I Am The Night- Part Two by: Enemyoffun Steven Brown has a rough time, wanting to be a girl and hiding it from his angry abusive father. But when Steven gets a chance to express his hidden side through a fantastic opportunity, things change, including himself.

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Author's Note: First things first, here's the first official chapter of I Am The Night. The Batman Prologue was a nice tease to set the ball rolling for this one. There are a few things I'd like to make clear, one of which is the father's language. I use it to emphasize how much he doesn't like his son or the things that his son does. The language does not express my views at all.The other thing I'd like to stress is that this might be a slow build up to things so those who like things to happen right away might want to wait for a few more chapters. With that out of the way, I'd like to thank djkauf for the editing and DC Comics for the wonderful characters.Oh yes, as a courtesy, please comment if you like it :)

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Chapter One:

September 4, 2011

“Looking good, Steph!”

I know I was only saying it to myself but appearance was important, especially for a teenage girl my age. I turned left and right and took a step back, giving myself the full effect. What I saw in the mirror made me smile from ear to ear. There standing before me was a very pretty girl indeed. She might be a little flat in the chest department; you work with what God gives you, but she was still very pretty. It took me a long time to get myself to look this good, though. I had a stack of teen girl magazines, beauty tips and salon makeover shows to know that I’d done a pretty bang up job. It helped I was so short and thin. Usually something like that was a bad thing but not for me, not for Stephanie. I smiled shyly as I stepped closer to the mirror, tugging down the hem of my pink dress.

There was only one small problem…

“Steven” my father’s voice shouted up the stairs.

I froze in mid-pose and cursed. Yep, you guessed it. Though I look and even sound for the most part like a teenage girl I was in fact a very short and skinny teen boy. And there in lay my biggest problem. I was only a boy on the outside but on the inside I was every bit the girl that I tried to make myself to be. The only problem with that was that there were others around me that didn’t exactly like that idea. My biggest problem was currently stomping his way up the stairs.

I bit my lip, pulling the dress quickly over my head. There was no way I’d be able to get everything off before he reached my room but I was going to try. I was standing in a pair of panties and a bra---there was nothing in the cups of course. I moved quickly, grabbing my shirt off the floor. I jumped into bed, pulling my hair into a low ponytail. I threw the blanket over myself and clicked on the TV. Dad pushed his way into my room, glancing around like a vulture. I smiled, glad that I didn’t try the makeup this time. I say this time because the last time he caught me and gave me a black eye. I had to tell the teachers at school that I slipped in the shower and hit my face on the shower head, but I don’t think they believed me.

They wouldn’t have believed me if I told them that Dad hit me either. He was Arthur Brown, the Arthur Brown. He had pull in this city and I was his transgendered son that he loved with all his heart. Yeah, right. He once told me the only reason he kept me around was because I looked so much like Mom. Talk about love, huh.

“What the hell were you doing up here, you little fag?”

There was alcohol on his breath. Not beer mind you because he was too high end for that. Dad liked his Scotch. I think that’s the only thing he liked. Well that and his puzzles. He was big on his puzzles even after he was fired. Arthur Brown, the name doesn’t ring a bell. Well I guess it was a long time ago---ten years I guess---but Dad used to be on TV.

“I’m not doing anything, just watching TV.”

His eyes narrowed and he looked around the room. I went out of my way to make it look as masculine as possible just to throw off suspicion. The walls were painted blue and decorated with posters of Football players and half-naked girls. I had a desk in the corner with my laptop and a chair that had a back shaped like a baseball mitt. On my dresser were trophies, most of them were from Little League---that I played when I was nine. It was all a façade but it made Dad happy. My real stuff was hidden away, deep in my closet. The stuff that belonged to Stephanie. All her clothes, makeup, and jewelry.

“You weren’t doing any of your frou frou stuff were you?”

He staggered and swayed. Ladies and Gentlemen, my father, Arthur Brown. He used to be known as one of the smartest men on television at one time. Who Wants to Stump the Cluemaster? It was the stupidest show on TV but it made him a household name. Now he was nothing more than a has-been, washed up and forgotten. But I couldn’t blame him for that, Mom’s death broke the two of us to pieces. He fell into drink, I went into her closet. Not that her death made me want to be a girl but without Mom supporting me---she always understood---I wanted to be a guy less and less. Especially after Dad started drinking and became a total ass.

I sighed. “I stopped doing that stuff after you smacked me around the last time.”

