view, with a stately oak tree growing just near the wall.

“I didn’t mince words when you had me back in your house. You stayed married to a rapist. You’re an evil woman just for that alone.”

“Nova – if you were raped, I didn’t know it. I’ve never known Bob to be a rapist, or anything close to it. If I knew he was one, I would definitely leave him. What exactly happened to you?”

Nova rose from her chair and meandered around the room. “It’s hard to talk about.” She rubbed her hand over a brass bust of Sigmund Freud.

“Nova. Sit back down, please,” Dr. Rama ordered.

Instead, Nova grabbed the bust and heaved it with all her might at the window. It exploded through the glass with a BOOSH! leaving a gaping hole right near the side where the oak was. She ran and dove at the hole, scraping her arms and scalp on the sharp edges as she went through. Her hands grabbed the big tree limb nearest the window; for a second she seemed to have it, but then she emitted a quick shriek of surprise as she lost her grip in a mess of breaking bark. Her body slammed into the ground belly first from twelve feet up.

“CODE INDIGO, OUTER GARDEN!” Dr. Rama screamed into his desk phone.

Becky ran to the hole in the glass and stuck her head through, looking down as she heard a woman's voice repeat "Code indigo, outer garden; code indigo, outer garden" over the intercom.

"J.J!" she screamed. The girl's body seemed horrifically motionless for a few seconds. Then, she could be seen heaving with her chest as she began to cough and gasp for air; a moan soon could be heard coming from her lips, followed by sobs. Otherwise she remained fairly motionless.

"J.J. - crap - NOVA! Don't try to move! You could be badly hurt! Stay still - I'll be right there!" Becky scanned the area and looked down, to judge the distance. She lifted up her right leg and put it through the glass hole; then withdrew it, and prepared just to leap through -

"NO YOU ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT, MS. EVARIST," shouted Dr. Rama as he grabbed her waist and pulled her back. "We'll take the stairs!"

The orderlies had no need to immediately restrain the escaped girl; she was still gasping and moaning from having the wind knocked out of her. They knelt by her and made sure her head and neck were secured as the EMT's arrived. She’d sustained various cuts from the window edge and from falling on glass shards. An ambulance prepared to take her to the nearest emergency room for stitches and to make sure there were no internal injuries.

Becky watched with forlorn as they carried Nova off in restraints to the hospital. She turned to Dr. Rama. “I’ll go with her to the E.R., if it’s okay?”

“That's fine - just drive there, don't go in the ambulance. At the E.R., just remain in the waiting area. I don’t recommend you stay in the room with her. She obviously acts up in your presence. If she is okay physically we’ll try again later this week, Becky. Unfortunately, I think I will have to keep her restrained for all meetings in the future.”

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual person or situation is purely coincidental.

Thanks to cyclist, whose advise and editorial skills have elevated this tale to 100x better than it was when I submitted it to her. She is one of the shining stars of our community!

Thanks to JenaJumbled for the awesome picture.

If you've gotten this far, leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

A story based in the real world. For some reason, a high school boy named J.J. went to sleep and didn't wake up for nearly 3 years. Someone else was awake in his place ...

WARNING: This chapter deals with memories of explicit physical and sexual abuse.

~o~O~o~

Two days later, Bob and Becky were sitting together in Dr. Rama’s office in front of a large television screen. They’d been both asked to come – but not for a meeting with their child. So both were getting impatient to see why they were there.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” they heard from the opening door; in walked Rama. “I wanted to show you two something we recorded this morning.” He grabbed a remote control handset off of his desk, and pointed it at the TV. “Nova doesn’t trust me – or anyone here – fully yet; but she opened up quite a bit about her past during our session today.” After clicking through a few menus, a video started to play.

Nova was sitting in a room with pictures and white walls, a chair and a table; little else. She was unrestrained, but obviously the room appeared fairly escape-proof. Dr. Rama was in the room with her.

Becky broke in. “Pause the recording, please. Doctor? Why is her hair so short all of a sudden?”

“Oh – forgive me for not preparing you two. After her failed attempted escape the other day, she was severely depressed and felt to be likely suicidal. So we had to cut her hair. Long hair can hang a person as effectively as a noose, if one is inventive enough; and I felt your daughter was at risk,” said Rama.

“Into a pixie cut – it’s almost a boy cut. Is this somehow supposed to make Nova cooperate more with us? It seems like it could do the opposite!” Becky fumed. “She’s still a minor. Shouldn’t you have called us for permission before this was done?”

“I like it,” reasoned Bob. “He looks more like J.J. now.”

Rama attempted to put out this unintended little fire. “She actually has been rather silent about her new hairstyle. And it didn’t keep her from opening up this morning in therapy. Now, please, let me play this for you.” He dimmed the lights and pressed ‘play’, and the two figures on the screen - Nova and Dr. Rama – became unfrozen.

“So. Tell me your earliest memory, Nova,” said the doc.

Nova sat and twiddled her thumbs, sighing. “Okay. The earliest thing I can remember is also a horrible thing. I remember coming awake, and it being totally dark; I then realized I had some kind of blindfold on. I didn’t recall where I was, or who I was even. What I did know, somehow, is that I was a girl.”

“Hmm. Nova - that was definite and unmistakable, this feeling of being female?”

“Yes. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. I was a girl – a strong one – and I had to survive.”

“Survive what?”

Nova tilted her head at the doctor. “Being raped and held against my will, of course. When I awoke that first time, my hands were tied behind my back and someone was entering me – my ass – from behind. And my mouth was gagged. See? I told you it was horrible.”

“That’s extremely horrible. Who was doing this to you?”

The girl shrugged. “All I ever knew them as were Bolivar and Fausto. Don’t even know if those were their real names; they were my owners. They raped me regularly, and pimped me out to other men who came looking for young boy sex. I had no formal interaction with them except when they yelled orders at me; most of the time they kept me chained up in a closed room that looked like a basement. That’s where all the raping happened, too.”

Dr. Rama looked visibly pained. “My God. You’ve been through hell.”

“I’m back there, doc.”

Rama was puzzled. “You’re back there? Do you mean in your thoughts?”

“No,” Nova sighed. “I’m back in HELL. Locked up in this place with a bunch of lunatics, away from my guy back in Rio.” She looked away as an angry tear trailed down her cheek. “I mean, I’m not being forced to have sex – not yet, at least. Who knows what goes on in these psycho wards, though, right?” ‘

“The sooner we help you get better, the closer you will come to leaving here, Nova,” replied Rama. “Is Rio where this abuse took place?”

“No; I lived in a basement, so I couldn’t get a bearing on my surroundings really. But I could hear my owner’s conversations. Once they mentioned Fortaleza, Brazil as the city we lived in. I can understand Portuguese pretty well.”

Dr. Rama held up his pen. “That may be because J.J. – your other personality – is fluent in Spanish and German. Much Portuguese is not that far removed from Spanish. I’ll bet if you heard some German, you’d understand it too.”

Nova sighed. “My ‘other personality’. As crazy as that sounds to me – I mean, I feel like THIS is who I am – it does explain why I can’t remember any of my life before that damn basement.”

Dr. Rama rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger under his glasses. “I’m sorry, I diverted us. You have claimed your father abused you; how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“Over the next year, I overheard Fausto and Bolivar talking enough to put some things together: they had bought me on the black market, to use as a sex toy and to pimp out to bring in money for them - evidently I was a ‘sweet looking gringo boy’ who some perverts prefer to women - and it was my dad who had sold me to them. They also remarked that they got me at a discount because I wasn’t a ‘virgin’; seems Daddy made sure to take that from me before selling me.”

Brenda snapped her head sideways to stare wide-eyed at her husband. Bob shook his head emphatically, denying the accusation.

“They started to give me shots to make me more curvy, like a girl; they didn’t want me to start looking like a hairy hombre as I got older. They thought I’d make more money for them as a travesti. Oh, and they thought up a really cheap and fun way to castrate me; it involved a zip tie. I’ll let you fill in the blanks. I almost died from bleeding when my scrotum finally fell off.”

Dr. Rama shook his head. “Nova – I’m so sorry this happened to you. You were enslaved, tortured, abused and made into a woman against your will. How terrible.”

“Actually, I wanted to become a physical female. I didn’t tell my ‘owners’ that; somehow in their sick minds I think they would have stopped the shots just because I desired them. Anyway, I like the changes it made in my body; Sabio thinks I’m pretty sexy. After I was rescued, I made some friends in the transsexual community in Rio; I have a friend who scores a hormone shot for me from the free clinic every few weeks or so.”

Dr. Rama looked at the ceiling and began clicking his pen. “Getting hormonal treatment as a young teenager who appeared late for his male puberty – that likely produced the look that you have. All the secondary sex characteristics of a normal female appear to be present, except of course for reproductive organs.”

Nova smirked. “Is that your ‘fancy psychiatrist’ way of saying you think I’m hot?”

