This story is posted with the permission of Catherine Linda Michel, the originator of this universe.

That said, anything you don't like is entirely my fault.

Kerry darted across the cold rainy street, huddled in on herself to preserve any dregs of warmth she might have left in her. Hiding herself was so routine she did it with half her attention, slipping silently between dismal little pools of light.

Another fit of shivering wracked her bony frame as the wind gusted through a too thin layer of cloth that was soaked anyway. It had been a month since she slept indoors and after that experience at the shelter she wasn’t going anywhere near one of those places. It hadn’t been violent this time, at least, just incredibly humiliating. She’d showed up with other people seeking a place to sleep and watched with hope as a family ahead of her was even given a room. Then she was standing in front of the table as a kindly looking man eyed her up and down for a moment before speaking.

“Go away!” She stared at him, dumbfounded. He stood and pushed his now twisted face into hers. “I said GO AWAY!” He was screaming now. “We god fearing normal people don’t want freaks like you here! Get out of here before somebody’s child sees you, freak!”

He was still screaming but she couldn’t hear him any more. It was everything she could do to stumble away, blinded by scalding tears, not knowing and beyond caring that most of the looks she received were of pity, not the hatred and filth that man had just heaped on her. Toward the bridge again, that familiar path that was so dangerously seductive for her.

It was so simple, just walk onto the bridge instead of under it this time. She’d heard somewhere that hitting water from 150 feet up would be just like hitting concrete, quick and even if not painless, at least very short pain. Then no more pain ever again. But as usual, she lost her nerve and cried herself to sleep huddled as far out of the wind as she could get. At least it was dry.

Back to the same bridge, careful to conceal herself, but this night too physically miserable to even cry. Her misery was increased as she slipped past the newly rebuilt hotel, the irony of the sign causing her to snort in wry derision. “The Home That Love Built” in soft pastel lights, so soothing to think about but forever beyond her reach. She’d heard it was going to be some kind of group home. Well, it was nice to think that the people who got to live there would get better lives, but the way that place had been outfitted, it had to be for people with money. It seemed like a waste.

No point complaining about it though. Really, there wasn’t anything to complain about. That place had in fact provided shelter and sustenance for her for almost a year, right up until the last of the cleanup work was done and they were ready to open. Lots of the work was brutally hard, and after deductions she only had just a little more than was needed to feed herself and old Jake, but it was better than being on the street. Once the plumbing was in the rooms they could even take showers if they were careful not to leave traces of their presence. She’d helped put up the fencing and helped in construction and knew the ways to sneak in and out and hide after the site closed down at night.

The thought of Jake brought a tear to her eye. Nobody deserved to go like that, to just die under a bridge one night. Nobody deserved it, but that’s what his service in Vietnam had given him, a shattered life and a mind that was possibly more broken than his body. She still couldn’t believe she’d done what he told her to do. “Kid,” he’d said, giving her that funny look he got when he was more or less sane, “I’m gonna die pretty soon.”

She shook her head in denial of what she knew full well to be true. “You know I am,” he continued, “and its probably gonna be under this bridge. If the meat wagon has to come here to get me, you won’t have this place anymore. I want you to take my body and put it in the river. Make sure you push it out far enough for the current to take me downstream.”

He started to lose the sane look again and chuckled to himself. “Hell, maybe I’ll reach the ocean. I mean I was brown water Navy, but every sailor wants to be buried at sea.” After that he trailed off into mumbling in some language she didn’t know. Those turned out to be his last words, and the next morning she dragged the corpse of her only friend down to the water’s edge, said a few words over him that she remembered from the bible because she knew he’d been a Christian, and gave his body to the river.

She’d been too hollow to even cry for him right then. It had taken another week of showing up at the temp office and being turned away without work before it caught up with her. She’d eaten through her thin cushion of savings by then and was carefully stretching her last can of beans while reading a newspaper from the day before in the failing light and there it was.