He nodded. “Good, you’re my son, not some wannabe poof.”

He staggered some more, the half drunk bottle of Scotch still in his hand. Dad only had two passions: alcohol and solving problems. He used to have three. When Mom was alive, he used to worship the ground she walked on. But after her death---cancer is a bitch---he fell back to two. But when Dad was sober, you didn’t dare try to beat him in any way that required thinking. He might not be the smartest man on television anymore but he was still the smartest man I know. I admired him for that. Yes, as hard as it is to believe, I actually admired the abusive bastard.

“I have some homework to do now.”

I bit my lip, hoping the lie would work. School didn’t start until Tuesday.

“Good boy” he said smiling.

That always got him to leave, even when he was drunk. He may have been a bastard but schoolwork was very important to him. I might not have been as smart as he was but he made sure that I didn’t slack off. He was a stickler for those kinds of things. He used to say his old man was the same way, that’s why he was so smart. But I knew for a fact that grandpa was a nice guy, at least he always was with me. But the way Dad told things it was a completely different story.

“You studyyyy” he slurred, stumbling out of my room.

I waited to make sure he was completely gone, listening to him stumble down the hall. With any luck, he’d pass out and not wake up until morning. When I knew he was in his bedroom, I threw off the covers and ran to the door. I bolted it shut and then slumped against it, sighing in relief. If Dad had seen me in either the bra or panties, he would have beaten me so hard that I shuddered just thinking about it. I waited a long time before I pulled my shirt off and went back over to stare at myself in the mirror. My body was a very sad thing to look at. I was maybe one hundred and ten pounds when wet and at five six, I was definitely the smallest and scrawniest in my grade. I’m sure that that didn’t matter much but I was going to be a senior in a few days.

I sighed, pulled my hair free and giving my head a good shake. My hair was sandy blonde like Dad’s and fell just past my shoulder blades. Dad hated that it was so long but I told him girls like it that way. That seemed to keep him at bay but it was really pushing it. It was bad enough that I had a baby smooth face and feminine features. Though I had no feminine figure to speak of a lot of guys whistled when I walked by them. In school, I wore a lot of bulky clothes so you couldn’t really tell what gender I was. I guess the proper word to describe me is androgynous, which helps a great deal being the way that I am. I couldn’t imagine having hair all over my face or one of those deep baritone voices like a lot of the other guys.

Thankfully puberty was very kind too me. Not that Dad saw it that way. He wanted a big manly son that was as tall as he was---six three---and who could throw a pigskin across a football field. The only thing I got from him though was the color of my hair. Luckily, for me I took after Mom in that I had her size, her compassion and her temperament. Dad never used to be such an ass. In fact, I could remember a time when the two of us got along real well. Whenever he had time for me, we used to play in the park and he used to show me how to do puzzles. But after Mom---there’s no use dwelling on the past.

Now that my hair was loose, I was starting look more like myself. It really does pay to let your hair down and relax. Androgyny was the best thing that could have happened to me. Looking at the girl in the mirror---even with the underdeveloped chest and groin problem---I couldn’t help but smile. I knew from a very early age that I was different from other boys. Whereas my friends were playing with trucks and baseballs, all I wanted to do was have a doll and do gymnastics. My father never understood but Mom did. She helped me, especially with Dad. She came up with a compromise that suited him fine. If I played Little League baseball for him, I could do something for myself. He reluctantly agreed, and I joined the local gymnastics team.

I was small enough that gymnastics was a nice fit. I was a lousy ball player but it made Dad proud. My team won a few trophies as I’ve already mentioned. Not that I contributed. But as a gymnast, I excelled. I think that annoyed the hell out of Dad. He went to the meets but a proud father he was not. AS soon as Mom was gone, he made me quit. He said no son of his was going to prance around in spandex doing girly things. It’s not that I was but he didn’t understand. I still go to the gym every now and then and I still keep myself limber. I tried to afford the lessons myself---saving up my allowance----but it got too expensive and I ended up quitting after a month.

Ok enough thinking, I only had a small window. I left the admiring and went about my business. I went to the closet, dragging out my Stephanie box. Inside were all the things that belonged to her that were necessary for what I was about to do. What’s that you ask? Well today---for the very first time---Stephanie was going to see the world through her eyes. I’d been dressing for years but always in the sanctuary of my own room. The closest thing I ever got to going out the door in femme was a few months ago when I spent a day one Saturday at the mall wearing panties and a pair of girls jeans. Not that anyone could tell they belonged to a girl of course. They were a pair that once belonged to my cousin, Barbara; she was the only other person who understood me. When she gave them to me, she made me promise to be the best girl I could be.