Rama ignored that and continued. “In fact, I would venture to say that your development is at extreme top of the range for a 16 year old – I would expect this look more from a woman in her mid-20’s. It makes me concerned that you might have been given dangerously high doses of estrogen. It doesn’t sound like you were under a doctor’s care with those shots. Nova – that could have killed you.”

Nova looked suddenly depressed. “You’re going to stop my hormone treatments, aren’t you. It figures. This place smells more like hell every day.”

“No, I’m not going to stop them. I’m going to get a consultant on your case – an endocrinologist who specializes in transgender treatment. If she says to continue the therapy then I will do so without hesitation. But you will be doctor-supervised in this."

Rama eased his verbal tone from scolding back to inquisitive. “So, did you have mixed feelings about your ‘owners’ then? At least with the feminizing process, it sounds like they did some things you appreciated them for.”

The young girl’s eyes became fiery with anger. “You misogynistic bastard – there is NO WAY IN HELL I owe them any appreciation! Whatever they did for me, it wasn’t worth the shit I went through. To even suggest that shows how screwed up you are!

“On some occasions I'd hear Fausto and Bolivar talk to each other about when they should just get rid of me. I felt that if I became too much trouble for them – if I opposed them enough – they would just kill me and be done with it. On the occasion when I did fight or resist the sex, they beat me and denied me food and water. So I did what I had to do to survive. I just disengaged my brain as much as I could while those monsters used me. And I bided my time, waiting for an opening, a chance to escape. And one finally came, in the blessed form of a boy named Sabio.”

Dr. Rama wrote with his pen onto a pad. “Does Sabio have a last name?”

The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, and it’s rather long. It’s I’M-NOT-TELLING-YOU-SO-GO-TO-HELL.”

The doc kept his composure. “That’s fine. How did this Sabio help you escape?”

“Sabio had an old pervert uncle who liked to fuck she-males, and the wrinkly asshole paid Bolivar for some time with me. He needed to see me to be convinced to ante up, so they paraded me out of the basement into the hall – without the usual bag over my head, for some reason. Sabio was there, to help his uncle get up and down the stairs. It was the first time I’d seen anyone who wasn’t there to personally use me. I looked at him while the others talked, and mouthed “ayudame” – Spanish for 'help me' – to him.”

Nova began to sniffle, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I felt like a fool, especially when he stood there and did nothing. I went back into my room and his old uncle had his way with me. But then two days later, both Bolivar and Fausto were out and I was chained as usual in the basement. I hear the front door and then the basement door being forced open. It was Sabio – with a chain cutter. He got me out of there, and out of town. I was a little worried he was going to chain me up too; every man I’d ever met to that point was an evil son-of-a-bitch, after all.”

She raised her head up high for the first time, and smiled through her tears. “But no. Sabio loved me. Even after he found out I wasn’t a regular woman. For the last year, I’ve been living with him, and we wanted to get married. I refused to, though, until I had some things settled.”

“What things?”

“When he rescued me, I still had no identification or any way of verifying who I was. I didn’t even have a name, except escravo – ‘slave’. I chose my own name, Nova for new and Liberte’ for freedom. Because that’s how I feel with Sabio – new and free. Since I wasn’t technically an adult yet, I went by Luisa Blanco, figuring I could stay hidden with that until age 18. That plan obviously failed, ‘cause I’m here.

“Also, I wanted to be as complete a woman as I could be; that meant getting rid of that damn penis. I ended up prostituting myself for the money – boy, was Sabio against that, but we had no other way and I insisted I had to. Besides, this time I was the one in control of the situation. In April of this year we found a surgeon who would bypass the usual needed counselor visits and didn’t ask about my age; and I became a functional female. Not that I got to use my new assets very long before I got enslaved again.”

Dr. Rama raised his head. “Enslaved again?”

“YES! HERE, you dickhead!”

“Nova. I know you don’t like being here, but you need help.”

“What I NEED is to GET AWAY from my abusive Mom and Dad and back to Sabio! Hell, I don’t even remember this couple that call themselves my parents! I don’t remember my home, or that room they had me in! I have nothing tying me down here! I need to get back to Rio de Janeiro!”

“You – you don’t remember your past life – years zero through 14 – at all?”

“The only thing I had in my head was a name – Evarist. In the public library in Rio I did searches under that name, and found out about an Evarist boy who went missing in Kissimmee, Florida. He was supposed to have killed a girl. His picture – it was me. Me as a boy, but unmistakably me. I saw the pictures of the boy’s parents and burned them into my skull – my father the rapist who sold me into sex slavery, and the mother who let him. That’s the only way I knew ‘mom’; she looks like she’s aged a lot, and ‘dad’ - well, he's become the Goodyear blimp.

“See, here’s the thing, doctor. I’m not this J.J. boy. I’m Nova Liberte’. This ‘J.J.’ person may have murdered this girl, but I didn't, because I’m not him. There is nothing for me here. I have a life back in Rio. Not a rich one, but it’s MINE. I have a lover there too, and he needs me. J.J. is not coming back; he’s not welcome to. I have no parents – I don’t know these fuckers. Please don’t keep me here; please, please let me go!”

Dr. Rama pulled a large folder from his briefcase and put it on the table. “I have a lot of information and pictures of your life for the 14 years you lived before you ‘awoke’ as Nova. I think you’ll find some of this fascinating; with your permission, I’ll show it to you.”

“No.”

The doc raised his head. “Beg your pardon?”

“No. “

The physician was at a loss for words; he thought she’d have some curiosity about her past.

Nova craned her neck forward. “Earth to Doc. Are you deaf, or just dense? No. NO. I DON’T WANT ANY OF MY OLD LIFE, KNOWLEDGE OR OTHERWISE. Look where it got me! Let me go so I can enjoy my new life, please!”

“Nova …”

“I’ll do anything else you say, or want; just let me go. Is there anything I can do?” She started to choke up, and then reached a hand across the table, touching the doctor’s lapel. Suddenly she glanced up directly into the camera, and pulled her arm back. Covering her mouth with her hand, she whispered something inaudible; then sat back, silent except for a furtive look towards Rama.

The recording stopped. Bob shook his head as Becky leaked a few silent tears.

“What she whispered to me,” said Dr. Rama, “was basically an offer for a sexual favor. I don’t get the feeling she was being devious; just desperate. If even half of what she told me was true, then sex is probably the only thing she feels she can offer a man to get something.

“She has agreed to meet with Becky tomorrow. She refuses to talk if you, Bob, are in the room. I’m sorry,” Rama finished.

Bob looked weary, and defensive. “Doc – you don’t believe her, do you? That crap about me raping her and selling her to slavery? I don’t know about all the other stuff, but I can guarantee you the part about me is false.”

“Robert. Nothing about you suggests you are an abuser. Having said that, I take all accusations with at least some validity until I’m sure that they are not true. Even if it is all false, I can tell you we will get nowhere right now with you and her in the same room.”

Bob sighed. “And if she changes her mind and is ‘okay’ with me being there?”

Rama’s expression hardened. “You would not be allowed to see her unless I personally determined that she is not in danger around you.” He paused for emphasis. “Now to both of you: good night. I shall see you tomorrow at around 10 a.m., Becky?”

“I’ll be there, sir,” she replied.

Bob looked at his wife. “We’re okay, right?”

Becky didn’t return his gaze. “Yeah … yes. We’re still okay. I believe you, Bobby. But know this: if I ever – ever – find out you’ve lied, about any part of this …” she walked on ahead without continuing her thought.

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual person or situation is purely coincidental.

Thanks to cyclist, whose advise and editorial skills have elevated this tale to 100x better than it was when I submitted it to her. She is one of the shining stars of our community!

Thanks to JenaJumbled for the awesome picture.

If you've gotten this far, leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

A story based in the real world. For some reason, a high school boy named J.J. went to sleep and didn't wake up for nearly 3 years. Someone else was awake in his place ...

~o~O~o~

The next morning, Becky showed up 30 minutes early to the consultation room at the psychiatric hospital. That surprised Dr. Rama slightly. What surprised him more was that Bob was there too.

“Don’t worry, Doc. I’m not here to try to be in the meeting with J.J., or Nova, or whoever the hell he is. I’m here to talk to you,” Bob growled.

“Before you two get started, I’ll just say my piece about this,” injected Becky. “I believe your view on this, Doctor. I just wish you had told me how controversial this still is. I guess I feel I was led to believe it was all established science.”

“Let’s sit down. I think I know where this is going,” replied Dr. Rama. “Go ahead, Bob.”

Bob obliged. “Multiple personality disorder – dissociative identity disorder – D.I.D. I read up on it. There are no set diagnostic criterions – critecals –“

“Criteria,” said Rama.

“Yeah. That. There’s no evidence that it is actually a real ‘thing’! Hell, every other psych problem – schizophrenia, bipolar, depression – is proven by research, and they have set standards that a person has to show before you can label them with those diagnoses. This D.I.D. doesn’t! It seems to be a mainly North America problem, kind of like ADHD* used to be –"

“Except there are definite criteria for ADHD now. We just needed time to define them.”

