You meant it for evil - 16 by Maeryn Lamonte “Miss Raeburn, this is detective inspector Chubb. I caught something of your official opening on the telly this afternoon and may I say it was a most impressive showing.” “Thank-you detective inspector, it's kind of you to say.” “I only tell it as I see it Miss Raeburn. Speaking of which, I was over at the institute where your, er, sisters are being treated. I spent some time chatting to the doctors responsible for their care, suggested that you might be able to help. It seems they agree. They were wondering if you might be free to visit tomorrow.”

-oOo-
The place Emily and Charlotte were being held was just outside the M25 in roughly the four o'clock position, that is to say just into Kent. It consisted of a large, gabled redbrick building with tall chimneys in immaculately tended grounds. Some of the trees in front of the main building seemed older than history and the overall effect, even on such a dull, overcast day, was of serenity and calm.

I drove slowly up the drive, keeping my little motor's usual throaty roar to a quite burbling growl and pulled into a free parking space. The doctor I had spoken to the previous day had said that both girls were usually a bit calmer and more receptive in the afternoon so Mike and I had spent a quiet, almost subdued, morning ambling through Epping's forested trails on horseback before joining Katie for lunch at the riding school. Mike and Katie chatted away about family matters leaving me to my own thoughts, for which I was grateful, then Mike drove me back to my place.

“Are you sure you'll be alright? I can ask James to hold the fort until I get there.”

My smile was distracted but genuine. This was Mike at his most supportive, giving me the space I needed whilst staying close, and I loved him for it.

“No, it'll be fine. Just first time jitters.”

“Well it's not every day you get to meet two complete strangers who look exactly like you, especially when they're both completely Dagenham East.”

“Dagenham..?”

“Four stops on from Barking.^*”

I managed a laugh and returned from the far country my mind had been wandering since yesterday's call. He had his hand on the gear stick and I reached out my own to cover it briefly.

“You are so exactly what the doctor ordered sometimes Mike, but I should be fine. I'm kind of nervous because I don't know if I'll be able to help either of them, but I guess whatever I can do has to be better than what they have right?”

Mike shook his head with a smile.

“You know, if you weren't drop dead gorgeous I think I'd still love you. I've never known anyone who cares so much for other people.”

“Now that sounds like permission to eat like a pig once we're married. You don't know how much I have missed chocolate.”

Mike looked at me nervously until I couldn't keep it up anymore and let out a burst of giggles.

“It was exactly the right thing to say Mike and I shouldn't punish you for that. I love you too much to do something like that to you.”

We pulled up outside my flat and I reached over to give him a long kiss. His face was a little scratchy, something I found I liked about him; a reminder that I was the girl in this relationship. I stroked his cheek gently as I withdrew and reconsidered. There was a definite early showing of five o'clock shadow and it is a woman's prerogative to take control of the little details in her man's life.

“You may want to shave before you get too involved with the cooking. I'll give you a call later.”

One last kiss then I was out of the car and into the flat. Time was getting on and I didn't have enough to change, but that was ok, this was a jeans and sweater day anyway; I didn't want to freak out the two boy-come-girls by turning up looking like Princess Peach, or perhaps Daisy who was closer to my colouring. I just needed pick up a couple of bags of things I'd put aside for them. After that it was out on the A316, almost the opposite direction, as far as the M25 then around the south of the city towards my destination.

-oOo-
The nurse visibly blanched as I approached, reaching nervously under the counter for something. I gave her as cheerful a smile as I could manage given my state of mind.

“Good afternoon. I'm Liz Raeburn. I'm here to visit my sisters.”

Two male nurses appeared, followed soon after by a middle aged doctor. They looked at the nurse behind the reception and she nodded, still nervous, in my direction. Light dawned in the doctor's eyes.

“Ah, mistaken identity. Understandable. Mike, Adam, it's ok. Visitor, not patient. Jane it's in the appointment book. Elizabeth Raeburn to visit her two sisters. Seems you haven't been watching the television recently.”

The nurse looked embarrassed and mumbled an apology in my direction. The doctor wasn't quite finished.