“Body pulled from river identified as decorated veteran!” There was more, but right then the only thing she cared about was that she had failed Jack, that he hadn’t gotten his wish. That broke the emotional floodgates. The beans went uneaten. When Monday came, she couldn’t rouse herself to go to the office in the hope of work and the next day she had lost her spot in the lineup. That had been almost 3 weeks before and the only thing she’d had to eat since then were some dumpster discards from a grocery store. Most of that stuff was so far gone it was safer to just go hungry.

There had been nothing again today but Kerry wasn’t hungry any more. She hadn’t felt hungry for several days now. An idea crossed her mind, alluring, seductive. There was heat to be had, and someplace out of the rain, but she risked getting caught and going to jail. She really, really didn’t want to go to jail again.

Another uncontrollable bout of shivering made her mind up for her and her stealthy progress changed its direction. There it was, just as she remembered, a maintenance hatch. Pull on the handle and twist, just so, and it popped open, granting admission to a crawlspace. She carefully pulled the hatch closed behind her and crouched there for a moment, glad just to be out of the wind and rain. It was certainly warmer than the near freezing outside, but she knew where she could actually be warm instead of just not freezing. Careful crouching progress through the pitch blackness brought a hand in contact with a hot pipe. A turn and a crawl through another, much tighter space and she found herself in a tiny enclosure, a little space where the hot water pipes branched off and in the process, gave up some of their heat. Here it was warm enough to finally stop the little involuntary tremors and she let herself gradually relax. Thought fled along with hypothermia and she dropped off to sleep.

Dreams for her were never very pleasant, but as she’d gone longer without eating they had become terrifying. She knew she was remembering, knew she was dreaming, but she could only ride it out. “You’re my slave, bitch! You got me? You do what I say!” Coker drew back his hand and looked satisfied as she cringed in the corner, aching horribly and feeling what she knew was a mixture of blood and semen run out of her abused backside. The tattoos on her forehead and neck burned fiercely. She’d seen what they said as he thrust into to her and been so immersed in the pain it hadn’t really hit, but it did now.

They were right there, where you couldn’t miss it. “Shemale Whore” it proclaimed from her forehead. “Coker’s Pussy” it added from her neck. 10 months later, she’d been released from jail with small breasts from the pills he’d fed her. She’d wanted the pills, wanted them more than anything, but never to be tortured and raped like that. Most nights she relived the rapes and the terror, locked in the prison of her own mind until somehow, mercifully, she would awake, only gradually becoming aware that she wasn’t there anymore.

Kerry opened her eyes to pitch blackness and it took a few moments for her to realize where she was. Her clothes had mostly dried while she slept and it felt so good to not be cold. Right then, moving was the last thing she wanted to do, but her bladder had other ideas. So it was up and carefully back through the darkness to the hatch again. She noted with relief that it was still just before dawn, so she should be able to get out and do her business unobserved. The blast of cold when she opened the hatch had her shivering already, but she couldn’t do it under here.

The pavement still looked wet but it wasn’t raining at the moment, so she knew she had to hurry if she wanted to stay dry. She’d carefully closed the hatch behind her and made her way to the pavement, rushing with the urgency of her need, but there was one thing she didn’t know. While she slept, the rain had frozen into a sheet of nearly invisible ice. She didn’t know that at the time though. All she knew was that suddenly her feet went out from under her and her world went black.

Cold, so cold. Kerry lay there trying to wrap her senses around the hammering pain from the back of her head. “I gotta get up, I gotta get up” kept running through her mind but when she tried to move her head, it felt like she was stuck somehow. Opening her eyes was a monumental effort, it seemed like they were glued closed. When she did manage it, the pain lanced back through her and she slammed them closed again. Sunlight. Oh crap.

She lay back for a moment, gathered her strength, and tried to roll over. She could feel the movement, could even beat her heels on the ground, but she couldn’t seem to roll or get up. Somehow, she was stuck to the ground. Her arms were free, she could beat her heels on the ground and she discovered she could even arch her back a little. That didn’t make any sense! Had someone superglued her to the pavement?