Bob’s eyes flared with anger. “Many psychiatrists seem to feel that your profession causes this D.I.D. with hypnosis and over-diagnosis. Others say that patients make up these ‘alters’ because they’ve seen that old TV show ‘Sybil’ and too many other horror movies; these ‘alters’ make it possible to do horrible things, and then blame it on one of the ‘bad personalities’. Meanwhile, you shrinks just lament about how treatment may not work, but you keep on treating – and keep on charging for your treatments. Sounds like a huge scam to me!”

“Bob. I am usually one of those doubting psychiatrists,” replied Rama. “I have been involved in a few cases back when I worked at the University of Florida Medical School where I felt that some people labeled as D.I.D. patients were actually malingering – ‘faking it’. But I have indeed seen cases of true splitting of the psyche, where no other illness was present to explain the symptoms. So it is with J.J./Nova. The only reason I have diagnosed your child with D.I.D. is that no other diagnosis comes remotely close to fitting.

“It could very well be that Nova is malingering – but I doubt it. To fake it this well, she would need to have a medical diploma and acting degree from a distinguished fine arts school. Now, I’m not perfect – far from it – but I’m doing the best I know how to do with her. I am NOT trying to bleed money from you for her case. If I had wanted the big bucks, I would have gone into surgery. Or dermatology. I hope that clears things up for you. Does it?” Rama asked hopefully.

Bob’s brow was still knit with suspicion. “It makes this clear for me: you’re a quack. And I’m going to want a second opinion and different treatment center unless we see a breakthrough, and I mean quickly.”

Dr. Rama pursed his lips as he absorbed that information. “Understood. I would like to have another 48 hours with her – and with you two – before you decide to move her. Is that acceptable?”

“No promises, Doc. I’ll take this day-by-day, or hour-by-hour, if necessary. Becky, text me as soon as you’re through with the meeting, ok?” Bob turned and walked away.

“I’ll call you,” yelled Becky.

“Do you have any questions for me, ma’am?” queried Rama.

“Let’s just do this meeting,” Becky sighed.

~o~O~o~

Dr. Rama, Becky and Nova sat once more in the psychiatrists’ office at Passages Psychiatric Hospital. The window had already been repaired, and Nova was in restraints to make sure there would not be a repeat of the last meeting.

“I still don’t want to be here. And I don’t really want to talk to this bitch,” Nova snarked to Dr. Rama.

Becky replied. “Nova – I’m in the room. You can call me a bitch to my face. It won’t make –“

“Good morning then, bitch,” Nova interrupted.

Becky resumed without hesitation, “Good morning to you, Nova. As I was saying, it won’t make me leave. I’m here to help you.”

The teen gave Becky a huge eye roll. “You saw the tape. Rama told me he showed it to you. By the way, doc, thanks for doing that WITHOUT my permission. Really swell of you. So, you want to help me? Good. You know what I need. I need to get out of here, and back to Rio – and my Sabio. You have the power to do that, don’t you, lady? But I know you’re not going to. So what do we have left to talk about?”

“No, Nova – I’m not going to just let you go back to Rio. Number one, you’re still wanted for murder here, and once the hospital lets you go, the law will take you.”

“J.J. did that murder, not me!”

“Wait,” inserted Dr. Rama, “you said J.J. did the murder. Do you remember that? Are you sure of it? If so, we all need to know.”

Nova squinted her eyes shut in frustration. “No, of course I don’t remember it. I already told you – I just remember from after I woke up in Fortaleza. But I read the news reports when I did the ‘Evarist’ search in the library. Seems pretty clear-cut, pardon the pun – the girl got stabbed to death after sex. J.J. seems like the killer to me – or to anyone with a brain.”

“Well, there’s another reason I don’t want you to leave,” resumed Becky. “You are not the only one who owns this body. Somewhere inside you is J.J. – the sweet boy, my precious son. His personality still exists in you. It would be wrong not to let him back out.”

That got a leer and raised eyebrows from Nova. “You want J.J. the murderer back out?”

“My son. Is not. A murderer. Nothing has been proven. And even if he did do that, there has to be some circumstance – some extreme occurrence – that caused it. Maybe there are even more than two personalities in your body? God – maybe a horrible, murderous one that took over? I don’t know. But we’ve GOT to know. We must find out, and for that, J.J. needs to come back out!”

“Everybody wants this J.J. back,” the girl sighed. “No love for Nova, though, right? After all, it’s my body too.”

Becky looked back at the girl with affection. “That’s where you’re wrong, Nova. You’re part of J.J. So I do love you! Now, sometimes I don’t LIKE you – like when you call me a bitch, or call my husband a rapist without definite proof. All parents have times they don’t like their kids. But I absolutely do love you. I LOVE you. I don’t want to lose J.J. – but you’re part of him, so I don’t want to lose you either!”

Nova’s eye’s narrowed with hurt and anger. “That’s … a … LIE. Do you know how many times in that shitty basement in Fortaleza I would curl up in a ball and pray that someone would want me enough to rescue me? Hoped against hope that someone loved me enough to be looking for me? After half a year, I had resigned myself to this fact: NO ONE CARED. Or surely they would have found me!

“My dad sold me away! My mom had to be aware of it, right? So you had to have some idea of where to look for me. If it hadn’t been for divine intervention – Sabio – I’d still be in chains! So don’t tell me you ‘don’t want to lose me’. You LOST me two and a half years ago, and you DIDN’T FIND ME!”

Becky was weeping now, with wracking sobs that made a reply impossible.

Dr. Rama held his breath. This was a critical point in the therapy. It could blow up and the whole session devolve into screaming and yelling, and the patient would lose all progress she’d made so far. Or, as is the case with strong emotions, a breakthrough could be near. It all depended on the mother’s response; he silently rooted for her to give the right one.

Becky still cried, but forced herself to speak. “You’re absolutely right. I failed. Both Bob and I did. We looked for you ourselves, we organized family, took leaves of absence from work and our other commitments. We pushed the police to continue to search for you. I … I didn’t know where to look. Even the detective we hired – it took him over a year to find you, and even then he said it was by pure luck. In a million years I would not have guessed you were in Brazil.

“Every day and every night since you disappeared – I have wailed to God, hoping against hope that you were still alive and not suffering. I prayed for Him to take me if that would bring you back safe. Now, knowing what horrors you had to live through – I want to die. I failed you. God, I COMPLETELY failed you! The only reason I have to go on living is the hope that somehow I can help you heal. Because I love you.

“I love you so much! I LOVE you. YOU, Nova. Not just J.J. I love your passion, your eyes, and your soul. J.J. is my son; but I accept you as a daughter. You are a beautiful young woman, and I am proud to be your mother. Always remember that fact: I LOVE you, Nova. More than life itself.”

That passionate statement from Becky surprised Nova. For a minute there was an uncomfortable silence as the teen’s face was motionless. But her eyes began to fill, and then overflow with tears. “But … b-but … you CAN’T love me … why did you let Daddy rape me and sell me?”

“Honey. I really don’t think that happened. You’re going on the word of two monstrous abusive slavers. I’ve known your dad for years. He stains his shirts and his back is way too hairy and he has an occasional road rage issue; but he LOVES his kids. He’d give his life for you. When you disappeared, he was inconsolable – that’s why he packed on 130 pounds. Thank God he turned to food and not drugs or alcohol, but still. I’m not saying I can’t be fooled, but if your Daddy had anything to do with your horrific slave experience, I will eat my wedding dress. And I had the biggest, poofiest wedding dress ever made.”

That made Nova snicker a snerk in spite of her ongoing tears. Then she got serious again. “But … if Daddy didn’t do that to me … who did?”

Rama leaned forward. “Nova, maybe there are more than two alters in you. Another one could have done this, or may at least have information. Perhaps even J.J. will know. If you let me give you medicine and try hypnosis, we might find out.”

The young girl tied in restraints let her head flop forward and began to bawl. Becky started to rise out of her chair to go comfort her child. Dr. Rama held his hand up and shook his head.

“Let her process this,” he whispered.

So Becky sat on the edge of her seat, nails digging into the armrests, legs warding off the urge to kick the doctor in the nuts, and her own eyes again gushing. Then Nova choked out a word.

“…Okay.”

~o~O~o~

Tom the pilot saw his friend Finny watching a remote video feed. “Still spying on the Evarists, buddy?”

“Aaah, only now and then, to see if the kid is back. No trace of her since they called the ambulance to take her away that first night. Maybe she’s still in the loony bin.”

Tom sighed. “Breaking health privacy laws is a felony, isn’t it? How, pray tell, did you find out the kid was in a psych hospital?”

“A hunter has his sources,” Finny mumbled as he adjusted the frequencies on the video signal.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. You’re ‘The Hunter’. You are so full of POOP!”