“No need Jane. Better safe than sorry and no harm done eh?”

He turned his head my way. His mannerisms were a little odd, short and jerky like his speech. Almost like I was talking to a sparrow or a blue tit. He thrust out a hand which I took, still a little off balance from odd reception.

“Doctor Marston. Let's get you signed in. Jane I think we'll need a safety word for Miss Raeburn.”

It was his longest sentence so far and just a little incongruous because of it. The nurse turned her attention towards me, still a little red from her mistake, but a little more confident now that she was following her training.

“I'm sorry for the mistake miss. We, er , we... because you look quite a lot like one, er, two of the patients here, we need a way of distinguishing between you and them. To do this we use a challenge response system. It will only happen if a member of staff is uncertain of your identity, and when you leave of course. When one of the doctors or nurses uses the challenge word, you are expected to respond with er, well, the response word. We try to keep the words unusual so that they aren't likely to be used in everyday conversation, and unrelated so that there is no way of guessing the response from the challenge.

“In your case we'll use the challenge word of 'embrasure' and the response will be 'phoenix'.”

“Good, good, now sign in and I'll take you to meet your sisters. Imagine you'll be glad to be reunited after all this time. Don't expect much, please. Both very disturbed. Hoping you'll be able to get through where we haven't.”

While he was talking I signed details into the visitors' book and attached the visitor's badge to my leather jacket. He then walked off down the corridor that Mark and Adam had recently taken, indicating that I should follow. After what seemed a mile of maze we arrived outside a plain yuk-yellow painted door.

“This one’s the quieter of the two. I'll come in with you to start with, make sure things are settled, then I'll leave you to it. What's in the bags?”

“Oh, just some clothes and pyjamas. I wasn't sure what she would have to wear.”

“Just clothes? Nothing else? May I look?”

I handed the bag over and he rummaged through it before handing it back, evidently satisfied.

“Hands off, they're mine.”

The voice was low and scratchy. I spun round to find an old man in wheelchair being wheeled past. Was it my imagination or was there a shadow in his eyes? Doctor Marston turned to see what had distracted me.

“Don't mind Mr Langley. All bark, no bite.”

The doctor slid his key-card into a slot in the wall and pushed the door open, waving me in ahead of him.

“This is Paula. Quieter of your two sisters.”

“Paula?”

“The name she gave when she first came here. You saying that's not right?”

At a guess this would be Paul Bailey, one of the two names DI Chubb had given me. I walked through the door ignoring the question.

The room was tastefully decorated as long as you were a fan of pink. There was a bed, heavy wrought iron and bolted to the floor just visible under the valance, and a desk and chair, also bolted down. The windows were barred but tastefully draped with curtains. The floor was linoleum, but thick and soft. In the corner, curled up as I had first seen her (him?) the first time, sat a figure in a nightdress, rocking gently back and forth.

“Hello Paula. It's Doctor Marston. I've brought someone to see you.”.

I walked over close to the traumatised figure and folded my legs under me, settling onto the floor beside him.

“Hello Paul.”

He looked up at me, eyes wide with denial.

“No, no, no, no, no, no...”

It went on and on, a continuous monotone. He hid his face in his knees.

“I'm a friend Paul, I want to help.”

“You're, you're, you're... no, no, no, no, no...”

“I'm like you Paul. I met a young woman with green eyes and red hair, and now I'm like you.”

I reached out a hand to touch him gently on the arm. He shuddered slightly but didn't withdraw.

I was conscious of Doctor Marston behind me. I didn't want to give so much away in his presence that he would invite me to stay in one of the adjoining rooms. He'd heard enough to peak his curiosity though. He crouched down next to me.

“Who is this green eyed woman?”

“Please doctor, I'll talk to you afterwards. For now would you mind giving us some privacy.”

He wasn't happy but withdrew even so. Just as the door closed I heard it again, quiet, at the very edge of hearing.

“He's mine.”

I looked around and all I could see was a closed door. Overactive imagination. I turned my attention back to Paul who was rocking a little faster.

“That's what happened wasn't it Paul? You went to a bar and met a drop dead gorgeous green-eyed redhead who warned you that she only made out with girls.”