She put a hand to the back of her head, feeling around with numbed fingers. Oh crap even more. There was the slick cold of ice and more in her hair, down to where it seemed to go under the surface. Suddenly it was clear to her. She’d fallen and gashed her head and while she lay there, the blood had frozen her head to the ice. That explained her lower half too. Before going flying, she’d been rushing to pee, barely holding it. She must have wet herself while she was out and that froze too.

“Ok,” she muttered to herself “That I can deal with. I‘ve got a pocketknife, I just have to cut my hair off and then I should be able to get out of my pants. After that I’m golden!” What she’d just said hit her.

Her hair, that one simple stupid thing she had for comfort and coverage, to hide the horrible marks on her face. If she wanted to survive, she had to cut it off, to expose herself to more of that hate.

“Fuck it, it aint that cold. I’ll just lay here a bit and the sun‘ll melt the ice” She said it to herself with surprising calm and realized as she did that it was true. The sun felt not warm but sunny anyway, and the cold really wasn’t so bad. In fact, it really felt kind of good to lie there. Like good enough to take a nap while the ice melted. Sleep sounded so good right now…

“Irene! Wake up honey and put something warm on!” Sarah was shaking her gently. “There’s somebody out on the back sidewalk!” Irene was definitely not ready to get out of bed, but Sarah sounded really worried. “Come on, get dressed, they’re just lying there kinda flailing around. I need help!”

Irene shook the sleep from her mind and rolled out of bed, or at least tried to. Her middle aged joints protested sharply at the sudden abuse and she wound up staggering out of bed and straightening up with a sound like popcorn popping. “There’s what? Ow! Yeah, ok, Hang on, gimme a minute!” She sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her face. “Right, where are my sweats?”

In under a minute, she had pulled on a sweatsuit and joggers and was following Sarah to the fire door. The blast of cold as the door opened made them both want to go get warmer clothing but they could see the figure lying on the icy pavement and saw as she stopped moving. It was tricky, but they managed to scoot over the ice to see what looked like a young girl.

Irene knelt beside her and tried to slide her arms under to lift. There was some kind of resistance and it took a moment before she realized what it was. “Sally, I need lukewarm water, but not hot, and lots of it, now! This kid is frozen to the pavement!” She could hear Sally scooting off across the ice, yelling for help as soon as she reached the door.
Irene pulled her sweatshirt off and laid it over the girl, suppressing instant shivering as she waited in just her bra for more help. God this kid was skinny. Skinny and filthy. The urine scent reached her nostrils and she suddenly knew how her bottom half was frozen, but what about her head? She slid her finger around to the back of her head and felt more ice in her hair, pulling her hand back to find it covered with red. Mystery solved, but it made the whole thing even more urgent.

Help arrived just then, in the form of several people, two of them carrying a large stockpot from the kitchen. Irene stopped them as they ready to pour the water. She stuck her hand in, let it rest for a moment, then pulled it back out. “This is too warm. Her skin is so cold that if you pour warm water on her like this, it’ll burn her. It needs to be room temperature, and hurry! She’s got a headwound too! Hurry!” Irene didn’t even notice as they scurried back to do her bidding.

A bare moment later, they were back and this time she allowed them to start pouring slowly, starting with her head. It seemed to take forever, but she gradually came free from her frozen prison and Irene lifted her easily, skating as fast as she could for the door, then running for the rinse showers for the pool. Noticing how light the girl felt, Irene wondered if it was just adrenaline, but that was beside the point for right now. She skidded a little turning the corner and almost fell, recovering and gently laying the girl on the floor before turning three of the showers on and directing their spray over her, room temperature water causing blood and filth to stream from her.

With hands helping, they soon had her clothes off and all was revealed. A mop of tangled dark hair fell over her face, and as the girl woke, she tried to resist attempts to brush it back. It was a moment before she realized that her clothes were missing and water was pouring over her. She began to struggle, disoriented and afraid, whimpering.