Finny was stunned to silence. That was the closest thing to a swear word he’d ever heard his friend say. He looked up at Tom, and saw a scowling, beet red angry face staring back at him.

“Look, Finny,” growled the pilot, “I’m up for doing illegal stuff, as long as it’s both morally right and profitable. This obsession with that kid is neither. And you’re going to risk everything you have – WE have – just to satisfy your curiosity? Well, I sure don’t want you taking me down with you. I’m making myself scarce until you stop all this foolishness. You can find me down at the airport doing rides-by-hire. Let me know if you come to your senses.” Tom turned on his heel and stomped out of the room, then out the front door of the office.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” mumbled Finny. What the hell am I doing? I need all the friends I can get, and without Tom my buddy count is – let’s see – ZERO. I just wish I could get that J.J. kid outta my head. Something’s still not right.

~o~O~o~

*ADHD: Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual person or situation is purely coincidental.

Thanks to cyclist, whose advise and editorial skills have elevated this tale to 100x better than it was when I submitted it to her. She is one of the shining stars of our community!

Thanks to JenaJumbled for the awesome picture.

If you've gotten this far, leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

A story based in the real world. For some reason, a high school boy named J.J. went to sleep and didn't wake up for nearly 3 years. Someone else was awake in his place ...

~o~O~o~

Dr. Ramanathan – ‘Rama’, as he requested to be called – was sitting the next morning in the interview room with Nova.

“I’m ready to start the induction, Nova. Are you? You appear to be tense.”

“Ah, no. I’m not tense. That’s not the phrase for it; what would be more fitting? OH. I know – I’m SCARED SHITLESS. I can’t believe I’m submitting to this. You could really hurt me, you know?”

Rama’s left eyebrow raised high. “Explain.”

“You’re going to hypnotize me, right? How do I know you won’t put thoughts in my head like “forget Rio, forget Sabio, forget being a woman – you’ve got to become a boy named J.J. and spend your life in jail.” How do I know you won’t brainwash me? Or somehow put ME to ‘sleep’, like J.J. has been for nearly 3 years? Forgive me, but there’s only one male I trust – and since your name isn’t Sabio, then you aren’t him.”

“Let me allay your fears some, Nova.” Dr. Rama walked to the intercom. “Ask Mrs. Walsh to come in to this interview room, please.”

In two minutes, a woman in her mid-30’s walked in. She had striking red hair in a butch cut, and was dressed rough – army green T-shirt, fatigue pants, full arm tattoos, roughed-up cowboy boots and fingerless gloves. Yet on her lapel was an ID tag showing her as a staff member of the hospital. She came to the desk where the doctor and patient were and pulled up a chair, then plopped down into it.

Nova stared, confused. “Who are you? The hospital bouncer?”

“HA! I like you,” laughed the woman. “Name’s Nicki Walsh. I’m one of the two patient advocates here – that means I make sure all these other mooks here treat you right. Including the Chief Mook,” – she pointed to Dr. Rama.

“Oh yeah? Where were you when they tied me up for my last session with my Mom? Is that ‘treating me right’?”

“Damn straight, honey. Can’t have you jumping out of any more buildings. So, why was I called, Doc?”

“Hello, Mrs. Walsh. Nova is about to have her first hypnotherapy session. She’s worried that I’ll take advantage of her during that time. Perhaps you can reassure her that you’ll be on her side in this.”

“Sure. Tell me what specifically you’re afraid of, girlfriend.”

Nova repeated her concerns.

“I gotcha,” said Nicki. “Here’s what we’ll do. This session is gonna be taped and timed. After it’s over, they’ll give me the recording; I’ll check it for any sign that you were mistreated or given suggestions to brainwash you. If I see any, there will be hell to pay. And I’ll do a visit with you afterwards no matter what, to tell you what I did and didn’t see on the recording.”

Nova rolled her eyes. “You work here with Dr. Rama. You wouldn’t get him in trouble; you’ll just look the other way.”

“Tell that to Dr. Cunningham, the old medical director from 5 years ago. I caught him making sexual advances towards a patient; turned him in, got his license revoked. I’ve gotten a bad nurse’s aide and an LVN kicked out for harmful or unprofessional behavior. The staff knows not to do wrong to my patients, and corporate wants to keep me around because JCHAO – the national hospital accrediting company – likes my work here.”

“Everybody knows: you don’t mess around with Nicki,” Dr. Rama said.

“Okay. I feel better about this,” Nova sighed.

“Catch you later today, kid,” said Nicki as she exited.

~o~O~o~

Nova was soon a deep trance.. She sat in the small closed interview room. Dr. Rama was guiding her, and was video-recording the session.

“Nova, can you still hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Nova, I want you to try to rest. Sleep, if you can. I’m going to probe your consciousness to see if anyone else is there. I’ll give you a minute to relax.”

A minute passed. Rama resumed.

“I’m looking for J.J. Evarist. J.J., I’m a doctor. Please respond,”

Nothing.

“Okay. Is there anyone else living with J.J. and Nova? If so, please come out. I’d like to meet you. This is a safe place for you.”

Again, nothing – until half a minute had passed, then the young girl in the room began to pull up her knees to her chest, and wrapped her arms around her head. Her face contorted into a grimace, and she began a grunting, humming chant: “NNNnnnNNNnnnNNNnnnNNNnnnNNNnnnNNNnnn…”

Dr. Rama pushed a button, a silent signal for a nurse to come assist. Sue Holden RN arrived quickly.

“Come help me calm her,” Rama urged in a hushed tone.

The nurse gently stroked Nova’s arm as the doctor sat to the side, talking. “It’s going to be okay. You are in no danger. I’m a doctor, but I will only have women touching you. Do you have a name?”

The girl stopped chanting, but kept her eyes squeezed shut. Yet, there was another response: a slow, definite nodding of the head.

“You have a name. Can you tell me your name?”

A barely audible whisper came from the girl’s lips, not clear enough to comprehend.

“I’m so sorry, I could not understand that,” said Rama. “Can you repeat it, louder?”

The whisper answered, slightly stronger. “Meow.”

“Your name is … Meow?”

The girl’s head shook back and forth in a clear ‘no’.

“You sound like a kitty cat,” remarked nurse Holden. “Are you … a cat?”

Again, a ‘no’ response.

Dr. Rama ventured a guess. “Is your name Kitty?”

The head nodded emphatically.

Rama smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Kitty. You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

Head shake, ‘no’.

"How old are you, Kitty?" Rama was guessing that he might be dealing with a preschool aged alter. "Can you hold up your fingers to show me how many years?"

'Kitty' held up her ring, middle and pointer fingers on her right hand.

I don’t know how long we’ll have her with us, so I might as well jump into the deep questions, Rama mused. “Kitty. I have to ask you some hard questions now. Some of them may remind you of really bad things, and you not want to remember them. I need you to be very brave, and answer them if you can. Do you understand?"

Kitty nodded her head.

"I need to know the answers because other people may get hurt if I don't know them. I promise you will be safe here, and nothing bad will happen when you answer. Nurse Holden will be right with you, and we are going to protect you here. Will you help us, Kitty?"

There was no response at first; then, one single but firm nod of the head.

"Good girl. Okay, Kitty. Here we go. Do you remember a girl named Missy Renquist?'

Nod.

"Tell me: is Missy still alive?"

The head shook "no".

"Did someone kill Missy?"

Nod.

"Did you ... see them kill her?"

Nod.

"Can you tell me - or show me - what you saw?"

Kitty opened her eyes - they had been mostly closed since she'd appeared - and reached over to Rama's hand that held his ball point Mont Blanc he was writing with. She wrapped her fingers around the pen and tugged. Rama had mixed feelings about letting a patient have a sharp device, but allowed her to take it.

"Be careful not to hurt yourself, Kitty." Or us, he thought.

Kitty held the big pen in her hand as one would hold an icepick. She raised her arm, and then slammed the pen down onto the desktop, ball point first. She rapidly repeated this action over and over. Dr. Rama nodded to the nurse, who squeezed Kitty's upper arm, and rubbed it.

"That's good, Kitty. You can stop now."

Rama felt numb in realization of what they had just been told by the alter. He glanced up at the video monitor to make triple-sure that the red RECORD light was still on; of course, it was. He turned back to his patient.

"Kitty. Did YOU do that to Missy?"

Vigorous head shaking no.

"So it was someone else. Did you see who stabbed Missy?"

There was a long pause; then a nod.

"Do you know this person? Do you know their name?"

Nod.

The doctor and nurse glanced at each other, both aware of the gravity of what they were hearing.

"Please tell me that person's name, Kitty."

There was no response to that, even after patient waiting and repeating the question.

Blast. I’ll just stick to yes/no questions, thought Rama.

"Kitty. When Missy was stabbed, did something bad happen to you - your body - right before or after?"

The girl nodded; then pointed to her buttocks with her left hand.