The rocking sped up if anything, trying to blot out my words and where they would take him.

“Then she took you back to her flat. About ten minutes’ walk away, sixth floor, filled with kind of primitive art from around the world, no photographs. She kept warning you, but her body language said something else so you kissed her, then the room spun around and seemed to get bigger and the next thing you knew you were as you are now.”

The rocking had stopped. He wouldn't look at me, but he was listening, intently.

“When you woke up in the morning there was a nasty letter telling you to get dressed and leave by midday. It said you had no identity, that your only way of making money now was as a prostitute, that if you tried to tell someone about what had happened to you, you'd end up, well, in a place like this. The wardrobe was full of tarty clothes, but you had no choice but to get dressed and leave. After that the story is your own.”

I waited, so did he. I cracked first.

“Your name was Paul Bailey. Mine was Ken Stanton. I met Mary in the Meet Market, a club that opened in Soho a couple of months ago. I'm pretty sure of everything I told you, because it happened to me the same way. It's what left me looking like this and, I'm pretty sure, you looking like that.”

I reached out a hand and rested it on his wrist. After an uncertain moment, he raised his eyes to mine.

“You're not alone Paul.”

“Is... Is there a way out of this?”

“Out of the institute, perhaps. Out of being a girl, I don' think so.”

He started rocking again.

“I can't be a girl. I'm not a girl. I'm a guy. I can't be a girl.”

I pulled him gently towards me and held him while the tears flowed. This was going to take time and I had to hold myself back from rushing ahead with all the things I wanted to say. Eventually he quieted and I eased him back away from me.

“I brought you some things.”

“Like what?”

“Well I wasn't sure what you got to wear in a place like this so I hedged a bit. There are some cotton pyjamas, a pair of jeans and some tee-shirts, socks and underwear.

“What do you mean underwear?”

I rummaged in one of the bags and pulled out some plain white cotton panties and a similar sports bra.

“That's girl's underwear.”

“I know and the jeans and tee-shirts are women's cut too. You have to face the fact that you have a girl's body now so it's best to stick with clothes designed to fit it. On the plus side, as a girl you get to choose how you look. I didn't think you'd have much time for frills and lace so everything's plain, unadorned and in neutral colours.”

“Yeah and that's a bra. How am going to feel like I'm not a girl wearing a bra?”

“Well you'll definitely feel that you're a girl if you don't wear one. Look, it's a sports bra. It could almost be a vest. Yes admittedly a very short vest, but work with me here. You won't feel it that much and it'll stop things from jiggling around.

“Try it, you won't know until you do.”

He was on the fence and I didn't have time to coax him off it. I glanced at my watch. Doctor Marston would be back any time.

“Listen Paul, I don't have much time with you this visit so I'm not going to use it up persuading you to do this thing. I'll leave the clothes with you and you can decide for yourself. If you'll at least try then we’ll find out whether it helps or whether I have to think of something else. I know we don't know each other, but as far as the rest of the world is concerned, there's no way you can be anything except my identical twin sister. In some ways we do have a common experience holding us together, and for the life of me I am not giving up on you. I'm going to come back as often as I can and do whatever it takes to help you deal with this. If I can find a way out for you I will, but one way or another you don't have to deal with this alone.

“My time today is almost up but there's one thing I need to do before the doctor comes back. I have a friend who's been able to come up with a couple of IDs for you and the other one here like you. I didn't have much time to choose the names so you're going to have to live with one or the other. Do you want to be Emily or Charlotte?”

“What?”

“A name? An identity? With National Insurance Number, passport, driver's license, all that sort of thing. You get to be a person again, but you have to be either Emily or Charlotte. Charlotte or Emily, which is it going to be?”

The electronic bolt in the door slide back with a clunk and I turned his face so he could see the urgency in my eyes.

“Emily. I'll take Emily.”

-oOo-
“Astonished. Absolutely amazed. Been with us four weeks and all she did was sit in the corner and rock backwards and forwards. Half an hour with you and she's calmer, more lucid. How did you do it?”