I had a small Stephanie wardrobe---most of it hand-me-downs from her, except the underwear of course. She bought that for me. Besides the pink dress, I had two pairs of jeans, six t-shirts and a jean skirt that was so short it was practically criminal. I definitely wouldn’t be wearing that in public. I wouldn’t be wearing the dress either, especially after that close call with Dad. I know call me a coward but I was a little scared. It would have to be something safe and simple, meaning---jeans and a t-shirt. I took my box from the closet and carried it over to the bed, taking out the stuff I needed.

I walked over to the mirror, frowning at my lack of figure. I had some enhancement but nothing that screamed teenage girl. I didn’t have the money for those kinds of things, except for my chest. I sighed; I guess it couldn’t be helped. I went to my closet again and got some clothes, I pulled on my jeans first, making sure my you-know-what was safely tucked away. I looked down at my front; it was flat like a real girl. Then I reached into the box and took out my breast inserts. I went with a B cup, nothing too fancy. I stuck them in my bra and pulled a pastel colored shirt over my head. I pulled a baggy hoodie on over everything else.

In the mirror, I still looked like Steven but I knew that I was all Stephanie underneath. I was too afraid to wear any makeup for fear that one of my neighbors might see. But I could accessorize a bit so I put one some bangles and small studs in my ears. My father threw a fit when I pierced my ears last year. I told him that it was ok for a guy to pierce both but I still was smacked for it. I don’t think he much cared for the idea of his son prancing around with holes in his ears, even if I wore little skulls to school. No one else seemed to mind, or if they did, they didn’t say much to me. Not that many of my fellow students noticed me anyway.

After the earrings, I deemed Stephanie ready for the world. I took a deep breath and hoped the world was ready for her.

______________________________

Dad and I used to live in Schaumburg, a village thirty miles north of Chicago. It was a nice place, a lot less noisy than the city. But after Mom died ... and he drank himself out of his job, we moved to the city. We lived in a low rent portion of it, in a three story duplex. It wasn’t the greatest neighborhood but it was home. It was all Dad could afford these days. Our modest place was a fairly good size. It had two bedrooms, a small living room and kitchen. The bathroom we shared but I never seemed to run into any problems there. The biggest problem was the layout. My room was situated right next door to his room and the stairs leading from outside. There were advantages and disadvantages to that, I suppose. The good thing about it was that I could open my door and run down the stairs without Dad seeing me most days. The bad thing of course was that our walls were paper-thin so if I was doing something important...Stephanie stuff...I needed to be extra quiet so as not to draw his attention.

When I left the apartment today, I passed one of our neighbors on the street. She gave me a strange look. It was after all the first day of September and here I was bundled up like it was October. But most people were used to seeing me this way. I liked my hoodie, though it was ratty and old it had a lot of character. I guess it helped that it was also purple. Don’t ask me why but I was rather fond of the color. I think it was because it was dark enough to still be considered semi-masculine but also girly too. Anyone who gave me a hard time about it I tell them that I’m a Vikings fan, which seems to shut them up. Hey, as long as you’re supporting your team’s colors...even purple... no one beat the shit out of you.

I walked to the curb and hailed a cab. It was a surprisingly dull day today. There weren’t many people out, which made things a lot easier for me, I guess. That still didn’t stem my nervousness or untwist the knots in my stomach. I felt like any minute I was going to throw up my breakfast. But I kept my cool as a cab finally pulled up. I opened the back door and slid inside, taking deep, reassuring breaths.

“Where to, miss?” asked the driver.

I nearly jumped for joy. Instead, I smiled and gave him directions. Today it was all about baby steps. So the first thing I did before leaving the house was call my best and only friend Jen. Besides my cousin Barbara, she was the only other person in the world who knew about Stephanie. The two of us were kindred spirits in that we both hailed from Planet Weird. Jen lived with her ultra-religious grandparents who made things extremely difficult for her, seeing as she was a Wiccan. Neither of them understood it, of course, and thought she was going to burn in hell for being a heathen. They constantly tried to convert her. Jen and I had another connection as well, we were both practically orphans. Her Mom died when she was young and her Dad was an Air Force pilot who was MIA. She wouldn’t admit that he was dead though because they never found his plane.