"Someone touched you in a bad place, then. Missy - do you know what a 'rape' is?"

Multiple head nods.

"Are you saying - that someone raped you when Missy got murdered?"

Kitty's head nodded slowly, as a tear began running down her cheek.

"Is the person who raped you the same person who killed Missy?"

She started sobbing as she clearly nodded her head yet again.

The nurse held her breath in shock.

Hang in there, child. Just answer one more question, and I'll stop. “Kitty – can you whisper the name of that person to me?”

Kitty did not respond with a word or head movement. She was still and silent for a moment, then the humming came back –

“NNnnnNNNnnnNNNnnnNNNnnn…” – except it got louder and louder until it was almost a guttural scream, accompanied by increasing thrashing, so severe that Nurse Holden could barely maintain her in the chair.

Dr. Rama punched the intercom – “Bring me one of the shots!”

~o~O~o~

Becky and Bob Evarist arrived separately at Passages. Both had been called there urgently, so Becky came from a luncheon she’d been attending and Bob took off work. Bob walked up to his wife who was sitting on one of the waiting couches just outside of Dr. Rama’s office. Then the door to that office opened, and Dr. Rama stepped out.

“You’re both here! Excellent. Please come inside – I have significant news to report on your child’s case.”

“I hope it’s good news,” replied Becky. “Despite the progress you and I had with Nova yesterday, I’m starting to despair. I miss my J.J.”

“Come in, please, and sit down,” urged Rama.

Both parents entered, to an unexpected sight. There was Nova, sitting in a chair. She was in full head to toe restraints, though, and she was asleep, with her head leaning up against the back of the chair.

“What’s this?” barked Bob. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to be in her presence?”

“She’s currently sedated. I want to play the recording of this morning’s session for both of you.” Rama turned on the big monitor in the room.

Fifteen minutes later, the video ended.

Becky was agape. “Doctor – will we be able to find out more from her? From this Kitty alter?”

“I think it’s not only possible, I think it’s likely. And since we had a breakthrough with producing an alter other than Nova, it makes me hopeful that we can see J.J. soon. I had to sedate Kitty at the end there – you saw how she got – but sometimes an antipsychotic shot can stimulate the emergence of other alters. Maybe even the main personality – J.J.”

Bob snorted. “Forgive me for remaining a skeptic, but this is all pretty convenient for you, isn’t it? I put my foot down demanding results and voila’, major breakthrough! Why couldn’t you achieve this a week ago? And this Kitty ‘alter’ – she is fingering someone else for the murder, but that doesn’t prove anything. A good prosecutor is going to claim that J.J. is doing a hell of an acting job, all to garner sympathy and create reasonable doubt. Are we really any closer to J.J. coming back? It just seems like you’re producing more and more alters, and they’re getting weirder and weirder.”

Dr. Rama was crestfallen. “I thought you would be happy to see the progress.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” said Bob. “I’m happy to see anything happen at this point. I just don’t trust that it’s all real yet. I don’t trust this – this Nova person. If she really is a person, and not just some perverted imaginary thing. Hell, I don’t know what to believe anymore. Except this: I still think you, doctor, are a quack.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Bob,” said Rama, shaking his head.

Rebecca broke in. “Doctor – I’m so heartbroken today. That person over there is my son. My missing son! Yet, he’s somebody else. I miss my son. I miss him so much. When will I get my son back? Will I ever get him back?”

“Ma’am. I need your patience,” pled Rama. “This injection is in him, working; as soon as the sedation wears off, we’ll see if he returns to us. Don’t give up. I know how horrible this must-“

“Shut up. No. No you don’t. You DON’T know,” wailed Becky. “Unless you’ve been in my position – our position – you have NO idea about what we are feeling. And we’re not even the main victims here! Jacoby – my sweet J.J. – God, what horrors he’s gone through! I’m sorry; forgive my rudeness, doctor –“

Bob jumped in. “Don’t apologize to the quack. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Becky held her face in her hands. “Doctor … I must have J.J. back. I need my son.”
She then raised her head up. “Bob needs him too. We are living in hell right now, with J.J. being so close that we can touch him, yet this – this girl –“

“This IMPOSTER,” snarled Bob.

His wife resumed. “This stranger has taken over, and I don’t know her, and she refuses to leave! Doctor, put yourself in our position and tell us that we shouldn’t be hurting and fearful and angry and – and -” She stopped as she broke into tears.

Suddenly there was a scraping on the floor, a loud one, coming from the direction of the chair that Nova was in. The doctor and the parents all fell silent as they saw the child’s eyes open, and scanning the room. There was a new look on Nova’s face – one of bewilderment, disorientation. Yet, there was something familiar in that face; something Becky had not seen in nearly 3 years.

The mother’s heart jumped into her throat. “J.J.?”

The child looked at her, still confused and a little panicked. “M - Mom? What’s going on?”

Jacoby Jesse Evarist woke up.

~o~O~o~

Please refer to the last half of chapter 1 to see what happened immediately after this point in the story.

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual person or situation is purely coincidental.

Thanks to cyclist, whose advise and editorial skills have elevated this tale to 100x better than it was when I submitted it to her. She is one of the shining stars of our community!

Thanks to JenaJumbled for the awesome picture.

If you've gotten this far, leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

A story based in the real world. For some reason, a high school boy named J.J. went to sleep and didn't wake up for nearly 3 years. Someone else was awake in his place ...

~o~O~o~

J.J. was usually a non-stop talker. He lay in the treatment room at Passages Psychiatric Hospital where a nurse could constantly attend to him. Since awakening from his fainting spell, he just lay still and sobbed, his arms crossing his chest to keep his breasts out of his immediate vision. Dr. Rama now came to visit him.

As he approached his patient, the doctor said nothing. What he did do was pull up a chair next to the gurney and sit down there. He had a box of tissues, and he started doling them out to the teen.

Finally J.J. choked out a sentence. “What (sob) do you need?”

“I myself don’t need anything; I’m here so you won’t feel alone. So you know that I care about you, and so does every one else here.”

“Don’t you (sob) have more important things (sob) to do? You’re a doctor.”

“Right now, nothing is more important than me being here.”

J.J. took a bit to bawl out long and loud. In a few seconds he spoke again.

“I need my momma. If (sob, sniff) you want me comforted, she’s who I need.”

“I wish I could allow it. I cannot. This is even more complicated than you realize, J.J.; the local law is involved, and they have a say in where you stay. If I broke the rules for you, they might not look favorably on your case.”

“My (sniff) case? You mean my medical case?”

“No, unfortunately. Your court case.”

“I’m in trouble … with the law?? (sniff, sob) – my God, how much more worse does this nightmare get?”

“Worse than this, I’m afraid. We need to have a sit down visit where I go over what happened that night at homecoming, and what has happened since. You also need a physical hygiene primer for your new body; I’ll have our head clinical nurse do that with you. But you’re pretty upset now. I won’t proceed with these until you’re ready –“

“I’m ready.”

Rama was taken aback. “I don’t think you really are, Jacoby.”

“Doc. Let’s get the bad stuff out of the way. Otherwise the dread of what’s to come will be worse than going through it (sniff). Please.”

Rama sighed. “Okay – starting in the morning. You’ve been through enough today. I’m going to start you on a medicine to deal with depression and PTSD; the nurse will bring your first dose tonight.”

“Forget that. I don’t want to be a doped up zombie.”

“That’s not what this med does. It won’t dope you up or even make you artificially happy; it just helps keep the black cloud overhead from being quite as big and dark as it could be. It takes at least 2 weeks to work, so we should get started now. If you need help getting you to sleep tonight, I’ll give you a sleeping pill too; they should be safe to take for a short time until your other med kicks in. Tomorrow morning, you’ll meet with the clinical nurse – unless you change your mind, which is OK.”

~o~O~o~

The next morning J.J. was mute again through much of the visit with the clinical nurse.

“We won’t go over bras, hose or makeup; this is mainly learning about basic female body maintenance,” Nurse Fredrickson said. “Here’s how you do a breast self exam.”

J.J. was very careful and slow doing feeling for lumps in his bosom. Especially his nipples; they were hyper-touchy, and he jumped when he pressed on them to make sure they weren’t oozing any abnormal liquid. Next came adjusting to a new center of gravity, what with his new chest and hips; when he tried bending over in his usual 14-year-old boy way, he nearly toppled forward.

“Take shorter steps, J.J. – at least until you get more familiar with your hips. A fall and injury is the last thing you need.”

“Okay, remember, you must sit every time you use the toilet now. And you will always need some paper of some type. So check for it when you choose a stall. If you don’t have paper after urinating, you’ll be left with the decision to stain your pants or to sit there and air dry.”

Jacoby finally spoke up. “Air dry? I’ve never heard … is this what normal girls talk about?”

“Welcome to the glamorous joy of being a woman,” the nurse empathized. “Okay. We saved the toughest for last: care of your vagina.”