“Emily's my twin, doctor. All I did was talk about some of the experiences we shared.”

“Still impressive for half an hour. What's with the clothes?”

“Both of my sisters were a bit tomboyish — we all were when we were younger — so having slightly less frilly things is likely to help.”

We were walking back down the corridor towards reception. Apparently my other 'twin' was in a different wing. Mr Langley was heading back to his room, pushed by the same orderly. I nodded and smiled as they went past.

“I'm warning you, hands off.”

Again the low, gravelly voice. Again just at the divide between hearing and imagining. I turned to Doctor Marston but he was oblivious. Was I imagining things? Did I actually belong here?

“Something I don't understand. Why Paula?”

“Oh, that was a game we used to play when we were younger. You know, let's pretend? Em and Charley liked to pretend they were guys. Em used to call herself Paul; I guess you misheard her.”

“And your other sister?”

“She liked the name Jordan. Her real name's Charlotte.”

“Ah. Explains a few things.”

We walked on in silence. From the picture DI Chubb had shown me, Jordan was going to be somewhat more of a handful than Paul and I was getting nervous. Doctor Marston was as well.

“Your other sister. Something of a different animal. Sorry not very PC, but she's not so calm as Paula. Sorry Emily. Visit will need to be supervised I'm afraid. Your safety. Sorry no choice.”

Jordan's room, or perhaps cell would be more appropriate, was down a long corridor, through several locked and barred gates and finally behind a thick steel door. A burly nurse stood with us outside the room as Doctor Marston made use of his key-card again.

This room was very different from Paul's. No furniture, one small, barred window high up and the floor and all the walls were padded, quilted. I almost expected Jordan to be wearing a straightjacket as he had been in the police photograph, but instead he had on a white, cotton nightdress with lace collar and an embroidered bodice. He turned at the sound of the door opening, his face placid but calculating. The moment he saw me he flew into a rage and charged. I staggered back from hands reaching with murderous intent for my neck as the nurse barged past me and tackled him to the floor.

“What did you do to me you heartless bitch? What did you do to me? You change me back you fucking cow. You change me back now.”

He was struggling against the nurse and weeping desperate, bitter tears as he squirmed futilely in the big man's grip.

I managed to recover from the shock of the attack enough to gather my scattered wits and find my voice.

“What makes you think I did this to you Jordan? What makes you think it was me? Didn't she have green eyes?”

The thrashing stopped and he stared at me.

“What do you know about it?”

“More than I care to say, but I know what happened to you. It happened to me too, and I'm here to help.”

“Why would you?”

“Look at me Charlotte. You remember me? I'm Liz, you remember when you and Emily and I played together and you wanted to be called Jordan and Em wanted be called Paul? I'm your sister Charley, how could I not do everything in my power to help.”

I was gambling everything on the intelligence in his eyes. He wasn't so much cracking up at what had happened to him as livid. The look he had given me was enough to melt steel.

“Liz?”

It was command performance good. I could have believed he was my sister from the emotion he put into that one word. He added a couple more, equally convincing.

“What happened?”

Keep it vague. The less you have to make up the less chance you have of tripping up.

“I don't know Charley, I was hoping you or Em could tell me something. The two of you came down to London partying at some nightclub — I couldn't, you remember? I had that thing at work. The next day your mobile phones were giving out of service messages. Eventually I managed to get a job here and found a lead or two as to what might have happened to you. That's when the police contacted me and said they'd already picked you and Em up and that you were here.

“I want to help Charley. I brought you some things.”

“What sort of things?”

“Jeans, tee-shirts, pyjamas. Things you'll feel more comfortable in.”

“Can I see?”

I put the bag down on the floor as near to him as I dared. The nurse released his hold enough for Jordan to pick the bag up and look through it. He had a very studied expression on his face when he came up.

“What happens now?”

“Well I'm going to keep on visiting as often as I can to see what I can do to help. You need to convince these guys that you're safe to be around, that you won't try and snap my head off, then I guess we get to talk. Depending on how well you do, well actually that's not my call but maybe Doctor Marston?”

“Maybe. We'll see. Long road ahead Jordan, or is it Charlotte now?”