The cabbie dropped me off outside our favorite coffee shop. I paid him and got out. Jen was waiting outside, dancing anxiously on the balls of her feet. When I called her I told her I had a surprise but that she’d have to wait and see what it was. She hated surprises. Seeing her standing there---in her Mother Earth inspired dress---looking all excited made me excited too. When she caught sight of me, she smiled and frowned at the same time.

“Steve” she said as I walked up, my hands in my front pouch. “It’s eighty degrees out and you’re wearing that damn hoodie.”

“You should talk, how much does that dress weight?”

She stuck her tongue out at me and sighed. Then she slipped her arm through mine. As soon as she did so he hand brushed up against my enhanced chest. Her eyes widened. That did it for her and suddenly my surprise wasn’t much of a surprise anymore. She didn’t say anything right then and there though but I could see how excited she was. For weeks---no make that months, years even---she’d tried to talk me into going out in public as Stephanie. But each time I told her I was too afraid to do it. I’m not sure what changed my mind this time but I just knew I had to try. At least once anyway.

She pulled me off the street and into the alley between the coffee shop and the store next door. She made sure we were far enough down it before she squealed and wrapped her arms around me. She even cried a little bit which got me crying too. After we were done with our girly moment, she pulled away and frowned.

“Ok, Steph, off with the bag.”

I hugged my chest, my hands falling under my fake breasts. I couldn’t wait for the day when they would be real. I shook my head.

“I’m not ready for that yet.”

She smiled. “You came this far, girl, what’s one more small step.”

“You’re Armstronging me?”

Armstronging, it was something the two of us came up with. You know Neil Armstrong, “One small step”, blah blah blah. Well “one small step” kinda became my anthem. It was what Jen kept saying to me to push a little more of Stephanie out bit by bit. First, it was my hair, then piercing my ears, then some makeup here and there and finally the clothes. All of them were building up to this moment. This was the moment she kept on telling me was the “giant leap” I needed. See, Armstronging. I just couldn’t believe she was using it against me.

“Off with the hoodie’ she said, taking on a stern tone.

I took a deep breath and slowly pulled the hoodie off over my head. I was extremely uncomfortable but as soon as it was done, she was right. I did feel a lot better. I looked down at my chest and saw my breasts. Even if they were fake, they were still there. Jen smiled big and gave me another hug. We pulled away a few seconds later.

“Baby blue” she said, referring to the color of my shirt. “I like it; it brings out your eyes.”
The eyes in question, I rolled them. “Can I put my hoodie back on now?”

She shook her head. “Not a chance girl”

I was afraid that this might happen. Jen had a one-track mind and once she set that mind on something there was no stopping her. That’s why she was convinced her father was still alive. She said it was a feeling. She couldn’t describe it anymore than that but she just knew he was out there somewhere. Sometimes she even had dreams of him, traipsing around in a jungle with long hair and shaggy beard. To me they were just dreams but to her they were so real. I supported her however; I could because we were like sisters. If she believed her Dad was still out there, then so did I.

She dragged me out of the alley after that. I tried to drag my heels but let’s face it she was a lot stronger. Instead of dragging me back to the coffee shop, she took me in the opposite direction. I had no idea where were going until we got a couple stores away. I nearly froze when she pulled me into the little boutique. I’d been in here hundreds of times before with her. It was a trendy little shop that she liked to browse through. It catered exclusively to teen girls our age---that felt kinda nice to say. But it was never a style that Jen was into. She was all Mother Earth and all that junk. She came in here a lot because it got her grandparents off her back. They gave her a credit card and an allowance under the strict guidelines that she buy at least one thing from here once a month.

I think they were trying to stem her creativity or something like that. The woman behind the counter was named Debbie. I liked her because she thought I was a girl.

When she saw the two of us enter, she smiled. She knew all about Jen’s deal and always helped her find the perfect item. But when she saw us today, there was a look of surprise on her face. We’d been in here once already---yesterday in fact---so we weren’t due back here until the beginning of October. But I’m not sure if that’s why she was so shocked. She was staring at me and I think it took me all of ten seconds to figure out what it was.

“Stephanie, sweetie” she said, smiling big. “You have such a nice little figure, I don’t know why you wish to hide it all the time behind that baggy monstrosity.”

She pointed to the hoodie I was holding in my hand when she said the last bit.

Jen laughed. “I finally talked her out of it.”

“Good for you dear” said Debbie with a knowing smile.