Jacoby wondered why applying a simple thing like a panty liner was so difficult to get right. Maybe I’m just nervous about having to PREPARE MY PANTIES. I WEAR PANTIES NOW. GOD.

Now Jacoby lay on his back, knees flexed and feet together on the bed. And nothing on from the waist down.

“Put the lubricant on your finger; now, apply it into the opening down there. Oops! A little more to the center – there you go.” Nurse Fredrickson gave him two thumbs up.

J.J. moved to a sitting position on the table, covering his girlish groin with his hands. “Ah, nurse – I just realized – I’m putting lubricant INTO MY VAGINA. There’s only one reason I’d be doing that – and I am NOT having sex with another dude!”

“Honey, you're 'lubing' down there for another reason. For general vaginal health – whether you ever have sex there or not – you need to keep your vagina dilated. We’re going to go over that; you’re overdue for it, likely.” She held up four items of different color and size, but all the same shape.

“Dildos?”

“No, honey. Dilators.”

“DILDOS??” J.J. suddenly looked pale and woozy. The nurse laid him back down on the exam table until the color was back in his face.

Then, like a trooper, J.J. grit his teeth and performed his first vaginal dilation.

~o~O~o~

The afternoon session was much more traumatic than the morning. J.J. saw the recordings of Nova’s sessions, jaw agape at seeing him in his female form, acting in ways and talking with language that he never would have thought he’d do or say.

He almost passed out once more when he heard of Missy’s murder. He sat on the floor in the corner of Dr. Rama’s office and bawled for an hour straight. Then he stared dumbfounded as Rama eventually told him that he was the chief suspect.

He had no recollection of his father ever hurting him. Rama suspected that some of J.J.’s memories somehow were being repressed, but he could not prove it. The doctor did not show the video of Kitty to J.J., but rather told him the gist of it.

Dr. Rama let the staff know to watch out for any suicidal behavior or speech from the unfortunate young man; he’d not shown any tendency for that, but Rama felt it was better to be safe than sorry.

In a few more days, there was a very positive breakthrough.

J.J. was meeting once more with the doctor and both of his parents (Bob was now allowed to be present, as his presence actually seemed to produce calm in J.J. rather than agitation). The boy sat up and made an announcement.

“I’ve been contemplating my life, and what’s happened to me. I don’t like any of it. In fact, I HATE my current condition. I mean, I’m suddenly a female, and my girlfriend is DEAD, and I’M wanted for murdering her! What in God’s name did I do to have all of this happen to me? Speaking of God, how could He have let this happen? Does He hate me, or is He dead, or what? What … why –”

J.J. began weeping hard, his body jerking with sobs. Becky started to rise out of her chair, but caught herself and turned her head quickly to stare at Dr. Rama.

Rama was trained to interpret body language, but a toddler could have read Becky’s look. It said allow me to comfort my son or I will hurt you. He nodded his head and waved Becky towards her child; she was at his side in a millisecond with a box of tissues.

The tears gushed for a good minute. Then, J.J. pulled himself together and blew his nose clean, wiped his eyes, and set a look of determination in his doe-like eyes and tiny chin.

“So, yeah; this sucks. But I am not a quitter. Mom, Dad – you taught me never to give up, and to make the best I could of any situation. So: I’m going to do that. I don’t know what “the best” of this looks like; but that’s the one choice I have, so that’s what I’m going to do. I believe that in spite of all this, there has to be some purpose for my life. I can still accomplish something.”

That statement produced more tears, but mainly from his mother and father.

J.J. now appeared worried. “But, I’m afraid … I’m going to need a TON of help. And I’ve already been such a burden on you two.”

“The only burden was when you weren’t around, son,” Becky smiled. “Together, somehow, we’ll all get through it.”

“Amen, J.J. I’m right with you, buddy,” chimed Bob.

Becky turned to the doctor. “Is there any chance that he can come stay at home while he continues his therapy with you? He might do better there, now that he’s ‘himself’ again.” An unmistakable yearning could be heard in her voice.

Rama rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. “Not yet. You, Bob and I need to talk after J.J. goes back to his room here.”

~o~O~o~

Once J.J. was gone, Rama didn’t beat around the bush. “The district attorney called me to get an update on his progress. I am working closely with your defense lawyer to make sure I disclose only what I legally am required to. Still, the D.A. feels that it’s time to schedule your son’s murder trial. He told me it would be on the docket as early as possible, unfortunately.”

Bob growled with anger. “That grandstanding bastard is up for re-election, and wants to be in the headlines with a ‘big win for the people’s justice’. Our son being sex-changed will only make this a juicier story for him and the papers.”

“Also,” added Rama, “they demand J.J. be kept under lock and key. They already feel he has been a fugitive from justice; if I discharge him from the hospital, he will be sent to jail without bond while awaiting trial.”

Becky was pale as a ghost. “Doctor – then you must keep him here, please! As long as possible! This place is not home, but I shudder to think what would happen to my son in jail! Oh god – please tell me you won’t release him!” She looked at her husband. “Bob – what if he’s sent to prison? What if he’s sent to men’s prison? More torture and then death! I – I don’t want to continue living if that happens!”

“Shh –shh, baby. This isn’t over yet,” Bob whispered as he pulled his wife’s head to his shoulder, and then looked to Dr. Rama. “Until the trial at least, can he stay here?”

“I don’t think our work is done here,” Rama answered with a nod. “We are so close to finding out what Kitty knows. That may or may not help J.J.’s case.”

Bob whistled with relief. “Thanks, Doc. Have you seen any sign of Nova since J.J.’s come back?”

“No.”

“Well, great. Good riddance.”

“Bob … Nova is part of your son’s personality, whether you like her or not. She likely will return, sooner or later. I suggest treating her with love, even if she doesn’t reciprocate.”

The father suddenly was clenching his jaw; his face was red and his eyes were leaking. “God … I was so stupid! I knew, I knew what happens on prom nights! That’s when half the girls at school get knocked up! I should’ve given them an earlier curfew; I should’ve stayed home to enforce it; I should’ve chaperoned them; I should’ve done something more, or different! Maybe all of our lives would still be going boringly normal still. God, what I wouldn’t give to go back …”

Now it was Becky who was comforting her spouse, with whispers and light brushes on his cheek with the soft tips of her fingers.

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual person or situation is purely coincidental.

Thanks to cyclist, whose advise and editorial skills have elevated this tale to 100x better than it was when I submitted it to her. She is one of the shining stars of our community!

Thanks to JenaJumbled for the awesome picture.

If you've gotten this far, leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

A story based in the real world. For some reason, a high school boy named J.J. went to sleep and didn't wake up for nearly 3 years. Someone else was awake in his place ...

~o~O~o~

The next day, J.J. had another hypnotherapy session. For this one, his mother was now allowed to be present.

“Our goal today is to bring Kitty back for a visit. I’m hoping we can get the identity of the person who raped her/you, and killed Missy,” said the doctor.

The patient wasn’t too enthusiastic about that. “I just got control back. I’m not too sure I want to chance giving it up again.”

“While I cannot guarantee you – J.J. – will always be the alter in control, I can assure you that this therapy today is essential for your health and possibly your freedom.”

They began with a mild antipsychotic shot. Dr. Rama and nurse Holden were there as before, with Becky seated next to them. Rama had something new with him this session: a large poster board with pictures attached. Pictures of Bob Evarist, Becky Evarist, some next-door neighbors, and various photos from newspapers and magazines were arranged in a random fashion on the board.

J.J. was in a deep trance state.

“This is Dr. Rama. I need to speak with Kitty, please.”

Nothing happened for 30 seconds. Then J.J.’s arms and legs drew up, and he started rocking his head, humming “NNNnnnNNNnnnnNNNnnnNNNnnn.”

“Kitty, is that you?”

Head nod.

“Good afternoon, Kitty. I have some more questions for you. All of them will be ‘yes or no’ questions that you can answer with shaking or nodding your head. Except for one question where I’m going to ask you to point with your finger. Is that okay?”

There was no response.

“Kitty – do you remember who raped you and killed Missy?”

Head nod.

“Can you look at this poster board and tell me – is that person’s picture on here?”

Kitty’s eyes opened, then shut. And her head nodded.

Becky had goose bumps as Rama asked, “Can you point to the person who did this?”

Unfortunately, there was no response to that. In fact, Kitty responded to no other questions or instructions the rest of the time.

The physician decided to finally end the session for today. He fretted over Bob Evarist’s last comment to him. “Good riddance” to Nova.

The last time I put Nova under hypnosis, it was Jacoby who emerged afterwards. Now I’ve put Jacoby under; will it be Nova re-emerging? She is a valid person, and has issues to work through; but right now I need the father’s cooperation, and I’m not likely to get it if it is she who returns. This is all chance; I have no direct control over which alter presents or when they do. Even Nova and Jacoby don’t have that power. May Lord Shiva protect me from bad karma for this – but I pray it is the boy who comes back.