“I prefer Charley.”

Doctor Marston nodded his head then turned to me.

“Best keep it short today. Miss Raeburn?”

He indicated the door.

“Keep it real Charley. Try and keep calm. I'll be back to visit you as soon as I can. Just be patient.”

He nodded and I preceded the doctor and nurse out of the room.

“Word in my office Miss Raeburn?”

“Yes doctor.”

-oOo-
All the way back to Doctor Marston's office I kept looking around like a spooked meerkat, all the while expecting that voice again, but it didn't come. In no time I was sitting in a comfortable chair with a cup of half decent coffee in my hands. The doctor settled behind his desk and steepled his fingers.

“The green eyed lady. Explain.”

This was a question I'd been dreading. I'd had to come up with a bit of fiction here and I wasn't sure how believable it would be.

“The police told me they'd both mentioned her. It was part of one of our let's pretend games. We'd meet this witch and she'd magically turn my sisters into men. We always imagined her as having green eyes and red hair because Em read something somewhere about that being the Devil's favourite. I just took a chance that it might help.”

“Anything else you can say, might help?”

“They're both tomboys, always have been. If they can wear men's pyjamas and anything else that's not frilly it might help. That and Em's room could be a little less girly.”

“Not happy with that. Current delusion is they think they were male. Give them a male environment will reinforce that notion.”

“Or make them feel more at home because they're more used to plainer things instead of all this fru-fru stuff.”

“Hmm.”

“Try it for a week, if it doesn't work then you can go back to your satin and lace idea.”

“You'll visit again.”

“Absolutely, as often as I can. Next Saturday ok?”

“Once a week probably as much as we can allow for now. Thank-you Miss Raeburn. Worthwhile progress today.”

He stood up abruptly and held out a hand. Mannerisms to match his speech. I put down my half-finished coffee and shook his hand.

The nurse on reception noted down next week's visit in the dairy then smiled at me.

“Embrasure?”

It took a moment to register, but light downed through the murk.

“Oh, er... Pheonix.”

“Thank-you Miss Raeburn. We'll see you next week.”

And like that I was back in front of the magnificent building with my car keys in my hand. It was still light and I was at loss for something to do. I felt that the visits had gone well for a first time. I wondered if I could make it a hat-trick.

First to call Mike though. The restaurant wouldn't be open yet, though at a guess they would be whizzing around like amphetamine enhanced bluebottles trying to get things ready. Still Mike would spare me a couple of minutes. The phone answered on the second ring.

“Mike's place.”

Despite the calm in the young voice, I could hear pots and pans crashing in the background. I'd better make this quick.

“Hi James, it's Liz.”

“Hang on a mo.”

The sound muffled as a hand went over the receiver. I could still hear James's raised voice clearly enough though.”

“Oh most highly exalted one. Thy queen wisheth to bendeth thine lug-hole.”

“Give that here you daft pillock and get back to your bouille-abaisse. It's a bit short on thyme.”

Mike's voice suddenly came through loud and clear.

“Hi Liz, how did it go.”

“Really well. Surprisingly well. It'll take time but it's definitely not going to be wasted.”

“That's great. So what are your plans now?”

“I thought I might head up to see my Mum and Dad, see if I can make any progress there.”

“Are you sure? I mean you don't want to tempt fate or anything do you?”

“Fate's been pretty kind to me recently. I don't think this is stretching things too far.”

“Ok, well good luck with it and don't drive tired. If it gets too late scrounge a bed with that brother of yours.”

“Will do. See you at church tomorrow?”

“Sure. We need to talk to Pastor James about dates and details anyway don't we?”

“Yes we do. I love you, see you tomorrow.”

“I love you too.”

The phone went quiet. I chucked it on the seat next to me and started the car. In the burble of the exhaust the hint of a voice drifted through. Low and scratchy as before.

“I warned you to leave them be. They're mine and now so are you.”

A chill spread through me. Either I was going insane or something very unpleasant had just turned its baleful eyes in my direction. I looked uneasily over at the empty seat next to me. I'm sure it was my imagination, but there seemed to be just the faintest hint of an outline of a man in a dark suit.