After that, Jen went a little overboard and Debbie was only too happy to help. They were bound and determined to make a real girl out of me. I’m not sure if Debbie knew I was TG or if she thought I was just a tomboy but she treated me with the utmost respect. Jen pushed me into a changing room and the two of them kept passing outfits through the curtain. I’m not sure how many there were but after an hour, it felt like I’d tried on the whole store. The two of them tried to get me to leave there in a skirt, heels and a cute top but I managed to talk them down to a pair of jean shorts, sandals and a pink baby tee. Debbie wanted to put me in a cami top but I had to decline for obvious reasons.

Jen put my outfit on her card, even against my protests.

When we left the store, she took my arm again. “Now to the salon.”

“What?”

“No offense, Steph but you look like a boy.”

I stuck my tongue out at her for that. “I have to work later you know.”

She nodded. “I’m not going to have them do anything serious. A Mani and a Pedi and some light makeup. Besides your boss is kinda hip, especially for a lady her age.”

I groaned. That was the understatement of the year. Jen smiled at my discomfort...I think she thrived on torturing me. But when I nodded, she squealed again and dragged me off toward the salon. I just hoped Leslie didn’t think it was odd that I was dressed like this.

______________________________

Dr. Leslie Thompson ran a free clinic a few blocks away from my house, well within walking distance. She used to be a big time surgeon back in the day, worked with Thomas Wayne. She helped him set up the Wayne Medical Institution among her many accolades. My mother was a surgeon and Leslie was her mentor. I’ve known her all my life and though she had to be pushing seventy now, the woman had yet to slow down. Her motto was she’d rest when she was dead. If only so many people her age could have the same outlook on life. Heck, if only people half her age could have that outlook. I wish my father would have some kind of outlook.

I’d been working at the clinic part time since sixteen, so almost two years now...I’ll be eighteen in a month. At first, I was a volunteer, doing odd jobs for her here and there. I don’t like the term Candy Striper but I guess that’s what I was. After a few months of that, she decided to put me on the payroll. I wanted to protest but frankly, we needed the money badly. Dad worked at a print shop and though he brought in the cash, it all seemed to go to his drinking. What little money I made I was saving for some important decisions. I’m sure I don’t have to mention what those might be.

After my odd jobs came to an end, Leslie started teaching me some low-key medical stuff. Nothing that might get her in trouble...well not as long as I didn’t say anything. So I could suture small wounds, draw blood, things like that. Last week I got to help her set some stupid skater’s broken wrist. That was kinda cool. She knew all about my dreams of becoming a doctor like Mom, helping people less fortunate than myself. According to her, she’d been exactly where I was when she was young. I hardly doubted that but I didn’t doubt her stories of living off the streets, scrounging for food. She looked like a survivor; she had to be to want to set up shop in this part of town.

The locals called this area of the city the “Narrows” on account of the buildings being so close together. It was a wicked name for a wicked place. Everyone knew that if you were out past sun down then it was a good bet that you were going to lose some money. No one cared about this neck of the woods except maybe Leslie and of course the Bat. Everyone knew about him---the silent sentinel that patrolled the rooftops. He might have been an Urban Myth to some but he was still the coolest guy that I’d ever heard of. I know there are a lot of Metas out there now but he was the only one who really seemed to care about us.

Up until a month ago anyway. When I walked through the front door, the Clinic’s six beds were empty. It was one of those slow days, I guess. Leslie had an office in the back; she usually stayed there until she heard the little bell above the door ring. I walked sheepishly inside, trying not to make noise. I was trying to avoid the inevitable. The salon had really done a number on me. My nails were now filed and shaped, coated in a clear polish and my face was lightly done up. All of these things I might be able to hide, but Jen had to let them go one-step further. They tweezed my brows a bit, not too badly, but they were clearly not a guy’s brows anymore...my Dad was going to go nuts. They also trimmed off my split ends and styled my hair to make it look a bit more feminine. It was nothing too drastic but it pushed my androgyny a little closer to the girl side.

“Steven, dear, is that you?” shouted a voice from the back.

“Yes Leslie” I said as I carried my duffel through the main room toward the back.

I could call her Leslie when we were alone, but if there were patients it was Dr. Thompson. She said we needed an air of professionalism when other people saw us together. This coming from the sixty nine year old woman who planned on skydiving for her seventieth birthday celebration. She was about as professional as a standup comedian.