He brought the teen out of the trance.

“Jacoby? Are you back with me?”

“Yeah, doc. It’s me, J.J.”

Dr. Rama breathed a sigh of relief.

"Did it work, doc?" asked J.J. "Did you get Kitty back?"

"Yes we did, Jacoby. Unfortunately, I could not get much more information from her, even using this poster of photographs. She did indicate that the culprit is in one of these pictures. But there must be thirty people on here."

"Ahem," Becky cleared her throat. "Maybe next time, I could ask her? Kitty might be more comfortable with a woman's voice - especially if that woman is her mother."

Rama nodded. "I think that's a good idea, but I'm not sure it will be enough. I think we need to put Kitty at 'ground zero' - where all of this started - and ask her there."

~o~O~o~

Becky and J.J. had some time as Dr. Rama finished inputting information in the computer. It had been years since they ‘d had a chance to just ‘shoot the breeze’ together, and they took advantage of this opportunity. J.J. began with an apology.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I wish I had been able to be ‘awake’ along with Kitty. Maybe I could have made her point to the picture she saw. It still seems so strange to me to talk about these other people – Kitty, Nova and maybe more, who knows? – living in my brain.”

“You did fine, son. And if Kitty shows up again, maybe I can get her to point to the picture she means. After all, I’m her mom, not some stuffy old doctor.” She glanced a reassuring smile at her kid. A change to a less serious subject was needed, so that’s what Becky did.

“You should try to reconnect with some of your friends and family; I know they wont let you call, but you can write. You can start with grandparents. I’ve been keeping both sets updated on you. They want to help in any way they can; Grandma Liz says she’d be happy to teach you how to find a rich husband.”

“Ha ha ha! Funny as ever! I love Grandma Lizzy’s sense of humor,” J.J. smiled, and then appeared worried. “She WAS just joking, right?”

“Yes she was, Jakey Jamers.”

“Mom! You haven’t called me that in a long time.”

“Well, you haven’t called me Mommaboo in a long time either. Remember that?”

“Oh brother,” J.J. rolled his eyes while smiling.

“Speaking of your brother,” Becky said, “we need to update him on your status.”

“Dustin doesn’t know that I’m back in control and Nova’s gone?”

“Honey, Dustin doesn’t even know we found you and brought you back. He’s always been a busy guy, but after you disappeared – he didn’t take it well. He’ll go for months without calling us, and won’t always return our calls and texts. It breaks my heart, but I can’t make him stay in touch. I think he still operates his big trucking rig independently, so he could be in Minnesota, Boston or back at his home in Tampa an hour and a half from here.

“You know, he always talked with you more than us though. Maybe if you wrote him a letter, he’d read it?”

“Sure thing! Boy, I bet he’ll be surprised to hear what’s happened.”

Becky smiled. “What about your buds from school?”

J.J. got quiet. “Mom … I don’t know. Matt, Josh and I used to watch the pretty girls at school, and discuss their boobs, and butts, and … and now I’m one of the ones they’d do that to. Not to mention they’ll think I’m a murdering, sicko self-mutilating freak!”

Becky looked sympathetically at her son. “Don’t underestimate your buddies. I bet at least some of them would be willing to treat you just as before.”

“Mom – no offense, but you don’t know most teenage guys. I saw how they treated gays and even “less beautiful” people. They would turn on me even more viciously than that, just to distance themselves from me,” J.J. said with a somber voice.

“Heck, I remember how I used to ridicule others right along with them. Last night in bed, I realized - that’s why all this has happened to me. It’s the universe’s way of paying me back. I deserve all this, I guess. Especially if … if somehow I really killed Missy.” The boy in a girl’s body buried his face in his hands and began to sob.

~o~O~o~

After all this time – I’m finally going to be able to close the Missy Renquist file.

At the Kissimmee Police Department, Detective Ray Castro organized the information on Jacoby Jesse Evarist on his work PC. There had been a frustrating lack of new data on this fugitive for years – but now he’d popped up out of nowhere. And to top it off, he’s going to cop an insanity defense; multiple personalities, or so his family and shrink were claiming.

Yeah, how convenient. "It wasn't me, it was my alter ego, Freddy Krueger."

The icing on this freaky cake: this murderous boy was now a girl, at least surgically and hormonally. Castro was itching at the bit to interview the suspect; he just needed the psychiatrist’s green light. Which was frustratingly slow in coming. Still, any day now, he hoped for a call –

DIDDLE-DIDDLE-DIDDLE-DIDDLE went Ray’s desk phone. Sigh. Wimpy electronic ring, he thought as he grabbed the receiver.

“Castro here. Oh? HEY, Doc Ramalamajama – sorry, I keep screwing that up; I forgot, just use ‘Rama’ like you said. I hope this is the call I’m expecting, allowing me to come interview the Evarist boy?”

Rama laughed half-heartedly at the other end. Detective Castro was always making a point to initially butcher his name; it had happened so often that he was sure it was on purpose. “No, officer; this is not that call. I’m calling to request a special favor regarding that child. I need to do a therapy session with J.J. in his home, in the room where the murder occurred.”

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds; then – “Well. That is an unusual request, especially for a suspect considered a high flight risk. There’s a great reason for it, I assume?”

“Yes; I feel like that location may be able to spur some memories that may allow him – or rather, one of the alternate personalities – to remember the identity of the murderer.”

“OH, COME ON – “ The detective bit off his sentence and counted to ten, breathing deeply as his work counselor had instructed. He then tapped his fingers hard on his desk as he resumed in a calmer tone: “Doc. Let’s be honest. We both know who did that murder. This kid is playing you – playing the whole system – like we’re a cello and he’s Yo-Yo Ma. Surely you can see that?”

“Detective. I am a physician; you’re the lawman. You search for justice; I search for healing. And whether you like it or not, you will end up granting my request.”

“Oh, really? Why will I, pray tell?”

“Because during the trial, I will be on the stand. And I can either say that I was allowed to fully explore my patient’s psyche or not. See, if I can do this, then we may find that we have the wrong conclusion, and that the real killer is still out there. Or, I may find that somehow J.J.’s story does not fit; in that case I will testify that likely he or one of his alters committed the act.

“On the other hand, if I cannot fully evaluate my patient, then I will testify my belief that enough reasonable doubt exists that the D.A. will lose the case; and then you will be under the microscope, Detective Fidel – Oh, sorry, Detective Castro – I keep screwing that up.”

For twenty seconds, Dr. Rama heard nothing but the sound of deep breathing coming from the lawman. He knew that Ray Castro, son of a Cuban political refugee, hated the late Fidel Castro. Eventually, a low, measured voice came from the receiver.

“He’ll be cuffed hand and foot, and I’ll have myself or a deputy in the room.”

“NO. He will be with his mother and me only. You may post a guard at the front and back doors. And, no to hand or feet cuffs also. Restraints and strangers in the room may inhibit the therapy.”

More silence. “… Only one session. That’s it.”

“Hopefully I will need only one. Can we schedule it for tomorrow?” Rama was pleased with himself. He had ‘won’ this negotiation.

“Now here’s my warning to you, good doctor,” Castro growled. “If this suspect escapes, or commits suicide, or harms someone else as a result of this special treatment, then I can guarantee you will be the one in jail. I will personally lock you in myself. You got me?”

Rama grumbled. “Understood, Fidel.”

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual person or situation is purely coincidental.

Thanks to cyclist, whose advise and editorial skills have elevated this tale to 100x better than it was when I submitted it to her. She is one of the shining stars of our community!

Thanks to JenaJumbled for the awesome picture.

If you've gotten this far, leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

A story based in the real world. For some reason, a high school boy named J.J. went to sleep and didn't wake up for nearly 3 years. Someone else was awake in his place ...

~o~O~o~

The next day, Becky was back at her house preparing for the special home session that Dr. Rama had arranged with Detective Castro. They were all to arrive within the hour. She and Bob had spent half the night readying J.J.'s room for the session; moving all the storage out and replacing the bed and shelves and posters as it had been when the boy had gone missing. Now Becky was exhausted, and her feelings ran the emotional gamut – exhilaration and hope at what they might be close to learning, and trepidation that the truth would destroy her child and by extension her family.

She needed someone to talk to. Bob was in the middle of his workday. Most of her friends sympathized with her, but not with J.J.; everyone in town pegged him for Missy’s murder. She was going crazy. She called Grandma Lizzy, but got only her voicemail.

Grandpa E – voicemail. Same with her sister. She decided to call J.J.’s older brother Dustin, even though she knew she’d get voicemail – and he’d never respond, as usual. She dialed the number despite the futility of the action.

Then, amazingly, he answered. “Yo, Mom. What do you need?”

“Dustin! Thank you for answering. I miss talking to you-“

“Sorry Mom, I’m in a pretty big traffic snarl. I won’t be able to stay on long.”