Irene could just barely hear her words, but they were chilling. “Please, just let me go. I’ll do anything you want, just let me die when you’re done…” The words faded to a hopeless sobbing and Irene’s heart broke. She cradled the girl in her arms and tried to hug her while adjusting the water to a slightly hotter stream. The others saw what she was doing and adjusted the other shower heads too. They sat there like that, huddled on the shower floor, gradually warming the water until the girl stopped shivering so violently.

Sarah was able to examine the back of her head and see that it had stopped bleeding. It didn’t even look like there had been much of a cut, but she knew head wounds always bleed like crazy. The girl was conscious, so she was worried more about a concussion. That wasn’t what had her truly concerned though. This girl looked like a concentration camp survivor, skin stretched tightly over sharp bones. That and the tattoos on her forehead and neck spoke of something awful.

Right. First things first, get the girl cleaned up now that she was warm. She had stopped sobbing and just let them move her around, gently cleaning the grime away, shampooing her hair twice, then conditioner. Great hanks of tangled and matted hair came free and floated to the drain but when they were finally done and ready to dry her off it seemed like there was twice as much as before.

With help, she was able to stand and after a quick dry-off, she was bundled into a blanket and half led, half carried into the clinic. Aside from starvation, she was healthy, not more than a mild concussion, and the wound wasn’t large or deep enough to require stitches. Back out of the clinic, down another hallway and into a cozy looking apartment, where she was installed in a kitchen chair with a cushion under her.

Kerry was confused. Was she dreaming? It just didn’t seem real. One moment she’d been thinking about cutting her hair off to get free of the ice, next thing she knew she was on a tile floor with a woman holding her while what felt like scalding hot water poured over her and still she couldn’t stop shivering. Then she noticed she was naked and felt a sick fear. They’d seen her secret! But she couldn’t get free and nobody was doing anything mean to her, so she was able to get her emotions together some and pay attention. Every inch of her had been gently scrubbed and she started to feel somehow safe and oh! That blanket was so soft and warm and felt like heaven and smelled even better!

She pondered through the quick examination and couldn’t make sense of things as they led her into what she recognized as one of the one bedroom apartments she’d helped build. That clinched it. This had to be a dream. She must still be outside, stuck to the ice. She was warm and remembered that the final stages of hypothermia were supposed to feel like that. This was so real, though!

Into the small kitchen and she was gently lowered to a chair. She winced as the sharp bones in her rear met the hard wood and felt herself lifted, then lowered again onto something much softer. The woman who’d been holding her in the shower was saying something.

“When did you last eat, hon?”

She had to think about that one. “I had some stuff out of the dumpster a couple of weeks ago, but it made me sick. So maybe a couple or 3 weeks? Don’t worry about me, I’m not hungry anymore.” She sat watching, enjoying the warmth and the softness while the woman moved efficiently around the stove. It seemed like only an instant before a hot cup was being pressed into her hands and she breathed in the steam.

Whatever it was it smelled like heaven. Her mouth watered so hard she almost drooled. It was so hot, though. A careful sip, slurping to cool it and the flavor bolted straight through to her brain. Beef bullion, the kind that comes in those little cubes! Her stomach lurched, but not like she was sick. Oh gods she was suddenly so hungry! The salty taste filled her senses as she took tiny sips, almost scalding her tongue in her haste.

Soon she was staring at the bottom of the empty cup wanting more, but she didn’t want to ask. That would be greedy. The woman noticed her longing looks and swept the cup out of her hands, filling it from a pot on the stove and carefully wrapping her fingers around it again. This cup lasted a little longer and when she finished, she felt, well, not full, but not so empty either.

“Are you going to say anything, girl?” She looked up into a warm pair of brown eyes. The woman was sitting across the table, those kind looking eyes penetrating her feeling of repletion. She suddenly got very nervous.

“Thank you, maam.” She thought for a moment, realized she was still naked under the blanket. “Um, if I can get my clothes I’ll be going. I’m sorry to be a bother to you.” She started to rise from the chair.