-oOo-
Getting back onto the M25 was easy and I sped north until about a mile before the Dartford crossing. They'd done a lot of work to improve the traffic flow through here, but at half past five, even on a Saturday, it started to clog up. Still the snarl moved through steadily if slowly and by six I was on the north side of the Thames heading round for the M11 and an hour's drive north to my parents' home. The little car sped along comfortably on the motorway — not its favourite type of road, but it handled it well enough — and by quarter to eight I found myself easing the low slung vehicle over sleeping policemen and into a familiar drive and the house I had grown up in.

I knocked on the door, nervous but determined. The bell hadn't worked in twenty years and I doubted Dad would get around to it now. Unconsciously I had used the same shave-and-a-haircut rhythm I always used to use. It took a moment for my mother's face to appear, and another for hope to fade into confusion in her eyes.

“Hello, can I help you?”

I so wanted to call her Mum or Mummy, but knew if I pushed this too fast I would ruin it, probably for good. I reigned in my galloping feelings and took a deep breath.

“My name's Elizabeth Raeburn. You, er, visited me in hospital a few weeks back.”

“Oh yes that strange thing about my son Kenneth.”

I always hated the full version of my name and it did me no good to hear it now. I took a deep breath. Take it slow Lizzy.

“I wonder if I could come in and speak with you for a while. Is D... Is your husband in?”

“George is in the living room. I suppose... Yes I suppose it would be alright.”

She stood to one side and I stepped into the hall. I rubbed my hand absent-mindedly over a patch of wall where I had thrown a cricket ball in a fit of rage. It was smooth and painted over now, the event some eighteen years in the past, back when Dad knew a thing or two about decorating and wasn't averse to trying.

Mum was giving me some odd looks as a walked ahead of her into the lounge.

“Who is it Olive?”

Dad's voice was old and tired. I hadn't noticed that about him the last time we'd spoken.

“Do you remember that young lady Glen insisted we go and see in London? Well she's come to visit us. Would you like some tea? I just made a pot.”

“That would be lovely, thank-you.”

“How do you take it?”

“Milk no sugar please.”

Mum and Dad had always been PG tips fans so there was no question about this needing special treatment with lemon or similar.

I perched on a chair with my cup and saucer and wondered how I was going to do this. Memories flashed across my mind and in each one there seemed to be a hint of disappointment or distaste in their eyes. Was I deluding myself that they would welcome me now?

“Here, I know you. You're that young girl on the telly. The one who's doing work with the homeless. That's good work that is. I'll bet your folks are right proud of you.”

And I saw my way in.

“I certainly hope they might be. My dad used to say London is a place where there are too many people too wrapped up in their own needs to see those of others around them. I guess he taught me to see beyond those needs.”

“You use to say that didn't you George? Funny that your dad said the same thing, don't you think?”

First strike neatly blocked. I took a nervous sip of tea.

“So what is you wanted to see us about dear? You've come a long way so it must be important.”

“I er. It's about Ken.”

“Our son Ken?”

Did I notice a slight down-turning of the mouth?

“He hasn't phoned in several months now. Mind you he never was very good at keeping in touch.”

What do you mean? I used to phone through at least once a week. I couldn't say that though, not spring it so quickly.

“Things have been a bit difficult for him lately.”

“Oh I've heard about this. Glen told us a young lady called to say he was alright but he had to go into hiding. I mean I don't know what he did to have to do that. I don't suppose it was you that phoned through was it?”

Another chance.

“Yes it was, but I wasn't calling to pass on a message from Ken.”

My mum and dad looked at each other, mystified.

“Then why dear? And how did you know all those things about our son.”

“Because... er... because... Oh b... I'm sorry, this is difficult.”

“Take your time dear. It's not as if we're going anywhere is it?”

She laughed. More to try and put me at ease I think than because she thought she was funny. She never really had a particularly sensitive funny bone my Mum. I was going to have to go for broke here.

“It's because it's me Mum, Dad. I'm Ken.”