“Dustin, just listen for a second. J.J.’s back.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then “WHAT! OH MY GOD! J.J.? That’s GREAT! When? Is he okay? Where was he? Did the police finally track him down? Where is he staying?”

“It’s a long, complicated, twisted tale, honey. There’s no way I could cover it all in a quick phone call. He was … mentally ill, pretty badly. We had to put him in the psychiatric hospital here.”

“Oh God! That’s - that’s horrible! Is he getting better?”

“Yes, son – but there’s been things done to him that – well, let’s just say his life is changed forever. I wish you were here in person. He could really use a visit from you.”

“Mom, believe it or not, right now I’m about 30 minutes away from Kissimmee! I dropped a load off at Port Canaveral and was headed back to Tampa; I’m entering Orlando’s outskirts in a few minutes. How about I take a detour and come over; then, if visiting hours are still in effect, maybe I can see him in the hospital?”

“Oh! Dustin, that’s fantastic! Just come to the house, honey! The doctor is bringing him here for a special one-time session in his bedroom where all of the bad stuff happened, to see if we can stimulate his memory. We all need to know what really happened the night he disappeared. The police will have a car or two outside, but maybe we can have them bend the rules so you two can share a hug. Heck, Bob’s even trying to get off work early for this, so we would have our whole family back here for the first time in years!”

There was prolonged silence from Dustin’s phone. “MOM – J.J.’s going to be in the house – and Dad’s going to have access to him? And the cops are going to be there, but not right inside with him?”

“Well, that’s the plan, as I understand it. Why are you sounding so concerned?”

“Mom. Just listen to me with an open mind. J.J.’s in danger. Don’t let him physically be around Dad!”

Becky’s mouth dropped. “What? W-what do you mean?”

“Mom, there is stuff that Dad does – and has done. He did it to me, and I’m sure that he’s done it to J.J. Why do you think I hardly show my face over there anymore?”

“What – what do you mean, son? What kind of ‘stuff’?”

“GOD, Mom – SEX STUFF. It’s hard to even talk about it, okay? Just KEEP J.J. AWAY FROM DAD.”

“Son, if this is so, why haven’t you told me before?”

“You don’t think that after J.J. disappeared I didn’t kick myself every day, knowing I should have done more to protect him? I left as soon as I turned 17; J.J. was still 12. I guess I thought he was safe, since Dad only seemed to target me. Then when that Missy girl was found stabbed, and J.J. gone, I knew Dad was the cause – he probably screwed J.J. over – literally – so much that something snapped. Dad knows J.J. can finger him for part of this – and who knows what Dad will do to make sure that doesn’t happen?”

“I – I find this hard to believe. I’m going to confront your father!”

“MOM, NO – aw, nuts – Mom, that will just put you in danger too! Tell the police what I said, and then you just protect J.J., ok?”

“Dustin … what do I do? They are probably on their way over here with J.J. already. Bob may be on his way too!”

“I’m about 25 minutes from you now. If I can get there before Dad does, I’ll handle him. Believe me, I’m big enough now that I can stop him. But if the police get there with J.J., tell them to be on the lookout for that creep I used to call “father”. If Dad gets there before the cops do – Mom, do you still know how to use the shotgun you guys keep in the gun safe?”

Becky’s head was spinning like a cyclone. “I – I haven’t used it since the firearm classes we took ten years ago.”

“Well, if I were you, I’d re-acquaint myself with it ASAP. Be there in 20. God keep y’all safe.”

~o~O~o~

Marcus Finlandt, detective and bounty hunter, was frustrated. For the last 24 hours the feed from the Evarist house was nothing but snow on the screen.

I’ll bet it’s a faulty relay unit; the primary transmitter I used is super-reliable. Unless they found it and got rid of it or snapped the power cord. If it’s just the relay, I’ll be able to pick it up if I get within 100 yards of the home. But I’ve been monitoring the conversation in the home, and it’s all benign. The parents seem clean. I’ll chalk up my gut feeling to paranoia and quit this little side adventure. I just need to discretely retrieve my unit. The wife is probably home alone; I can ask her if I can come in, and when she’s not looking I’ll snag my transmitter.

He brushed the remnants of some potato chips from his chin, grabbed his laptop computer/monitor, and trotted out to his black GMC SUV. As usual, he was packing his Glock pistol and stun gun. He jumped in, started the engine, and screeched off down the 11-mile trip to the Evarist house.

Unnoticed by the hunter was a man straddling a motorcycle on the side of the road. This person wore jeans and a buttoned denim jacket; fairly hot attire for Florida in the summer. Peeking out from the lower edge of the jacket was the handle of a baseball bat; the rest of the bat was hidden. This man watched with binoculars as Finlandt came out of the house and entered the SUV. He made note of the long coarse hair pulled into a low ponytail, the handlebar mustache, and the dark sunglasses.

As Finlandt took off down the road, the motorcyclist fired up his hog and followed.

Found you, thought the biker. Now you give me what I want or you’re a dead man.

~o~O~o~

Ten minutes later, a patrol car rolled up to the Evarist house and parked in the front. Detective Castro, Doctor Ramamurthy, and patient J.J. Evarist exited the cruiser. Castro had a firm grip on the child’s thin, feminine upper arm as they approached the front door. Becky opened the door as the trio approached; her eyes focused in on her offspring.

“Welcome home, son of mine,” she stated in spite of J.J.’s lithe girlish appearance. “Even if it is just for an hour.” She tried her best to hide the panic building in her.

Castro barked out the rules. “I’ll keep an eye on you guys from my car. After 60 minutes I need a phone call for an update. No one – NONE of you – leave the house by any opening except this front door, and even then not without calling me first.

“I’ve got a unit with police lieutenant Mike Chan parked in back just to make sure we’re watching you from as many angles as we can. Believe me, you don’t want to get caught by Chan; he will take you down hard. I get suspicious about anything, and I am calling this off and you go back to the locked unit at the psych ward,” he said glaring at J.J.

“Roger that, sir,” smiled J.J.

Becky whispered in Detective Castro’s ear. “I need to speak to you and Dr. Rama right now – and out of earshot of J.J.”

Castro shook his head. “That would mean leaving this fugitive,” he pointed to J.J., “alone. No can do, even for a second. Tell the doc here, and I’ll stand in the far corner of the room with the suspect. Then we’ll switch places and you can tell me.”

Becky gave Dr. Rama the quick run through of what Dustin had just told her. The doctor was shocked.

“Becky. I am stunned. Do you believe Dustin?”

“I – I don’t know what to believe anymore. I feel totally lost right now. I’m looking to you, Doctor. What should we do?”

Rama frowned in concentration. “We’ll take all accusations with a grain of salt – but also, take them seriously. At least until we’ve proven that they are false. I will tell Detective Castro; he’ll take care of this. Thank God the police are here. Now you take J.J. from the detective and stand in the far corner where we both can see you while I relay this information to him.”

Becky watched the two men talk, and saw Det. Castro’s eyes grow wide with disbelief. She felt a tapping on her shoulder. It was her beautiful son/daughter, J.J., with a look of concern on his/her face.

“Mom? What’s going on?”

Becky saw no alternative but to confront the new concerns.

“Sweetheart, I’ve got to know something. I’ve just talked to Dustin, and he’s told me some horrible information. He’ll be here in less than half an hour to be with us and help me protect you. He also told me that your father probably … molested you when you lived with us before you disappeared. Please be honest with me. Has anything bad ever happened between you and your father?”

J.J.’s eyes were closed, and his chin was on his chest. He did not respond – until about 30 seconds later. He began humming: “NNNnnnNNNNnnNNNnnnNNNnnn…”

Becky gasped. Oh my God! He’s switched to Kitty!

She looked around the living room they were in; yes, Dr. Rama had brought the poster board from yesterday’s session. Running and grabbing it, she returned to Kitty’s side. Dr. Rama, seeing what was going on, now silently approached the two women and nodded to Becky to proceed as they had discussed.

“Kitty, this is Mommy. I love you, and am here to protect you. But I need you to help me. You told Dr. Rama that on this board was a picture of the person who raped you and killed Missy. I need you to point that person out to me. Would you do that for me, please?”

Kitty opened her eyes and looked at the pictures on the poster board. Her arms were contracted, and her hands balled up like fists under her chin. But a finger uncurled from her right hand and pointed towards the big picture in the upper right hand corner of the poster.

Dr. Rama silently gasped. Becky started to weep. She pointed her own hand to the picture, touching it, to make sure she understood Kitty.

“K-Kitty (sob) is the bad man in this picture?”

Kitty nodded her head emphatically.

It was a 5-year-old photo of her husband Bob, standing out in their front yard.

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual person or situation is purely coincidental.

Thanks to cyclist, whose advise and editorial skills have elevated this tale to 100x better than it was when I submitted it to her. She is one of the shining stars of our community!

Thanks to JenaJumbled for the awesome picture.

If you've gotten this far, leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**