“Sit back down, child!” Kerry sat. “Now you listen to me. You aren’t going anywhere until I have a chance to get some food into you and you tell me how all this happened. Why the tattoos? I’ve seen it all, child, and what’s between your legs doesn’t make you any less of a girl to me. A starved girl who needs help. So tell me, first of all, what’s your name? I’m Irene.”

“I’m Kerry. I didn’t want the tattoos, they were forced on me in jail by the guy who owned me.” Then the dam broke and the words came pouring out of her interrupted only by a steady rain of white hot tears. She told of growing up knowing she was a girl and being forced by her father to act like a boy. She told about what she had done to herself when she was 15 and how her father had hit her and then made her mother clean her now empty scrotum and bandage it. How she was lucky she didn’t get infected because he’d never take her to town to see a doctor.

Then the night when her father got drunk and beat her until he passed out and she ran away, walking until she got a ride, winding up in the city and learning to steal to survive. How she got caught shoplifting food just after her 18th birthday and going to jail, and what happened to her there. How she got out and swore she’d never do anything to get sent back there. She was about to tell about the past year and brought herself up short, remembering where she was.

Instead of telling everything, she dissembled, saying she’d had work until recently but the job had ended and she’d lost her place to stay, but she did tell about Jake. By the time she was done, Irene was crying with her and holding her.

“You poor child. I thought I’d had it bad, but I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through. Well, all that’s ended now. Somehow, you wound up in exactly the right place.” Kerry looked at her doubtfully.

“Isn’t this some kind of group home for like rehab or something?” This didn’t make sense. “Look, I don’t want to be a burden on anybody or get anybody in trouble or anything. I’m sorry I fell on your sidewalk and I won’t sue or anything. All I need is my clothes back and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Irene could tell she wasn’t quite getting through to the girl. “You sit right there, I’ll be right back, OK?”

Kerry wondered if she was going to be arrested now. Well, if that was the deal, she couldn’t do anything about it, couldn’t even run with no clothes. She resigned herself to experiencing jail again, and wondered how she could manage to kill herself. There was no way she could live through that again.

Her heart sank as Irene returned with a familiar looking woman in tow. There was no mistaking the lady who owned this place. She was ready to plead for mercy when what the woman was saying penetrated her mind.

“Hi Kerry. I’m Cathilynn. Now before you say anything, I want you to know you have a home here. No one is going to hurt you, nothing bad will happen to you here, ok?”

Kerry blinked at her, certain that she’d heard wrong, then remembered to look down and hide behind her hair. She was almost shaking with the fear that the woman would recognize her from the renovation project. A hand grasped her chin and made her look up into Cathilynn’s face. She watched the look of recognition in her eyes and jerked her head back down. She waited for the accusations and was amazed to find warm, soft arms folding around her in a tight hug.

“You’re the one who was living here during the project, aren’t you? We knew somebody was, we even got security footage in the last couple of weeks, but we could never manage to catch you and we never really tried. If we had caught you I would have offered you a job. I saw the work you did, and my foreman kept talking about this girl temp he had who worked harder than any of the men, but it seemed like whenever I visited the site I never saw you.”

“Child, you didn’t have to hide from me. Irene here tells me you didn’t even know what this place is. About 2 years ago, I won the lottery and I decided I was going to set up a place for people like you and me and Irene.” Kerry looked up at her, unable to believe her ears. “Yes, I’m transgendered like you. So are most of the people here. I wish I’d known about you, I feel so horrible about doing all this and overlooking someone right under my nose who needed help so badly!”

“Now let’s get a place sorted out for you to sleep tonight, and get some more food into you. Nothing solid yet, just some soup. If we gave you solid food right now, it would do more harm than good. Then we can think about getting those tattoos lasered off your face and plan for your future, ok?”

Kerry started crying again. This just wasn’t possible.

When she awoke the next morning in a warm bed, the smell of coffee wafting through the cracked open door, she knew it was true. And she knew she’d do everything she could for Cathilynn and the others and this place, because after all, she’d helped build The Home That Love Built.