When I walked around the corner into the little hall, she stepped out of her office. There were two things I liked the most about her. One, she had a grandmotherly vibe without even trying. Not that she didn’t look like one. She was tall, always wore her white hair pulled up on the top of her head and dressed like a smart career woman...pants and flats. The second thing I loved most about her was her ability to take a situation and not be scared when something unexpected happened. That’s why when she turned around and saw me...a teenage girl...instead of her male assistant, she didn’t even bat an eyelash.

“So it’s Stephanie today then?”All I could do was nod numbly. She smiled and continued. “It’s about time, dear.”

She patted me gently on the cheek, smiled and walked into the main room. Just like that. There were no lectures, no asking for explanations. She saw me dressed like a girl and she accepted it like the turning of the seasons. I was stunned for a second but then smiled brightly. I shook off my numbness and carried my bag into the small locker-room. There used to be more of us working here but the local hospital was short staffed and most of the doctors who used to volunteer their time here could no longer do so. Up until a month or two ago there used to be another girl here...Brittany...but she went off to college. So now, it was just Leslie and me, which was kinda nice and homy.

I dropped my bag on the bench and opened my locker. My usual uniform was in there waiting. It consisted of nothing more than green scrubs. When I put them on, I felt like I was on Grey’s Anatomy. But today as I reached for them, I stopped. I wasn’t Steven today, I was Stephanie. If I was going to do this then I was going to go all out. I closed my locker and went over to the one Brittany used to use. When she left, she left her old outfit behind. I opened the locker and found the traditional red and white of a Candy Striper. It was kinda cute and I was always envious of her when I saw her wearing it. I took a deep breath and pulled it out. In my head, I heard Jen’s voice saying “one giant leap” over and over again so that’s exactly what I did. I stripped out of my new shorts and tee and took the plunge.

I put on Brittany’s old uniform...glad we were about the same size...and smiled. I walked over to the mirror mounted on the wall and all I could see was the pretty girl that I knew I was. I pulled my hair back into a high ponytail and put the little wedge shaped hat on my head, completing the look. Then I took another breath and walked out of the room. I took slow steps as I headed down the hall. When I got into the main room there was a young guy...a little older than me...sitting on one of the beds. I froze in mid-step, not even having heard the bell.

Leslie turned her head and looked at me but didn’t skip a beat. “This is Stephanie my assistant.” She said to the young guy. “Stephanie, be a dear and help me with young Tony here.”

I blushed red from head to toe and nodded. I walked over slowly and assisted as best as I could. His left hand was wrapped in a dishtowel...it was starting to get soaked with blood. Tony talked to me while Leslie went to work. When she unwound the dishtowel, he winced. There was a nice gash there but I’d seen worse. It would definitely need a few stitches though. Today it appeared I was here for a distraction. He told me what he’d done...the knife slipped while he was gutting a fish...and then he proceeded to tell me everything about himself.

It took every ounce of will power I had not to pass out. I was embarrassed as all hell. This outfit was ridiculous and the way I was bent over he could see right down my shirt. I just hoped it wasn’t too much for him to see that my boobs were in fact fake. I tried not to think about it and concentrated on something else. First it was his mouth as he talked, which only made my lips moisten. So then I looked at his eyes, they were emerald green and lovely. I guess you can figure out that I like boys; in fact, I like them a lot. At first, I thought maybe that made me gay but then I realized I was just any other normal teenage girl with a crush on a cute guy.

It took about an hour to finish up with Tony. When we were done, he asked me for my number. I opened my mouth to give him a response but Leslie beat me to it.

“I’m sorry Tony, Stephanie’s parents are strict Roman Catholics, you can’t date any one unless they approve of him.”

Tony looked a little disappointed. A part of me was disappointed too, he was kinda cute. But there were so many reasons why I couldn’t date him. So I apologized and he waved, nearly falling over as he backed out of the clinic.

Leslie laughed. “I do believe that boy was a little smitten with you.”

I flushed then looked down. “I think I’m going to change out of this outfit.”

Leslie laughed. “Well hurry; we have to make a house call.”

I nodded. I got about half way to the back room when I stopped. Curiosity got the better of me so I turned around and asked. “Where are we going?”

Leslie didn’t close up the Clinic unless it was really important.

“Wayne Manor.”

Author’s note: As I’m sure all of you know, comments are life blood to an author. I’m not begging or demanding, but I certainly would appreciate anything you have to say (or ask). It doesn’t have to be long and involved, just give me your reaction to the story. Thanks in advance...EOF