I don't know what I expected. You'd have thought that with my not so distant experiences with Mike, I'd learn to be a little more selective about what I said and when I said it. Dad leaned forward in his chair. Old age had slackened much of the skin on his face, hiding his expression, but his eyes were flinty and unforgiving.

“Is this some sort of a joke? Because I find it to be in very poor taste. There is no way you could be our son.”

“Not unless something miraculous happened. I mean I know I don't look anything like him. I'm shorter, slimmer, quite apart from being female now, but inside this is still me. This is still Ken.”

I tapped my head and my chest for effect. I turned to my mother.

“That patch of wall in the hallway. Do you remember I threw a cricket ball at it when I was nine.”

“Oh no dear, that happened eighteen years ago. You wouldn't have been born then. Or maybe only just.”

I closed my eyes in frustration.

“No Mum. I may look eighteen, but I'm really twenty-seven. I met a strange woman and she did this to me. I don't know, call it magic or a miracle, even a curse though I don't see it that way, but she changed me into this. Inside I'm still Ken. How could I know things otherwise.”

My dad heaved himself up out of his chair, a herculean effort with his bad knee, and stared across at me.

“Young lady, I don't believe in such things. This seems to me to be a practical joke in disappointingly bad taste, and one you wouldn't have been able to perpetrate without the help of my younger son.”

Was that another frown of disappointment as he referred to me? Did they find it so easy to believe that I was such a lost cause?

“I'm sorry my dear, but I'm not going to sit here and listen to any more of your nonsense. We've invited you in and you've paid us back in a very poor way for our hospitality. I think I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Please wait Dad...”

“Don't call me that. I never had a daughter and I'm not so senile that I don’t know that for a fact.”

“Will you please at least ask me some questions. Things that your son would know that he would never have thought to tell someone like the person you think I am.”

“No, I'm sorry. I have no time for this idiocy. I've asked you to leave and now I'm asking a second time. If you refuse, I shall be forced to call the police.”

No I couldn't do this.

“That won't be necessary. I'm sorry for disturbing you Mr and Mrs Stanton.”

I put down my cup of tea on the coaster then stood and walked to the door.

“I wish you could believe in the amazing just this once.”

“Hah. That sounds like some drivel Ken would say. I must say you play your part very well Miss Raeburn. Frankly I find it astonishing that a level headed and well-meaning girl such as yourself would allow herself to be lured into something like this. Please give Ken our regards when you see him, but next time he can call us himself.”

He shut the door on me and I found myself out in the cold.

“See how they disapprove of you? Were you always such a disappointment to them?”

The low scratchy voice was in my head now. Still quiet, but somehow clearer.

“You're a failure and an abomination. How can anyone love you?”

I started to drive. There was no thought of going round Glen and Lisa's, I couldn't face them right now. Besides it wouldn't take me that long to get home once I was on the road. How could anyone love me? I thought of Mike.

“Oh yes Mike. Didn't he drop you at the first sign of trouble? Twice? You're damaged goods Ken. Neither one thing nor the other. No wonder your parents shake their heads and frown their frowns when they think of you. You don't belong in this world. You are just a sick, twisted mistake that mother nature spewed out and instantly forgot.”

I was crying now and the road was blurring through the tears. I tried to focus. My name isn't Ken, it's Elizabeth.

“And doesn't that just show you for the miserable, warped mess you are? Not even holding onto the name you were given, that's just ungrateful. You don't deserve them. It's as well they threw you out when they did. You deserve to be thrown out. Like the garbage you are.”

I was given the name Elizabeth.

“Oh yes, a few kind words by a tramp in a park. Very fitting that you should be given your new name by the filth from the streets.”

It was raining now. I had the windscreen wipers on, but it was hard to tell if my blurred vision was caused by raindrops on glass or the tears which continued to flood my eyes. Suddenly there were lights ahead of me. Red lights and the tall yellow back end of a lorry, too close. I jammed on my brakes. An ugly laughter drifted across my awareness and one last phrase.

“You're mine.”

-oOo-
^* Barking and Dagenham East are both stops on the District Line of the London Underground. Barking is also a shortened form of barking mad, so if you are Dagenham East you are madder still.